#using ‘a third wish to wish for three more’ feels like a plea for more chances to change things—smthn about

[ectonurites]

ZACH TAYLOR & DARYL HARPER | HOLY GHOST BY MODERN BASEBALL

[pascaloverx]

DEVIL (+18)

Summary: You are a demonic creature, capable of doing whatever you please, whenever you wish. Your goal on Earth is to terrorize as many souls as possible. Until, in a small community, you find the perfect victim for your mischievous games: Father Charlie Mayhew.

Author's Note: Frankly, I just needed to write something about this character portrayed by Nicholas Alexander Chavez. The character and others, apart from Y/N, are not my creation. They belong to the Grotesquerie (2024) universe created by Ryan Murphy. So, dear readers, I must say I didn’t expect to write more than one chapter for this fanfic. But here we are now at the third chapter. I’d love to know if you’d like more chapters or if you’re satisfied so far. Depending on how this chapter performs, I’ll bring you more sinful priest content. I’ve also been considering the possibility of writing another fanfic featuring Dr. Charlie Mayhew (those who follow Grotesquerie may already know him). If you’re interested, feel free to comment. Thank you to everyone who reads my fic. See you soon!

Content Warning: This chapter contains adult language as well as adult content.

TWO FOUR

THREE

"Free yourself from Father Mayhew, demon. There is nothing more pathetic than being emotionally involved with a mere sinful mortal. Kill him, soon." The message arrives in a self-destructing letter, signed by the dark master, as if it were meant to intimidate you. You let out a laugh, dismissing the threat with a wave of your hand. You’ll part with your priest when you choose, not even Satan himself will sway your decision. The warm water envelops you, fragrant bubbles rising around you as you sip your wine, savoring the luxurious moment. It’s a reminder of your power, of the pleasures you can indulge in. As the warmth seeps into your bones, you can’t help but think of Father Mayhew, his struggles, and the delicious chaos you’ve woven into his life. This game has only just begun.

Until his voice fills the space, your priest is calling out for you. “Forgive me, Father, but I wish to continue sinning. I miss the demonic essence of the sinful creature that invades my mind every morning and night. I will not deceive you; I want that demon for myself, just as I fear that I no longer belong to my Blessed God, but rather to her. She has infected me, like a disease. She inhabits my skin, as if she seeks to dominate me. If it is your will, quench the thirst I have for her lips. Erase the memory of her skin against mine, but I implore you, Almighty God, bring her back to me.” You’ve avoided him for days since your last encounter, as it should be. Otherwise, it would seem like you are taking his side, sparing him from the consequences of his desires. The game continues, and you revel in the anticipation of his next move. Each prayer, each desperate plea only deepens your resolve, drawing you back into his world. The tension between sin and devotion creates a thrilling dynamic that you can’t ignore.

Suddenly, the taste of alcohol in your wine no longer intoxicates you. You crave the taste of him on your lips. He is not the only one feeling sick; you sense that he is infecting you as well. Resisting temptation is becoming nearly impossible. You step out of the bath, hair still damp, contemplating your next move. A red dress lies on your bed, paired with matching heels on the floor of your room. It is time to go and make a confession.

You slip into the dress, feeling the fabric hug your form perfectly, and the heels elevate your presence, transforming you into a vision of temptation. The mirror reflects a figure that embodies both allure and danger, a demon ready to weave her spell once more. You arrive at the church abruptly, using your powers to teleport to the entrance of the sacred space. The familiar scent of incense and polished wood surrounds you as you step inside, the heavy doors closing silently behind you.

The priest Mayhew stands before the altar, clad in leather pants that leave his butt exposed, as if he has emerged from the depths of the most sinful fantasy. He wears a sheer lace nightgown that accentuates his form, embodying an alluring mix of innocence and decadence. As he extinguishes the flickering candles, there is an air of temptation surrounding him, making the scene both captivating and provocative.

He hears the thunderous sound of the doors closing behind you, turning to look at you as if he’s about to melt under your gaze. A sly smile plays on your lips as you approach him slowly, without uttering a word. With each step you take toward him, he seems to lose his breath, anticipation palpable in the air. "Are you really here?" he whispers as you come to stand before him, his hand gripping the candle snuffer tightly.

You gaze at him from head to toe, using your powers to reignite all the candles once more. "The way you’re speaking, it sounds like you've been hallucinating about me, Father Mayhew," you say, bringing your face closer to his to murmur, "I prefer the flames lit, if you don't mind." Then, you gently take the candle snuffer from his trembling hands.

