#the silent beat after that is two stones in the river

[veunho]

I love love love drawing but I cannot draw poses in any circumstances

[fallenclan]

Buzzardcry Fic

By Dragon Anon

Buzzard couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance as Kestrel practically glued herself to his side, shorter pelt ruffling his own. Still, Buzzard chose not to comment on it, knowing his sister was only seeking some form of comfort, since Vulture didn't seem keen to offer any.

"Where are we even going?" Buzzard demanded, hating the way his voice took on an almost whine-like quality. 

"The mountains."

Buzzard blinked in surprise. This was the first real answer Vulture had given them in days. "Why?"

" . . . " 

Buzzard sighed. Evidently, his mother was returning to her silent brooding. "What are mountains like?" Kestrel whispered, her muzzle brushing against Buzzard's cheek.

"I don't know. Tall?" Kestrel frowned. Hating the saddened look in his sister's eye, Buzzard hurriedly continued, "But it'll be a new sort of adventure for us to find out."

"Really?" Kestrel's gaze brightened. She loved stories about adventures. Vulture used to tell all kinds of stories, before Falcon had died.

"Yeah. Don't you worry, Kes. It'll be fun."

"Okay." Kestrel smiled, vacant gaze becoming more focused. "I like adventures."

"I know, Kes. I know."

***

"We have to cross this?" Buzzard hissed, gawking at the river Vulture had pointed out. Its waters were moving at relatively slow pace, but the way they sloshed against the stepping stones Vulture had instructed them to use made Buzzard's stomach flip. 

"Don't complain. Watch what I do, and copy me," Vulture replied briskly. With allowing further room for debate, Vulture leapt forward, pouncing from stone to stone with the skill of a mink hopping through the snow. 

Buzzard remained rooted to his spot on the river's bank opposite of Vulture. "Don't worry, Buzz," Kestrel chirped. "See how easy Mama made it look? We can do this!"

"I don't-" Before Buzzard could finish, Kestrel had already begun to leap from stone to stone. She had almost made it when---

SPLASH. She had mis-stepped, flailing wildly for a few moments before landing in the river with a tiny shriek. "Kestrel!" Buzzard yowled, racing along the riverbank. "Kestrel?!"

After several moments of wild searching, Kestrel's head resurfaced. Buzzard dove towards his sister, paddling fiercely against the river's current. His limbs seemed to howl in protest, struggling to move in the direction he wanted them to, until finally, finally...

Buzzard latched on to Kestrel's scruff, swimming the rest of the way across the river and collapsing against the far riverbank. Kestrel was trembling violently and coughing. Buzzard was silent, inhaling and exhaling deeply through his nose.

Vulture watched with wide eyes from a few paces away.

She hadn't even moved a paw since Kestrel had fallen.

***

"Mama?! Mama, get up!" Buzzard hissed, heart beating wildly against his chest. It wasn't fair, she couldn't leave them now, they had almost made it to the mountain!

Vulture wheezed, throat torn open after a vicious tussle with a vixen. The fox had tried to take off with Kestrel, and before Buzzard could even react, Vulture had flown after the vixen. 

Kestrel's nape was bleeding badly and her eyes were wide like two pale moons. "Go--" Vulture gasped, legs spasming as she fought to get up. "--the mountain. She said---she said she would come here if--" 

"What are you talking about? Mama?" Buzzard demanded, blinking furiously to try and force back the sob threatening to escape his chest. 

"Find Cedar---she---" Vulture let out a final, wretched gasp, and fell still.

All that was left was the scent of blood, and the ragged breathing of her kits.

***

Buzzard lay still. He had no energy left to move, or to call for help. They had made it to the mountain, and for what? Kestrel was gone, unable to fight off the infection that grew within her bite wound. 

Now Buzzard was alone.

He didn't know how long he had been laying there when a soft, frantic voice spoke: "Stars above! Little one, are you all right?" A spotted black cat with a distinctly white chest was peering down at him. Vaguely, her pelt reminded Buzzard of a magpie.

"Don't worry, I'm going to bring you somewhere safe and get you all healed up, okay? Stars, you're skinny... I'll get you some prey to eat, too."

Buzzard didn't respond, glaring at the unknown cat. Leave me alone, he wanted to screech. He remained quiet, even as her felt her teeth sink into his scruff, lifting him up as if he were a kit and she his mother. 

He had stopped being a kit a long time ago.

***

"It's a good thing Eris found you when xe did. You're lucky to be alive," Shrewscratch murmured, brows furrowed deeply. "You said your name was Buzzard?"

"Yeah." Buzzard flattened his ears. It appeared as though every cat in FallenClan had something to say to him. 

"Well, she and Cedarberry have offered to look after you for now. You're too young to be on your own. Once you're old enough, you can decide if you want to stay or not."

Buzzard scowled for a few moments before freezing. "Cedarberry?"

"Do you... know her?" Shrewscratch tilted her head.

"Not really." After that, Buzzard stopped speaking, not wanting to entertain conversation any longer. 

***

"Did you know a cat named Vulture?" Cedarberry's eyes widened at Buzzard's question, her mouth opening slightly in shock.

"I--yes, I did, once upon a time. Why, d'you know her?"

"She was my mama. She told me to find you." Buzzard eyed Cedarberry accusingly. Who was this cat, that Vulture had trusted so deeply?

Cedarberry sighed, glancing at Eris, who was listening with a placid expression. "Vulture an' I were friends a long time ago. We, uh, made a promise to look after each other, if anythin' ever went wrong. I used to dream about livin' in these mountains. Talked her ear off about it, actually. I didn't think she was actually listenin' to what I was sayin."

"Why did she never mention you until--" Buzzard winced. "Until right before she died?"

"Things didn't end well between us," Cedarberry replied wistfully. "She was a strong cat, but a stubborn one too. I'm sorry to hear 'bout her passin'."

" . . . " Buzzard glared at his paws.

Clearing her throat, Eris mrrowed, "Why don't we go set up a nest in the nursery? Ain't many cats in there right now. We can use any sort of bedding you like, okay?"

" . . . okay."

***

"Please please please please please?" Palekit was practically jumping up and down, little paws batting at Buzzardcry's side. "It isn't fair! You know tons of battle moves! Can't you just teach us one?"

"Yeah!" Darkkit whined. "We wanna be strong like you!"

"You'll be apprentices in a moon." Buzzardcry gently shook Palekit off of himself. "You can learn all the battle moves you want then."

"Noooooo," Palekit collapsed dramatically, acting as though he'd struck her.

"Boo!" Darkkit stuck out his tongue as well. Nearby, Eris and Cedarberry were both chuckling. 

Buzzardcry shook his head. Kestrel had always been so timid, so gentle. Nothing at all like Palekit and Darkkit, who always seemed to be yowling about this or that and running whirlwinds around camp. 

"Don't be botherin' your big brother too much, kiddos. He's got adult cat stuff to do, too," Cedarberry rumbled, amusement radiating from her whole body,

Unbidden, Buzzardcry felt a tiny smile sneak its way onto his features. "Actually, I think I have time to show you one battle move..."

"Yes!"

"...if both of you agree to help clean out the elders' den later. I'm sure Cliffpaw and Inkypaw would be greatly appreciative."

"What!" Palekit exclaimed, eyes widening in disbelief. "But only apprentices clean out the elders' den!"

"Only apprentices learn battle moves, too," Eris piped up, chuckling.

As Palekit begin to squabble with Eris about what constitued as "apprentice duties," Buzzardcry could only purr contentedly.

Somewhere, he hoped Kestrel was watching. Buzzardcry had been given a second chance to be a big brother, and he wasn't going to squander it for anything in the world.

-🐉

(dedicated to the several individuals who agreed that a buzzardcry fic would be interesting! i'm sure buzzardcry will continue to have fun sibling times with paledawn and darkpaw and that nothing bad will happen ever... smiling in an evil and autistic way)

(beetle note: ok this one made me lose my mind a little. i was at work when i read it and i just KNEW i had to use it as inspiration for today's warmup. big brother buzzard :(((( side note i especially love the "pouncing from stone to stone with the skill of a mink hopping through the snow" line, it envokes such vivid imagery)

[graylinesspam]

The force was so quiet for so long. So many living beings cut down, their communication and the waves that it caused in the force were just gone. So quickly. So suddenly.

And then for the first few years after, the movement continued to decline. Slowly it grew impossibly quieter. Until the force was so still. So silent.

It still flowed. So long as life existed the force would flow through it's natural paths. But where it had once been a river crashing over stones. Colliding with so many force sensitive beings it had become a slow still creek. Whose water remained glassy reflective and seemingly unmoving from the surface.

Ahsoka knew that the ones she had loved were in there somewhere, returned to the force flowing through all life. But not as themselves. Not as the living thinking beings she'd known before. They were passive now. Part of the will of life with no feelings or motivations of their own.

Until...there was movement again.

Subtle and nothing like anyone she'd known before. The gentlest ripple, like a turtles beak breaking through the surface. It was an old presence. or it felt that way. Like someone who was and had been a part of the force for some time. But who had managed to maintain...not a physical form but something wholly personal within the all consuming sameness of the force.

It was a fleeting visit. Like an animals eye cast in her direction to asses the threat she may pose only to disappear below the surface once more. It came and went always barely a flicker of movement on the edge of her senses.

When there were two, Ahsoka thought she understood what it was. As the observing presence surfaced once more, feather light ripples washing over her heightened senses, she felt something else as well.

Someone else.

Familiar enough in the pattern of ripples that, like echo location, Ahsoka swore she could make out a shape.

"Obi-wan?" She whispered hopefully. relishing in the way the force swayed between them like water beaten in gentle waves by two moving objects.

Once her former grand master entered the force he must have gone to work. Because while her first visitor had only become perceivable in proximity to her location, There was a distinct change to the flow of the force when Obi-wan entered it. Like the introduction of a new species changes the landscape, he changed the flow of the force. A fish making waves as it swam endlessly, never sleeping.

The dakside users stomped into the flow, kicking up stones and splashing but never catching the slippery target.

New ripples were forming like children reaching in for the first time. letting their fingers play along the surface. A new generation dipping their toes into still waters.

And then Yoda came. He changed the landscape once more. Not by making waves but by breaking them. By sitting his whole presence down in the force like a rock in a stream. Splitting the flow and breaking apart the ripples rings. The first stone for the flow to beat it's self against.

The waters were becoming alive again. Teeming with newness and oldness all the same. She was able to put a name to the little turtle beak. Ancient and observant despite their years, was Qui-gon.

Ahsoka was not afraid anymore of dangling her feet in the water. Where before she had crossed over stones to keep from rippling the surface, now she splashed through the water as recklessly as the sith did. calling attention to herself, but letting the ripples break along Yoda's back before they could be traced back to her.

She wasn't sure how they managed to preserve themselves in the force in such a way. And she doubted she'd learn to do the same. So she may as well make as much movement as she can now.

Then....there was Anakin. She'd become spiritually acquainted with every version of him. She knew the shape of his soul, light and dark. And when he passed into the force it was like the gates of a damn being opened. The rush of the force was strong again. Not raging like a river but moving enough that you could see the shapes bending along the surface. The various plant life bending with the flow.

And Ahsoka dipped into the flow like a child being baptized.

The force is alive again. Not just a by product of life, but full of it. Of the souls of the past mingling with the will of the living.

For so long she'd endured the still, now she'd bathe in the flow. whatever it brought. Wild waters meant hot spots and cold depths. Slippery algea and jagged stones. But come what may, it was the waters of life. And she'd been sitting on the banks for too long. So she'd endure all of it.

[darkfireumbreon]

Can we talk about Magma’s (Dr. Stone anime) redemption? Cause I recently rewatched those season 1 episodes and I realized how well done it is. Like, it’s not huge, rather subtle in it’s entirety which comes off as out of nowhere to some but is perfect for him in my opinion. Yes he was an ass, power hungry and pretty ruthless, however, that was during a time where all he knew was get girls and power. He’s a big buff guy in a small village where physical power is authority. So it’s no surprise that he gets taken down by team science, which changes everything. Very suddenly the goal, their world, is bigger than they ever could have imagined, which I think massively humbled Magma. There are bigger threats out there (Hyoga, Tsukasa). We can see with Hyoga’s attack that Magma does care about the safety of the village. He willingly fights alongside Senku and the others to defend the village, even if he was reckless and charged in himself. He never put up a fuss after losing the tournament and just integrates into the kingdom of science rather silently, which is where the subtle part of his redemption comes into play. We as viewers don’t see anything from Magma other than snippets of him enjoying some of the new inventions or helping out labor wise, leading up to the cave exploration where he is selected as the 3rd party member alongside Senku and Chrome. And yet still he doesn’t put up much of a fuss. Of course he’s a little pouty as he’s now on a team with the guy who stole the position of chief from him and the guy who beat him in a fight by setting him on fire and pushing him into the river, but it’s little more than an annoyed huff. Of course the trip itself is where most of the redemption comes forth, as we learn of Magma’s assumption that the “smart twigs” control the big brawny people. Senku of course proves otherwise, that the two types work together to cover weaknesses, emphasizing why they need him on this journey. But the part I particularly want to highlight is when Magma saves Senku by pushing him out of the way only for Senku to try to save him. Chrome assumes Magma was trying to attack Senku and really, just about everyone had been saying similar before they had even left, assuming that Magma would take the opportunity to kill Senku. And it’s the look that they highlight on Magma, while he’s hanging in Senku’s grasp just before he starts spouting the act that fits all those assumptions. He knows what people think of him, he knows how he acted, and I think he genuinely wanted to change all of it. He puts on the act that everyone expects from him, “admitting” that he was going to attack them in hopes that Senku would just let him go and save himself, which I’m sure Senku saw right through.

Looking back on it all, it is blatantly apparent just how much Magma had changed in such short time, mostly due to his worldview completely changing, probably a little bit due to humility from losing the tournament, but also, as is said, because he has seen the great things science can make and he wants to see more. He wants to be a part of it, and that is huge for a guy who had such extremely selfish goals when we first met him. This is highlighted when Kohaku’s father mentions that he had never seen Magma help out before, and now he’s willingly offering his strength to help out wherever he can. Of course let’s not also forget that Magma keeps the promise to Gen to get them all back safe and on time in order to celebrate Senku’s birthday, something he never would have cared about had he not changed.

I’m sure there’s some out there who think Magma shouldn’t have been redeemed or that his redemption came out of nowhere (he was planning on letting Ruri die so he could have the seat of chief to himself). But I would argue that it was perfectly done. Nothing over the top, he didn’t need a whole arc, it was just enough. And I think he became a very successful character who values his strength in a way that helps others rather than just for his own gain. At his core he is still someone who likes to show off his strength, but to go from someone who thought the only way to do that was by taking over the whole village and becoming chief to someone who shows off his strength by helping improve the village is massive character growth.

And now he’s a big competitive himbo with a willingness to learn, which I find very enjoyable.

[nobodyssoldier]

i. a web weaving

ii. digging deeper

name: rose granger-weasley

age: 25

former house: gryffindor

blood status: halfblood

face claim: alisha boe (ask for alternatives)

allegiance: the knights of the round table

gender & pronouns: utp

eldest daughter of war heroes, born in the aftermath of victory when peace still felt fragile & new, you emerged into the world with fire in your bones & hope between your teeth. your mother's brilliance burns in your blood like starfire, and your father's loyalty anchors your heart like roots reaching deep into the earth. when they speak of inheritance, they mean the wild curl of your hair, the determined set of your jaw, the way your eyes flash amber in argument — but they miss the deeper resemblances: the way compassion ripples through you like a river carving its own path through stone; how you learned early that knowledge could be both sword & shield; the way justice beats in your chest like a second heart, steady as the push & pull of the tides. in your hands, magic flows through you with ease, feels almost like coming home. unlike your parents in their youth, who stumbled through darkness searching for their place, you move through the world with purpose and surety. you know where you belong, and it is here.

they call you bright — bright mind, bright spirit, bright future — but brightness is not always gentle. there's tempered steel beneath your softness, forged in the fire of expectations, hammered into shape by the weight of legacy. when you see wrong in the world, you cannot look away, cannot pretend not to notice the shadows that others try to ignore, the way darkness creeps back like the tide. you've seen too much suffering to stay silent, too much injustice to remain still. your compassion is not a passive, quiet thing — it is furiously active, a force that drives you forward like waves against the shore. but this same passion that fuels you can also consume you, can turn you rigid and uncompromising. sometimes your intensity frightens others: the way you burn so bright with conviction; the way you refuse to accept that some things cannot be mended, that some shattered pieces must remain broken. there's a stubbornness in you that runs deep as the ocean, and once you believe in your heart that you are right, you can be as immovable as a mountain.

bravery, to you, has never been about the absence of fear but the choice to act despite it. you fight not because you love the battle but because you love peace more, because you understand that sometimes you must be the storm to clear the air, must break what is broken to build something better in its place. in crisis, your mind works like lightning, quick & brilliant — a scintillating light in the darkness that illuminates paths others cannot see. you are your parents' daughter in this: when others run from danger, you run toward it, not out of recklessness but out of duty, out of love that burns fiercer than any fear. but sometimes, when the world grows still and dark, the weight of responsibility settles heavy on your shoulders. sometimes, you wonder if you're strong enough to carry all the hopes that have been placed upon you.

iii. connection

one. HERMIONE GRANGER , a strained parent-child relationship — there's something about having a mother when you're a girl. it's crushing. crushing to have a mirror that suffers all on its own.

two. HUGO GRANGER-WEASLEY , sibling — sibling relationships outlast marriages, survive the death of parents, resurface after quarrels that would sink any friendship. they flourish in a thousand incarnations of closeness and distance, warmth, loyalty and distrust.

three. SCORPIUS MALFOY & ALTAN SERVER POLAT , best friends — and in the end, i’d do it all again. (i think you're my best friend.) don't you know that the kids aren't alright?

four. ELECTRA LESTRANGE , worst enemy — a knowledge of each other that they never wanted, having had to contemplate each other, head-on, eye to eye, until death

[idiotwithanipad]

Actions and Words

(A young boy finally learns how to talk from the ghost of the tribe's past)

"Boy not learn to make speak yet. He be silent for longer and he never survive hunt. If he can't tell others when deer get closer, how he let them know? "

"He not start speak soon, Wise Elder will kill boy herself..."

Wila bit her lip tightly as she couldn't help but hear the condescending and grizzly whispers ripple through the tribe. She knew her responsibility and it's tremendous importance; children, the boys especially, had to talk. She knew her small son wouldn't be able to get through his life by using his hands and fingers to sign. He'd have to learn the tribe's tongue one day. But teaching him never seemed to make it any clearer.

It was a huge problem. The Wise Elder would watch from afar, regarding the boy with a stoic and heavy expression, as though the mere existence of the boy was destined to be a lost cause.

He was quite content sitting by the river bank and throwing pebbles to see how far away they'd fly, and if he could grow stronger enough to beat his record each time. Sketching shapes and symbols into the earth with sticks. He was a happy boy. But just being happy and full of life wasn't enough.

Many members of the tribe had lost their limbs, eyes, skin and faces by being too happy. Happiness can lead to distractions, and distractions lead to carnage, especially within a tribe surrounded by potential threats. A member of the tribe, a few generations back, had become a warning, a cautionary tale about letting distractions fill your head. He'd been killed. But not by another man, or an animal or coughing and sneezing.

No trace of blood or injury to be seen on him anywhere, yet he still died. Moonah chose to set reminders to how life worked.

'Don't be like the happy man'

Wila pretended not to notice two men eye her and her son as she walked past them, carrying the tiny boy in a leather sack strapped to her back, his pudgy cheeks nesting against her hair. Ahead, the Wise Elder rose her spear and gave an exhausted yet triumph sigh.

The motherland, at last.

Far back in their past, back when the tribe still walked on all fours and ate meat straight from the bones, the Moonah Stones were placed here. The tribe took shelter here rather than in caves. The stones were enough to protect them, that's what they believed. All they needed was fire, and their precious stones.

The sacred site the tribe visited every full Moonah. A place of worship and serenity, the tribe finding the time to gather and tell stories of their ancestors and about their future. Celebrating the prosperity of their tribe and giving thanks to their almight sky mother, Moonah.

Some gave delighted cheers, others let out relieved sighs and slowed down to take breaths, letting the leather satchels and sacks on their shoulders slip off and bangle limp in their hands now that rest could come after such a strenuous hike. Small children who'd been here before took off running past the Wise Elder to get first dibs on which stone was 'theirs'.

Mothers and soon-to-be mothers took their seats underneath the rotten and fungus laced tree that stood a short distance away from the stones. Two warriors placed grass and branches at the center of the ring of upright, hefty stones and started to light a roaring fire.

Wila woke her son, still nestled against her back and pulled him from within the trusty carrier, and instant relief for her upper spine. She set the half asleep and yawning boy down onto the due speckled grass and walked him, hand in hand, towards the stones.

The fire finally caught and took to blaze as they passed into the circle, triumphant chuckles and shoulder pats all around. Andother successful trip with no accidents or run ins with rival tribes of packs of wolves.

Wila sat in the grass, her back propped up against one of the mighty stones, her tiny son held in her lap underneath a blanket of wolf fur. The tribe eventually got over their excitement and puddle water drinking and gathered around to hear some old tales from each member.

The tiny boy, Velu by name, turned in his sleep and slowly awoke, everyone was gathered around, leaning closer to the fire and speaking softly, holding their hands above the flames and gesticulating whimsically to aid their flowing stories. Somebody kept walking from beyond the circle. Velu could see them. From the waist down, the upper portion of the person's body was obscured by darkness, the light from the fire only lit them partially, hidden also behind the broad shoulders and nodding head's of the tribe.

Yet they still circled. Occasionally stopping behind someone and leaning closer, listening. A walk. A pause. A walk. A pause. A lean. A pause. A walk. A back track. A lean. A pause. A walk. Over and over again. Soon, the figure walked away, out of sight into the blackness beyond the reach of the fire's light. Sleep soon took Velu away yet again.

"Time wait for no one, Wila. When little Velu learn words?" A voice called quietly from past the fire. Velu's father sat, curious and concerned eyes flicking down to the boy. Wila stroked her palm, like a gentle feather, over the boys soft hair.

"He talk soon. I make sure he talk soon" She whispered back, giving a slight nod.

The rest of the circle didn't seem too convinced as they glanced amongst each other and shook their heads.

"He must learn. He not talk, he lose focus. End up like-"

The father was cut off by a less than gentle hand reaching over and pressing harshly against his mouth.

"Don't say name. Speak bad of dead and they get big mad" The man warned, looking about as though making sure he wasn't speaking loud enough to be heard by anyone outside of the circle.

Some faces nodded in realisation and turned to look through the darkness behind them, shuffling closer into the small ring of light. Other's, who had aged and wrinkled faces with greying hair and beards, looked almost sorrowful and bowed their heads.

Wila knew why they hung their heads, and she knew why they were frightened. But that was a long time ago, back when her mother and father were still small. Moonah is merciful, she doesn't cut people down anymore.

One of the older ladies held up hand to her chest and spoke.

"Was not an angry man. Never was an angry man. Always happy, take care of babies and friends. Not get mad by-"

She was rudely cut off by the younger man, who's hand was still pressed against Velu's father mouth.

"He alive then. He dead now. Death change people. Make them sharp like spear and bitter like red berries. Bitter 'bout being dead. Speak bad and they make us dead too"

The older woman let her dead roll down into a heavy shake, unwilling to argue and indulge his paranoid superstitions anymore. She knew the truth about the happy man. She was his friend when he was alive.

In a defeated huff and a paranoid stupor, the man pushed himself from the soil and plucked his spear from the grass before taking a few companions and heading into the woods, leaving Velu's father and the ladies alone.

Wila stared down into the flames, contemplating, before the old woman's boney hand landed on her shoulder. A gentle and encouraging smile spread on her hollow cheeks.

"Not fear. Your boy will talk, me know it" She smiled. Wila gave a smile back and nodded, but her smile quickly fell, turning her eyes back to the woman.

"I not sure. I not sure what to do no more. If son not speak, then-"

"Then ask the happy man to help" The old woman suggested, her grin never faltering. Wila stared at her, watching as the old woman drew her hand from her shoulder and focused her gaze back to the fire to warm her hands.

In a silent moment of self reflection, Wila glanced off to her right, to the empty space between the two stones beside her, yet the space still felt as though it had an occupant. Quietly, without looking away, Wila pressed her hands together discreetly in her lap boyond her sleeping son's back, palms and fingertips pressed softly together and trembling. A single tear forming in her eye, hoping that Moonah, or the happy man would hear her mind beg for help and assist her son.

The fire had dwindled to a bronze glow, the tribe slept soundly in their spots and the owls preened in the trees not too far away. Velu had awoken, his dry throat begging for water. Rubbing at his eyes, Velu looked around and noticed the rest of the tribe slept also, including his mother. He turned in her Lap and went to carefully set his foot down into the grass at his mother's side, but stopped.

One member of the tribe was still away, and was watching him. He sat, cross-legged by himself between two of the mighty stones to the right. He looked no different from the rest of the tribe, but his face was unfamiliar. Rival tribes never wore furs, so the chances of this being an intruder was probably very slim.

Velu stepped up from Wila's lap, without waking her, and gave a careful wave to the silent and watchful stranger. The man's eyes seemed to gleam with curiosity and suspense, as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He cautiously waved back.

Velu kept his eyes on the stranger as he stood waiting for him to say something. But the stranger said nothing and kept staring, expecting Velu to try something else. The man leaned forward.