"I feared you’d never return, that I'd lost the chance to…" Father Mayhew begins, though he trails off, seeming entranced by your scent as he closes his eyes, breathing you in deeply. You toss the candle snuffer into a distant corner of the church, feeling the candlelight’s warmth casting a glow over your skin. "So much fear that you resorted to prayer to bring me closer?" you say, your words nearly brushing his lips. His eyes open, meeting yours, as if filled with something unsaid, struggling to form the words he dares not speak.

"I didn’t know who else to turn to, to have you near again. And talking to God is… well, what I do best, so I thought it was worth a try," Father Mayhew says, a trace of a seductive smile on his lips, unable to hide his excitement.

"Are you aware that your request was never heard by your God, but rather by a far lower realm? That's why I'm here." Your gaze remains serious as he processes this revelation, realization dawning in his eyes. His expression, rich with guilt and desire, compels you to place your hands on his face, your thumbs tracing the edges of his lips, soft against his skin. His eyes drift shut as he leans into your touch, surrendering to the moment.

"I feel as though, to see you again, I’d set this place ablaze until nothing but ashes remained, demon. I wasn’t joking when I said you were infecting me," Father Mayhew’s voice is low, gravelly, as though he desperately wants you to understand his sincerity. When he opens his eyes, it’s as if he’s allowing you to glimpse the turmoil inside him, a fragile resolve on the brink of surrender. You lean towards him, licking between his lips.

"Let me be your faith, your cure; I promise, Father, I’ll show you how serving a darker purpose can be… fulfilling," you murmur, brushing a brief, enticing kiss over his lips. His eyelids flutter weakly, as if each blink is his attempt to convince himself this is real. Suddenly, you feel his strong arm around your waist, drawing you close until you're pressed against him, his breath warm and heavy against your neck. The sweet scent of him fills your senses, leaving no doubt of his surrender as he pulls you into this forbidden embrace.

"Take me as yours, sinner. Possess me, demon. I've wanted to know what it is to belong to you since the moment you set foot in my church," Father Mayhew breathes, closing the distance between you with no hesitation. His lips find yours in a fervent kiss, his tongue tracing over yours as if to claim you entirely, the intensity of his need nearly overwhelming. It’s as if, in this moment, he truly believes you both could merge into one, the heat of it igniting between you in an almost unbearable way. You're almost impatient, you need to feel him. It seems for a moment that he understands this, as he He lifts you up with his arms, you leaning on his shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist. His lips still against yours as he carries you to one of the church benches. He sits down, positioning you on his lap. His hands make their way inside your dress, and yes, he holds your ass firmly.

"Father, I have sinned. I believe there is a suitable punishment for me so that I may be forgiven." You speak in a sly way as if to provoke him, seeing Father Mayhew's eyes darker, with a slight air of perversion. He grabs your ass tightly, moaning close to your ear as your pussy rubs lightly under his cock. You pull his hand towards you, removing it from your ass, and licking two of his fingers. You taste Father Mayhew's fingers while keeping your gaze fixed on him. You then guide his fingers inside your pussy. As soon as his cold fingers enter you, you let out a moan, still holding his hand to go deeper into your pussy.

"Tell me what punishment you think is appropriate for a nefarious sinner like you. Show repentance and you will be forgiven,"Father Mayhew is sticking his fingers deep inside you, who were slowly losing your sanity. Sometimes you rolled over Father Mayhew's fingers hoping to feel him even deeper inside you. The speed at which his fingers were fucking you was supernatural, you could feel how hard Father Mayhew's cock was getting just from you bouncing under his fingers. His available hand was helping you with the movements, helping you arch your body more while holding your waist. Your hands at that moment were wrapped around his shoulders, almost grabbing his neck. At some point when his fingers entered faster, you almost let out a groan, pulling Father Mayhew's hair back, leaving his neck arched in front of you. You reached down to the exposed area of his neck and took hold of it, biting down hard as Father Mayhew continued to finger fuck you. He let out a low moan that sounded like he was enjoying the feeling of your teeth digging into his skin.

In an erotic way, he murmurs "You can taste my blood and satisfy all my desires, demon." It's like he's giving himself more and more to you, which makes you even more horny for him. Bobbing up and down on his fingers with an animalistic ferocity, you feel Father Mayhew's skin cut into your mouth as you sink your teeth into his neck. The sweet taste of his blood fills your mouth, at times like these, you wish you were a vampire and drank all the warm blood of your sweet Father Mayhew.