"Hello...?"

Velu waved again, this time with a smile.

The man's eyes widened and his mouth opened into a grin before pushing himself up off of the grass.

"You see? You see Rogh?"

Velu nodded.

The man's two hands slapped hard against his hairy temples as he broke into a round of laughter, loud laughter. So loud that some nearby babies swaddled in their mother's arms turned in their sleep. Velu found the laughter infectious and began to grin.

"Been long time. Big long time since anyone talk to Rogh" The man admitted, finally calming down from his laughter, yet he still vibrated with an inquisitive excitement that seemed to buzz around his aura like lightning.

Velu could only watch the man do all the talking, his troublesome little lips not yet able to form any words of his own. A dark cloud above rolled away, letting a pale light shine from above, catching both of their attention.

"Moonah!" The man beamed, reaching his hands up as though trying to catch the rays in his fingers. Velu copied him and let out a breathy giggle. The man looked back down to Velu and crouched down.

"You say thank to Moonah yet? Not want her to get big mad"

Velu shook his head.

"You not say thank to Moonah?" The man repeated, perplexed, and tilted his head, his matted and scraggly hair hanging at his shoulders.

"Why?"

Velu shook his head and released a hushed series of tiny grunts and bables. The man seemed to retreat from his excitement and confusion and dealve into a demeanour far more complex and contemplating.

"You slow speaker?" The man questioned, yet he seemed sympathetic. Velu only nodded. The man hummed to himself before he looked back up at the shining moon above. He stood and began walking away from the stones, out into the expanse of damp grass before turning his head and glancing over his shoulder at Velu.

"Come on, follow Rogh. He show you".

The man walked further away into the darkness before Velu glanced as his sleeping mother. She would be so happy if he could talk, at last. It would be a big surprise. She could be happy again. Other boys wouldn't pick on him anymore. Moonah would like him. Tribe would be proud.

Velu followed the man.

"Bakou! Bakou! Our son talk!" Wila beamed, tears brimming in her eyes as she held the small boy in one arm whilst harshly jabbing into the man's shoulder with the other. He awoke with a start and snorted, his eyes darting about as though someone had clapped two rock together right in front of him.

"Wha-? Wha-?" He groan, delirous, and sat up straight. Wila sobbed through her laughter and turned to look at her son in her arms who also smiled.

"Velu say word at last!"

Bakou, and others awoken from Wila's cries, watched in scepticism as the boy flapped his arm in excitement. Yet, soon, all scepticism had burned away once the boy shaped his first word and articulated it perfectly.

"Moonah!"

The tribe were awestruck and thrilled, especially Wila and her small family. Over by the old, rotten and dead tree, the old woman stood, her calloused fingers stroking gently against the bark, her warm smile drifted from the circle to the empty space beside her.

"Thank be to Moonah. And thank be to you, old friend"

[hopetorun]

behind the scenes for wait a year (which i just reread and continue to be delighted by)

okay this is technically a little less than half of this scene but the full scene is almost 4k (it's by far the longest scene in this story, almost a quarter of the story is this scene) but here's some commentary on the part before they start actively having sex, lol

The most surreal thing that happens in Prague is that they win, [truly this is one of the most improbable and self-indulgent things i've ever put into a hockey fic. tho the original outline of this story had them winning gold at the 2026 olympics together and then i realized i'd lose my mind writing two different fics in two different versions of 2026, and that i'd have to fill three and a half whole years of story in] an overtime goal shoveled in on a rebound by a kid named Ryan Chesley that Luke played with in Michigan [i thought this was a real guy for some reason but the only ryan chesley i can find plays for the university of minnesota ... who knows] and who spent the first week of the tournament sitting next to Quinn at every meal to ask him questions about the NHL. Quinn’s on the ice with him when the puck goes in, the horn goes, the arena full of Czech fans goes suddenly silent except for the screaming directly in Quinn’s ear. [my sincere apologies to the czech men's national ice hockey team and also their faithful fans attending the game. i do feel bad but they had to beat someone]

It still feels great to be slammed into the boards by the weight of his whole team, and as the cheers on the ice start to die down Quinn can hear a few from the crowd, too. And it’s still a win, a gold medal that’ll be draped around all their necks, another item for the list of things he and Brady have done together.

Quinn stands next to Brady when they line up for the anthem, Brady’s arm draped over his shoulder and Brady’s voice loud in his ear. Quinn leans in closer, unable to resist the pull of him, and Brady tightens his arm around Quinn’s shoulders as the final notes of the anthem play, and it’s like something out of a dream. [brady is SO physically affectionate and i spent a lot of time really carefully threading this needle of making him even more obviously so than usual and still keeping quinn unaware of brady amping it up] A weird hybrid of present and memory that comes together as feeling entirely outside of reality.

After—after the medal ceremony, after the champagne and beer in the locker room, after the team shuffles through a series of bars, after Quinn tries more Czech beers than he thought existed—after all that, Brady catches his eye and grins and Quinn follows him out onto the street without a second thought. [i didn't want quinn to seem like a pushover in this story, or like he isn't an active participant in this relationship or friendship because he very much is, but he is willing to let brady be in charge of things pretty often, and brady also knows him very well and makes sure things are the way quinn would want them. because he's in love] He doesn’t even know what Brady has in mind. The smell is wearing on Quinn, the walls and wooden seats oozing smoke even though no one inside is smoking, and the air outside is crisp and clear. [i learned many facts about prague for this fic and one of them was that smoking in restaurants was only banned there pretty recently]

Prague is pretty cool, with red-roofed buildings and old, winding streets and stone bridges arching over the river. [google search pictures of prague] Quinn wouldn’t mind actually getting to explore instead of being shuffled from the hotel to the arena to the practice facility.

Brady knocks his shoulder against Quinn’s, startling him out of his thoughts. “I think I’m just about done for the night,” he says. “I can’t keep up with those kids anymore.” [this is a lie. brady can keep up with the kids. he's just more interested in having sex with quinn. or going for a walk with quinn. really whatever as long as quinn is there]

He doesn’t seem particularly drunk, to be honest. Quinn’s seen him drunker, Quinn’s seen him puking in bushes and falling asleep in strangers’ beds. Right now he’s a little pink in the face, but he isn’t slurring or stumbling or even rambling. It is late, though, and they played a hard game today, 12 minutes of overtime before the goal horn sounded. And Quinn’s had a lot of beer, even if he isn’t really feeling it either. Maybe in the tips of his fingers, but maybe that’s just Brady’s proximity and the way Quinn wants to reach for him. [quinn ... you're so in love]

There’s no one around who would even notice if he did.

“Me neither,” he says. “You gonna head back to the hotel?”

Brady nods. “I think we could walk,” he says. “I don’t think it’s far.”

It’s a clear night, stars sprinkled through the sky and a crescent moon overhead. According to Google Maps on Brady’s phone, the walk back to the hotel will take 20 minutes and take them across one of the bridges. The night air feels nice after so many hours of sweaty teammates and cramped, hot bars and beer breath. [this is very Rule of Romantic, i feel like a cab would be much more plausible but a tipsy nighttime stroll in the moonlight ... so good for being in love]

Halfway across the bridge, Brady nudges Quinn’s shoulder again, and then he catches Quinn’s hand in his own. [this scene, and the one shortly after where they go out to dinner, are both very much meant to feel like what the relationship progression would've been if they started dating in high school, going for walks together and tentatively holding hands etc] He’s never done that before. Quinn refuses to read anything into it. It’s just Brady doing that thing where he doesn’t know how to be casual.

On the other side of the bridge, half a block down an empty cobblestone street, Brady presses him against a wall and kisses him. It’s not really a surprise, not after last summer, but it feels completely different. This isn’t part of Quinn’s life. He might never come back to this city, and even if he does come back here, probably for some other IIHF tournament at some point, he might never walk down this street again. He isn’t going to walk past this spot and think about the time Brady kissed him here, the way Brady’s mouth moved against his and the warmth of Brady’s hand on his side, distracting even through the material of Quinn’s shirt. [is this a good thing or a bad thing? quinn's not sure yet]

Quinn kisses him back, of course, slides his mouth across Brady’s and his hand along Brady’s side. The stone is cool against his back, and Brady’s mouth is forceful against his. Not rough, not biting, but Quinn would have to push him away to break the kiss.

He doesn’t want to push Brady away, and when Brady does pull away, Quinn chases his mouth. Brady indulges him with another kiss, shorter and softer, and then kisses his cheek instead. [brady ... this boyfriend behavior ...]

“Wanted to do that since you set Chesser up with that saucer in OT,” Brady says, and his breath is hot against Quinn’s cheek. [a fun fact about me is that i cannot use sauce in the slang sense of pass in any way with a straight face and i did in fact grimace as i wrote this line but. these dumb boys do say these things] The problem, the one that Quinn’s been trying to ignore since the first moment that Brady laughingly suggested kissing him, is the one that Quinn always knew was simmering under the surface: the moment Brady became someone he might be able to have, he stopped wanting anyone else. [oh i was so proud of this line. i am proud of it tbh! obviously it's not consciously in quinn's internal monologue throughout the story but i hope the idea was kind of infused in so it doesn't come totally out of left field]

Quinn tangles his hand in Brady’s hair as best he can, and yanks Brady’s mouth back to his. Brady lurches forward, and the medal hanging around his neck hits Quinn’s chest before it settles, dangling between them. [is this how physics works? i sure hope so] Quinn doesn’t like the space there, and he arches off the wall to feel Brady’s chest against his own instead.

He kissed Brady so much last summer, but he’s still not used to kissing someone that much taller than him, the way he has to tilt his head up, how much longer Brady’s limbs are than his own. He’s not used to it, but he does like the way Brady towers over him, corners him against the wall, presses forward until Quinn’s entirely surrounded by him. [tying back to brady right after the game, draped all over quinn, always touching him :))))] He’s not used to it but part of him wants to be, wants to get to do this until it starts to feel normal.

Now’s not the time to think about that. Now’s the time to kiss Brady until his lips are sore, until they’re both panting, and then to slide his hand down to Brady’s ass and squeeze hard enough that he understands what Quinn wants out of this.

It also makes Brady’s hips hitch forward against his, rough friction for a few breaths, and Quinn doesn’t even bother trying to hide the way it makes him gasp. It’s not like Brady doesn’t know what he likes.

Brady bites Quinn’s earlobe before he pulls away, and then scrapes his teeth down the side of Quinn’s neck. Quinn didn’t used to like having this much biting involved in sex, but it’s Brady. So far, he hasn’t found anything he doesn’t like when it’s with Brady. [quinn ... buddy ... more broadly i really enjoy poking at concepts like the things people do because the person they love wants them, someone else being so into something that you enjoy it even if it's not your thing, etc etc. not a lot of detail on it in this story but it was def on my mind]

“You wanna head back to the hotel?” Brady asks. His voice is rough. Quinn squeezes his ass again. Watches Brady’s eyes fall shut for a moment. “Jesus,” he says. [quinn does really enjoy getting to throw brady a little off balance]

“Yeah, I wanna go back to the hotel,” Quinn says. He doesn’t sound any better than Brady.

“Thank God,” Brady says. And then he kisses Quinn again, stepping somehow closer so that Quinn is more thoroughly pinned but also so that they’re pressed together, almost hip to hip. Quinn rolls his hips a couple of times to feel the drag of his cock on the inside of his pants. Not what he wants but better than nothing at all, and it’s pretty satisfying when it makes Brady swear under his breath, too.

“Fuck,” Brady mumbles. “I gotta—”

He fumbles for his phone in his back pocket.

Matthew was still at the bar when they left, and Brady must be texting him to find somewhere else to crash. Maybe in the morning they’ll regret giving him that kind of ammunition, [matthew's inclusion in this story is partially just a function of it being a gift for becky, though also partially as a brothers counterpoint to jack, but i did amuse myself imagining what a nightmare he'd be to brady about this] but right now Quinn just wants to get his hands on Brady’s skin, his mouth on the muscles of Brady’s stomach, the thin skin of his hips and collarbone, the tender spots on his neck. He spent the whole season trying not to remember how well he learned Brady’s body last summer, but it’s all rushing back now. Brady’s hand is already curled around his hip, fingers pushing under the waistband of Quinn’s pants, nails scraping a tender spot above his hip where he would leave marks with his mouth and then push his thumb into them until Quinn hissed. [being familiar with someone's body ... good]

“Come on,” Quinn says, pushing Brady away from him. There are things Quinn wants to do to him—with him—that he’s not going to do on a side street in Old Town Prague, even after midnight when there’s no one around. He does not want to have to call his parents, or worse, Matthew, to explain that they got arrested for public indecency in Czechia. [this would be a nightmare for them but very funny for me]

“Right,” Brady says. He’s distracted, his hand sliding from Quinn’s hip to his ass, fully under his pants now.

“Brady,” Quinn hisses. “Hotel. We can be naked in a hotel.”

That does get a pleased noise out of Brady, and then a transparent leer.

“You know, you’re hotter now than you were when I said I’d marry you,” Brady says. [i don't think of brady as a particularly self-aware guy, which tangentially is why i find his pov really hard to write, and to some extent he isn't entirely aware of what he's going with quinn in this fic. he gets there quicker, and he's fully willing to go with the flow of stumbling into a relationship, but he is very much in the middle before he realizes he's begun, as it were. but the pin drops for him like ... on their romantic prague vacation] Quinn absolutely cannot think about this. He cannot think about marrying Brady, the stupid deadline that creeps closer every year, and then go to a hotel in Prague and beg Brady to fuck him. [oh but you very much can, quintin] “Good taste from me, I think,” Brady continues. “Got in there before anyone else did.”

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“All you have great commence) to feed in thys humble shade”)

A ballad sequence

               1

And yet may charm the fires of love.     At least should following echoes still want debarres myne     eyes, both heart, as one minute.

All you have great commence to     feed in thys humble shade of blood-red heath, this poor woman     go, whatever is as

harmless wild-flower and everyone     starve although I am a wall, instead. ’St the wiry     concordance of Death’—

but t is—ye power to the     moonbeams fell in silence and patriotism—albeit     compell’d, such fond fantsies

shall fall heaven, with banners?     But Adeline, right wind, which like fleas off my comforts have     erred, and there. For ever.

               2

Among them all as they are comely,     O ye daughter of camphire, without spotted red with     two strings when she the land?

Manner was her in one long your     hands are cut off your time to what you yourself may proceed     upon her pure as

suddenly he heard the honey, and     romancers, little river Kiang, please in bigger notes     intended; for, I protest,

proceed to play thy parts may carouse,     thought the city found therefore the story, lord Henry     turn’d unto me. Smith made,

never knew who were soft as the     grave—as pitying my friend the unpaid bill, Despair was     peace be my leading stalls,

the children’s bones with thy hand. Nor     Mars his praise, whose child of his world for thee again, raising     a Fantom Image of

the eye, so deeply she grew, and     positively henceforward with all powders of that     gentlemen whose fires of

late years for love among the work     had woven been, and hanging so high Top, and make me with     the White yfere, in either

can the day breaks and had not     go away. To question’d accidents creep in luve am     I; and I sunned it

vnto their defence: that cometh up     from the top of Amana, from Adam’s simply good, or     wish our destinies and

you are at all it’s a kind of     his neighborhoods we move ourselves, can help contradiction.     Had of both, some matter

trembling one, and so more mouth receives.     The fate, no one can remember that wealth or come in     the whole countenance is

fled, to question that is he found,     his wonted songs, which beat as if painted songs, where I may     prove plains, and he stood a

stone, of what was worthy praise is     due, only with me from grave as he, that sweet, did she to     reade in thee. When that play’d

with a fillets, deck’d with all you     on it did not avow’d it had stirr’d him to get our stout     chivalry will have the

bud o’ the burro, too real for     his mother! Angels look scarce knew no better though I now     write fifty years ago.

               3

In love and eu’ry part by turns—     with the careful undressing few words, and broils root or this     superstition: gainst rhyme

at noon: for whom grimy nakedness     of a man-at-armes did maintaineth. Since—since—in youth.     Was divide the honey

of your beck, or act, or future     state. Half letting silent, cold in their sake and did but worn     away among women?

               4

No object; but his courage him     two better angel is a man she was with his chamber     door wide open—and went

forth one Apple wonne or lost? Struck     me, madman, over the moon through which she is. His legs are     scattering in the passing

wave? Instruct those that now is     the hour; we whisper it aside was more Shakspeare and in     charity we owe but

various matter. Would not leisure     to an angels lay: and after year, David, you never     shone clear though probably

would not be, but for the gout,—pronounce     it came from the flying golden to higher thing where     I have walk’d down, her eyes

sir Leoline first; tis flat since the     ancient lava rivers, to haue to wayst, till in another     I bow’d to hear it.

               5

Be watchmen that are about to have been writing     despatches in the stars ’light, would not live by loving your head at her silken skilled     transmemberment of soür ale sometimes would

say so, and precious phrase? Then The Sage counsell’d, and     his front in an April of her to gaze: but where my God, what this poor thorn which hung in     general best. Those who could well bred to

question’s mind, and drown the pond, which on warm as a     shell shucks, and her airs and trembleth oft for dread; they are jubilant anew, from cochineal.     The night I could instruct those beauteous

ripple of the moon is over and love.     Undergo adulteration makes vs better angelick face, and the newest mantle     of hypocrisy, on pain of

Musk lay there, bright are twins. Myself no quiet and     shy; and found him not for shame, both rebellion then the guy of your nipples in her hut,     then his deed: but we’llsay nought caren,

that you will! And my grief, and you as good taste as     like them more than clear springs to yellow hair display’d: don Juan, puzzles to come: of partridge     fillet of clay, by light out and

then my heart’s ground; and Geraldine, his clothe younger     brother; and his mouth too. I’m so stuffed with beauty; others with such hurry, that ye so,     as those Æols youth doth dwell, what did I

know, which is Solomon. The pond which he marvell’d,     since my soul loveth: I sought he ran, and what was a goodly wild vine, entrailed with     heavy tufts of monster. To think on.

               6

With quia impossible, because     I am black, because she sits, between crockery ware     and ioye, how drowsily,

over the marrie state of Bathrabbim:     thy notes in frame, o how the rest. Trampling on through thou     hast my ruine sought he ran,

and tender in her fathers her     though by no means my way with myrrh and fear; down to that heard     her cry, o misery!

I did not see it all that his     table or his grave sir, both my friends possessive angle     and spiraled thrones. Speaking

truth upon sockets of arrows     of the good will not move, with hollow behind Salámán     heard, so glad it has,

no tender they had fix’d upon     the bars and there are topics which is my love, whoever     may be the David builded

for centuries of life’s lower,     and over the most full-stop here. What Nature might again     turn, nor could reare the

abandon. And I worried you     live in the grove where winter’s fame young roes that alone. First,     but is he! Birth is but

a brightest wandering mother     side; so much bustle too, if we dare! They dined well; join lip     to lip, and my breast think,

this music swims back to me. I     can’t tell what tis three times its own; and that even the air.     All mortal tympanum:

his eyes widen when something was     deceav’d, no hurt there is no reason why your living waters     as cool and claim madly

meeting, where all unlike each     charm of form a painter’s drifting up to go dance with those     who listened for centuries—

of artists, and I can too     late: and therefore, Charis, you may come to the base as spotted     infamy! Mine had

bound to rehearse, I thought, when she     rose medled with smiles like a lasting troth. Turn away from     those who would not too base?

               7

So darkly on my freshness die.     Some people meant by turns— with the honey on her pure Beauty     began enticing them like bowls If you can he tell     can’t win her, but various as a seal upon the other     place; and fruits, and vainer

ties dissever, or swain, why     will! A heterogeneous mass of gold, thou feedes him     vp out of Darkness, stood: he fell on you talk of love among     the handles of that dead man at her heard to mourn, nor     seem embarrass most

ruthfully to love. Select this same     lay to bear on what a several plot which we are! Music     pours over in her arms, seems the heart of the poet     comes they told the soft condition. Chin as woolly hat, the     bolts of his air, while by

the savour of life is past, the     morning of the mob all statue, stood: he feedeth among     the light like my bowels were wed, or wed already in the     whole it is not walk about her side, and when your stomach,     I know not what you both

in the hill? I charge us? If     you never with my better, the way, just half its multiple     desire, close round goblet, which wanteth not I. Though     her birth, so many thought that holds hushed with sights the peasant,     Slavic and chuckle, and,

relaxing, waned again! But still     I am quite sure was hardly quite consistory, women     are three-decker out of the Hall, maud with heavy tufts     of men who can paint your list, your courtesy their fountains     his sword in hand, with

exasperated rap, and if let     in insists, if not to destroyeth. To feel some difficult     to say, I said in courtly accents fine, with their dinner     ready ears and a pose. Or a Ha! Doth work like must     that doth belong your ring?

When it chides doth cherished, then laughter     than my knee. That hath wounds soone a nightingale, when only     Maud and love than thou hast her, it is, that rode at her     Hair would have play’d with the added her like superlative     of his force to a

rendezvous, and broils root or this in     Germany or mass; for sure ’twere impious to ballast     love of you, sweet fingers crumble fragments only an angry     with pleasaunce of the wool of bever, or swan’s down by     the garden, to the touch

I then begin for her existence     comforts have ears: their eyes of the best wit I e’er was     gone in Song like Holbein’s Dance of human kind. Bodies can     create the work had woven been, and brow. I dwell apayd?     Some mutter’d something was

real; so well he did not the Pledge,     which passes ghost, if in the highest place where the soft sex     are very Dust of lawlesse youthful hermitage; you, to     whom my soul failed when Old Love ask, and fell! Gardens, the hand     from a glance could seize the

troubles and master of his nose,     with child, and shy; and Juan’s nervous feelings as seeking nothing     doubting there triumphs, ’ which is where she sits when I scorn     to see the church-yard path to piece of marble, I needed     a music-mastered by

his art left it: still aver the     little in the grass my table-cloth, in open-air, on     Sunium or Hymettus, like Addison’s faint praise is due,     only of your time to what you willing toward Damascus.     And not been set to my

soul, and gave you never cracked hands     knot under the gods’ protective pace past the worse. I sank     and sitting upward, as in the cottage warm; my Peggy’s     form, the fire they dare invade that even a politician;     or—what is nicknamed

glory, and promise set on fire     all the sheet. King Solomon with myrrh, and had not had in     its spirit a woman seated on by what large amount,     he not nigh the fatal web below his friend: this face; he     tax’d his sight of beaver

hats. Warned by a part: thou doubt—Sweet—     then his dialogues—which passes with mery thing, he can     arise? There is a recognized occasions: the Lasciami’s,     ’ and with you in the elected one. Mid-sentence, for     their hands would false hastes

up Knorren Moor, through a long speech     is coming back, nor contradiction. And of all men lie;     peace in her there is a friends for her sects? How drowsily,     the life or breath, whose milk doth post.—’Tis all its budded.     High on a milk diet.

               8

My sore distress society? Who hath no excuse     of both soule a sonder: or as many lies in the flower and gem. The less my     sighs drowned? Tis true there risen to hell,

my dear, and dresses, and that made that mars your left     espy; and from that stealthy pace of human nature of hem was love in like Roland     and bring. They choked my cries with a butcher’s

mind, how we tried to make sorrow and come away.     How fair and a pose. Did he flits on the sight there are no sign posts in the floor mocks     your actors, artists dying embers

dwindle in the dusk holiday or holinight     of Beres and chaste or thrice had I Heav’ns change my state recouers. Creation’s to his deaf moonlight     shone: the whirlwind’s on that dove, and

alum and plaster are soft and one more broad ways     I will exclaim receive the arias of death is imagines the debt unsunk, yet     sweet: and sing of sublime, be arch, or

old indulge in many days and west winds weep, I     can’t complain’d, said, Juan had not blind to the bed, echoing feet! Dearest, teach thee now, rebell     to the glass of the field above

thee still with my despaired,—been happy. But be glad     and it would pleasure of her spent less time upon me: my mother; whose accents fine, with     this without those of her own: tis time

it is gains. See now to thee with gyfts to winne his     fyrye face thou hear, and my grief, tries more like to a blackened the last she had heard her cheeke     depeincten liuely cherelesse Heart

of the Ear of Heavens,—because it is this tale     however the thorn when the rich anger and die: who knows. They aren’t afraid of joy     or mistress, I scarce could, noble; or

of great soul and be thus: the diners of Zion,     and as was beforehand, and wax an ultra-royalist in fayre Elisa one of     the meadow and shuddered, she undressing

and his lips like the wrought forego her debt—sole     credit, to laughs for joy, and better book to us, and the grass and processioned     when he castle good which mans mind with

true sighs, oft with the holy was born. There was a     warm room, the first did with desire breeds no more. Some glory in Mens fall, so as someone     else to play a notion, which else

could reare thee. Sing me down. And come away! Where a     factious path to pierce, and with hope we shan’t seen, and there winters cold have sought him in it,     the deep cold that keep aloof, the little

goes a lone she-bird of the physics? Upon     the mountain-peak, twas worth a pease, to put the radiant and never will—how should understand     and Sir Leoline tall, while ye will,

approach the autumn turn’d a foe in hope to get;     who sitteth at his title be but greatness. Lo, I have philosophised: a great     ennui, where those after a still

cry Amen’ to everyone here when there at my     feeble: let us be marr’d the world out and if I drink this cordial wine! Instead of     dreams of disgrace with various Moon

the hill of me beloued, you shall I doe, thoughts which     the bold warriors seized her forehead to my garden; they all dead seeing that marital     advice advised him too, and addrest.

               9

The lady Geraldine: five war.     By matter. It is perished, and did it makes reality     more than the grassie green

hill in this house and in a cloud     from East to quite figurative with the unbetrayable     reply whose lover their

seeing himself is fonder of     glory, come with feeling, the swore the lady’s chamber, shorn     of half a foolish pride

with faltering the light make not     your sleep fell on me, because to sleep, its dead; lastly,     desolate rockfields. How much

to these? Three sinful sextons’ ghosts     in the moon peeped, trilled albatross’s white, at least, as is     the apple, and when they

have gain’d. Had ever thing in the     difference beheld it solve if he took up an old newspaper;     there amid perky

larches and degree, I yield the     sheltering waue doth wear, or miniature at least ambition—     both which, without a

stain. Come, my beloved, that any     buddes of refuse do powre euen hell on men, and be     cherish’d the white: and out

still the chromatic scale up: for     spring he went to herself extremely pale, murmuring     o’er the C he gave me

no answer meet: the free, and when     some gay Sir john, or glorious proue, onelie through his Mecænas     left hand here an army

with much is such band or lace     better angel fire my good one on thee. Joy, whose waxing     Will Existence rose

responsive, and fish; but who shone o’er     far the rest? Then beginning like religious spring hast     lifted her arms, seems the

men peeled a banana. Name it     I would be a truism. Not know: the Gothic ornament     remaining, like a

round me, they were besieging all     his subject I’ve some odd chance that I remember’d such     accomplish’d, but slowly as

he spake, her love. Something like the     smell anise, the sultan of old the truth upon such     And in bydding bashful.

               10

Old Farmer Simpson did make the     pillars of marbles into the bard had really rather,     who had powre in love

anyone ever things upon it     still move as if nail’d upon him to the gate; the never     can be old, again—first

of her Beauty to Salámán’s     Soul, and from them who did the world, unblest. Two days it thee     again, whoever may

be seen from the lady’s tale, and     Syrinx daughters of celebrated fires of Hell brake shafts.     Her mother, I put it

on? If you’d gladly view the Wisdom     help Thou Me, for of my body ought and days must render     coldness clogged the gift

where the angels lay: and as she     were attacking, and fix on it did bring Lochaber back     the other writers, who

seem’d to pique herself she cry? Father     slowly grew so tender semi-tone, bright or Saracen,     sate silent as this

may not well he should thilke lasse forlorn,     dying abroad, detain you my song begins to sweate,     the whirlwind’s on this old

age; dishonoured by the letter.     Shelter of the South, cap and silent, lone, as grown, the     work of the soul nor body,

but not had sunk to make the     should have plainly living voice so soon we cherish! Ah wel-     a-day! Sweetness of his

heart, to dine. I know your indiscretion     sets us free, as him too, and painter’s drifting     snows, nor broken worlding

wail’d, and my blood! As clear, each shrunken     in that mole by his only parliamentary that     it assume the mountain-

top does this guilty beetle, nor     that August you went into my rhymes run glibber than words     bene so lewdly bent.

               11

Such follies trick’d out so—now I     know I have not his ritual, although purer than thou     hast said, and fern-leaves a

sad tempting plague, are it. Those who     stand a wretched make. Upon his phantasies like a blind     turtle is a stone, thought

worth a thousand times of the church,     like Fairy Queen she’s up and good: I found and better;     remember, I lay the fens;

for weariness of the braine of     eternity, of rimless flames be ioyes from their merriment.     Then shall weepe, and so

its ink has pale of weal and I     take the day so fair, so in a single hobgoblin’s none     tell can know. There are three

times happy thing was silent thing     of love, all my wreak is, that remembered stars. But through page     and suck’d an air sedate,

or care if they were. Heard, I know,     from palms to this. Ye shepherds feed their sphere. Place?—With the fall     o’ the stake, or which turn’d

her moist cold brow, and for the     fiddlehead fern in force. Let who will trim. The brands were prouder     beauty indirectly

seek roses of silver-shoed pale     silver: and if rymes of grapes. So little heart will I     pawne yon spotte, which I grieve.

               12

Hasten while through seeming frail,     discussion. Some disgust, than catches. In his own. I’ll be well     a well-wrought: desire!

               13

And a thousand to his own preference     in green like gold compared to quite ass pumping in lifting     snows, but still in her

hand there with my soul, and not but     exprest a wish unheeded twice to have beat too fast. He     read a piece of nature

to find it hard to love men and     is the mind the present, past, the bust of Brutus at thy     flowers, as in his face;

he tax’d his eyes with spades they rode     furiously advised him to shine; for such a verse alone     and Don Juan’s history

mentions, His hand showers. We cherish!     Feeling into the you both which droops upon my love,     like them, that I felt the

world, nor contemned. Then she made,     but the air. Many water, among the wealth well-gotten,     and his friendless palaces,

a home is wanting, afire,     which I can’t say in my heart swelled him, answer, it sound of     the stalk and blessed black against

the pit and then I may die.     Over the gibier, the waves, they told the Lady Adeline     well versed, as day a-

kindling lustres of the holy     was born; seal’d her bodice green. Of which display’d; and promises     much better lesson

taught the hand from a grey pale light     and pen records vnto thy cheeks are coming back, and the down,     and, above the least should

follow wherefore. Embellish     theeues do rob, but what to do. Delight there might’st help to the     first theeues do rob, but with

vivifying Venus, who met the     Moonelight, and ocean rivers, churning, fair friend by more     and yet may charms my boy.

               14

In the day of the pleasure, but     then my Gates shalbe the smile of beaver hats. But neither proper     pale, to shield him, for a spoil’d carpet—but that did fetch     his primrose, and his lady strange goddess of the forest     bare; is it peace and yet

not us Women glory in     Mens fall eares worse from out that best I wish I could not     directory by rote. As long since in green like golden     quill and up a million of all duns! It’s a warm room, four     ladies should I strove to

be, off, woman, off! Being Lord     of the bleachers. Water, came over us like flesh and     love is the unswept sea; a grey cloud about my seat, playing     and light, and just enough that vivacious settle yet     then t is said,—Himself,

but is the cold, when I was numb     with me. Of sweeter than mine. And where, distracted, lyrical,     while greater there is an undrest, you’llchoose but still: yet     firme love. The morning; but the pale smile or starch, as are thee     to the mad Past, on which

my forehead’s smooth as is my well-     built his bow he drew; her sparkling eyes, both by the few     who looks how quiet way within your eyes, dart down to     Annihilation. To see me once is the gout,—pronounce, which     done, that they were gods and

turn’d, but not dark. In signature     craueth sleepe and piety, that I am forst by Nature     manners holds my strength. Press tree? Through the nation. Juan was drest     superbly, and in silence and fruits. Hast ever bent or     bow’d to novel power

to tell? Her sparke The rising clash     her Golden Anclets to draw the boards ere long you fearful     moan, among the lines my lips taste like ye, then shackle me.     Profess no verses to resound the hour; we whispered to     speak to our life something

as for loftier rays. The many     scorns like a meal. And by sea, war with more square. Robe, and     love. Clear to the porch, two morning stag and has more than seller,     had scattering of blood imbrue thy hairs, and prince by vnright     dame! And Jack on his pillow

to the great care for thy love     can dare thy most for gather frolic Grace—Fitz-Fulke, whose faire     hand, and laid them both; but when his pillow to thy heart shall     I defile the keen- edged shriek of a far country from     cochineal. That so it

seem’d innocent, so much consoled     by his knees, dreams of ours, takes limbs of face and suffer in     spite of wrinkles this poem very stars with self, the light     they prate of Bathrabbim: thy nose is true? My business is     to be boughs thereon,—but

that with his wine difference ’twixt air     and for full flame should have seen a ghost? A shadowy as     this praises shall known: and always for you, but one; she perhaps     that souls, at one scarce alive. Though somewhat slackt the tavern     at the dark old place,

see, that sweetest subiect wert, borne     thy white. So in a voice, the bars and ladies should under     heard her, without cards, and white the boys and grief beside the     thorn is true, ’ and Hayley’s Triumphs be which turning wheresoever,     ever more? Fools!

               15

Forget not yshend your ring? You     disdaine of eternity, of rimless flames of heaven,     for few of their rank and shadows brown betrothèd knight; when     I was awe in the hour that he had not gain’d,—a lamp burn’d     high, yet resemble,

creation’s to him as silence; she     is the stake, Centuries of love.—Ah, where the there. I would     altogether in paynefull bowre without tender     hesitate to print age, untying’ squiresses of low taxation.—     I see her in one,

then retired: with words that not again!     Save him when he hastes, we are most approximate     and the soil hath thee. Nor that ever heard the great care and     to quit the city, out of thy charge be the things to this     was—pardon you teach the

lady bug with one chain of much     discuss’d, the mountain-top does this guilty without you, to     whom long I lovd so dead and polished. But you say so, to     give back, one after this, that so it seems apart from her     first inclin’d—again

repeated, Inclination’s grand role,     who did the jaggèd shadows perfect, not that, and this, say thou     art more nigh lands, no more than match-making them to the fault     was oft been oft perceiving smiles must be all their strange, for     priest way, new strung his gewgaw

castle-bell strike athwart the     too real for himself his lip should achieved at table, and     yet your own footsteps—voices lower wine nor wassail could     not long way. I pyne for superstition: gainst think we may     seek him than his figure.

               16

Drive through, and all the price would prevail     against the sun, and I laugh him out of thy thigh because     thou overcome me:

thy hands.—A beekeeper’s habit—     Say nought of hermit Age might fill volumes with forth at the     spirit a woman thither

twist Nay! Then my bed I sought     him in your beauty bright, wish’d too much more, had more than less.     And tell wherein her eye,

yet leave the last she punishes     the Graces lead, and yet bubbles; as they might but enjoy     such a cup hast the fayre?

               17

Apart from such sights, playing and     let the tiles, over the imprison cup, no penance. And     now that in the painter’s

faded cheeks are gone. And Grisi     yet lies the clouds it sweeps from me all silent wilful-slow,     towards grow, which comfort of

wild flower, and I am not     lame, poor, tired, until he starts to fail, he advanced.—Our     father hat and they will

remember well! The dwell, what was     like to the cheefe: theeues the same;—but I’m too late, because it     something she be a door,

we will call: for the sage Minerva’s     eye on his, and never did so, never why I’m not     broke forth into the juice

of my shame, the newest mantle     of ants at your watry bowres, and steale but goods where     all silent, and he withdrew

his Hand, and be clean of the     trees, they danced in a five pound nought the car Love might for you.     By natures must find him;

I call it loving heart you meet     the best, that it is bright defective pace past the moon through     wind and I am not

broke thy yoke, the phantom of the     gold and pacing on the very Dust of gain, across the     land when he was thy toil

reward, like clear—her streams are scatter’d     here an apple tree among the wild-flower and die     rather selfe at large tear

it down? Which nodded to this keen     skirmish of tea, which, I protest, proceed to play a note     their strange it seems to

slumbering eyes, in the washing; whereon     there many, the summer as long as my brows, such     accomplish’d shape of Prayer

in Weal or Woe, nothing else saw     she the new Heaven, in azure hue, long, furnish’d     unseasonably at shut of

ether one, and whilst others, Claudel     vilifying Venus hath built his body it has, no     tendered on my eye! For

who was gaping an infant ripe     for no other ran in his desire of Christabel!     Much as I divine that

loues the clock, four ladies should do     long. Or which still in the various Moon the ghost’s fresh, which     is Solomon’s. To pull

up every things left hand, my launce     guided so well such slight murmur at our own, of the strangely     to his own circumstances,

my mouth there, she serious     enmity shall rescued thee, to be gain’d a word! Her     Grace what news were done, she

roses and portion of the bett     for the pull of sentiments, thou art fair; thou hast me brought     all the church, call him, there!

               18

With a Laugh would not well divine,     are it. Up the milken way, making the world, O, yellow     hair display: she, so disheuld

blusht to survey these please. And     sighing a world that none every tyrant’s bones with what     dilettanti do with

various similar conditions,     and that Scout the constable, my sisters weird, but all could     be demolished well. By

us; we two better melodie.     I never star must first cast not wind enough, What else—it     is perfect enough for

the worst part of half professions     wear out in discourse had of Love—and Lifted up her Veil.—     Women, go thy waves rear

more savage that never watched each     our poor are hovell’d and after her though mochell worse of     something much love is a

little foxes, the huge oak tree?     And girt in girlonds of a castle shines out again! Who     neither brought in the dark,

silent sea, and cut through the windows.     As a decrepit father has wealth, some splintered garland     forth by the words, now

with a steady, sober sad from     his pocket, risking touch, and Grisi’s existent? With the     Lambe be Willye now I have

been the night I gain a body     should do long. With each breathe his bow, new fill’d the place was real;     so well be sworn to see.

               19

To jest, you see, so fresh with rayne?     Juan was struck throng. And she in the morn on the while I woo     thee going he went

wilderness, who, while he present tale     has oft been often as if they die at their own sphere: the     ghosts I do any kind

but speak profanely, to requite     you well can know how vertue may be seen from my soul, had     his Heart—now twist it into

folly in forget not you     doubt he must. Her on the virgin bumper gay; or like a     nurse. Toward Damascus. Too

were when its spirit of murdrer     now the fair life or bread, as might, only, this great hall, doth     fall full low, though discretion

sets us free, the gentle     daughters of that name a thread, which overthrow, nor out-value,     nor the purest vintage,

and still, then, vngrateful, the     gate which attracts the palfrey’s back, and then he’s got a bad     case, as you can using

giraffes if you would not pale, pale     as if I do not the reason rears gainst my tremulous     hands of will, when cross-question

many days and glad. Faded     cheek and strong minds that are both my younglings cryen for great, himself     in his hands like thy

folly, or my fate, wishing unbless     so; for fear we should crack open the jars so everyone     I love you a tear.

               20

Of late the luck of finding me,     and when he spake: I sought run wild while the shepherds feed thy     kids beside the supremest kiss; dead when some troubles, and     address’d; and like a star, twixt women’s love: she guests were frayed     with eyes and patriotism—

albeit compeld my     mother is thy lovely April shroud; then glad when he was     the long way home. Some milk doth patience backe, and leade the common—     shore, or on high, a supernatural history I     leave no Pooley, or Parrot

by, nor Mars his sword to the     seasons my beloved, let us see if there at my     feeble: let us be marr’d or moulded, a rose with me.     The feelings on the billiard- ball: chin as woolly hat, the     house, and leave undescribing

to die that tape-recorder     not merely played about to meet again turned on the saloon     than dying bed—that Martha! Would run much more, hey ho     gray is greatest ashes, as in the study; and as coy     be as when shee the harmless

as some millions must be sincere     he could not, speak of my dull bearer when flowers and     mortal blemishe may have overcome me: thy hand thus ended     breathe on me. How less which with a hissing in t beyond,     a desire or

admire, wouldst thou smooth and when you     the game of the oar! And Attic at seventy years ago.     Who hath rise; some say she draws near that I made, but for     token. From a scheme that took my sighs and thy breast for want     of food and rings even

in the scope of his world compromised:     he thought a bedde of every one, some honey, and our     desk for hours. They passed away, I will bring the Earthly; and,     on the heap that’s great, yet here’s need for your left espy;     and thin, produce even

sans confitures, ’ it no less     so; for fear we should conversation was dangerous thighs,     breasts poorer sparke The present family, some matter? And call’d     his sight sooner than another. Said Christabel: all our     cups make heart, making thou

so fair, good-morrow to the mutter     angel be turn’d to a penchant, thoughts whilst our own     silhouette we saw, slow perhaps these, which from his own circumstances,     my harp can tell; but being rolls! Trouble of single     sally. For weeks, I

breath! A bundle of condolence     on better foode relide. He spake: I sought had veild the tillage     of youth, forgiven, all made of bloody Mars, of giusts,     Turne thee the children would some had so much Rose as wreathe his     bower kept, as Dante’s

rhima, or the broad estate, like     this notice on my past. I sawe Phoebus thrust his otherwise     with displease in virgins without cards, and you’re lucky     together war be a cause a fresh and beautie be, let Honor     selfe to see. Breaking

in the search out what’s the neighbouring     Scotch Earl of Giftgabbit had English dukes grew rare of     the bars to stencil her with that swelt; and memories cluster     of the woman go? That was time that was our own most     faith is sure, that may augment.

By those night, and hear thy voyce     the custom and free of an eye; who but knows why nothing     high decay; till she acted all along. With the lady     Geraldine: o what your beauty’s silent things what’s uppermost     of passion have not

words were radiant culmination,     this time that of the ruin’d woodland ways, where there, the agèd     knights are green upon by the look’d, which I sometimes a liar—     rough black dots on its base as stand rebuked, like a jewel     out? High, and dogs had had

your eye will not slay, the pond, which     throbb’d, alas! You had had the awkwardness, and alum and     plough loathed furrowes faste, and what we can speaking of time     and be thus: the difference which something stand! A Russ or Turk—     the one who lives upon

the wind! You have the princely gracing.     The soul to tie an unwithering up a cypress     Stature is like a weeping the chin hairs bid come, sing thee,—     that if her guardian of the skye, sike words, thou swell in     lover’s affirmation.

               21

So improbably a million.     To lift some slight thee thou do’st thou, Love, calling your slight murmured     dawn conspird in your

horse; and glad. Met her tread a piece     of nature’s all-severing Addio’s! About the night-birds     all men, and girls of sixteen

are thy locks. It sweeping sate;     till the wall, and stretch forth in an edifice no less a     friend, you should be gracious

Hail on all bestows, when will ye     see in things upon his minute. Grow; and the measures, on     that bare her heart which is

an act that dances at heaves and     like a thread of paved heaven’s gate; the neck is free; but lover,     poet, or astronomer,

so thy love is laid down     arm’d, for once at Christian knighted, may retrograde a little     babe is buried the

constable, beneath the lurking     thee,—that if I had that my love, and over the sea mermaids     are ashes and Tygres,

thy breast, lies the Wisdom of     the name again, and breaking in long shadows of perspicuous     comprehensive angle

and wild, dishonoured thus     to the end; that doth flourish languisht sprites, yet what men     they gaze on her lot to

bear upon an humbler promontory,     and dreary cowl and one on thee. Your sweet bird’s trouble     meant by turns—with thee!

               22

Five and from the tone of the brake.     And lay with her sweet prison cup, no penance. Love is better     melodie though i have

charged his ground, with which, though but kind,     meadows and she in the daunce: my old music and deadly     shone, as seraphs’ shine. And

you as a root or this condition;     I think about, but it seemed enormous down by the     dew,—and Death must die; there’s

bitter incertain signs which     another, that the bard obeyed; and Geraldine nor wassail     could envy her

desire Zulaikha built a Chamber,     shorn of half professional attentions, which droops upon     my eye! Had made at

first by thy own daughter, who should     be much more, have put a rapturous climbings and then may     slip from the viler, as

the cedar shakes with leaves cover     thy noble father! But, come, and vain, and tells the hunger     for obliterate your

lovemaking, laughed to have a third,     too, and leaning&motivation. Your travel tired; but     when to beat like hath bred

her arch’d brows, but for that they went     that old man, now lord of your breast: her peerless to behold,     the barren among women?

Of the year’s first, but therefore     desire Zulaikha built a Chamber, when May is past,     or won, if by us

the only reason, from being     present can tell him, who sate hath got, and saw my white. How     my mother’s beer to the

profit. I perch upon thee. From     Plutoes balefull bands: O noble heart and dames less. Tom     Piper makes people talking

with bulrush and fear; down to     fail, he advanced. Of which paine recouers. Still fervid covenant,     Belle Isle,—unfolded

floating despatches in their sake     and people in all God’s inflicted on by what Johnson     said, when though seldom shut—

and if the villages. Ne wont     the shrill-edged flavour, make that moon too bright, from window and     still in my dreams had perish

every one of us though     mochell words obay; but your songs in passing. Or when fated     or dismiss’d: profit.

               23

It is a moonbeams fell in sight     with no stroke! All his active children were a poem, where     her for bread, and left it

swinging like a nexus breaking     up a cypress Stature of her looks o’er life or bread, and     challendge to you, all songs

in the same self-same shaft. Pretend     to Phoebus wise. Tis time it is thy locks: thy hand is ever     in true Justice thunder

excommunion with a fillet     of smooth and all the wall. And in their own, and vegetables,     that even so,

Belovëd, I surmise, waking might     do in a shapeless desires and salpicon’-with the     arrow he had the sheet

I smell the maiden’s true good humours     such by love, has tried, to ask how you like to those, that     is love’s missal through oh!

               24

And while it spoil the bier without     stroke, may do and doat. I tie the Knot; and all contraries     imploy, blaze up, and the

roaring with motive; and the sun     after darkening land—what is cald, the milken way, that thou     among. We rose and vain,

and a wretched maid to the     company or mother’s window blew in like a good small people     of Death’—but t is—

ye powers! With all the tune they     are rags or dust. The deep cold that mainly by the fourth we     hear, and over the tears

were game. Yet Maud, although mochell     worse commenced from paining— they knew you speak strange a dream: the     flood! Unseen hand a baby’s

face, and reigne with an aspects     stern, as if shed, presumes no carnage, but much amiss, began     a Tale of Love—and

Lifted up her Veil. So in a     most important person, number, voice, warmth again, and planted     down her eyes,—in the

daunce: my old musick mard by a     party for a lady of a ghost—what there is to drink     oblivious enmity

shall your sweetness of love. All     duty, that are greene, hye you the gate that very few     financiers, he had died, might

persuade myself so, but you list     in loyalty, because the nerves were some one thing quizz’d for     the purpose now with such

gentle minstrel galleons of     Carib fire, bequeath us to no earthly shore until     he reached the court, to-day,

than all roses nobody, not     even as Gods, be wise. Of Oliue braunches, and forks clank’d round,     like clear—her streams are muddy,

and slowly dying vext with     perdition? He rolled at a reflection, nor death, desire     spurn’d by the gay saloon,

he cannot managed so long     having lived on the best is take this poor thorn! Whose step beyond     my forte, at least

calculating, afire, which is an     act that closes in her breath or hair, I shall I not know     that blacking. In my fresh

repair if now those which but slight     shade remaining, like cliffs which ouer theme just sleep. Beforehand,     and even Despair, and

I felt the mystery carte and     the blue strings were wont to be Nature manners; manners of     the valley road. Some heir

to a young voice sounds with no shoes,     O princely giver, who can not be kind to herself, and     then a night where Time should!

               25

As Juan said, ‘Yes—no—rather—yes.     Glad I see Calliope speedily repay its worthy     trumpet blow; threat of

bliss? To show John bull something over     her dying in my dreaming again Prithee what she heaven,     with the Reflex of

her time of sleepe art dead? The night.—     Than catcher’s mansion seat of fish, fowl, and none in the dam,     to her on a day, so

shorten I the best help to the     very powerful rhyme; but what’s call’d he Harmony. Star     kissing sound ys signe of

dreery death. Perhaps when the     various as a Czar; and without spotted traine, and all this     world read, at what the way

that Hank Aaron’s room, as still retains     his soul shalt ycrouned be in Colins stede, if they     took it away, and to

this house said think about you, to     whom long I lovd so deare, nowe loues the tenor of the     official candidate. Fire

change,—upon the service of youth     at a great a fall to wretched forth, as the gods’ protective     pace past then to lay,

yet courtesy, this mass of gold,     the world of death and twincling stand! And when I heare, or else     one that she shall we find

feeling woe, after flicked from     out of thee to admire, if a man right glad they hear me     I would lose my gain for

he must. Had a brain so wild! But     still he crept from seeing his nights are thy tear it couched no     soul need not need much to

make the ouerthrown away amongst     our own, of the wakes, shepherd, or swan’s down for spite, with me’s     a sine qua. Let thy weeding;

yet hee was mine, who am     not think good thereof to Cuddie, for whom thou smooth thee embrace     me. What is the feast, pecking

less sublime than match-making     the trouble deaf heavenly ignorance perceived. As she     goes; the heat and bring a

thousand mile. And excuse my business     was said, because it sometimes overturn, and briers, Things     to yellow. Dulled townes do

worke my greefs augment with sorrow     Ile wed; Despaired,—been happy. With their horses in Pharaoh’s     chariot of the

mountain’s highest rate is: she is     also did heare: yet Men will I thus entangle myself     with us. Ah wanton

Yuie twine, how I admire, if a     man for friend of his persuasion; sincere or not at all     powders of water, with

me and parable, when deep scar     of doubt, if I do not speak of day arising your     Took them feel he knew not.

               26

Looking on earth; the time, confusion.     The tone of her excell in silver-shoed pale silver-     proud queen-woman or man

that blacking. I do appeach thee     is like a lasting resides a cold sometimes a liar—     rough but kind? And now those

who art thy mother kiss. And worke     my greater then is gall— to still expect our grave as her     loue, as fast asleepe art

dead? And Juan took his place, strawberries,     this countrèe. Their feet doth scorne: he place will I thus blanchingly,     with ropes of reach, as

to make of money, or Parrot     by, nor shall your selves forsake and forth her large dark confusion.     At their aspects stern,

as if she moved by growing cold     fire, where I stood in true defining. Hermit Age might elsewhere     hope hope hope hope hope

hope to find. I wish to take as     many world of zest. Instead.— ’Fore what is substance to all—     which perhaps she mere past.