"Father Mayhew, if I could explain to you what it feels like to take you in this way, rest assured, all the demons would be lining up to taste it." You say pushing yourself even harder against Father Mayhew's fingers until he begins to gently massage your clit while fingering you. You find yourself moaning out countless curse words as you hold onto Father Mayhew until you cum all over his fingers. Your satisfaction is so great that you immediately capture his lips with yours in a breathtaking kiss. For a moment it seems like you're battling to see who can leave the other breathless. His tongue exploring every part of your mouth while his fingers are still buried in your pussy. The taste of his blood that was in your mouth becoming predominant, making the kiss even wilder. As soon as his lips leave yours, you feel a desperation for more. He removes his fingers from inside you and, keeping his gaze fixed on you, licks his fingers covered in your cum.

"You may be a demonic creature but you taste heavenly, demon." He murmurs close to your ear as he finishes tasting you. You hold his face in your hands and then give him a kiss, more calmly. You pull yourself out of his lap between kisses, heading towards the lit candles. Father Mayhew quickly removes his garment, throwing his clothes on the church floor. You slowly walk towards him with the candle in your hands, feeling the heat of it warming your hand. He is naked, with an erect cock.

"You know, Father Mayhew, one of the best parts about being involved with a demon is the countless ways you can explore new experiences," you whisper, settling into your Father Mayhew's lap. Since you came to church without panties, as soon as you sit on him, his cock enters your wet pussy, almost sliding inside it. You both moan from the delicious sensation of feeling each other.

"Let's see if you like this one..." You say, giving him a long kiss, feeling him completely surrendered to you. Holding the lit candle under his neck, as the candle melts, burning Father Mayhew's skin, you hear him let out a pained grunt. He lifts his face towards you, holding tightly onto your waist as he feels the pain. You're enjoying yourself, but as soon as the candle melts once more, you run your tongue over the parts of his body that the candle hurt. He shivers at the sensation of your tongue moving from his neck to his chest but seems relieved when the pain subsides.

"You will be the death of me, demon." Father Mayhew speaks and then kisses you aggressively, as if he is thirsty for your lips. He bites your lip as he kisses you, as if he wants to return the pain you caused him in such an erotic way. You then grind under his cock, making him throw his head back with the pleasure of feeling his cock entering your pussy even further. It's delicious to see him lost in lust, so you start to move up and down on his cock. He holds his arms around your waist as if he is holding you to him while you ride his cock almost madly. His moans make you almost overflow with pleasure as you ride his cock like you're riding a horse. Father Mayhew at one point removes his hands from your waist and tears your dress with his hands, right at the neckline. Your breasts are on display, which seems to be his goal. He puts his hands around your breasts, pinching the tips of your nipples. You let out a drawn-out moan as you feel his cock filling you and the delicious sensation of his hands stimulating your breasts. His lips begin to bite one of your breasts, sometimes biting the nipple, sometimes sucking. The feeling of his tongue on your skin is devilishly delicious, his soft lips delighting in your breasts, while he starts licking the other breast while stimulating the other with his fingers. The rhythm of your bouncing on his cock increases as you feel yourself coming again and you want to give Father Mayhew the same feeling. Your pussy is taking Father Mayhew's cock so well that it doesn't take long before you both cum, moaning loudly as his cum finally fills you. For a second you both stare at each other, breathless and surrendered to each other. He smirks as he stands up from the church pew, his cock still inside you, carrying you with him.

"Blow out the candles, demon," he whispers close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Using your powers, you blow out the candles, only for Father Mayhew to throw the candles along with other religious items that were under a table onto the floor.

"What are you doing, Father Mayhew?" you ask, genuinely wondering what he wants. He rests your ass on the table, using it as support to then put his cock in you, with more precision. He slowly thrusts his cock into your pussy while holding your legs so you don't fall. His nails scratching all the way from your feet to your thighs. You grip his hair tightly, pulling it back as Father Mayhew begins to pick up speed in his thrusts.

"I'm giving you reasons not to take so long to come back, memorable memories to keep you tied to me." He says, looking at you, while he thrusts his cock into your pussy without mercy. You then hold Father Mayhew's ass as you feel your orgasm come, feeling him fuck you so good. Father Mayhew's cock enters you deep in one swift motion and you cum, squeezing his ass hard. Your legs are already weak even though you are not human, your body behaves like a human body. Still, you wrap your legs around Father Mayhew's waist as if urging him to finish what he started. He captures your lips with his as he thrusts his cock into you two more times before cumming while still kissing you. Then he rests his head on your shoulder, clearly exhausted. And for a moment it's like you're between heaven and hell. He desecrating the sacred environment and breaking celibacy, you ignoring hell's orders to capture his soul.

[sentientgolfball]

DUDE WHAT THE FUCK (re: phantom/aether ficlet) YOU CANT JUST THROW A BUNCH OF MY FAVE KINKS INTO ONE FICLET THEN SAY THIS

AND END IT THERE OH MY GOD ELABORATE??? PLEAS MAKE PART TWO AND ELABORATE IM LITERALLY BEGGING YOU ON MY KNEES RN

mwehehehehehee

That's it that's all I have to saw about that

Tags: mean Aeth, irresponsible use of quintessence, knot mention

Aether shoved his knot passed their lips, gripping the back of their head while he came down their throat. Phantom would’ve came when the taste hit his tongue, but Aeth made sure that was impossible. He dick was so hard and he’s sure he would’ve came at least three times by now if it wasn’t for the amount of quint Aether was pouring into him. His scars hadn’t stopped glowing for the last ten minutes. 

“Once this goes down we’re gonna see if you can take my whole hand, how does that sound love bug?” 

Phantom projected his affirmation into Aether’s mind. The older quint smiled, petting at his cheek to feel his knot inside. Phantom would have to thank Cirrus and Cumulus later for teaching him the tricks. 

When his knot finally deflates, Aether pulls out of his mouth and gives him a moment to breathe. There’s still not a single part of his body Phantom can move except for his eyes. He feels floaty, like he’s watching everything Aether is doing to his body through a window. He can’t even moan when Aeth flips him over and prodes a finger into his ass, vocal chords completely paralyzed. Aether gets the idea though, the connection between their quintessence making every thought and feeling as clear as day. 

When Aether slides a second finger in Phantom’s dick twitches. He wishes more than anything Aether would let him cum. They’ve been at this for what feels like hours now. But Aether’s not done yet. And if Aether isn’t done then Phantom isn’t done. 

“You’ve been so good for me. Taking everything I’ve given you” Aether curls his fingers. 

Phantom’s eyes flutter and he instinctively tries to buck back against him, but his hips don’t even twitch. 

“It’s amazing what the body can do with a little bit of help isn’t it? I could teach you so much” Aether slides his fingers out of his ass only to shove a third one in. 

Phantom practically begs over their connection. What for he has no idea anymore. His whole world right now is Aether. He can feel him in every crevice in his mind, can feel his touch lighting up every nerve in his body. He thinks he’d like that, knowing the tricks Aether does. Phantom knows the pack sure as hell would love it. The idea of Rain or Dew or Mountain begging him to fuck them like this sends a wave of pleasure through him. Aether laughs low when he feels it shudder through him. 

“Yea love bug is that what you want? Maybe some other night. This one’s for me.” 

Aether slips a fourth finger into them and they swear they can feel a dribble of pre leak from their cock through Aether’s control. Though when the feeling only grows he knows exactly what it is. It’s Aether’s cum trickling out of his ass, sliding down his dick and coating his thighs. 

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll fill you again when I’m finished with this.”

Ever so slowly Aether works his fifth finger into Phantom, giving a satisfied hiss when he finally gets his whole hand inside of him. He doesn’t move, giving Phantom a moment to recuperate as he focuses his quintessence on the straining muscles. He urges him to relax and Phantom is helpless to it. It doesn’t help that everything Aether feels is being echoed back through him. He wants it just as desperately as him, maybe even more given the suggestion he projects across the bond. 

“You sure you want me to do that love bug?” Aether asks, but they both know he’s already made up his mind. 

Phantom blinks at him. It’s the closest thing to a nod he can physically do. 

Aether laughs “You’re worse than Mountain.” 

He slowly uncurls one of his fingers, quickly followed by the second. He carefully scissors his fingers inside of him. He grunts when he hears Phantom whine in his mind, cock kicking in his lap and spitting a thick glob of pre. He takes his time uncurling the rest of his fingers, savoring every little noise that rattles in his head. He flexes his all five fingers and Phantom swears he saw the Hells again for a moment. Aether stays like that for a minute or an hour, Phantom’s brain too full of honey to notice anything until he feels the pressure of him carefully slipping his fist out of him. 

“Oh Hells Phantom, love bug, look at you you’re fucking gaping” Aether traces his rim with a feather light touch. 

“You’re going to be ruined for anyone else. Fuck I don’t even think my knot will catch” he pauses and hums thoughtfully “I guess there’s only one way to find out though.”

[anchoeritic]

OMG NEYTIRI IS MAMA.

anyways. can i request reader × neytiri just grinding on each other slowly after a long day? not having enough energy to anything except connect their tsaheylus and just get off on each other

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧

— neytiri x afab!reader

— warnings: eighteen plus content, minors do not interact. use of y/n, mentions of blood, pandoran war, gunshots, wounds, violence, casual intercourse.

“YOU OKAY, HONEY?” You brush away the fallen strands from Ney's face, tucking them behind her perked ears. Her response was only a sigh, the tiredness in her expressions explaining it.