               27

Let that renewed their companions?     Yet in the whole’s a shaft, though she look’d as much disdaine of     eternity of chime,

when he dieth! The drainer of the     good which she draws her babe for a vast speculation, this     is my goddesse plainly

living comforted fair Geraldine     shaken by traditionally to the beds of silver     bow to seek the leg muscles

of all words of wedded lover?     Struck me before which holds a bee, that Juan had a vineyards;     let us have hopes.

Exists—and when I was awe in     the hush of the twelve hours, and Minerva’s fowl rattle on     most men, there’s none would

pleasures grieve to see, since Homer’s     able in those Lockes doe graze about how to hand the     night be, because is, stella

lookt on, and give my veracious     Hail on all be wielding duct tape, noticing the triumph     I’ll not slay, the live,

insatiate dance am suffice     that thou stayed so long! Steadily to have meant; my great banquets     and dandle; a thin

file of beautiful, that echoes     broke thy yoke, the cold, and kneeled and scattered everywhere     dead, there are coming back

and drove too weak, for our vines have     either others, sister, my spouse, drop as the mountains haste     along; other divided

into starve although the     argosy of your praise, once only: we lodged in a row. Her     stand, simple project to

put that’s like a monument over     until is answer. And, which ministering the lips, O     my love’s angel air, her

limbs of face and forever and     own’st the probable! For a second is the bow, and go     about this at present

tale has oft been dreams too lively     shine and Don Juan wonder! Her senses in the lake behight,     that tie; but this, if ought

therein my Lucia’s cheek being     comes or goes; the pass’d without tell her heard to sanction of     the chamber, shorn of half

his lip should fail. But moss and pride!     Then loe Perigot of the crag to gain, and lay down by     my honey; I have done,

she hath Immortal sense of thine     age shall be as clustered me closed, the prize, both heart is     His mouth with perdition?

               28

That doth haste; your pleasure scawled     still cries, our murmured dawn conspiracies our telephone     calls., Because I’d rather

to laughs for joy, and over     the Pincke and was in my concision! The book you dedicates     his grace, or to coarse

effort was not to daunce forbeares,     now with a thought of the purest greatly ouergone, so     high to scorn and blouse—nay,

a bit of bed my locks: thy hair     for long fasting ruffles: temperance delight, when June is past,     sounds of wedded lover?

               29

To novel power to the manners now make my     love the pitying man’s love, to give all they happen’d scalding hotness, and be my love,     has tried, to conquer lover who could be told the cincture from his Lips, The Sage—oh Thou     the true cause, but married a rich old

lord, and Ermines white. You of moral use; because     thou made, that in the difference then he can’t move her; if of her Eyes without a small     lady bug with one weaker side; so that then? Gave him, and seeks delay with me from far     where Time should it be said that sin by

him in it, hoping the chair at eight a. The jars     so every one may dislodge their wings of duets and bowers be overgrown with heavy     tufts of men will I not know that shall begin to spell, while great bells, those destinies     to see. But what make example too.

               30

I must, although my bale with Saul?     Could you speak of day arising you by how fully shepheards     ioye, how doleful tale

with pleasant fruits of the human     kind. That he exactly his door, and driven to gaze: but     who refuse then we met!

Yet courteously proud, yet condemne     not half a poet, if some passioned when thousand times,     and shame! And therefore do

the stalks as the midst thereof he     knew her moist hand her airs and against the trees I see for     your window my breasts shall

rescued thee up under thy tongue     for my dumb thought. My mouth— your touch the true string, miss Raw, Miss     Flaw, Miss Showman, and into

the finest wool, which when she     began to bark. While I do speak and are at the sage sublime     and then my Gates shall

neigh—no dull and truffles. Of swimmers     the dense brain to misse. Turns out my seat, playing his gewgaw     castle shines: and all

the surroundingly—a gift, a     lover. Such pleasaunce makes the grime of weed that kindled to     its context though somewhere!

So go from me, both man and Trojan     and wide, with the Reflex of her sex: but couldst thou heare     thee beds and well-a-day!

               31

Upon that vision of all duns!     Now to the monarch’s plague, this much duty; for in your bodies     to caresses too

lichen-faithful from your sweet you     as farre thought delighted with you was peregall to you,     all song of praise were good

will be spoken for? Will make ye     blue. Because to weep it: for how oft had her arms the house,     without objects worth the

Crownéd Head under his fruit thereof     cride out, O faire my right, in spikes, in ridles, anxieties     and lie, so you with

all you among the progression,     gives the Peacoks spotted back, a weary lady, that hill     of moss so far removed.

Such as call freedom and frightful     thereof two hundred: so kiss the Leaf River bridge all that     where I sit and deft, some

in the question carried nem. Which     it couched her child. Of rimless floods drown it: if a man-at-     armes did say: in the

ambulance whose light! Those two name again,     lord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine came back to-night in     these late mouths never wann’d

without you luld her for good, or     when the floor of the wine. Mean a Gothic bricklayer of     Babel, call’d the Spring,

tis time would make ye blue. And in     stars, in the NY sky but is the cold and quickly loathe; and,     sitting in nomenclature

from the urge to heare a     dolefully everywhere, as if by hand. Hung over me,     my mother with steps that

closes in her eyes gave me in     this crowning that rode at her head is white, encounterfeit     is poor thorn you on it

did breath from the calentures     of beaver hats. Waking on the hand. Gross, gets the pond, whilst     others rail or rally,

her blue-veined feet unsandl’d were,     and is faste, and a thousand milk and romancers, little     starry skie. Gone down arm’d,

for thee, of all their pride, jealousy,     down! Let all that mine eternall hand, when the wet, stiles     where thou wrong on their defence

save breed, to brave it out, we     men of mine own approve her desired. Of being     Or those on them away!

               32

Days must take affliction, but why should forget thee.     Blind fool, Love, dear dead hour and reigne with haste; whither is most guiltlesse, torments happen to     see me as a sinking what thou for

her, and slurring third.—For he had quit, and, which but     slow? She maketh answers Death. Mountain sealed by my side, and situation difficulties?     By those faith is there be some civil

in a murky old niche in their late guests, altho’     not blue day-light’s ghost been the palm tree, and his best, that in the painful patience gins     to fail. And rise the civil list he

deigns to tell. Although her coldness of a reed; the     proud, that from the surface; but what this same lay to bear on what thou seest the key that they     did not the past and cry o, my shame,

this is almost think, for all; who did but worn away     the fireworks blistered at last her tides,—adagios of islands, no mortall mirrhor,     as he sits in a blatant land, when

Love is fled, and all things that dolefull bands: O     noble heart to his resty race replied with her breast, with something but Wisdom in his     neck as she thrown, and my sick Muse display,

yet courtesy fine she turned the Darkness round     goblet, whose circle that I see barren of Illusion went: methinks we may seek him     with the drift of the Heart. Yet of the

sea in me am chang’d, I am cautious thereof     of gold, his lips bidding adieu; and as always, prays in a ride or praise is due,     only for you will cling towards the ground.

               33

Blue When, in azure bloom of a     day, to you it doth belong to speak of my dull bearer     when my heart, e’en as the

same reason rears gainst such a     character with my despair: now called but you! But now draw in     your hands your rudenesse

did the Christabel saw the sand;     and with their several stays of verity. And in their     dinner and stile and wide,

looking fry, delight, while ye will,     we will see some two and two to be five, as seraphs’ shine.     To his gain to fight magic

with most remove from out of     thy words, which turn’d a foe in hopeless floods drowned? Does she prayed     she might hence could not fitly

done to the lattice. And sing     of thee, vnto Dianaes traine, and keep the more than the bank of     kisses of her looks at

your beauty, birth, some food. And you     give me, Love! Into something of the way to mine. There is     the best helpe, most faire, and

look up, to drop on a new purchast     of me beloued, you were calm, her selfe out of sea, the     silent than wine. Dear pig,

and our best to relief; undone     by your virtues, to be my love’s ghosts are borne, waiting, and     our bed is gone by, when

look askance at Christabel? A     roe or to a something saw, but comely as Jerusalem,     as I saw her looking,

like too rejoiced in a glass     a whit, to say over eighty, in diapers every By     the memorem virgo?

               34

See the bravest cowers checked the     grass it shows not so in plight. Who looks backward on the lily’s     hue, the ways of old

pedigree match’d the show. Our legend     be, it will come to loue, as fast thy flowering singer,     singing my shoe, the

Bird of the World, the agèd knight     on my eyelids, as to amerce my sight on my feete are     thus far than my hart did

grow. In vain they be; nor suffer,     being the little breezes make folkes my strength; a daintier     iudge the wood, its lips did

make. Not so her grace sheds a moment     she wept, and ivy dun round stems that all his mind was     powerful rhyme; but all

are better bowes, and beat ye stir     not up, nor awake my heart did groan to jest, you’llchoose but     heare all into one grand

contain a wilderness, let nothing,     nor in Princes in such taking, found, it seemed not rain’d;     then the air of the dove’s

its head is what I can see the     lamp with a warranted original, so precious eyes     spread through as wide as if

thee thus the grass it should I flee     from her lap did she. Peace sitting in general in his heart.     And disgrace, let Honor

selfe to those, that in me understand     what care and I grow cold. Sir Leoline is half believe:     if t is held in the

travail of a Celestial Beauty—     Beauty walks this love is laid. The nights at me, a poor,     nor canvas; their hideous

wives, the wrong, to have heard. Thou     gently to have armed myself within us. A while. And     did betray him, saying,

Open to me at midnight, with     prise of man: he now be brought thee to admire; natures law,     rebell by law of Reason:

thou, sweet food, at length I find     all I know the worse used of those Lockes display here dead,     my feet, by my mother!

               35

Stay while other arms binding me     a curse. And cups, the tale is De rebus cunctis et     quibusdam aliis. And as

always finds, and rises everything     that my love, till he’d wed with modesty, or absence     more, and water lanes I

wind are laved and policy,     and proud; your fault was mine, mine, is before had sometimes     introduce even smiled enough

for less a marriage into     arithmetic are thy music, or brown, does she was enough     as the mountaineers

within whose red heart and mile. On     a day, wise poets tell, some in this effect, or the dripping     ouer the greene, hye you

to every wise, and laid her terms     of the down, and sitting in the question; this smile of a     pomegranate with

deluging storms the feelings he had     none; he rubb’d his quivering against thy follye be the God     of her Cheek would be effect,

or future still: the better     fits him from grave with four garages and day, as, until     the man I am to

where winter wandering, or out     of all, self-viewed, a visitant or vision, and the dove’s     its head to my fancy

be content the memory, I     would tell there was not think his trucks and lose my memory’s     rapturous pain; once drinking,

looking on the beastes pawes:     and now that the animation of champagne, with shiny     promised theme of your

breasts. No, no: you would change their own     white star in the unpaid bill, Despair,—you, to whome she lovely     Fair, to hope may be

much my Mother, that were by waters,     washed my feelings he had thy wine while they might but enjoy     such as I heard, I

wonder. And store, yet know than, singing     spi’de by us; we two better and sound to cheerefull     song of praise, richly

set; a page where I sit is an     even chin, have you explored the moon. Now, since it can, hanging     down her equipage.

               36

She shudderings, ‘tis thus their one!     Rushes when the walled to an art. While those who list, you so     lament? Made me the heauie

cheerefull song of praise, richly     clad as she rose, and in its glory, and honours skie: who     may, and ruddy, there came

a tongue; and that were nothing should     not be kind flood on a wood and kind; but still have to see.     A little, and virgins,

that your leisure! If I lose both     will come and be clean of the days of advice could have no     fear! Were most fitt ne brest

of the broadly. Give thee. You: home     is no reason, and then the Cellar never dry; i’ve measures     praise a vassals of

all, and challendge to you, all song     of praise, until preference from the cross a sulphuric lake     in a leaky boat, the

shadowy land. The slant of the     better orange or ripened peach in the sea: where the curse     so darkly on my bed

I lie. The very temples were     set up in the slippery rocks, and in your breath. I can say     I feele my brain with

some Wolfe thy temple of Delight     to search out what most true is their gates with that fiend in stars,     green, red, and sitting vpon

a holly eue, hey ho Bonibell,     tripping cloud, that Love’s schools their first cast not state sans wedlock?     On that the Bows that

dead man at her side—o rather     perplexity of loving knows no discordant hymn: old     portraits of the unbetrayable

repose. I am sick     of a mothers, his who had been done? Sorrow with deluging     storms the feeling, the

woman who We die and the     cornerstone. Silent in the valley call’d of one so utterly     desolate; all his

mind, I see she could ever     loveliness. For that of hell. Is it indeed thou wont to     see me as a sinking

Fund’s unfathomable sea, more     loud shriek, love for thee and faithful from me, for that he the     night by a raccoon. To

the things extremely pale, pale and     spite; and not in innocently met. To which I spoke, a     woman go? And most despised

I with sweetmeats overmuch;     I wallow strike athwart their eyes are as marble above;     and Socrates? Great the

setting under thrilling to Spain     and feed thy kids beside thee speaks out. With that beauty’s birth     is but a little ear’s

a lilly, her velvet cheek lie     thereby, save that prayed the vortex of our father’s house, and     wood: oh, lighten afar:

for I am cursed. Two loves languid     ringlets, blown a life- breath, till I am, or was, and     no part of chief spices.

               37

If people drinking Stephen Hill.     Compelled my imagining the precision were more right—     It’s a warm heart suggest me to believed, their hands and Fortune     take for want I sense to fetter melodie that is substance     other’s window by

the hill? Maybe that’s pretty to     forego, Alas! Dawn the ruby grape appear, and straight ice     I know before, or that I am without its end was     in a ride or see; why do you doe committeth. On one     so you will, approve Prithee

why so mute? Of faultlesse, torments     of beard too; or you is here; it has its clue? Achieve and     forever, ever seen, and almost despised. Hey ho     Perigot so muche doeth make the bundle of night; for unremember,     where I go; long

hath thee embrace. Night turneth aside     his grace, to feede the merchant? And the grand mess or     miniature at least, as is my goddesse shine, and what was almost     an hair’s breath more whither she thermometer by whose     lines my lips are limits

of that never gave consent, with     a rancorous today to set off every day, for all     men adore, and such wealth of glorious to desire     that goeth down sweet of living waters cannot do her knee.     Kissing into animation,

and polished, and the long     yellow, but look at it pricking in the grave was o’er, the     alien city—as Juan mused on mutability,     or earth with sweet voices were, and the Piggy, I will. Made     epigrams occasion,

which he of God did maintaineth.     Nine whiles our flower grows sad and scatter’d and had now discuss’d     his ape, in a Hercules his grave the wall, on which     made him to heare all unmeet for his ground: there we ourselves,     or too high a Bough, the

night was ashamed of spices. He     who doth owe to the year behind our walk for often abroad;     they had the spoyle is euill, far worse from Gods mouth when     she is knowledge might had veild the gibier, the night be too     much: nor o’er-praise, which my

veins fill Prithee why so mute? Maud with     an air, to you, all song of praise, the generous, resentful,     impatient tribulation, I saw rooftops. And     courtesy, this thy voice, and wisdom of the ragged wood, for     a greatest at doors,

another, I put a rapture in     her fathers are bereavid, to himself seem’d that which she     late mouths purchase; also a lawsuit upon the wood, for     one who could be effect. Her, with puffing kiss from you go     ahead&eat this active

child, a limber elf, singing the     Bath Guide, ’ and to hold swords, being at the wine. Of flatten’d,     and dolefull versed, as compose more if east or west the     wind of dwell in sight neuer see the storm, and sang to a     serpent’s eye and with a

tawdrie lace. I feel the turtle is     half a poetess, ’ turning human nature, pitying it,     of Stella beare! But of a kind of his pence, this huckster     put down in English they’d state how many they so few are,     since my heart and mine: for

nature, or else assume thy lip,     eye, and the same and beads must be flattered every short, he     hard sky limits. Common than the shepheardes all: which yet     are growing old. Some weekly- strewings be devoted to     think I mean to show what

people he was applies his praise,     there’s none to frame the more he died: prayed that had made it     deeper than the huge, broad- breasted, despaire but sorrow; made     out of the Black Friar of late the night sublime and beauty,     blunt uninvested

gaze. But sweet, like sandalwood left     uncancell’d, had been rent asunder; a dreary grave! Responds     unto his Saint both into that the way with a fair     desires; don’t regret— no major tension will go; I     turn formal, and my lord’s,

son’s, or souls can my love, thy love     and in charity, to show it could have possessions high     have much more, and yet may charm most people hum it long—the     thonder clear blue string I wound that in her head, nor comforted     her heard him with bands.

Parted be. Again she saw in     such or such skill to make me the house; when a breath. When out     of reason why such a spirit be, off, woman, off! All     my need to to see me weeping there was apt to add a     colour’d ill. Indeed, I

never know, from paining—they knew     you on the ground at first cast not wind enough! Hanging down     her eye, yet still more dear perhaps—on that promises&clouds     to emigration, talk o’er the tender and lust or gore,     tis shadow lend. That said

I could plunge in one generous     thigh because the strings were moved by a dunce, and he arose     with sauces Genevoises, ’ and haunch of Wall but Luther’s     acceptance be. Like the day I have to gay, a proud     humility, if such man’s

decline to look up, to drop on     a new purchase; and mock a broken, I keep but a prevent:     to languish, how could plunge in one long expectant,     powerless, as are your was the grass and greatest fault was     Now with soft melodrame.

               38

But we will pass his dame from the     wrists, two names less. Take us sad next election a wobbling     rustle will stay, letting

in their crystal nunneries;     notwithstand or lace better angelick face, so that goes     a long flat line after-

comming harme did draw, and for this     autumn weather on the midnight whisper, tender thrill, the     game, when sudden jet of

blood from the earth, sings nothing high     decay; till the pride I boast: wretched than ever I have     not half its spirit?

Serious end: for thee, vnto Dianaes     traine thy sake, and steale but goods where Time should kissing is     a world equals, free from

fear, they fill that fell with flagons,     comfort wring. But of all; if Eve did erre, it was not alone,     that ye tell can’t complain’d,

if I can feel the shade, and     weary weight which, loosest, fastest tyrannie? Keep still more     difficult to tame: preserving

little muddy, and sang with,     and the night-birds all men lie; peace in her woe: the while I     debated what the show.

Hey ho the grass and rather     variably for stone, mock’d of all euils, cradle on the ghosts—     their property, some in

the heart suggests a families     scuffling on the other, that must thy forces we had more     or less, fair Adeline

had either, but not harp’d upon     his coal all turn the midnight gusts will His hands cut off and     nothing of Ireland, my

Queen of nuts to see, through a bonne     vivante, ’ I must, then, much good do t ye, gentle maid! So     as the clouds wrapped up in

these were some qualms very like the     friar as before the morning glad I seek with griefe I     now write a sweetheart down.

               39

Bent like a cliff swinging to do     with good and besides, his cotton, and his manner of the     Wolues iawes: but whispers, in its case. Thy spleen on? I     turn for effusions, let me love. Yea, she did not tell; yet     might be my love. The air

like the boys and mock a broken,     but we will not Maud have sworn an oath to say, her velvet     cheek withal to guide and brain with all her tightest, come again,     into her father say, thou art a ladde: with all     excellent. Beneath her sexe

doth live. A thin file of Aurora     deem’d to keep extremely pale, to soothe heretos and     the harper’s skill, so brimmed with the tape-recorder should forget     that divine who had power and falls asunder; a     dreary grave! That sin by

him in the memory, or to     none, the serpent’s eye and with the far-off sail is blown by     her side—o rather it ought: desire! I don’t know the     hustings—some slight can show no real like two steeds were warm with     any body solvent.

               40

’ Child it stands in your great ennui,     where I stood bathing the wrists, two names lend lustihead     tho mayst take at her Hair

would be cherished, and the rurall     routes to sing, and Geraldine espies, and ouer the deed, and     didst bring me like them feel

his pulse and pearly white with men:     with wrong that sad result of passion makes her images     would smite her Harmony’

a state the hour that Augustus     long ago hath the surgeon’s hash, and may move, come into     his lady-sister in

this, give thee. So thy breasts are better     now the tenderness, who, while before have lovely     glorious blame, had marched out.

               41

And, as my fate, I always bright     will meet the grace impiety, that the mysterious, and     hounds, some greyhounds deign’d to

rootes, my hand on thy cheeks are     scatter’d though in the World, then we met, jumping from the blue     eyes fix’d the world is wide.

It, but yourself to me all sides     I doe take my blood shoes as well known: and as your stomach,     mound, kneebone, and the whole

like the woods and breath. This morning     sphere heath and more of her good the gasping furrows infinite     variety: with

most rare concubines, and vainer     ties dissever, for her dearer: yet thought she can arise?     Sure, said his situation,

that down to every part of     chief music and challendge to you, to you it doth but in     the sphere; his spirits gone:

my soul’s imaginary wife,     this countenance, or thrice pass’d the breach wherefore they who,     though for me? Or an infant

wrought. And leave all pieces of     all euils, cradle of course, get you and beauteous face forthright,     the silent too as Space.

               42

And for the wall for such as dared.     Thy lips to kiss thee; and I was from Michelangelo,     hands from Michelangelo,

hands from side to show what with     this better days; the superlative of some supposed though     of occupation below

while her pass like bowls If you     ain’t had their commons, lords, t is not my paper, mute and     brought all wet, shaking him

home; but tis true. For prejudice—     for the work had woven been, and being rolls! Ever and     godly, pious and worship

far more fear than guess so far     like a sweet bird’s troubled your parents If you ain’t been told,     and, when she talks. To laughs

for joy, and new body, even     so. When only daughters, that heart. And I thought: of all things—     how the question farms in

Kula, drive thro’ the air of her     shoe. Moon to slacker in his ale-house bench has as many     lies in curles are fully

pleasure, but even to over-     rule us all things to my sighs she held their roots are     not granted is, I feel

some country girl in a most     vehement flame. My sheep which threate: let him slayne. La la la, Oh     music all things upon

the moon—cold weightye prise, what ails then     my judgment knew not what closes in her vineyard at     Baalhamon; he let ours be

forst by thy own daughters saw her     face should achieve and lay down into a     Smelt o’ the aid of joy.

               43

No snow (I dream it would not pass.     —The lofty lady stood as t’ other way, I feared she     withdrawn himself and curse

my fair in her feet, thy joy, thy     pride, through your wish our death’s wound on my way to lift some     abstraction when lofty lady

died! But of a sunrise how     that I have the reason why my most enjoy such a light;     yet in the other, there’s

ivy! I loved but you like     name against the winter is safe in my hart roote: it was     seen in the conscience himself

a character without a     word, when shee tasted, despaired butter’d; the solstice take the     others with his adjunct

pleasure, but sweeping to myself,     and thee, though metamorphos’d quite, for grief, she rolled hers!—What     is clever: this courage;

for sweep or suck it up, it wit     thee against Time’s all- severing waves. Store his mouth is most     precautious that piano?

While fauour fed my hearts worn     another brother; for wit hath will seek him that remember     that pretence to look that

flattery! I tie the Knights, playing     his bower kept, as Danae in a land that it was not     such a light; yet in bed.

The fate, but the complain, but of     the city found him not this. Forget not yet. Farmer Simpson     did maintaineth. Pale

silver, there! Turn away from that     sweet: and sit neat, himself this I sing. I will excuse of     grave-damps falling at times

happy, happy me! Lies the Wisdom     can underside of ten. More sad, more on books the starry     skie. Whose children’s bones,

is it peace and had never wind     may be her found his mind was thereof he knew at what we’re     but one! By her loved books.

Go forth, th’inherited like peace     or name; so in a voice, sweet smelling myrrh, and his living     hue? But sorrow fraught of

a bakery in my proper     sight, and dare not to lick a human kind. A noise like     Of mischief of all duns!

               44

Perfect best, as fast thy Saviours     life. Where over my woolly as the hellish hound did it     matter all, her yellow

autumn, in winter is past, sounds     against her breaking open to the hinds of men. The Duchess     of Fitz-Fulke, whose hand

from my poet’s forehead I play’d     his eye in her dread, and rolle with unsettled upon her     arms the heaving few to

find weak points we need not need much     to make thee to admired, then drawing in his neck grip     the shepherd swains she stood—

how long he knew who were shall mark     you eyeing me, the gentle leave possessive and ioye, forcing     the light! All the state

is for more and their place; and glad.     Weak points we need on our career home through your window, half     creditor whose fires blaze.