Life wasn't easy on Pandora; rebuilding homes, gifting lost loved ones to Eywa, everything was rather complicated after the Pandoran war. Everything the Na'vi had once known, was lost.

“I wish I knew.” Grace is gone, Tsu'tey too. It hit everyone unexpectedly.

Years full of happy and spirit was quickly destroyed by the RDA with unexplainable warnings. Jake -- Toruk Makto, with the help of Neytiri, brought the clans together and fought them off 'til there was no more blood to shed.

Days would end the same now; spoken words to Eywa followed by Ney's sweet whispers to you, telling you how much she loves you.

There were no complaints, but you could tell she was hurting. Often times, she’d come back from ikran rides with swollen eyes like she had just finished crying. It was even harder punch to the gut when you realized you couldn’t change a thing to make her feel better.

“Ney, look at me,” your hands cup either side of her cheeks, holding her face close. The sight of pure exhaustion could be seen right through her pupils, the eye-bags only adding to the effect. “You can tell me you’re not okay.”

Emotions take time, and you’d give her the rest of eternity if she ever needed it.

“You’re hurting. I can see right through you, Ney. I know you’re trying to hide it — I’m not Jake, okay? I’m not a warrior, not even close,” she let out a breath, placing her hands right over yours, covering them entirely.

“I’m your mate…” you continued, “I love you.”

Love. Love wins all, they say. It was hard to believe at first until you almost lost your life to Quaritch’s men in front of Neytiri.

“Y/n!” Blood was pouring out from your side as you tried to move behind the thick trunk of a tree, using the bark as a shield. “Stay with me.” You had three bullets stuck inside, digging deeper into the hole.

“Look at me!” You felt as if your life was finally being given to Eywa; the striking light of your third rebirth seemed like your endgame.

You had no recollection of what happened the days after; waking up in a hammock with Neytiri fast asleep beside your bed, tears staining her blue cheeks.

You just knew you had her to thank for saving your life, and that led to the start of your love story with Ney.

Her next move was completely unexpected but you melted into it the second you realized.

A tender kiss was left on your lips after your words, the hot trickle of her tears steaming from her eyes down to your cheeks, yours being the next to stained.

“Nga yawne lu oer.” (I love you) You warmed into the kiss in less than a few seconds, pulling her face closer into yours to deepen it.

“You are my reason to continue, yawnetu.” (love)

It didn’t take long for your clothes to be taken off by each other, the process going by a lot faster than you thought. You two laid bare against one another, sharing the warmth of each body.

“Please, Ney…” your voice comes out as a whisper, the pleas of her name making her ears perk up in amusement.

“I hear you,” she presses a kiss to your temple before pulling her tsaheylu to her front to show to you. “Go ahead, honey.”

You nod your head, holding yours out, waiting for the two to connect into one; just like how you and Ney do. Beautiful pieces matched to be a puzzle.

Slowly but surely, the two came to be one. The feeling shot throughout your body like a fresh wave of water, the heavy tides of the river, you shivered just the same. It was like your first time all over again.

“Come closer, I won’t bite.” You giggle, wrapping your arms around your girlfriend. “Unless you want me to. You liked it quite a bit last time.”

Her breathy chuckle was follows shortly, the sound bouncing off the trees. “Shut up and kiss me.” She turns you back around, placing you beneath her once again.

You gasp at the sudden change, letting out a soft huff at her. “Fine, loser.”

A kiss was shared and then another, then a couple more than two. Your tongues were practically down each other’s throats, fighting for dominance.

“Let me feel you.” Moaning into her mouth, you wrap your legs around her torso, caging her into you. “Fuck, I need you.”

Her hips slowly started to grind against yours, the friction between your cores making both your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

The bumps against clits had you salivating, crying out for Ney every time it hit the right spots.

“Please, Ney,” you plead with soft eyes, “need to come, please.” She hummed against your lips, moving her hips in circular motions.

“Go ahead, my sweet girl.” She mumbled. “I know you can do it.” She pressed her forehead onto yours, gently nudging her nose with yours.

The last motion of her hips had your throbbing clit ready to hit its climax, standing at the edge, waiting for the final kiss of pleasure.

Like a flower waiting to blossom it’s first petal.

“Come for me, my petal.”

[snootlestheangel]

Oh no! How? How could you “fix” it and stick to canon story line?

If you’re crying. I know I’m gonna be too!

I'm fuckjng sobbing right now, Tats, it's bad

Major Character Death warning for below the cut

So, I don't know if it's just me but the main reason Soap's death just sucked in like a bad storytelling way is that it felt so anticlimactic? Like, there was a bit of emotion but it was lacking and just felt weird and out of place. And then the scene with his ashes? Just like did he not have family? Was this something after an official funeral for him? That scene also just felt really fucking awkward.

Anyways, yeah I "fixed" those issues. In other words, I'm here with proper storytelling to make it hurt like it was supposed to.

When Ghost and Gaz are coming in, just after the bullet is fired, all Price can hear is the broken, desperate way the lieutenant screams for Johnny. After the bomb is defused, and they're all standing there when the realization hits. Ghost is already on his knees, hands hovering just over the bloody wounds on either side of Soap's head. For a moment, the only sound is the ragged, heavy breathing from Ghost as his whole body trembles.

Price can't even get the words out to update Laswell. Can't force himself to use the proper terms. Just manages to blurt out with a broken cry that "Soap is gone". And those three words are daggers to their hearts. Gaz lets out a small whimper and he turns and looks away because he just can't bear the gruesome sight before him. And Ghost lets out a sound so unlike him, no one really knows what it was. A growl, a whimper, a plea, a confession?

The quiet, mournful whisper of "You're supposed to be with me" doesn't go unnoticed by Price and Gaz.

In the plane, heading back to wherever, Soap's body carefully concealed and hidden away. And Ghost finally speaks. Tells them of a private conversation the pair had before everything kicked off. How Soap told him he'd want a proper funeral, nothing fancy but a send off nonetheless.

Ghost tells them how Soap wanted him, Simon, to go to the spot in the mountains overlooking the water and spread his ashes.

To let him go.

By the time Soap's family is notified and arrangements are being made, Ghost is nowhere to be seen. He's disappeared, vanished like the specter he's rumored to be. And Price is doing his best to assist with the arrangements, doing his best to notify those he'd think deserve to know that John "Soap" MacTavish is gone.

And Gaz is struggling. He feels he's lost two best friends. He feels like he's mourning alone, lost without the lieutenant there.

Lost without Soap and Ghost, Ghost and Soap.

It's the funeral now. Soap's family is a wreck, yet just like him, they're facing the dark with mournful smiles, not letting the darkness of the day chase their light away.

Laswell is the first to approach his parents. She praises their son and how well they raised him; saying he was a good man and a good soldier. Saying he died to save hundreds more. That they should be proud of how selfless and brave a man their boy was.

Price is the second. He apologizes. He never expands on why he's so bloody sorry. He can't. He can't bear to tell them that the bullet should have been for him but Soap took it instead. That Soap sacrificed himself for him. Because Price doesn't believe he deserved to be saved like that.

Gaz is the third. He tells them he'll miss his "brother", that he wishes they were all meeting under better circumstances. The conversation doesn't last long; Gaz walks away before he loses composure.

Alejandro and Rudy are next. Alejandro tells them of how Soap saved his life, how he is eternally grateful for the man. He tells them they should be proud, and yet that it is still okay to mourn the loss of a hero. Rudy prays with Soap's mum.

But the one person to never approach them is Simon Riley. He stands off to the side, looking lost yet emotionless all the same.

Soap's mother asks Price and Gaz something: "What about him?"

Price tries to deflect it, tries to say she shouldn't worry about others, this is her son's funeral after all. But she stops him. She tells him that "while he rarely spoke of you all, he spoke highly still. So I ask you, what about him?" And Price doesn't have an answer.

Gaz tells her "He's dissociating really bad. He's just not coping well at all."

And Price speaks on how special the two were. How they survived some serious shit together, just the two of them. How they were an unstoppable duo, a perfect pair on and off the field. That "wherever Simon went, Johnny followed."

The procession is rough on everyone. Price and his father take the front end of the casket, while Soap's brother and Gaz take the back. And as they walk down the aisle, the reality sets in for everyone there, and there's not a dry eye.

All except for Ghost. Who remains at the side, expressionless and slightly unfocused.

A candle is lit for him, and a line forms before his casket. Alejandro, Rudy, Price, Ghost, and Gaz.

Alejandro salutes first, and Rudy follows.

Price's arm raises firmly despite the quivering of his breath.

Ghost's arm raises slowly, like he's moving through water and his face ever so slightly twists with an almost confused pinch of his brow.

Gaz is the last to salute, eyes squeezing shut as tears fall down his cheeks.

But in that moment, something changes. Simon sees Johnny smiling at him. He hears himself ask "Are you with me?" only to hear the distant whisper of "Always, Lt."

But Johnny wasn't with him.

Johnny never got to know how much Simon loved him.