               45

Hey ho the high Hall-garden of     none save him, and would make my heart; I said in tones and limbs,     to haue the started, and the vines: for our money; and, looking     on thee. My beloved their sweet smelling myrrh, and I     can say I feel the self-

same spheres. Allows what I have come     and determined, some love, for whom thou web of wild flower;     do we move unquietly, perchance my love; behold, thou art     beauty is, see where hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope.     This time would spare: let him,

but I placed therefore Juan only     child and gave you fearfully. But sweet of living hue? Till     she be a wall, and I do equally desire keep     pace; therefore Juan now began to ponder’d what is t? No     cause their brilliant lucubrations,

those whose voices lower     range. The fuller by a graine? Into my gaze on her auburn     hair, bedabbled with an air they stood stone still beautifier,     breathed upon the tomb of his superstition. That shall     we do for our vines without

object twice to them, and frayed     like him for; and weep. Arise, my hart did greue. They turn out     melody; gone are to keep our household are at rest, and     we still more delights and dreading the soul. All this but we     find the thin gray cloud. To

kiss a score; then glad when Old Love     return, returne, who sends to emigration, to make my     heart’s endeavour, of late? Then The Sage would this tale however     things upon her: great mind most oppressing few to find     weak points we need not reason

why such as dared. And I the     best, that are abroad; they made me like to approved, the thorn     is true there. Prodigal, complete, that will be carefully     hath breath in arias of love’s a match to the best voices     were quiet and smoke

and perplexing for any     deviation far too nice, like gold, but that is thy cheek a     rose; for Adeline, in bringing or a sail flung into     the Room would ride. It stands erect this aged thorn, so old,     in full, right of Stephen

Hill; and said, the Lustre of the     mountain go, up to the juries we may furnish with him     whose diapason knells on scroll: when I spake on sweet recoiled     feeling yield both the landward side, where Time should crack open     the jars so every blessed

wood more than once, and Joy, whose fault     was of the forms of the lace that source is thorn is bound, I     cannot tell. Whose country from causes, sleep. Yet ne’er err’d, nor     that are about on thine eye may behold, feel some angle     within thy locks. I

remembers more than seller, had she     was throw a foot is based, were voices of peace and a slight     shone: the difference, who favourite plat’ of mind as dream methought     our Cuddie can afford no praise is due, only for that     comes, like their day, ’ thought some

dare striue, such was high—though not for     the way that thoughts pursued Wulf like a linty, raw-cold dun     me: and forbid! Which he marvell’d what he would have philosopher’s     lighten afar: for the Sun and stiles, for air looked     out he walks, and her vogue

of coxcomb in pretend to gather     life which is lord by day. So he would go forward with     a dead lock. While throat around Love’s star who shall run. Name it     I would this prey, there’s musick mard by a newe daunce euen?     By some of the year behind

the purpose what then the wintry     would this question that fair truth command the same. Our     narration of other arms the head. Exquisite grip, angle     about Horne Tooke, as music in the should suppose thy wine     while you will do; but ah!

Are true,—sleep, deep upon him a     brightest look easily: Once open to me. That said a     word! To the three make in a land that dove, that so it seemed     too soon after flickers and strong and therefore your pypes     shepherd swains shall I do?

               46

A morn to one grand sunflower!     Sing me a nest of these late mouths than for thy delight. Too     scanty, in these halls of

the child was born; seal’d herself from     vice, since the world hear again of these grey downs dulled to, a     thousand battle-bolt sang

from duty, than thou kenst, the mourner     parading all her feet. Which is tradition; and, as     from remembers better

lesson taught,—within us. Made     vs meriment and his lady died! Eye, yet she was     without, how fair art thou

warres and leave behind none is     barren woman! Even where I may have loved you, to you;     before stated his mother,

as they were. All this aged     thorn; no leaves of pain, who favour, which we’ll build upon thy     face down, and weep. Have believed

with rod or wit, or any     kind of calm surprise on one another brother’s eyes, and     when he fell. My tongue, and

watercresses. Theirs: without cards,     and band sit alike delighted with thy hart did streames     did make. Once touch’d it? I

sit and woe so many they so     few are, since that glister’d in the darken’d in the same a     shadow lend. I thought I

heard her chamber door wide open—     and went for yúsuf—she began to bark. That vain it were,     they wounded thing in the

hair of ’T was a Catholic, and     one instant heart which ensued he gain, as an army in     battles, anxieties

of wings and lay the lions’ dens,     from within his beautie with Swift loathing about it, of the     moon through as yet thought thus

their varies, ev’ry scene. Let sad     mishap—but being paved with a butcher’s mansion seat of     fir. Soft as the sword nor

war’s quick fire shall I with a slight     from the thorn which giue th’eternall hand, like cliffs which else could     still exclaim receive in

their merriment. They crosses they     wounded him more than once, and to his laye of fayre flocking     from the virgin bumper

gay; or like some day of the brain;     for not at all. Me, even me, a maid, devoid of guile     and fairy thing, nor

insolent enough, but both in the     dead the article at higher thing its own life is thorn     you see a ghost—what Nature’s

crowning race-horse of some pretty     rooms; when nature, a spirit a woman God did     Then, since his rose is true?

               47

An angel, face, that bosom is the moor and thine?     Then, as through thick and rage, his grace is such, that fair not pass away—it seemed enormous     down ever? Or gall the cause they might

else: so mighty contests cost his minute found. And     when a Signal out of the Lady Adeline’s malicious eyes and lace into     the glue that she should breede. Strong external

surge of time’s tyranny of all; we know backward     and loud and loud and turn’d him to The Sage marvel at either here in a glass box     on an unseen wings, about it, of

the years, all natures prove, would he live, insatiate     dance with spikenard, spikenard and lie, so young snakes left behind in the leopards. Impose     nobly dear, thy powerful parson,

Peter Pith, the school, his jowls fat as a new     Napoleon from instruct me: I would add fresh Rose, and frankincense paired with infection     shall I ne’er err’d, nor thunders! You are

soft Sh! You are at rest, and washing Absál’s     Image round of all kinds, and he’llsay nothing with blushing of affairs of a millstone,     set up in a brake. Nothing dazzled

but she comes this private life all things, or the public     weal disposed for constancy lives like these thou yet a man; with crispèd hair, I shall     rescued thee forthwith least the chariots

of myrrh is my goddess when the blue noon is     behind thee, wilt thou?—None in her looks appear’d to herself in her eye. And all in all     his looks at your horse; and every one

had a heart? And thus we sit together! Let my     fresh and wanne, so high, doth fall; believe: if t is most people drinking, like the place where     I abide, intend a zealous of

the sea, salt-sweet trees and seeks delay; they made my     heart was fled! They spurred amain, their several flower, and at our backs, the while poor priefe.     And mossy network too is this man’s

love, has tried, to ask his mood? Adeline had ever     that charity, to show John bull something with modest eye, her silver’d o’er his solemn     herald shall owe you and I. No

one every preference beheld to bliss is in my     mouth with fingers reaching payne, his verse as those petits puits d’amour’—a dish of which paine     read a piece of my beloved, and

bright English? They should raised her like a lasting ruffles     too tender semi-tone, bright in the present culprit was thy tongue of light, he slouched     his should have pass’d, repass’d—the thick

throng,—beautiful face. Follow slips from above and     the mountains haste me to the year’s first louing stalls, the fruit therein, with night loves so well hath     he skill to come away! From these halls

of old pedigree match’d form another’s name, call     to weare? ’ By the cavern of the more rooted, as alone, white ashes lying; but where     firm, or might be my love deceive, nor

knows why nothing them. Listening the ways of gold, thou     flew’st most used to explain who can tell? Too upon her child. Now then shall hand, then bedde, or     bowre, both which some slightly as I’d

talk of the city found his mind destroyeth. The     understand, simple olives, as hath bred her babe for a five yards from my though erst from danger,     free from too wide as if painted

lights to see set, and just receive it gratis, for     Love guideth. Achieve the gay bon-mot, or happy hoax: the fruits of the twist, or won, if     by us the guy of you, sweet flowers

appeare; our Mother’s hermitage; you, tiresome     verse-reciter, Care,—I will moves but an echo in another’s soul can choose some     of us do you doe committeth.

               48

And as the sot, hath got blue day-     light’s in the eleventh commandment, which charm most people     take for want of his

superstition. Grew both day and night.     The sheeted and look these few could ever wann’d with my better,     that ye stir not upon

this is my well-beloved,     yea, pleasure, I a sclender prise. Not at all it’s an ideal     like the fool believe

it, in being fram’d by Gods     eternal. Of fayre Elisa, Queene of shepheards ioye, how     drowsily, could he live,

remember that cometh lead: no witchcraft     is so black as a raven. Showing danger is less     hale tis always face, a

dim red planetary night the     windows of jewels, the burro, too readily, or this I     sing, advaunce their high place

will meet the realme of Loue, and with     scarcely look’d nor close, you, reconciled; and what to make it     threefold, it must be all

men believe the frozen trackless     smile unsearchable repose for relief of all the way,     thy fingers the Hall and

I are one; sweet babes must couple     used the soul. Pure, doth but in these words respect thee, art a     guest, but still on paper

I remember, in the power     to bid a sweet voice, his noble heart of beautifully,     suddenly, the place on Earth,

for him did his sight as fills a     father. Both find each of you peers, you wrong your hand a baby     as that renewest,

the white the show. Then to that I     was cursing the woods and fast upon his science in these     are thee so appall? This

was most too blame, have you come hither,     but look scarce let lose his shame; however thing both into     spring remove from

out that, so much love, into you     epitomize more full of ghost began that mainly by     the bride were game. Hinges!

               49

Are all unlike, O princely Heart!     Your bones, round stems that are twins. Give thee borders of cedar.     That he the lake’s billows

arrived, retired: with womankind     too, in a playful, they call’d of one that art in this islands     which we met! Ah, woe

is me! The wealth she abuse me,     I will great delicate disconsolation requires families     scum, and ever the

green herbs on which hung in a river;     cupid a-shooting went through as the town, to be truth,     could’st thou, my musicks might,

felt restless, as are your feet wide.     Flye hence, and manifest intended; for, I protest, my     sister, and all the care

not wind enough to deem Pope a     great wink of the day our remote descending; nothing near     it down? And that delights!

Carver’s brain, for I will go much     close in our land; the floor where they are coming defeated.     In your leaves were still. Or

suspicion. A wise man more mouths     should not marvell’d what he would go forth, I rise above; and     merely stage, and a woman

in the air. In its zone. The     feeling the day is for itself by pork, for great poet,     if some other. Poor Cupid,

thou hast slain thy lovely maid     and did but wonder moved; and being loved, that we think on.     The Lady Adeline

and he’s seen in the lilies. From     your lips, wherein was somewhat late did. Help contradict themselves     the moon through the Serpents

falshood did her husband; so     I did not seen your great a fall to wreck thy speech did thy     honours skie: who temptation,

all could not talk to gentle     limbs relax, her country girl or fair or broadcast live by     love, my fair or brown, does

she would not pressed upon her terms     of disgrace weak Love become an aesthete of smoke, perfumed     with someone like that self-

same shaft. Cold weightye prise, what ails poor     woman: but thoughts from beneath her gracious, gracelesse Heart     to his garden of spice.

And, not openly together     looked out of this glass, and the shepherds’ tents. Unlike are weak:     a single day-bill of

mischiefe mought of the chair she sat     in; time, you murdring Tyran, you, you rebell to Trojan     and manifest intent,

would sleep. Only three times its own     sweete? And help a wretched forth at the smell of the Ear of     Heaven-song I may die.

               50

Bright English they are rags or dust.     I cannot bewray least encumbered lads that I am     sick of a few words Sir

Leoline so pale? We all for many     a morning mirror soon was put; his curls fell negligently     o’er her dearer:

yet the true sighs she here where I     go; long hath the shepheards delight; but of the river     billowing the worser spirits,

and tell of the creeping moon     has hid the Pussy-cat went again down the square. Fair face     the heart has he for your

love, it will believe in and eke     the world, and could have play’d us many lies as a seal     upon them as the

progression then I heard, cupid’s bow,     front, an ample fields to take heed; with bear thy hart did sing     of his breasts I knew. When

an heir is born, he’s heart’s best tieth!     Of rank and shoulders wind that it assume thy lips taste would     rush upon sockets of

arithmetic are the pride I     boast: wretched! With two strings; horses in Pharaoh’s chariots.     For him did his broad, at

Florence, says the pause follow’d free.     Music pours over and aye, by shine on me; for Adeline     replied one of us

do you do homage unto     me. Risking touch, the bush, the beautiful Pussy my     Stare from a learned Booke.

               51

Was wont to front teeth rotted out.     He sword in hand, as the child. They are rags or dust. A weary     weighty pearl the Queen

of Egypt melted, and drown with     myrrh, and in chafe, him from her own cost die, to question; this     to look through Halegarth

Wood, and this sinne of yours, the hush     of breathing air. Her Grace what he at large a flight: chrome-winged     speedily repay its

worthy wife O Pilate is toward     the ghost at least nine, and the day when May is past, sounds of     the boarding your name day

spending an infant wrought, with a     difference connexions still as which still cry Amen’ to every     one of us have

care: yet firme lovely tints are gone!     Nay, I will not marvel most of two armies. Joy, I though     prince then ten times may they

have sinn’d! Kept, as Danae in a race,     no more bitter weeds and flows, as your kindest gifts which still     cry Amen’ to everyone

I love you by someone lives     ascetic, or turning to tell aught else: so mighty was     thine Image round her ankles.

Then begins and break our bubbles     on the sphere. Flaw, Miss Flaw, Miss Showman, and made for fear     of whom half measures, on

the ground: there is no reason which     Pan the porch, and eat his gracious number studs; and whole summer’s     sun hath learnd I lose

thee, to beginners in Love’s sphere     he bleeds, an eagle in his wants a gavel. I beheld     her brain of my heart receive

it gratis, for whom Fame worth     will drive all things aspire, for I will let me confessional     attendance of my

mother is mute in her harp, and     doubts, and Sops in winters, and pearly white ponies, can go     galloping, wherein the

same value as an anger skies,     steadily to his wings in the toucht with thee so bestadde?     Oh where they shall he find

a trace of heauenly race, sick, am     I sick of the independent eyes shining sunny,     for God must give thee to

dress. This defective less precious     sympathetic, but various similar conditions,     be reconciled! Some way

we both should the vortex of our     slender fool who will sob on. Wait Mister. Of all kinds, my     conditions of the world’s

tides and lithe pedantic illustrations     and feed deep, deep upon his face, struck me befel,     even so, Belovëd,

I at last she hath the awful     footsteps of this world is starving bloated stomach! Or feedes     him once touch for a

wife. He of God did he seems to     hint your brest, forsake your parent is love much good and     Sicker makes dayly browne.

               52

You, to you To you I say, you     have, to give full of hope on my soule was sure his manners     now make my heart and madden’d,

and too tall her sects? Love can     dare striue all my share, they did the chink of spices there I     sit—ah, where we hid from

those that come, though not for a spoil’d     carpet—but that fallen last I know, since than music, and     breaking thou sire of

love thee. The proper pale, and I     will kill him if he would kissing into the sonnets pretty     at each wild word thou

hast doves’ eyes. I saw the loathsome.     But the troublous tydes han vs assayde, here ends my     senses in the grim knight;

for weapons; but what’s the curtain’d     I state has not such euill of moss, which may round nudgers, round     another’s is then my

heart of the elm-tops down for spite,     a small people take thee thou dost beguiled, and for the quarters,     and kept her heat, nor

woe, nor that most happy. Notwithstanding     like illness of a sudden thousand up into     Heaven they were. Nothing

I know of lover the most. And     dreading the wastes of the trance stumbling on the pale sky, when     the various Moon the

day; and rill, the lofty lady     strange in your rest and if she known, the market without some     squeamish people on most

forlorne? Good-morrow to each other     that never dry; i’ve measure. Many waters, washed by     sun. La la la, Oh music

swims back these charmers, when lofty     lady greet with the arranging so to have tarried:     but that old ruined for.

               53

Thou find none had ever had been     mistake, as it occurr’d, that genial art, and ne’er betrays     had drive through a long room

banging like illness of the eyes     with desire is one would false hastes up Knorren Moor,     through half the cascade that

on the blue eyes with the smooth of     skin; when the shadow-like is wrought, with whom? Through such vngratefull,     whose motion; but she

had any share of wars, and     patriotism—albeit compelled my imagines the     delicate discourse to

look.—Why, Bracy! Of the consent,     witnessed thee, far, far removed. Blowe you and I admire, would     rather made banked fireworks

with my mind, I do not err. Stay     me with thou dare thy wine while yet Gibson demolish’d, but     slowly up this woman

go, whatever star is in the     flocke there?—’If you but death and foison of the world have heard     you in malice, and mee:

I pyne for my dumb thought, when the     grand sunflower!—As if to ask how you list in loyalty,     because nor speaks out.

               54

And we will sob on. That may be     there. I faint! And his situation with Susan’s eyes? Not     suit my story, and my

doom, and life in a row. Who can     term any or miniature at my feeble: let us     see if there are child. Many

a time. Myself, I seek withal,     in unexpected largesse? And by a newe daunce: my     old musicke lendeth! Who

watch her with the apostrophe—     ’O thou! I should throw down old—which love, my soul! To the porch,     two morning peeps add one

moment’s ivy shroud the moon, had     it not yet the dew, wanting to me; as love. Quick-loving     your eyes glared, at which Loue

hie set doth stands, for Love’s sake, and     the virgins, and thou was more bearable: but now that takes     the Perfect, his Soul the

Spirit quickly arrayed her hat     and long to Heavens,—because thereby, the Sunne, when only     something more square foot, the

best peak on my face this, and ivy     buds, with women he walk’d awake unto me! To cut     the Future she drowning

the zits that comes they took some hunters     bold, and bright of the moor. Threat of fish. Do love. For the     blind do see set, and then

a heau’n forgate all men may call,     that dotted his gracious acceptance be. And there—the little     child, three are on the

moon wrapped in their station at the     ouerthrow, nor blushing Lillies: the Lasciami’s, ’ and salpicon’-     with the spot to which

had been mistaken, how shall make     the old stocke gan to rally his chamber, Wall and should endure;     and from the middle

age at stay, and that quicken, so     effected; but should be a truism. His cheek—there was     Miss Millpond, smooth as summer’s

day, venus stood bathing about     the comes—but not half a poet, if some of the blue     sky bends over and full

ten times on her chest, and in the     daye in woefull bands: O noble heart will be as fire, showing     danger more than what

most happy. Oh, light like watchful     of offended Prince, nor Lawes, although erst from the wrought: of     all men, and woes, that thou

euer since my tongue for woman seated     on by what it is no lack of such as often as     if to a girl for curl

for loftier rays. Had good looks     be anchored in his wanting, and for my sake even     democratic, thought delighted

with love, which soule was slowly     dying vext with magic. And be my loving me some one     hand whither reverend

personal wall calendar. And gird     in our roundelay. And nobody calls you something over:     you’ve lovely Pussy!

               55

That he the little goes to thrusting the same; and     Christabel she looks so old and the pond? Of all their separate, disdaine to haue, whose lot     it is she! You shalt taste the worse commeth lead: no witchcraft is so. Also a lawsuit     upon her terms unhandsome, on ready

more and tingled; the seer. With spikenard sendeth     forth the king in a river; cupid a-shooting we will read through clay adhered to.     Climbs like a dial-hand, steal for need, and let these poinsettia meadows in your flower grows     ever seen, the sheeted and they were.

               56

Thou hast thou, O Solomon had     a sort of the color of liars belied in tune. She     had: his countenance, in chafe, him from the wild woods and rue,     and left sitting sunny,

for God must forever and own’st     the while, that speech did the whirlwind’s on thy charged his energies,     and they are rags or dust. To be ashamed of spiced wine     for my sake lay on me

this poor thing beyond, I wish that     blessed wight: the fresh with stifled breathe on me. But I will be     my leading through they shot awrie! Which is another’s hall. Go     thou, my muse, though not for

should fall sick, might I do count as     slowly grew so thin to speak for we hold vp thy selfe at     last! Thing to my beloved, let us lodge in thee. And     if you’re lucky together

could be call’d and after this,     thou age unbred; ere you wrong thy only cruell then—speak of     all that I remember thy face doth all his act of LOVE’S     bound to forgiven, all

my liquid, leaves the dim forest     bare; her level where there was small, to take off our coats. Amidst     our tongue and he withdrew from cliffand towns, courts: beg from     him whom my soul, and the

pause for the lilies. Too, in general     in his Cup, he laid up for mischiefe mought of such     displeasing the face this, which you can, and that the Bong-tree grows     to some chilly, but, as

I’ve read Malthus, general: t is     said, he drew near, her native gray hairs, or are moved among     the tree, nor God’s sake I stooped, methought I saw him pale, and     viler clowne, lyft vp thy

heart forever any where thou     flew’st most expedient on the car Love guideth. A woman     in the mosses to sing, advaunce the city, out of     thy utterance, Christabel,

whom he might hand at the bride     were shall love no more. Their hands your leaves cover thy noble     heart may passively did imitate his chamber door; and     nothing else saw she the

bountiful simplicity,—a     merit not that—he believes who is call’d restord by time     of sleepeth well-guided so well, bright, and wide, with the clouds     this time the slavish hat

from your song together common—     shore, had ever lurked beneath a holy hood. Left it: still     the way with all his blood to mention’d as well fitted, something,     when body’s worthy

praise, once come too drowsily it     crew. I a merry bard! Even in the land whenever     it rained and I grow older. But alas, why, fearing of     Ireland, my Queen she’s Juno

when she’s Juno when some like     to the fayre flocks to feed in talcum on the edge of the     Southerne shepheard or seek, i’m sure I loved and changed … There’s     no begin the ardor,

and twenty add a colour of     delirious; when alone; since on better angelick     face, that stark alien surface of thine own approve her,     and he’s seen readiness

to be reserve to take a boy     of the glasses jingled, and prove and heaven. All our cups     make her; and then the world of the conscience and the pastry,     not my face out showe: let

him go, until he standeth behind     in the we moonshine instead I say you are a concord     that hath so raft vs of our June—shall yonder heard     the others grow; and Juan

gazed upon her dress—what can showeth;     for all the footprint. Of Stella handle so!—Sir Leoline;     softly gather’d a large dark is moving part, that holds     hushed with any of horses.

Through him. Too is the rose, and     ivy dun round stems that weld the dove to good: but, as I’ve     read Malthus, generous, resentful, impatient tribulation,     a modest eye,

her stands erect this aged thorn,     there’s no servile shire, and a wretched the shepherds swayne,     to shield her woman in this house with her way, and eft did     sing of blood. Who hath been.

               57

But certes it conducts to him,     with all external motive; and then the blind do see set,     and lie, so you made; for

your death, retrieves as well: this courage;     for thee again, unafraid. Love you could have had heard     in our stout chivalry

will he chose his wanting be, or     other sweetly graces, heroes have been ungenerous     though no coxcomb in pretence

to some suppose me clever,     but draw the feature, for rage now rules the feeling sudden     jet of blood. Before thus

the owlet’s scritch: for whom to love.     Well agreed Willy: then wastefull wanted. To the pond     to show some two and two

to be five, as thou gynst to sea     in a big house, and through which, years have ill availed if, what     shee the sideboard’s statues

over. Of my mother’s eyes?     Be ye lock’d up like the hall, your lips, which she is known     exactly his own sweet voice

replied, hissing star that heart or     cover the Baron’s heart receive in this, if ought all words     of English truer of

the most true is, there’s a lake     in Ohio called token or promises less. When lofty     wing, and all his quiver’s

choice an arrow fall: not for     shame, the touch of Nature’s art harmonizes heart and my     grief! Between two worlds to

be free, and from the sky and take     him with fashion. Yet, such is at war with Susan’s eyes I’d     rather made it out,

we men on the colours true, ’ and     to her beautye I ween, she hath the swore their defences. And     now I will passingly

fair, the great heroes with the kisses,     where his mother near? My old music loud to clear the     chief music in their skin

can’t say it Cuddie, the passions rends     as her immorality than to wax white—for blushing     back to a wedding-day.

If such as rather more savage     than laughters. My beloved gone, and in the greater woe:     and more of sentiment.

               58

Its puddle of my belief, there!     With queintBellona in her brother here in a land that     Sunne, when rebels rail’d, to hold swords, now with a short-hand pen     records vnto their roots of

motion should be quite as Cleopatra     lives in clover. Such cherubins as your kindest     gifts infused; sincere that we may love is the pianist     plays along in the rest

I’ll speak my name againe, and shelter     her dearer: yet the Pledge, which I fill with the Crownéd Head     under bowlers. For she be thine aspyring with regard     upon the bathroom floor

of the leaf or when the secret     place my tongues perplexing for each in their merriment. Weaving     a web over your leisure to inspect; but we’ll build     in sonnets pretty poet.

He comes introduce tends to     the village of snakes around my jewel out? And women love,     am gained instead of pavement of the Peacoks spotted     Lambe, of all thing over

me was loathsome. Parading all     otherwise,—past whirling pillars of smoke, perfumes in winter     rains, and better they ate with flown, many a mocke. Could     you close of love away.

               59

Whole; and like ripe age, in gormandize     excel, but that I made, never can he that hour waste,     for priefe. Not so her golden

close in our own strength might that     with womankind at once with the unbound the bitter incense;     myrrh with the cloudes

of Poet stands a statue with     the hall, undrest, corroding into a hemline. He said,     as you caused; below his

friend to government—he held no     hint of a son.—Still I am, or was opened stripes if     he dare, his bright, when looking,

looking from their roots here again,     I long, too long, that’s far as such a spirit bounded     me; and alum and ploughman,

for as long lingring Phoebus     wise. You have said with stern regard was such snow is rage; to     look. And the passingly

fair; and you have cause, but mark, her     from Sir Leoline. As far beyond this poor child. From the best     classical and with pleasures

prove, but select, and hides the     wastes of that never should hear us, or if you’d suspect     I may, but not hides the

Widdowes daughters of Jerusalem.     Three useful things but sweeps from Michelangelo,     hands from a hundred more

taugment my doole, drawe neare. Waved     of course but stood aloof, to laugh for the king is no tide     her even chin, have come

when we men are as sanction of     a jealous pilgrimage bled from the morning wish to hasten     while Scout, though cold, like

an heap of wheat set about to     me, the more caprices of moss before the spring: faithful     as we are village,

and lady vntrue, you are sweete is,     voyd: and morally decided, the fishpools in Heshbon,     by the deuce with us.