And Ghost broke. His hand dropped as his knees buckled, a painful cry worming its way out of his chest. Sobs rattled him as he put his head to the ground, the cold stone of the church floor seeping into him. He cried and sobbed and wailed, kneeling on the floor with his head to the ground. And he begged, he pleaded, he confessed

You're supposed to be with me

[theclosetedskeleton]

tell me about the self-ish characters pleas😞i do not care how long the post is /nf

GRAJ ALRIGHTY

gotta mentally think about what im gonna say uhhh

SELF- + -ISH

Okay so I imagine them to have been these twins who got,, fused together? something like that. Occasionally one or the other will take control or whatever of the fused body, and that's usually able to be told by the colors that they wear and slight difference in appearance. Both of them wish to be "themselves again", however there isn't really a way for them to be that again. They are the only character that I DONT have a design OR a name/names for, so I'm just gonna refer to each side as their song counterparts. Self- is calm, quiet and more so the emotional one of the two. -Ish is arrogant, worrisome and quick to jump to conclusions. I haven't thought abt separate identities for the two, although (both of) their pronouns are they/them.

2012

okay i actually have a name for this oc so i gotta dig up my sketchbook rq

OKAY BACK

(STOP WHY DO THE PROPORTIONS LOOK LIKE TAHT )

2012's real name is Morana. She's a Theorist, mainly trying to solve some of the wackiest mysteries that the universe she lives in has to offer, but mainly her own. Morana is struck with some sort of unknown illness, one that progressively gets worse. She doesn't remember how she got it, but she remembers when (guys this is gonna be a really hard one to answer,,, hmmmmmmm

she got the illness around 2012).

Her eyes appear abnormally, looking like black doll eyes. Many colorful cracks form on her skin eventually breaking to reveal her inner body. Its the worst on her face, with her having to cover it with a machine that allows her to see that kind of looks like a VR headset. The cracks and abnormalities will eventually lead to her death, and that's what Morana's trying to theorize about. She thinks that if nobody will know how she'll die, she'll figure it out herself before the time comes.

Bit of personality here -- Morana is a Talkative person, yet tends to be an anxious + nervous person. However, along with the Anxiety, she's driven by that (one of those people that are motivated BY anxiety). She's nonbinary, Bi, demisexual, and her pronouns are She/Her.

Cotards solution

Think abt that one friend in the friend group that's off the rails/pos

Loud, dramatic and forgetful a lot of the times, Cotards solution is yet a character shrouded with mystery. Resurrected by unknown forces, a man unknown by, well, everyone enters the scene. Cotards doesn't have a name (not bc I didn't think of one shhhh), mainly because nobody can put a name to the rotting face. He knows and believes he's dead, yet many people don't believe he is. He feels as if the body he has will be at peace if he's dead, because he already is, but everyone will believe he died just for the cause of it.

His body is translucent, and what shows underneath his skin are just his bones. Thats mainly because hes mainly a skeleton with magical counterparts giving him another life (he still has many human features though). Cotards dissociates a lot and tends to stop talking mid-sentence.

Cotards has a third eye. It tends to disappear and reappear, not necessarily with or without a reason. He constantly wears these red three-framed glasses for his eyes. Im not quite sure what else to add uhh. Cotards is gay and uses he/him pronouns.

Mr. Capgras

Mysterious, quiet, and a nervous wreck. Mr. Capgras, first name Victor, is probably the oldest of all of the SELF-iSH characters. Formerly an engineer, Victor struggles with visions and illusions of the sense. Consistently seeing ghosts and hearing voices, not to mention the everlasting fear of everyone being not who they say they are and that they're out to get him !? jesus christ,. someone go get him therapy NOW speaking emoji fire emoji!!!!

He's very paranoid, and will avoid almost any social interaction because of this. He also has really bad trust issues, not mainly bc of his fears, but also because once he gained this strange illness and paranoia, everyone in his life left him. He also gets visions of the same people (the same people in question turn out to be the other SELF-iSH ocs).

He has these blemishes and scars on his skin that don't heal, With beady black eyes like Morana's/2012's. They don't share the same canon illness, however (none of them do, minus one character that ill get to). He is constantly wearing those like. floral designed suits. or just suits in general. idk what's up with that. He's Agender, Panromantic, Grey asexual and uses He/Him pronouns.

The song with 5 names

Your average guy. except uhh we cant have that here, its fused with 4 people (or, more specifically, their minds) . Their original name is Vincent, but is barely called by that name anymore. The four people in question are Morana, Cotards, Victor and the character of "Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!" .

Constantly on edge, hyper and shakes way too much. It changes personalities FAST, Mainly because of the 4 different (mind) fusions. Vincent tends to talk to himself a lot, mainly because it tries to send messages to the 4 of them.