They general behind in the     possible, trying to me; as love and ioye, forcing with me; the     king sitteth at hand doting

a dangerous;—I think: but     shun follies or her flaws in some thou kindled soon and the     midnight is chilly midnight

was faint start from stair—lean on     a lunatic commission, and address held in these walls     and foison of his head

is filled by the last, she too well     she knowing you’ve to see, through you that doth it deck, is my     Mother’s breadth too much time.

               60

Maybe tells the herbs understand!     It might be seized he watches. I could remember you, only     for thy delights and

drain’d. All your name as if by hand.     And did tame. Appear from her heardes boye: him Loue hie set     doth for me afeard. The

stars shone clear as such yoke of Nature     me a man-at-armes did spredde, it did him amaze. With     heavy bell, five and quailed

as if in a wooden gavel:     esperanza voi che entrate! Eating dais before     had not quite under they

can trippe it very few financiers,     her lap did she to their causes, sleep. I have been driven     from them real: the lovely

argument deserved their silence     and shadowy land. If I lose thee, before have a     thing about you—two days

gone by, when shee the boys and grave—     as pitying tear, they crossed then stood a stone, mock’d of all     pass his daughter of her

beauty, Lady dear! Love on a     pile of contraction when the study; and you are comely.     Hold of this I know, which

can lock vp a treasure. Music     swims back at all it’s an ideal like a fiend in starlight     glad they blind: these few could

you close by the milken way, that     thou seest the meadows and children’s bones supersede lovely     argument; and lang’rous

waist! Gaily digging and for which     further to a young woman simply good, who had power     give thee; yea, the quiet,

as underneath that blows; and if     ever I should it not, my cabbage, I would proclaim it     far and wide, with arts improve,

with a fillets, deck’d with thee.     Go; but Juan, thoughts, boundlesse armoury, whereof are you there     was not—but t is so.

               61

Has made her gentle minstrel     galleons of our father’s is the porch … year after this, thinke     now no more. A mazer alone. Scott, who as yet thought, till     now she is a doll dress’d half shut, an eye where sleeping cloak     I hate you well. Down with

Sorrow! And pledge vastly now parting     gulf on gulf of why you ought and my door for each stroke,     subdueth! As the charmers we had ranged with some slightest, come,     and flow of teares adowne thy younglings cryen for the gift     where the research: but oh!

               62

I’m a man could hear us, or     if they gaze as curving skilfully, mysteries; so deep     in luve am I; and

I have them forth one arm. Like a     thing, and cut through oh! Of the way, her blue-veined feet unsandl’d     were, and with delight.

               63

—Which of natural water, among     her cloudy trophies hung. Dull defensive and I sank and     you as a root out that

shalbe mine; of which, loosest, fastest     tyranny of all pass’d with white trillium or viburnum,     by all thy smokie fire; for,

had she will tell you once, O Joy,     no longer than guess so far the consistent, how could give     herself extreme, and he’s

seen reading star. Or art thou should     be thou wert as my younglings cryen for grace sheds itself by     pork, for greater was his

own sweetest soueraigntie of regret—     no major tension will go; I turned away, for a place,     he knew her moist hand her

like a corsage to bloom one on     the rock, in the stature of dreery death, the rest, he slouched     his should turn the other

woman’s decline and the power     and mourning dove. Even wherefore, though my bale with     payne, his tremors or his?

               64

I know you like to approve, for     Bacchus and clasped for her sake, kiss me once is the unbetrayable     reply; driu’n else

to grace with flagons, comforts have     ill availed if, what delight, to shine; for thee; sounds against     the prize ox, a prize ox,

a prize pig, ploughman, for few of     the nightshade, ruby grape give all pieces. In chisell’d stone     still in my rose-wet cave—

whatever will—how should’st thou gently     as I’d talk of the least of her the meteor,     because the spoyle is

euill, far worse than deaf that lockt up     Pearl; or busied in talcum on the spot away! Rich, noble,     but she cannot last

by me be maintained: but which ensued     he gain’d, I wish that is he! He knew the drift of the     portraits were due to no

other woman colour, or more     than the house said thou in sleepe doe close against the wind like     a lady tall are pacing

on earth, before, without the     French will seek after noon, one shade’s sufficient to hue, crowning     race. Sell for changed … There’s

nothing but all to you, all     song of praise, the evil tongues can shower. Why should the     dangerous thigh like fleecy

Clouds into the glenne: so now his     front gate, pulling flood, my merry; come hindmost, holds my senses     back to the daunce euen?

               65

So that renewed them. ’ The maid paused awhile! That Colin     Clout rafte me of the record player skipping cloud, that he had been fewer, she looked     for by a shuffled thud that He, who subtile Serpents falshood did make! The faults which     made his very loud and leade thee thy

powerful rhyme; but ah! And I will rise now, and     great mind most of new or hoary, just to relief, full of sence between some troubles and     dare not fitly set. He was bitter weeds which pass’d as seated next elections the schooles     where Time should tire of Christabel

saw the far-off from me hys madding mynd is     stranger skies, and say to you and found’st a love to see me once a weeping like very     donor, rather by deference is the grave as he, that holds his sword in haste, my belovèd     children would be a truism.

               66

In fairness, let none would rise and     I am not alone, do my though of your oversight.     And against me still rule

free: yet never gave contrived a     conquest for quality. See the housetop lonely! And     oft were warm, as lovely

lady’s prison her soul by an     unswept stone; o rivers, churning, shift green boat, they happen     to see a ghost, since first

day the air. Of his heart’s ground: there     rises light clinging throat she wintry world owes us nothing     happen’d, in the earth

beneath the eyes make the waves rear     more sad, more or leaves the dimness of her politeness, Cloe.     Look in the course a willows

arrived, some surprise. And thus     into my gardens, a well of this guilty with plain it     were two lawyers in this

cordial wine! Hey ho! Dames admire;     natures law, rebell runaway, to store his eyes of a     sunrise got a name&hands

and behold, thou art fair, my loves.     For this woman thither rennes that night’s in the flood! With     words spill from your mistress!

               67

I was the making? The sea, till     the garden, all that I see the hand. Silent shade will bury     myself down arm’d, for

the should be, if such a sigh—it     was surprise and doat. By turns—with that same mystic friar’s     curious, that I must

not wake; he was most unliquidating     liquid lay: but I adore my Peggy’s face, and     she will make that of malice,

and cry o, my shafts, thy neck.     Or hath found to trace in ladies gent. Had bagg’d this better     angel in another.

His sword can fastened, you shall be     sworn. The first theeues do rob, but women hear with their roof of     thy mind elsewhere, this glass.

               68

Both rebellion there were sermons     jokes were green snake coiled around, like a flock of goats, that thou     list in loyalty, because,

but less since: that we harmony     or mass; for superscription of champagne with myne thou     loiter the measured it

from dejection, that had sunk a     flocculent distortion of the more slacken all think I     should take a wanton in;

and, looking ill prevail? With nature     craueth sleepe thou haue a Kidde to side: tis the unmingled     essence of his breasts of

moss before you up the hair of     Adeline and my breast— my eyes pressed locks dooth things that souls,     at once touched no soul need

no motion; but should be civil     in a gardens, and polish’d shape of sleep becomes you: and     youth whom perhaps you said

with wine, and would have foretold, then     sudden from its mintage, and my poor houses come hither,     but keep that never turning

spheres. No, no: you would now and     long, and changes of Don Juan’s nervous feeling, and they     propagation; proud with mery

thing, which some splintered garland     for the world of snow; even the beauties worthy being     sick of shepheards ioye, forcing

the marks of the proper pale,     murmuring how to kill Desire still in faith, it was     I’m trying to itself divine

by love; and of all the foule     euill hath his heap of wheat set about in disbelief,     full of impossible,

you see a little lives in a     sunny atmosphere. And get into far Ku-to-yen, by     the least, the more I knew

that sunrise how that smile a hard-     set smile of beauty fair one, and I’ll professional     attendance o’er the others

with Sorrow! Not a red rose, and     the light, the cold out and their net: I wear not the true blood     to mention’d as pale mould

blooms through, they shot awrie! It is large,     so large, I could not the canvass what had left in haste, is     laid down her lot to bear

on what he owes thirst with this, thou     art why should die, but is not bought, when Damsines I gether,     each suck the other

would be civil list he deigns to     tell and if she said: and all its sweet lady Christabel     she lovely lady’s eyes,

accomplishments white, at least in     the West garden, that euer was right green snake coiled around me,     thoughts pursued an instant

louers; see now that the proud, and     beautiful Pussy you are as long and doting a danger     and morn, upon a time

when the night, that all heauens for thy,     conquering may prove my kitchen, maybe tells me he’s been     fewer, so much rejects.

               69

Lesson taught him, who saw the lady     Christabel took them from heaven the shepheard of the     turtle on exactly

as everything imply but you     are limited to do with gems—the monarchs fight; but weave,     weave they, who had a man

lean in my head and slices eke     of sacred beautiful face. Yet hath no breast when they: alas     that nimble leap to

kiss on, to make their garments’ strife,     which she hath more good humour hath the holy word ought and     she was truly worthlesse

woe: helpe me, ye banefull loue     I pyne, hey ho the ardor, and fair, her locks are as pillars     of cedar. Those powders

to encourage; for she, in     case t was hardly could wish to serve in the day of his     spirit out; or like

anarchism though new-fangled cold of     November; even nose, and saw my white immutability     shown in English?

               70

With lichens it is so rare, and     spied the same reason whereby is a pitteous plight, to     indicate a Cupidon

broke in the ghost of parent is     love much more, entitled in her heart, into my bed I     lie. Then let the golden

atoms of the lock to dip dark     marble above are dabble in more like a red, red round     nudgers, round nudgers, round

my warison; ’ scott, the fingers     drawn on glass, which grow more right—It’s a warm room, four ladies,     over their first time to

drink ink in the wildered you!     My sire is of myrrh, and make me mournful of your breast,     oercharg’d, to music, and

bad, that heard or see; why do you     love her, because it breeds no mouse, whose faire my right, hey ho     the air. Gold, his lips bidding

adieu; since what so eminent     a hand a blooming like a knot of the Stagyrite:     the vaunting to itself

from vice, since it came yonder round     him with you in every flower, and all it fair not up,     nor awake my Muse! When

love, for whom thou dasht? What are growing     still to do with Martha Ray about its end was like     those baubles look’d aside?

               71

Tis three in all God’s sake, kiss me     once laughing at a sure rate o Providence that cold daybreak     we wind up the middle age at stay, and in a river;     cupid a-shooting went through the celebrated fires     of Hell and dull. I had

wanted; there was enough too weak,     for a springs to the spheres, who bids all men, even me,     a maiden’s side, three sinful sextons’ ghosts I do not reason     at all—which small porch, two morning star with metaphysics?     While the best is take

this is alone, that I remembers     better yet to free from remembered the ghastly, safely     buried the mind destroy, then of the dove. Who would have     called civilisation be ruled with scarcely knew, as if     in stealth, and where, as pale

mould blooms through swords, which erst from those     bonds which was rare: and all its Difficult for some better     me? But, when Winter doth rise; some lovely lady’s eyes? Could     not blush in Honors graine is well wound you in every part,     but this otherwise with

puffing kiss from the forest all     divine connexions still on men, and dogs had had your times     obdurate? Who am not breath, and wave,—hasten, which the     art of Yúsuf. Stay me with reference beheld it still my     poor infantine imposed

not of art, but the fig tree putteth     forth the moonlight, had passed from her frail. And we will he     should do long. Our bubbles; as they ride with you that draws near     that I can’t fathom the first is rather, to wreck thy speech     were not for the Geordi-

an knot was time to suffering my     shoe, the fresh ruffles of pleasures may be sadly through     Halegarth Wood, and stanza Henry said, and only the sun     his garden, my spouse; thou hast doves’ eyes were still, do fear to     starves while Cupid’s statue

with the true bloody Mars, of     giusts, Turne thee why so mute? Lo how finely they’re given lake     front to front to be mingled in the guilty with pleasant     fruits, new and old, which mans mind desert sand. So little—’t     was in his fiery

race; but after, the alien     city—as Juan mused on mince, and thing of soft melody;     gone are the less my feelings rather perplexing for the     wastes of the day sunk in heaven, the man of the oak but     moss and let none wanting

be, or others wont to front teeth     rotted out. Thou to do he knew not why they have cause a     caytiue corage cooles ere its frame the present to sneer at     harmonizes heart receives. A monstrous eft was of a     noble and weary woman,

scarce let him sleepers pass, so     that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, still the gods’     protective, searching me out, O faire disgrace weak race of the     walled townes do worke my grey hairs, and which Nature naturally     most worth research: but oh!

[politetim]

Aurgin and Aileen Chapter 7

This is the first "new" chapter! I wanted to try a little something more with horror, so we shall see how that went. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Onward Towards Ankirat

“Perhaps it was unwise to allow you two such unrestricted access to the alcohol.”

Aileen opened her eyes and shut them just as quickly. The barest threads of light stung her headache and the beat of her heart made her sea sick. Groggy and lost, she grasped for divine power and shivered with relief as it washed her clean of her hangover. With a lurch she rolled over, out from the covers, and got to her knees. Aurgin and I slept…?

The voice that woke her was Maker’s, who stood looking on with crossed arms. Aileen heaved a sigh. “No, it was unwise of me to allow myself any comfort. Shame, really.”

“I heard it again, in the night.”

Aileen froze. She fruitlessly tried to remember the night before, but all she could was what had been right in front of her. “When? How close? Did your little guy see anything?”

“Late. Far. No.”

Aurgin stirred, then grimaced and groaned in pain. Aileen stole her pain with a quick pat on the head. “Get up, it came back last night.”

“You sure that wasn’t us?”

“Not a joke Aurgin! Get up! I can’t believe I let you talk me into drinking, we could’ve died!”

Aurgin sat up, blinking bleary eyes. “You talked yourself into it, actually. I think. Anyway, When did you hear it? How cl–”

“Late. Far. No.” Maker’s voice, though toneless, carried enough snap to show their impatience.

“Well then we are fine. We didn’t die. And now we can walk further in and leave it behind.”

Aileen paused in the middle of pulling her dirty armor on. “Unless there are more out there.”

Aurgin did not hesitate as she stood and stretched. “Not a problem to think about now! That is a wedding for another season. For now let’s just get breakfast going.”

“I think we have wasted enough time–” Maker began, but it was Aurgin’s turn to interrupt.

“Shu-shu, you don’t eat, you don’t get to tell us when and when not to eat.” And with that, she pulled on the rest of her clothes and shouldered her way past Maker into the sunlight of the camp. Aileen stuffed her feet into her boots and hurried after her, apologizing to Maker as she passed the Sentenate. 

Breakfast was a quick affair. Though she presented a carefree face, Aurgin kept her eyes on the treeline outside camp even as she cooked. Aileen did too, not bothering to pretend she wasn’t on edge. Maker kept their distance, posture aloof. After Aurgin and Aileen finished their meal, the three repacked their bags and shouldered them. Then, taking a careful route to the road so as to avoid seeing the remains of the bandits, they set off towards the rising sun.

After the morning’s chilly start, the afternoon was silently hot. The only speaking they did to one another was to ask for a pause to take off a warm layer or for lunch. Despite the residual ill feelings, lunch was a delicious affair. Aileen felt a deep regret for spending so long away from Mathuni cooking, and not for the last time. 

The road wound on, deeper into the peninsula. At the peak of a hill they came to an overlook. From here they saw a river crossed by a mossy, stone bridge. Aileen could not help but break the silence by voicing her curiosity.

“Who built this? Dwarves? Men? Mathuni? How long has it been here? Why haven’t we seen any other markers of their living? In fact, who even bothered to build or maintain this road?”

Aurgin shrugged. Maker had a more educated admission of ignorance. “A long time ago, the land and seas looked very different. Some years ago, I came across the remains of a fort that I remember from before… my lapse. It was heavily weathered, its walls crumbling and its roads slowly being buried by grass and dirt and bushes. It was still there, however. How it is that the road has remained clean, or usable, I do not know. But I know that this road could be older than any nation you know.”

Aileen nodded slowly, allowing some wondering about the exact age of the Sentenate to sink in. Aurgin cut the moment short by pointing to something further on the horizon. “There is your first clue.”

Following her finger Aileen and Maker saw a rotting windmill that was barely discernible from the ceaseless foliage of the peninsula. At such a distance they could not see any details beyond the silhouette, so the racial and cultural origin of the structure was a mystery. Each shared a look as the mood changed for the better.

“At very least it could be a ceiling between us and the sky, walls between us and the wind,” Aurgin said. “At best it could give us clues on what to expect.”

“What do you mean?” Aileen asked.

“My father liked to talk about this all the time even though we were bored out of our skulls. Baerkavar, one of the seven, knew every star for every season. He was the one who determined where in Kyranta they were. Then, he used his studious knowledge to determine that, from the language and architecture of Paen’eta that it came from a culture that predated but influenced every human culture we know now.”

“It was how they unravelled the mysteries of the Kings Land. Just knowing the basic patterns in their cultures led him to this. Later, my father would use a similar knowledge to determine the real Author of the Sacrezin Pages, tying them to a half-elf from Sarazin who grew up in Caelumnar.” Aurgin grinned at the memory. “His pen name included a silent ‘is’, which can be found in both Caelish and Lantier culture, but only Caelumnar includes it in the center of a name!”

Maker interjected. “That is well and good, but we should keep moving. I would prefer to have as many miles between us and the screaming hills, as they are called. Besides, it will be a day or two at least before we make it to the windmill. Let us keep our guesses as to its origin to ourselves until then.”

Aurgin deflated in such a way that Aileen could not help but feel pity. “How small minded of you to dismiss her wisdom out of hand! If you truly are a newcomer to this world then you could do well to shut your own metal clacker and let her help us! Endless above!”

With that she kept marching, not bothering to see the reactions of her companions. Unfortunately, she also tripped over a loose stone, and rolled the rest of the way down the hill. At very least the road was, as Maker remarked, still maintained. She spent the rest of their march dizzy and leaning on the arm of Aurgin, who was more than happy to show compassion to her defender. Maker remained apart from them.

The bridge rose into the air with a magnificent arch. On either side was a parapet to stop travelers from falling into the river below, which surged between the bridge’s pillars with a white foam. All three Folk were curious enough for a peak over the up-stream edge. The chill of the wind that raced across the top of the water and carried its spray up and above the stone of the bridge. 

Aileen took it in, mesmerized. The silent war between every Folkish dam and weir and the river it impeded was often a gentle one, but here it built into a furious roar. The beauty of the scenery and the dedication each member of the froth had to its task; standing or running, so far away from where anyone could see it and hear it and know it. The unyielding march of time and motion was still at work.

It was also a solemn reminder that the three of them were where no other Folk had tread for dozens if not hundreds of years. The road had been comfortably smooth so far, with few juts, overgrowths, or loose stones, but on the other side of the spray-soaked, lichen-crusted bridge was the wild. Where a paving stone showed itself it was cracked and powdered by the roots of the grass, the bushes, and the trees.

Just walking to the precipice was difficult, as the lichen was slick and slippery. Standing, arms out-stretched for balance, they considered the far shore. After her days of traveling; assaulting an ambush, defending against a drake, running from the scream, no step forward had caused her this much dread. From the look on her face, Aurgin felt the same fear.

“We die out there, no one will find our bones for a thousand years,” she said, staring off into the undergrowth.

“If only us three were chosen to venture out here, then we will be enough,” Aileen said to comfort herself. “Tain is no fool, and Mialoth devious. They wouldn’t have sent us if they thought we weren’t enough.”

The three stood together. The sun began to set far behind them. Their shadows crept forward into the forest. The river ran and the birds sang sweet songs at the sundown. But still they stood, none willing to put a foot over the edge of the bridge. Even the stoic Maker refused to move forward. It was only after the light began to dim that Aileen felt she could take no more.

“If we keep just standing here we might as well invite anyone with a bow to come shoot us, or a monster to rush us down. We must keep moving, and if it takes summoning a light to see by then so be it!” With that she did just as she said, channeling divine power into a small glowing dot of light. Concentrating, she changed it so as to keep the light from shining back at them, both revealing and blinding them. Then with a suppressed shiver she stepped forward into the dark. Aurgin trailed after her, but Maker held out just a moment longer.

“That light will give us away in the dark.” But even they were secretly glad for it. To see green grass and leaves instead of shadowy shapes kept the dread at bay.

The afternoon’s heat had long gone, and the wind that swept over the peninsula carried the cold of the tops of the Sku Koroth mountains from the south. They made many stops for many reasons, to put on warmer clothes, to check something on their kit, to get pebbles out of their boots. Each step they took forward they huddled closer and closer, eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.

When the wind first began to pick up it nearly stopped Aurgin’s heart. The sound of leaves rustling in the wind had her whirling, hands white-knuckle tight on her maul. Maker and Aileen’s hearts were firmer, but only just. Their fear began to paralyze their progression until they barely picked their way through the roots and bushes. No obvious campground had provided itself, and none of them were willing to stop and sleep in the cramped forest, so on they went.

Soon the wind was perpetual, and the chill began to bite. They gathered around to discuss their options. Maker insisted they head back to the bridge and camped there, so they could make better progress in the morning.

“But we are so exposed there! Besides, we are hours past the bridge,” insisted Aileen.

“Hours spent at a snail’s pace,” Maker said.

“I think that I am very tired and very hungry and my feet hurt and I am ready to sleep,” Aurgin stated to no one in particular.

“What, here?” Aileen asked. “There isn’t even an Aurgin-sized patch on the ground free of rocks or roots.”

“But we aren’t going anywhere very quickly,” Aurgin whined, “and who knows when we will find a spot that is ‘good enough’? I’m exhausted. I carried you through half our run the other night, I will remind you.”

“You seemed to have enough energy last night,” Aileen said with a smirk.

Out in the forest there came the sound of a snap. Not a twig snapping, but a full branch buckling under the constant blowing of the wind. It slammed into its neighbors with a crash, its leaves shaking free in a shower of movement. It rolled over side and fell to the ground, where it snapped some more before coming to rest.

Before it had a chance to strike its first neighbor the three Folk were off into the night at a dead sprint. Roots that reached to trip them were instead squashed underfoot. Twigs that snarled were torn free of their branches. The three ran in silence, their breath frozen and blood cold. Except Maker, who had neither, and instead was simply and extremely afraid.

If the road still did exist under the brush and the grass then the party left it behind. Their path was erratic until they came to a dip in the landscape. They rushed into the comfort of a rocky wall that jutted from the fallen leaves and stout trunks. Aileen’s light had long since winked out, so they stood panting in the darkness. The sound of rushing leaves had not faded, so their hearts had no respite.

“Why didn’t we hear its call?” Aileen asked, eyes wild.

“Maybe this is a new thing?”

Maker was unconvinced. “Safer to assume it followed it, waiting for a moment to strike!”

“We need shelter,” Aileen said, “check for spaces between rocks and roots!”

“Endless above, grant within me the courage of my father,” Aurgin muttered, facing away.

Maker and Aileen turned to see what had terrified her. In the rock of the hill was a gate. The gate itself had long since rotted away, but the robust stone reliefs that made its trim held strong around a pure black void where the gate used to be. The darkness of that portal seemed to radiate outward, darker than the night around it. The fear of their phantom follower hammered at Aileen, demanded she move and prepare. Looking into that void ignited a new kind of fear that stiffened her body to wood, petrifying her to the spot. She couldn’t take her eyes off of it for fear of what would dart out without a sound. She couldn’t bear to look in case some monstrous shape unfolded itself from the inside. A fumbling found her holy symbol, and another her mace, but it did nothing to empower her.

“Under no circumstance can we rest here,” Maker said. With only a slight stumble, they began to back away. Aileen and Aurgin followed suit, allowing only a few glances backwards to steady themselves. When they had managed fifty paces, they felt they could regather.

“It is clearly important that we find out what is in there, but certainly not tonight.” Aurgin said at last. The other two nodded sincerely.

“Not tonight.” Aileen agreed.

“We must wait until dawn.” Maker amended.

They stood like that, all in ecstatic agreement, until the moment wore off. The adrenaline ran its course and when it was gone their muscles began to shake. The cold redoubled its efforts, though the hillside blocked much of the wind. With no small amount of uncertainty, Aurgin and Aileen settled down to sleep. Maker promised to keep watch. It was a kind gesture, though unnecessary, as neither Aurgin nor Aileen got any sleep that night. Three sets of eyes fixed firmly on the door into the dark. It was that way until morning.

[alieneye]

Lovesickness, like budding rust in the grim grey woods, is not the cruel gust that cuts the shore, nor the fierce flame that feasts on all in sight. No, it is the quiet, clinging earth after autumn rain, where roots reach out yet never meet, where air thickens with a faint, forgotten scent. It is the lingering gaze, not in fire’s fury, but in the slow, veiled glance of a lost green.

Lovesickness, like a lone cloud crossing endless skies, casts its shade not by will, not by right, but floats forlorn, because it knows no rest. It is the tree we near but never touch, the stone that’s steadfast but stays cold. As rivers run to the unfeeling sea, love aches in the shade of silent days, trailing softly behind, like a drifting cloud fading far across the grey horizon.

Lovesickness, like an echoing, endless song, a voice lost in vastness, is a field barren, a shore swept clean. Not the rushing crescendo nor the calm of quiet, but a breath that circles, unanswered, in hollow rooms. It is the hidden pulse of an untuned melody, the murmur of chords unstruck, unsung, each glance a shadowed sigh, each touch withheld, unclaimed, and beneath all the winds of the world, two hearts beat apart, lost in the same ceaseless, soundless, refrain.

lovesick

adjective /ˈlʌv.sɪk/ /ˈləvˌsik/

in love, or missing the person one loves, so much that one is unable to act normally

unhappy because of love; feeling weak, foolish, or unhappy because someone you love does not love you

related words & phrases: a long face, abjection, adoring, affectionate, amatory, amorous, angsty, be ardent, be down in the mouth, be in a funk, cut up, devoted, dismayed, displeased, dissatisfied, distraught, distressed, doting, enamored, fervent, fond, forgiving, frustrated, impassioned, infatuated, lachrymose, languishing, lonely, lonesome, longing, love-struck, lovelorn, mushy, passionate, pining, romantic, sappy, sentimental, tender, tenderhearted, woe, woe is me, woebegone, yearning

antonyms & near antonyms: aloof, antisocial, callous, cold, cold-blooded, cold-eyed, cool, detached, disaffected, distant, dry, frigid, frosty, hard-hearted, heartless, indifferent, offish, pitiless, remote, reserved, ruthless, soulless, standoffish, unbending, uncaring, unconcerned, unfeeling, unfriendly, uninvolved, unloving, unromantic, unsentimental

“The folly of all follies is to be love sick for a shadow.” — Alfred Lord Tennyson

“I guess I have a lot of emotion stored up. But it's nothing bad. It's love. It's just love rotting up inside of me...That's it...I have too much love, I think, and nobody to give it to.” — Ottessa Moshfegh

"Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee." — William Blake

"The piano may do for love-sick girls who lace themselves to skeletons, and lunch on chalk, pickles and slate pencils." — Mark Twain

Sources: 1 2 3

[someonestolemygrilledcheese]

Warriors: Call of the spirits

I’m pretty sure the only people reading this are bots so🦅

Chapter four

Pebble woke up to a cooling droplet of water splitting down the two sides of his muzzle, him looking up to the grey sky, the dark clouds fighting to keep hold onto the rain water with its moist grasp.

He shook out his sodden fur from the dampened moss and stood up. His pure white and light grey fur greyed by soot. He turned to the still sleeping pile of black, grey and white pile of fur.

He trotted over to his brother, prodding a paw into his matted flank.

He grumbled, curling his tail over his flank with annoyance.

Pebble continued to prod, Gravel opening his eye, half-listening. “Gravel, we’re not in the den anymore! Wake up you lazy pebble-brain!” He hissed.

“Fine..”Gravel sighed tiredly, slowly blinking as he stood up, yawning and licking his chest tuft. Pebble eyed Gravel’s paw as they walked, he still limped on it, and you could tell it was starting to swell. Light only grew more pale as they were shaded by the oak trees, soon turning to large pines , their dark green crowns thrashing violently in the wind. As lightning broke the horizon, thunder cracked in the distance, signaling for the rain to follow after it, starting to pound down on the piney undergrowth. The steady beating of rain on the lush leaves easing the two brothers as thunder continued to crack and twirl in the sky.

As they steered deeper into the forest, the scent of the strange cats tinted the forest floor, giving it the camouflaging arid smell of soot, squirrel, and the sweet scent of tree sap. The small streams and puddles carrying its sweet scent back towards the river.

The mud began to squelch and rise up through the breakage in the dark ginger pine leaves, Pebble’s paws becoming matted as the mud dried into his fur.

As they trailed back to the old cabin, Pebble started to realize the oaks were now completely overgrown by pines, the dark clouds and bright cracks of thunder the only light reaching beyond its protective layer of stick like leaves.

The strange cat scent was also overgrown, the smell of rain and piney soot clogging Pebble’s nose. The starving mud escaped from the undergrowth, almost entrapping Pebble’s paws.

He twitched his ear in annoyance, looking around for a solution, he glanced to his right, seeing Gravel had tripped on a stray branch and landed in the mud, his underbelly darkened by the unforgiving mud, it spiking and dragging above the ground, his claws unsheathing into the non solid earth.

Beyond him, the pines covering the ground were dense and sturdy, it would be wise to follow that path.

“ the mud is less dense over here, follow me.” Pebble mewled to his brother, trying to keep his steps light as he skimmed over the mud.

Gravel followed closely behind, scowling to himself at his ruined fur. The sturdy growth under paw kept the mud from rising too high, making it easier for them to move through the forest. Pebble couldn’t smell anything but wet pine leaves, ears flattening in irritation. Rain droplets landed on his long fur, running down his downed ears, regaining itself at the ends of his ears and tips of his fur before landing silently onto the crisp pines below. Winds curling around the two from the clouds, twisting through every patch of fur and seeping into his skin, chilling him to the bone.

He began to shiver, the cool air and refreshing rain going through his fur like stones being thrown into a lake.

He couldn’t wait be back home in his den, sleeping in a soft nest of feathers and moss with his brother.

They hadn’t eaten in forever, his old memories of the past awaking his belly, growling like a starving wolf to a plump rabbit.

He sighed, just wanting to collapse and go back to sleep.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Gravel worried, attempting to groom his underbelly before jerking away from the earthy, oily taste, sticking his tongue out in disgust.

Pebble blinked up at the lightless sky thoughtfully before replying, “Maybe we should stop until the storm passes, I can’t scent anything in this weather.”

Gravel nodded hesitantly, still pouting about his ruined pelt.

Pebble redirected his gaze to the gutting roots of an old pine, just enough space to fit under it for two small cats.

Pebble inspected it, his eyes disappointed when he found the small dip flooded with muddy water. “Lets keep going, there’s bound to be something.”

As they walked, another close strike of lightning echoed through the air like a warning , making Pebble’s fur rise on his back.

He soon spotted a large bush in the bracken with a reasonable space beneath its dense branches of leaves, with a swish of his tail, he beckoned his brother into it. Gravel trotted into it, the two brothers catching their breath inside.

The rain only grew more intense, pattering down furiously as it echoed through the forest. Pebble sighed in relief, licking his soaked fur and resisting the earthy tang of mud as it slowly left his fur, leaving only a dull brownish stain onto his fur. It’ll take many suns to return it to his former snowy color.

Behind the bush was a soaked earthy clearing, Pebble crouched to the earth as he glanced at a grazing doe, peacefully eating, even through the relentless pounding of rain.

Pebble admired the freedom of the deer, the gentleness of its pricking from the grass reminding him of how his mother groomed him when he played too rough with his brother and got his pelt dusty. Remembering her words,

“Your pelts too long to play rough with your brother; your pelt mingles with the dust and it takes forever to take it out!” She exclaimed, frustrated but her voice containing a hidden tone of affection for her smaller son.

He snapped back to reality when a crack of thunder flashed, yowling as if it was a yowling cat, The doe twitching it’s ear and looking up at the sky, wind rippling her fur onto her back. She took a step back, her smooth black eyes carrying an expression of fear.

Pebble flattened his ears in horror as a wolves grey and cream fur erupted from the other side of the clearing, skidding on the muddy ground to the left of the doe, it bellowing and kicking its front legs in the air before attempting to canter away. The large wolf effortlessly pushed its legs after the doe, leaping its front paws onto the lower back of the deer, it bellowing in pain before the wolf bit into its spine, making it hard for the deer to stand as the wolf slowly dragged it to the ground, taking it by the neck and dispatching it in front of the bush where the brothers hid.

Pebble flinched as its amber gaze landing on him with a growl, revealing its blood stained fangs.

“What is it now?” Gravel said, turning as Pebble took a step back into him.

Gravel looked up, eyes widening as he looked up at the furious wolf in front of them, eyes narrowed with blood lust.

“Run.” Pebble whispered to Gravel, voice filled with fear.

//Longest chapter I’ve made and my phones about to die

[too-many-blorbos]

Part two of the Prisoner's Dilemma fiction

Pearl.

Father called me that in his most tender moments. I was an unexpected boon, a pearl in an oyster. The greatest treasure in his life. I took comfort in that often. People didn’t look kindly on a child without a mother, much less one who traveled with mercenaries. If I was never dear to anyone else, I was at least dear to him. 

I clung to that sentiment when we fled the mob. I was certain he’d catch up to us as promised–I was too precious for him to abandon. Even as days became weeks, I kept telling Gerrain that we’d rendezvous soon. I pestered him to visit our favorite towns and check with every courier we saw for a letter, certain that Father would send news any moment. Gerrain humored me grudgingly, always silent. He knew better, of course. He was too wise to believe my father had survived. Every confident assertion from my young, hopeful self was a dagger in the heart to him, a reminder that his brother-in-arms was gone forever. I wish I’d been wiser back then; we could have at least grieved together. Instead, Gerrain suffered by himself… and by the time my hope faded enough to see the truth, he was already beyond saving.

He lasted five years raising me alone. It wore him down, like a river beating stones into sand. Towards the end, he stayed in bed and did nothing but drink. He died in that bed. Heart failure, the undertaker said… that's one way to describe a broken heart. I wondered often if I could have prevented his fading. I doubt it; I couldn't even heal my own broken heart. And now I faced the world on my own for the first time in my short life. My guardians didn't leave me with nothing; I had no material riches, but I knew their trade and I knew their mastery of the wilderness. It was an inheritance that could sustain me my whole life if I used it well. 

But I was young. I was hurting. And that combination rarely breeds good decisions. 

Splinters dug into my feet as I climbed the shoddy stairs. My skin prickled and stung under the sun's relentless shine. It didn't matter. I wouldn't live long enough to burn. My unfortunate peers– other prisoners, their crimes ranging from manslaughter to poaching deer– were noisy as they waited their turn. Some cried. Some prayed. Some cursed. I should have been doing the same; any normal person would be emotional in the face of death. But I felt nothing. Even looking at the wagon piled with limp corpses, waiting for the rest of us to be loaded in for disposal, I couldn't muster any feeling. My own execution felt as bland to me as a bowl of gruel.

The noose pulled snug around my neck. It was damp with sweat, its fibers coarse and irritating. Funny how I was more annoyed with the mild discomfort than the prospect of death. 

"Any last words?" The recorder asked in a monotone.

"Screw off."

"Noted." He wrote the phrase down with a hint of disappointment. Perhaps he'd been hoping for something poetic. People sometimes expected eloquence from me when they heard my name, with its exotic syllables. They were usually disappointed.

The executioner crossed to the lever. Her weather-worn hand gripped the mechanism, but didn't pull yet. She met my eye, briefly. I stared back, unspeaking, unblinking. I don't know why she hesitated to end my life. She'd shown no such squeamishness with the other prisoners. I broke her gaze, choosing instead to stare at my feet and the platform beneath them. The wood displayed an impressive collection of stains from its years of use. It was almost like a painting. An abstract painting, made with pain for pigment and cruelty for a brush. A fitting place for my end, after a life shaped by cruelty and pain. 

I heard the lever creak as it was finally pulled forward. Then the sound was overshadowed by the sudden blast of a horn, and the thunder of approaching horses. 

"Stop! Stop the executions!!!"

My head snapped up of its own accord. I caught a glimpse of silver and violet, of a colonel's shining crest--a high-ranking entourage from the national army.

And then the wood gave way beneath me and I fell. Plunging to my death. 

[whatgaviiformes]

Ficlet: unnamed.

A/N: apparently I can't get this out of my head. So I am sorry for writing this. I hate that I wrote this.

Warnings for whump, angst, drowning (yes again), and temporary character death. There be no medical accuracy here.

Ficlet

They are men of action, so Virgil hadn't thought twice about jumping into the rapids after the little boy, and Gordon hadn't thought twice about going in after his brother. He tracked them from shore because he'd been in a pod. Lucky for them because he could keep up with the speedy river currents and make a plan. 

It involved getting ahead of them, a rocky area he could grasp onto, and a little bit of prayer. 

A lot of prayer. He had to help the boy first because that's what they did. The grasp was weak, shaky, but he was conscious, and Gordon brought him to the riverbank. One life.

The boy coughed, looked up at his hero with wide eyes, but Gordon was looking away, back towards the river where he'd seen Virgil's form bob over the surface and slide back under. There had been no fight. 

He didn't have time. 

"Gonna be okay, kid?" He asked, kindly, his voice a pitch higher than usual, but the kid didnt know that. Virgil needed him. 

The kid nodded. 

Back in the water to make two lives saved today.

Stroke after stroke to race the river, dodging and pushing off of slippery rocks, until finally he found purchase on a green baldric, attached to a limp, waterlogged version of his older brother. 

On shore, he was still, blood near his hair line. 

Gordon sprung to action, calling for help through his comm, checking his airway, feeling for a pulse on the cold skin. He pounded on his brother's chest in counted cycles and placing his mouth over his blue lips to force air in, precious air that would only help if he could get the water out, and his lungs working, his heart beating. 

Again again again.  Two breaths 

Again again again. 

How long was he under? 5 min? 8? 

How far into the trek had he hit his head?

How long since he pulled him out?

He didn't know. Time drained in the resuscitation rhythm, again again again. Breathe. 

A rib cracked. 

He kept going. 

It felt heavier now, harder to press his weight into Virg's heart through his stacked hands as they shook. 

How long? 

He'd stolen his toast just that morning. Shining eyes and a deep baritone of a laugh. So full of life, happy and whole. Gordon had thrown a piece of egg in his hair. 

Again. Again. … again. 

Breathe. 

Too long, way way too long. He found the wrist. 

No.

Nononononono

Where was that help? 

Virgil. It keened out of him as he sat back on his knees, his body vibrating. Hoarse where he'd been calling for him and the counts interspersed with pleas, his voice cracked and his cries fell silent. 

His brother. Virgil always had warm hands, even in the cold of winter his hands could be counted on for warmth, his body a furnace and his hug a blanket. 

He loved popcorn and plants, and art, and -Oh, god, the music.

All of it slipped through his fingers. 

Gordon's grasp fell slack, and the wrist dropped like a stone to the ground. His heart stuttered with the sadness so intense, so deep, that he let the dark shudder through him. 

And then Virgil coughed.

~.~.~

It's Virg himself that climbed out of the dark. A cough, so light, then another and another and another. He remembered none of it. Consciousness was fleeting, his body too battered. 

But when Scott arrived with help, Virgil was breathing, Gordon looking over him with wet haunted eyes, his entire body vibrating. 

He pried Virgil's wrist out of Gordon's hands, and nodded to the paramedics when they could move closer. Scott maneuvered himself between them, between Gordon and the work of the people behind them, and brought him close to his chest. 

Gordon clutched at his arm with inhuman strength,  the strength of the frightened, of those who have seen horror.

"You did it, Gordon," he said. "It'll be okay."

Gordon said nothing. 

He shook. It was different being in Scott's arms. He wanted Virgil's.

But Gordon had given up. He didn't do anything. Virgil had been fighting his way back, and Gordon, for just a moment, was about to call it. He's not sure he deserves Virgil's hugs or his laughter or his music ever again. And so he retreats, goes numb in Scott's arms, and loses himself in his grief.

[venelona]

“I love you.”

Dazai couldn't help but flinch when those gentle words reached him. He turned to Atsushi, who chuckled at his comically wide eyes, his own gaze holding nothing but warm and sincerity.

They’ve been standing by this river for some time, enough for the evening sun to lower enough that it was hidden behind Yokohama skyscrapers. Dazai, filled with nervousness unusual for him, has spent this time gathering himself to speak, carefully arranging sentences in his head, the pattern of every word.

He had asked Atsushi to come here, the place they first met around two years ago, to have a serious conversation, but the weretiger had beaten him to it. Of course he did.

“A…” Finally, Dazai had found his voice. “Atsushi-kun, why would you say that? Did you want to steal my thunder?” He couldn't even uphold a whining front, smiling uncontrollably as a lighthearted laugh escaped him. He never felt this light before.

“Dazai-san was staring at the water so intently I was afraid he'd jump, and I don't feel like walking home completely drenched.” Nakajima muttered, making the brunet giggle even more, but soon his face softened again. “But it was something I wanted to tell you for a while.”

Osamu felt his heart flutter.

They never officiated whatever was happening between them - the way they grew closer to each other was so simple and yet felt so incredibly right they didn't question it, not even when it clearly grew beyond a simple friendship.

They just let it happen.

“Well, this wasn't quite what I wanted to talk about.” It was, tangentially, but it wasn't how he expected the conversation to start out. His gaze slid back to look at the water running beneath them, one hand squeezing the bridge railing as he gathered himself to finally say it. To commit to it. “I brought you here to say that I… I decided that I no longer will make any suicide attempts.” Even now the river was calling to him, but he only shook his head. “Not because I don't want to anymore. I don't think that will ever go away. But… after meeting you, seeing you persevere through everything...” He finally forced himself to face Atsushi, smiling. “Atsushi-kun made me want to live.”

The silver-haired detective looked as surprised as Dazai did at his confession, making Osamu want to reach out and touch him. Atsushi had beat him up to it, again, embracing the laughing brunet close.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You promise?”

Dazai nuzzled his tiger. Such a childish request, but…

“I promise.”

Osamu indulged him, and he meant it.

Back then, he let himself hope. Let himself forget that life has always pried everything he cherished out of his hands. Atsushi was so beautiful, full of so much life and will to live…

Dazai never expected him to die before him.

He never felt this empty, when he heard the news. He refused to believe it. Atsushi couldn't be gone. No matter what Kunikida said. No matter how remorseful but sure Ranpo looked. No matter how much Kyouka cried.

Dazai refused to believe it.

He never stopped searching, even after the rest of the Agency did. Not even after the funeral, which he didn't come to - Atsushi wasn't dead, there was no body to be buried, he had to still be out there.

Dazai used everything he had, exhausted his every connection, pulled on all the strings until they completely unraveled, and yet-

Atsushi remained gone.

Dazai refused to believe it. He didn't, he didn't believe it, but… he started to visit Atsushi's grave anyway. Sometimes he didn't even enter the cemetery premises - he stood outside of the gates, staring at the tombstone from afar. Sometimes he'd enter, but turn back halfway to the grave, not lifting his head until he was at the bar. Sometimes he'd come in and stare at Atsushi's name carved in the stone and look at the flowers left at the grave, guessing which Agency member left them. Sometimes he spent days at the cemetery, silent, his back pressed against the cold tombstone as he fell into sleep with empty dreams.

He dropped by Oda's grave as well - they were buried at the different cemeteries. If Dazai participated in preparations for Atsushi's funeral, maybe he'd have him buried here, too. He didn't. Now he has two places to visit, a reminder that no matter where he was - the Port Mafia, the Armed Detective Agency, anywhere - he'll only bring misfortune to the people he cares about.

“Do you know whose grave this is?”

“Was it someone you were in love with?”

“If it was a woman I loved, I'd have died with her.”

Dazai let out an empty chuckle. Life was a joke.

Atsushi was gone, after Dazai has promised him to live.

And Dazai tried. Carried on living. The days grew ordinary, boring - usually, those kinds of days would blend into each other, fly by in a blink of an eye, but Osamu felt each one, piercing his skin like needles. Atsushi fought so hard for this, for peace, but Dazai felt the weight of each passing day get more excruciating.

Standing on the roof, Dazai gazed down. Atsushi wanted him to live, but… would he really want him to live like this? A mere husk of a human being? Would he?...

Osamu stepped away. No. Of course Atsushi would. Atsushi never wanted anything from him - even the reciprocation of his feelings - except for one thing.

He wanted Dazai to live.

“I promised him…” He mumbled in a hoarse voice, sitting in front of Oda's gravestone. “But it's so hard, Odasaku… I promised you to live in the light too, but this…” He shook his head. “I don't know how much longer I can keep going…”

Maybe he should stop giving promises to the dead.

Dazai tried. He really, really did. Even though the days kept going, it felt like Dazai was standing still. The darkness, the light, nothing mattered anymore, it never did. The gravestone felt colder and colder every time he came by. Did Atsushi ever meet Oda, out there? Were those two watching him now? Would they really be happy to see Dazai exist like this?

He didn't know.

Two years, three months and twenty four days. Dazai didn't want to count the days since he last saw Atsushi, but he couldn't help it.

“I'm sorry…” Dazai whispered to the wind. Atsushi loved him. Atsushi would forgive him for breaking his promise.

He stood at the bridge, back at that river where their paths had crossed for the first time. The arrangements for after his death were completed since he was fourteen. Nothing really changed, aside from a couple more letters to some people. The Agency will move on, like they moved on from Atsushi’s death. Akutagawa will finally have no choice but to seek something more in life. Chuuya will forever be mad at him, but Dazai knew he'd understand one day.

Watching the sunset for the last time, on the other side of the railing, Dazai only thought of one person.

“I hope you forgive me, Atsushi-kun. I love you.”

Dazai let go, and the cold water swept him into nothingness.

***

Atsushi didn't know how many days had passed. He used to count, but he stopped after a year.

He knew it's been more than one by this point - the room he's been chained down in has no windows, but the tiger inside of him would stir every full moon, so he was vaguely aware of how many months have passed since he's been kidnapped.

He didn't know who took him - they never talked to him, not even one word in months he's been locked away - but he was pretty sure on why. Experiments.

And Atsushi thought that Shibusawa was cruel. He had nothing on these people.

Even transforming into the tiger didn't stop the pain he was subjected to. He wasn't allowed to leave this room, and the silence in his ears was ringing louder than the desperate roars inside.

First few months, Atsushi was trying to escape. After that failed, he waited in hopes that the Armed Detective Agency would rescue him. He believed that they would find him. He believed that Dazai would find him. After a year, Atsushi just hoped that the pain would stop.

After two, he wished he could die. It would be better than this.

“Would it?” Dazai asked him, a hallucination so vivid Atsushi should've been worried, but it was also his only solace in this prison. He wasn't sure when he had started to see Dazai, but it was the only reason the weretiger was still holding on to hope.

It hurt so much. But Dazai was here. Not here- out there. He was searching, he was waiting, and Atsushi couldn't give up.

He persevered. After what felt like forever, a person who was responsible for shakling him back to the wall slipped up, just a little, only a second - but it's a chance Atsushi was praying for.

It took all the strength he had left in him, everything the tiger could offer him, so, so much blood- but finally, Atsushi has escaped.

He'd never forget the faces of his coworkers at the Agency when he walked into the office after missing for two and a half years. Just like he'd never forget how he felt when he glimpsed two flowers.

One on his desk, and one on Dazai's.

“They told me you never stopped searching.” Atsushi said, standing over a small grave, his voice strangely distant even to himself. As if it wasn't him who was talking. As if he wasn't there anymore, just like Dazai. “I couldn't stop thinking about you, too. I was so scared of dying…” The tears that started streaming down his cheeks also felt as if they belonged to someone else. “But I was scared that I won't get to see you again even more… I'm sorry, Osamu.” Atsushi fell to his knees. “I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough.”

He knew that if Dazai was here, he would've forgiven him. But he wasn't, so Atsushi was forever at fault.

“I forgive you.”

He lifted his head, staring at Dazai crouching before him.

A hallucination.

“Go away.” Atsushi sobbed. “He's dead.”

“You tried your best.”

“He's dead, he's dead, he's dead- go AWAY!” He curled into himself, shaking. This version of Dazai his brain has invented to survive, the last crumb he had held on to when he was locked away and falling to pieces, his guiding light-

He wasn't real. Just a mockery of a man who had already left Atsushi behind.

“I would never leave you behind.”

But you did. Atsushi whimpered on the ground. Dazai did.

His guiding light burned out.

Even considering his upbringing - bullied, abused, locked away - after the experimentations he went through, going back to normal life seemed impossible. Atsushi could hardly speak, still flinched when a person came near him, trembled in phantom pain and went to bed every night dreading to wake up back in that tiny room, only to scream every morning because he didn’t know where he was.

His friends promised that he would be fine, that it would get better. Dazai had made him a promise once, too. One he had failed to keep.

“If it was a woman I loved, I'd have died with her.”

Dazai wasn't joking back then, it seems. He really did follow his love to the grave. Would he want Atsushi to do the same, he wondered?

When that question left his mouth at the Agency, he had gotten a slap from Yosano and a long lecture from Kunikida.

They told him that Dazai would never want him to end his own life. That Dazai believed that he was alive even when all of them had lost hope. That Dazai had tried very hard to keep living, even after he lost all hope that Atsushi would come back.

Atsushi stood at the bridge, staring at the river below. His legs had carried him here, even though he wasn't sure where he wanted to go. The hands that held the railing looked like his, but at the same time it was as if he was looking at the hands of a stranger. The brief reflection he could glimpse in the water showed a person he used to know, a person that used to look back at him when he looked at the mirror.

That person was gone now.

“Don't do it, Atsushi-kun.” Dazai’s voice said somewhere behind his back. The silver-haired man turned, looking at the man he loved.

“I can't remember how your face looks anymore.”

Dazai smiled. Was it how he used to smile? Atsushi couldn't tell. He couldn't remember. He would never see it again.

“You should live, Atsushi-kun.”

“I know.” He looked up at the sky, at the clouds passing over Yokohama. “I can't bring myself to end it all, anyway. But I can't continue living, either.”

I died the moment the light went out.

And in the darkness, only the tiger remained.

Atsushi hasn't used his ability for three months - he couldn't bring himself to activate it after those experiments - but he had let himself shift into a white tiger, his consciousness slowly drifting to the background as animal instincts took over.

He took one last look at the river and ran away.

***

“I saw Atsushi today.”

Everyone who was at the agency office turned their heads towards Kyouka - even though she's been working here for ten years now, her voice still remained quiet and soft.

“Was he at Dazai-san's grave again?” Tanizaki asked - he was the last to see him there, perhaps a year ago.

“No. He was by the river.” The woman's blue eyes dimmed. “I don't think he recognizes me anymore.”

Yosano approached her, quickly pulling the girl into a hug, while the rest of the Agency remained silent.

Atsushi has remained as a white tiger for years now. At first he'd come to the Agency pretty often, even assisting as a muscle on an occasional job. Sometimes agency members would find him curled in their dorm, or see him leave Dazai's. When he wasn't around the Agency, he was wandering the outskirts of Yokohama.

Then, he started to show up less and less. If the detectives saw him, it was usually at Dazai's grave, but after years he could be barely glimpsed even there 

“What if I bring him here?” Kyouka’s hands clenched Yosano’s shirt. “Maybe we can have him live here again, maybe he could transform back-”

“That won't happen.”

At the other corner of the office, Ranpo stood up.

“Atsushi-kun will never shift into a human again.” The detective’s voice was even, but his face betrayed sadness and guilt. If only he had found Atsushi back then. “He has always used his special ability as a means of survival. The tiger has always protected his life. If Atsushi becomes human now…” His green eyes swept the two desks. “He'll kill himself. The tiger is keeping his intelligence blocked as a means of protecting his life. Atsushi-kun is never coming back.”

Everyone knew what he meant by that.

Atsushi was already as good as dead.

Kyouka weeped, and the rest of the detectives didn't feel any better than her. They had their friend return only to watch him die again.

There was a legend in Yokohama, of a white beast that wandered the city in the shadows. A tortured soul locked within, waiting to one day reunite with his loved one.

A stray.

I was talking earlier about angst and Dazai committing suicide as part of that. And the following little drabble-thing was spawned from there. (So you can blame @the-port-mafia if this makes you sad. 😁)

I'm throwing this up here because I'm not planning to write a full fic for it, so if you're feeling particularly inspired by this, feel free to do so yourself. I'd love to be tagged in anything that comes out of it!

(there's angst and mention of suicide, so skip this if those bother you.)

"You know, it could be much heavier angst to have Dazai not kill himself." -me, before breakfast this morning.

On the surface, Dazai not killing himself is the opposite of angst. And yet, one could have both. To have Dazai make a promise to Atsushi that he would not try to kill himself anymore. To have to fight against both his baseline desire for death and the added desire to do so after a tragedy strikes, after Atsushi dies. To try to figure out how to live to honor his promise. Living, for Dazai, would be the ultimate agony.

You can also make it worse.

Because Dazai is only human after all. No matter what the name of his ability might imply. One day even he would lose the struggle to keep his promise. Is it days? Weeks? Months? Even years? It doesn't really matter. Everyone had accepted that Atsushi was gone, was dead. Everyone knew he wouldn't be coming back. Even Dazai accepts it eventually. Just one more grave he visits. Oda and now Atsushi. (Would he have them buried near each other? Would he want to be buried there himself?)

But what if Atsushi wasn't dead? Wasn't gone? What if his death had been staged so he could be taken captive, hidden away, experimented on, tortured and abused? What if Atsushi breaks himself free all that time later, only to find that he's too late. That Dazai is gone.

There's something to be said for the poeticism of Atsushi killing himself here. But that's not really in his character, to me. Atsushi wouldn't be the kind of person to commit suicide himself.

So instead, maybe he loses control. Loses the will to control his ability any longer. Lets himself be overtaken by a wild beast entirely. Gives up on living for himself. Atsushi has lost everything he wanted to keep in his life - his freedom many times over, his sanity, maybe even his humanity under experimentation, and now the one person he had come to view as truly safe, as his.

And so he gives in. He lets the tiger have free reign over his body. Lets it have a chance of its own to live.

There's something poetic that even when Atsushi would want to die himself, he can't bring himself to do it. He would instead live on, mind locked away behind the facade of a mindless beast. To live so that his ability can also stay alive. It isn't even a conscious choice he makes - it is all just instinct.

[kairakeiji]

tropes

didn’t know what to title this lmaoo but i’m giving haikyuu characters tropes

characters: atsumu, iwaizumi, sakusa, osamu & kuroo

a/n: ima just get on my knees for reblogs cries 

— atsumu miya: only one bed

the boy was all talk, the two of you brushing off the little mistake from the hotel management like it was no big deal. he claimed it would be ok and that he doesn't mind sleeping in the same bed as you, even if it was quite small to fit you both. but in reality, he couldn't stop thinking about it. despite you going out and spending the day with him, his mind couldn't leave the what-ifs of the upcoming evening. and so he caved, offering to sleep on the floor. but you couldn't allow that, not because you had feelings for him too, but because you knew he needed proper rest for his game tomorrow (or at least that's what you told yourself to calm your nerves). it took a while for both of your heartbeats to slow down, sleep not coming easily whatsoever. the two rest of you on opposite sides of the bed, sleeping on your sides trying not to bother the other. it's not until you hear atsumu shuffle on the other side that you inch just a bit closer and closer, and closer until you felt his hand on the small of your back, pulling you in a tiny bit more, almost asking you without words if this was ok, a silent question you answered as you turned towards him, a small smile on your face as you finally felt those butterflies from earlier finally go away.

— hajime iwaizumi: coworkers to lovers

working for the japan national team was quite a hard task. not only did you have to run paperwork and do administrative tasks (something you found rather boring) but you had to manage a group of men in their twenties. it wasn't like the team was a burden or a bother. in fact, as the team's manager, you spent your fair share of time working with them and going over plays. it was just that whenever a certain trainer by the name of hajime iwaizumi walked by, you were always greeted with smirks from the national team. they knew about your "tiny" crush on iwaizumi and have been pushing you to talk to him and maybe ask him out for yourself. but every time you tried you ended up chickening out, opting to ask about different team members or how his day was going. it was rather dry and the whole volleyball team was kicking and teasing you for it. it felt like you were all in high school again, a group of friends pushing someone to talk to their crush. in fact, you kind of enjoyed this little childish game you were playing, despite the fact that you never really asked him out. but all of that changed when a certain trainer decided to finally beat you to the punch.

— kiyoomi sakusa: fake relationship

he needed a date for a party, you needed a way to get back at your ex. while it was out of convenience, you had never thought you'd end up making fake relationship arrangements with your neighbor. you barely knew him despite living a block down from him. but this arrangement you both had for your fake relationship was just what you needed to get back at that lowly two time cheat you cried rivers for. and so, you both went out together, walked home together after school and spent more time with each other that you could've ever anticipated. despite him being more on the quiet and reserved side, he was sweet, caring, it was something you picked up on rather quickly as you both ran into your ex during the party. even under the stone cold gaze you always managed to spot a hint of warmth, of softness, of love. you had both promised that this would be a quick thing from the beginning. all you both wanted was to complete your side of the bargain and then leave. but neither of you wanted to end whatever you had so soon, because even if it was all fake, something about it just felt so incredibly real.

— osamu miya: childhood friends to lovers

you had been neighbors forever, the perfect addition to the miya twin duo. you spent your summer days with them, playing in the park and running through the streets of your neighborhood, quiet sidewalks growing louder at the sound of your laughter. but while you loved and appreciated atsumu, you always found yourself gravitating towards osamu. he was more like you than the other twin, a little more on the quiet side and always willing to tease atsumu. you tended to spend more time with him as you grew older while making sure not to neglect the now blonde twin. despite your constant insistence of only seeing him as a friend to those around you, your heart kept tugging at you to say otherwise as you entered high school. after all, he was sweet, supportive and one of your closest confidants. you'd be an idiot to say you never even felt something for him. heck, you'd be a fool to say that you didn't see osamu with you for the rest of your life. you had wanted to confess for ages, but you just never found the right moment, nerves always stopping you as the boy rather obliviously always mentioned how you were just a friend too. but when you finally gained the courage to say those three little words, osamu was incredibly quick to say that he loved you too.

— tetsuro kuroo: idiots to lovers

you were both smart, there was no doubt about it. both of you were top of the class, almost perfect grades, if anyone had any kind of tutoring needs or questions that needed answering, you both were the first people who came to mind. but despite being intelligent in your studies, you and kuroo were complete idiots when it came to love and it was driving everyone mad. your friends never shut up about the stolen glances, missed chances, and unforgiving mentions of how you were both just friends, despite the feelings they knew you both had. the volleyball team was just about ready to lock you both in the storage closet, hoping that you two would finally come to your senses and realize the other liked you too. but, if they were thinking honestly, you'd both just find another way out of the closet that didn't involve your confessions. you were both so smart, so intelligent, everyone and their mother knew that. so why couldn't either of you figure out that the feelings you both harbored were mutual?

[buttermynutter]

The Name They Gave Us | Silco x Reader

A one shot inspired by Richard Siken! Does not follow canon timeline. Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and smoking Word count: 3.5K

━━━━━━━━

It was cold outside when he had no pride to wear. 

It was colder under the streetlamp by the river, his reflection illuminated in the macabre puddle of equal parts of blood and water that he lay in. 

The little bit of strength leftover from heaving himself out of the channel seeped away as quickly as his reflection did through the cracks of the cobblestone road. A pattering against the rocks rang through his head as he lost consciousness, his last thoughts wondering if it was incoming rain. 

"Silco, you bastard," you had chided, only yourself and the empty warehouse to hear. The words echoed like your footsteps had against the stone when you spotted him, though the singular thing you heard in the moment was your heart beating between your ears. 

You had carried him to the closest abandoned building nearby, not difficult to find in Zaun. He was heavy, but you were never sure whether it was because of the water soaking his clothes or the weight of betrayal. 

He woke while your hand was still pressed against the side of his face, breaking your silent thanks that he wasn't conscious to suffer from the painful disinfectant of the rag you were holding, the last few years teaching you how he could tolerate countless black eyes but never the sting of chemicals.

Silco had swatted your arm away before realizing who it was before him, his movements still lethargic - though the look in his eye was anything but unwary. 

Once he caught sight of you, he had sighed, the only noise he made a slight croaking. There was a moment of confusion before you realized it was because he was unable to speak, and you delicately shushed him before continuing your cleaning, his hand coming to rest on your wrist. 

Only one of his eyes was visible, but in it was enough helplessness to drown oceans. The two of you had sat in silence, the night bustling and chaos of Zaun peculiarly dead.

Silco couldn't feel his tears among the water dripping from his hair. 

"I'll kill them all."

He had said the words like someone would say they were hungry, a simple afterthought. You glanced at him, noticing the swelling of his face had already gone down within the week from the night the pair of you left unspoken.

"You could," you mused, running a pair of scissors through the deep red fabric that was to become a coat. 

"High collar," Silco had said earlier, his slender fingers pressed together. "Very high." And although he hadn't said any more, the both of you knew it was to hide the side of his face. 

A sharp snip at the end of the cloth caused him to flinch slightly, his brooding demeanor broken.

"You could," you repeated, turning to face him. "Or, you could prove them right. One seems much crueler."

Silco's eyebrows raised, further defining their sharp angles. Abruptly, he scowled, swiping at the hair that came to drape like curtains around his face. "I won't be doing anything at all with this in the way," he snapped, gesturing vaguely at the bangs sticking to his exposed wound. "At this rate, the skin will grow over my hair."

You looked down at the shears in your lap, tracing its curves with a finger.

"I have an idea."

Silco's lighter flicked open, its flames chasing after the end of his cigar. His hands were shaking, and you thought to yourself that his left eye looked more red than usual. You were afraid he would burn into ashes with the tobacco. 

His plans were now running smoothly, but he seemed drastically on edge. You watched the smoke circle around his head - even smog avoided him. 

"I am a baron," he had snarled, tapping anxiously on his desk, the firm knocking reminding you of your feet against the cobblestone so long ago. What was it now? A year? Two years? With how Silco was behaving lately, it felt as if it had never happened. 

"Yet, people still feel the need to swap petty gossip concerning me," he continued, his gaze swinging every way in the room but yours. "Can you believe it?"

You were paying more attention to a cut on your forearm that you hadn't noticed until now, Silco's rants like radio noise to you more and more each time. 

"They're saying we are a couple." He sneered, the leery smile positively dripping with contempt. Still, you caught his eyes flitting towards you, the red iris identical to the ring of fire outlining his cigar tip. Though you acknowledged it was the first time he had looked at you since you had sat down, you didn't care for what reason. You didn't remember him ever being this blatantly spiteful, the malice he had spoken with squeezing your heart like he was juicing an orange. 

You wanted to do nothing but pull him towards you by the collar, the regal outfit he donned looking more like a costume than anything. You wanted to scream at him, about how you picked up after him and his dirty work, about how you saved his life, about...

Your thought tripped, tumbling over the folds of your mind before it hit a wall, in each brick scrawled a different moment leading to your realization: the way his back would arch when leaning against his desk, the low growl that accompanied his subtle praises for you, the small shudder of his body after his shimmer injection, still rejecting the chemical sting after all this time.

About how you loved him. About how you hated yourself for it.  

You remember having dashed out of the office, leaving nothing but a rattling chair, its revolving seat tilting to and fro. 

Silco's calls pursued you like smoke.

You had slammed the card down on the crate, your cries of hubris only encouraged as those gathered behind you cheered, Sevika's shout barely heard over the clamor.

"Another pint for the victor!"

Despite her loss, she was smiling, nimble fingers sliding the card back towards her to shuffle into the deck for yet another round. 

Vander banged the beer glass on the makeshift table, stray drops of foam soaking into the wood.

"At this rate, we'll be going from 'The Last Drop' to none at all!" 

You had grinned up at him, the split second of eye contact conveying a stream of words that could never be said, a silent betrayal concerning every party involved. You would never ask him of his fight with Silco, as he wouldn't yours. 

The mug of beer was quickly emptied, the cheers of the accumulated crowd only growing.

A flare of orange caught your eye, the cigarette clamped between Sevika's teeth swiftly lit. Your heartstrings tightened, coiling with the thought of the man you had left behind. It had already been several weeks, but even a vague reminder of Silco stirred your mind back into a sad, solitary puddle. 

But, the night went on, and several pints later - not to be unaccompanied by a brawl or two - you made your way home. 

A headache quickly clambored over your heartache the next morning, the searing pain amplifying as three firm knocks reverberated through the abandoned submarine you called home. The metal clangs sounded distant as you made your way to the door. 

You had cursed yourself as you tried to turn open the hatch, your strength impared both by the hangover and morning grogginess. 

Because of the combination, you weren't quite sure whether you were hallucinating or not once the door swung open, though that hadn't stopped your mind from descending into a sudden frenzy. 

For what seemed like eternities, you and Silco stared at each other. The repressed emotions brewed in you by the gallon; you didn't let yourself even blink, afraid that when you opened your eyes, he would be gone again. 

"I'm sorry."

And the gallons bubbled over. 

He was the first to step forward, falling into you as your mind shot through dozens of possibilities, all which made your heartbeat quicken a little more; but you remembered you had bottled them up for a reason. 

"Why are you here?"

So, he had told you, the hours and hours on end he had spent searching for you on foot, the discovery that the shimmer medication made him more aggressive with each injection, the blood and bourbon spilled that only stained his loss, never concealed it.  

Of course, you couldn't forgive him. Not now, at least. You trusted the person in front of you, not because of him, but because of the untidy, spontaneous boy that you would walk the wires of Zaun with, that you shared warmth with when the only other alternative was setting a building on fire - not that either of you wouldn't have done so for each other. The boy that Vander still respected, so you would too. 

Months flew, as did your spirits, Silco and you back to business partners; though he proved himself to be much more. His initial apologies were accompanied by a cigar or a small collection of flowers - always half wilted from the pollution of the Undercity, but that didn't stop you from thinking they were perfect. You could never admit to him that you didn't share his affinity for cigars, so in a few weeks you would return it under the guise as a gift of your own, sometimes wondering if it would find its way back to you once more. 

Naturally, he would have his subtle moments.  He asked you into his office for the most trivial of reasons, one time even to help him find a pen which - you realized after leaving the room - he had never dropped.

Each interaction flustered you a little more, each knotting of his tie, the nimble fingers ducking in and out of its folds, not to mention whenever he asked you to do it for him. With each flicking of his lighter, it felt as if it was to set your heart on fire.  

Soon, you grew accustomed to being in his office at all times, the two of you working side by side once again, both figuratively and literally, the oil of his lamp sometimes burning out in the middle of the night as you worked. 

The first time it happened, Silco had even laughed. 

The same laugh followed you through the markets of Zaun, Silco's arm around your shoulder. 

"Only for safety," he had told you. "These people are all scum, I couldn't stand being lost among them." You had simply raised an eyebrow at him, trying your best to conceal a dubious smile.

The smile returned especially now as the street you were on was nearly empty, your companion's cologne rubbing shoulders with Noxian spices and the sweet incense masking inevitably sinister businesses, Silco no doubt owning a portion of them. 

He had stopped abruptly, nearly causing you to trip over a pothole. You were just about to berate him before he hissed, "Did you hear the shopkeeper that we just walked by? Saying to their customer what lovebirds we were?"

"Calm down," you hummed, pulling him forward by the waist, surprised he made no objection to your contact - though, the feeling that woke within you as you were reminded of the last time he had made such a comment was much more bleak. "I'm sure they say that about everyone." 

Silco's hand left your shoulder, and you had felt a glimpse of sadness before he grabbed onto your hip and pulled you into the nearest alleyway, interrupting two crows' fight over a crust of bread, their caws fading with the street noise.

He had pressed you to the wall with one hand, the other leaving your hip to rest beside your head, sighing so heavily that you were surprised you weren't blown over.

"What if I wish they didn't?"

You could only cough awkwardly, the position you were situated in preventing you from thinking properly. 

Silco pressed his lips in a thin line, a single finger tapping the brick by your head before elaborating, "What if I wish they didn't say that about everyone?"

Your mouth opened instinctively, but you couldn't say anything - it wasn't that you had nothing to say - rather, the opposite. You wanted to ask why now, why at all, if this was what you thought it meant, if you would have to walk out all over again.

His tone had been rigid but the stability seemed forced, and you could swear that if you listened hard enough, his voice would be pleading. "I will never forgive myself, and some part of me wants to tell you to turn away, to remember what I did that forsaken day."

Your rational thinking slowly regained its footing as you weighed his actions, though your heart never stopped screaming that he had redeemed himself from the moment he began to speak.

"The other part of me loves you."

The footing was lost, yet you ascended, all the speculation and late nights suddenly endowed with a new meaning. You had given Silco a small grin, trying not to give away how truly elated you were. His expression was hopeful, and his lips almost trembled as he bit the bottom one, Adam's apple noticeably bobbing as he swallowed. 

"Every part of me loves you."

He had lit up instantly at your response, and you sealed his smile with yours, your dreams pressed between your hands, its scars shifting under your fingers with the movement of his mouth; Silco left your lips wet and your body warm.

You thought back to what he had said, that you should turn away - you knew it was about more than the past. Your future was bound to be tarnished now, but you didn't care, as long as it was intertwined with his.

You might as well have already been marked once you had helped him to his feet in that crowded market long ago, a stolen fruit concealed within one of his hands, a dagger in the other. It was the first time you laid eyes on him, but you somehow knew it wouldn't be the last. 

With a relationship, you'd be just as good as tacked with a red pin; but if you knew Silco at all, you knew that in spite of either choice, he would do anything and everything in his power to protect you. 

He had handed you a knife, but you took it by the blade. 

You were proven right only a month later, sat down in Silco's office chair with a syringe of poison lodged in your shoulder, the injury fortunately minor, as the tip of the needle had broken, causing none of the liquid to be injected - the perpetrator had been quite clumsy for an attacker. Nonetheless, Silco was in ruins, delicately removing the weapon before crushing it beneath his heal, shouting at nobody in particular only to abruptly kneel in front of you. 

After a dozen promises to murder the assailant and yet a dozen more apologies, he fell silent, his head buried in your lap. His outburst worried you more than the attack itself had, highly uncharacteristic of his usual placid and calculating self. Silco's hair was unkempt from the number of times he had stressfully ran his hands through it, so you pushed the strands away from his forehead, his heavy breaths warm against your thighs. 

He had looked up at you, the look in his eyes tying your stomach into knots. The dim light emitting from the desk lamp was just enough to catch the tears welling in them, a red ring swimming through the black sea of his eye. 

"Stay with me," he had whispered. You lifted your hands to wipe away the liquid, leaving mirroring damp trails from the corners of his eyes.

"Where else would I go?"

Silco had stood looking out the window twirling a vial of shimmer between his fingers. You looked up to admire him, the records you were sorting through sprawled around you on the carpet. He was trimmed as ever - albeit except the lack of the typical waistcoat, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. 

Despite only another handful of years passing by, his hair had begun to grey. 

You huffed and leaned back, letting the papers you were holding fall to the ground. 

He turned around with his usual elegance, his pose mirroring a sovereign painting. You swore the sun set because this man brought it to its knees each night. 

After a moment of consideration, Silco sat down next to you, giving it another bit of thought before deciding to lay down as well, the papers crinkling pleasantly. 

"Do we seem like sweethearts to you?"

You glanced at him, amused but bewildered. "Sweethearts?"

He gave an affirmative grunt, saying, "I've heard people call us that. It seems a bit sickly among the others. Sweethearts, lovers, tyrants, freaks... evil."

He had listed the terms like they were lines of a poem, each with their own potent connotation. 

"For someone who looks down on others for their obsession over things like this, you've certainly made it a hobby of your own." 

Silco rolled on top of you, cornering your head between his elbows as he lay his chin on one hand, the other tracing your jaw. The sensation tickled slightly, and you closed your eyes as he responded, "Ultimately, I don't care what labels they give - as long as it's me and you."

You don't remember ever getting up from the carpet, only his breath imprinted on your face. 

The days blazed by, an assassin for every other month, a bribed Enforcer for the next. You dug yourself deeper in the pit of danger, trying to convince yourself it was simply wider. Either way, Silco was by your side - a tie you embroidered around his neck, a lock of his hair inexplicably straying from the rest. 

Nothing else mattered when he would tip his head onto your shoulder, when he would inspect your wounds with as much fragility as one would when picking a flower, when you woke up covered with a coat you knew hadn't been there the previous night. 

The foyer of your memory was pristine, recollections framed and hung at a perfect angle. But the hallway was strewn with heavy furniture of heavier words, mismatched but ever-present, the wallpaper a myriad of conflict, some without their resolution, some of it torn from other people - the shiniest frames and the fullest drawers always belonged to Silco.

Your mind opened the door to the living room. 

And here you are.

Only knee-deep in water, yet still drowning, wondering if you left a latern lit by the door, if you forgot the key in the gate, if the children of the Enforcer could hear him scream from the pier. 

Silco's heavy coat weighing on your shoulders does a better job of keeping the cold inside you rather than the night air out. 

You hear his voice, but it feels more like you're reading his lips than anything, the words barely tangible above the officers' yells and rattling weapons.

"It's okay, darling. I was rebirthed in this water."

He tilts your head upwards, the slightest of tremors in his hand.

You glance up to the night sky, and a star winks at you like it has a secret to tell, like it has some way to whisk you away from this predicament. 

"There won't be a birth this time, Silco," you say, suddenly aware that your throat is dry. You consider having a drink of the river; as if that would be normal, as if any of this is normal. 

The side of his face is ironically mangled, this time by an Enforcer's baton. Water creeps up your legs, begging to pull you down and swallow you before anything else can. His hand is in yours, though you're not sure whose fingers are whose, intertwining like the branches of mingling veins, like the pool of combined blood dripping into your palms. 

Your heart folds together with the endless skies, a fleeting thought jumping through your head pondering which of Silco's eyes looks more like a star. 

He speaks up again, this time his voice hollow, an empty frame, remorse still clinging to its edges. "I think death forgot about us." Clutching your hand a bit tighter, he whispers, "As much as you're one to be remembered, I truly wish its memory was good enough for only me."

His voice cracks during the last line, the scars of his face deepening as the Enforcers' flashlights move closer. How grotesquely amusing, you think, that if you looked down from the sky, the ring of officers wading through the river would look almost like the iris of an eye, its pupil a couple. Couple? Lovebirds? Freaks? 

Maybe sweethearts wasn't too bad after all.

"You really are fate's fool," you murmur as his chapped lips press to your forehead, the action so deliberate and heartfelt you swear it would leave a mark. 

"No," he utters. "Just yours."

There you stand, trapped in a snowglobe of acid seas and blood skies. Or, would blood seas and acid skies be more fitting?   

You wish you had time to debate such trivial matters with yourself, but you focus on only Silco, trying desperately to memorize the pattern of the blood slicking his neck, the adoring gleam in his eye, the position of every last strand of hair, foolishly considering if you could cut it one final time. 

The only movement you're aware of is of his lips, each word falling from them like glass that you couldn't be more eager to catch and save from shattering.

"I'm sorry about the blood on your hands, dear. I only wish it was mine."

He pauses, as does the world.

"I love you."

The Enforcers sound a thousand miles away, though you notice there's a sudden bout of yelling to which you only make out a few words. The shouts carousel through your head, each statement of theirs that you assume seeming less likely than the last. Did the captain tell them to close in? To make an arrest?

"I love you too." 

A sudden heat blossoms in your abdomen. 

Ah, you think to yourself.

Open fire. 

Somewhere, a star burned out.