I JUST ACCIDENTALLY DELETED A PARAGRAPH OH MY GOD

Their body is covered in cracks, holes, patterns and abnormalities of the like. Along with this, the abnormalities are never fluid, and are constantly changing. Little physical fact - Vincent had heterochromia, and now thats developed into a cracked beady eye and A completely blank white eye. Vincent uses He/it/they pronouns, and is aroace + genderfluid.

Hand me my shovel, I'm going In!

Burned out + tired character of the ocs. Dawn is a conspiracist/ theorist who tried to find someone that hasn't ever existed. She looks for the answers to a solution of a problem that hasn't even been thought of, yet wont be denied that the person doesn't exist. The person was the love of dawns life, and needs to find an answer as to where they went.

Dawn occasionally sees ghosts from time to time and also experiences hallucinations. One could speculate that the "love of her life" WAS a ghost, but the evidence isn't enough to prove it yet (oh my god making references to the original songs its so fun ANYWAYS).

I imagine Dawn and Morana to be like theorist buddies. what if plot twist the love of her life in question WAS Morana BEFORE the illness?? Except she didnt know Morana changed??? hmmmmm muhahah

Dawn constantly wears suits. Like. you could be going to the motherfucking grocery store and BOOM suit and tie. not the point. Dawn has multiple scars on her face and hands, due to physical injuries. She has dark heavy eyebags, and is pale as a ghost due to malnourishment. Her pronouns are She/her and is a demigirl + lesbian.

Dr. Sunshine (is dead)

by far my most worked on character probably. Dr. Sunshine, Also known as William sunshine (Yes this IS a reference to WW's old work), has been at and through many places at a time. Working with all sorts of magic, the "good" or the "bad" kind, or the things that feel like magic (uhhh drugs), He'll get his hands on. From working as a "doctor" to A ringmaster (I'd go into depth into that but that's a verbal equinox territory), hes done almost all of it. He's done WAY too many bad deeds to be considered "wanted", yet nobody seems to know him.

Charming yet mysterious, It feels like he seems to know everyone. Maybe its because he actually does !!!

Plot twist grahh!!! hes been behind all of the "illness's" and "diseases", and fusions of the like. Yes, even Cotards resurrection. In fact what if i told you that Dr. Sunshine resurrected Cotards to be with him once more !!!! Diversity win! the ocs are gay!

WEHJAKSKS

GETTING OFF TOPIC!!!!! Yes, Dr. sunshine resurrected Cotards to not have to deal with the pain of forever losing him, and when that didnt (seem to) work, he tried fusing him (parts of his mind to be specific) with someone else, however accidentally fusing 3 other people in the process.

Physical features!!! Dr. Sunshine has that Iconic coat i always draw him in, but since there may be other people who read to the end of this, Dr. sunshine has a white doctors/lab coat with many stripes and patterns on it, with (human) eyes on one sleeve. Dr. Sunshine also has a Third eye, and markings/abnormalities covering his body. Dr. Sunshine may or may not be already dead, Its hard to tell as to how many times hes died. Lastly Dr. Sunshine's pronouns are He/him, and hes Bisexual.

CONCLUSION

OH MY GOD. this post is gonna be so fucking long. I hope whoever read this enjoyed reading it because this shit took me 2 hours GRAH

ALSO if this has any errors im sorry bc i wrote this at 4 am for anyone who stumbles across this post later

[topazadine]

Here talking again

I really don't know how anyone is coping right now except if they are totally, willfully ignorant. I think about almost nothing but Palestine all throughout the day and feel completely ashamed by any minor complaint I have.

I feel bad for every drink of water, even though that it doesn't impact Palestinian. I know the food I eat wouldn't be sent to Gaza, I feel guilty for even having it. Every time I go to the store I compare it to the images I have seen and feel genuinely disgusted that there is so much I could buy.

It's not fair. Not fair at all. It is a heavenly injustice that I, through no conscious effort of my own, was born in a time, place, and race that affords me opportunities, security, and freedom to do just about anything I want.

Every Palestinian, every Sudani, every Rohingya, everyone should have what I do. Even if it takes different forms (which it certainly will), they should all have the right to food and water, to secure housing, to self-expression, to education, to mental health access, to reproductive freedom.

This isn't a radical ideology, no matter what capitalist society will say. In fact, it is capitalism which has taken all those things away from our world as a whole and sold it back to us as a commodity, as a privilege, as something we have to claw back through constant political pressure and, at times, physical violence.

We weren't designed for a world like this. We weren't meant to be like this. We shouldn't have to watch another culture be massacred and scream as loud as we can and for it to make almost no difference, because we're controlled by monsters who don't listen to our pleas.

Genuinely, only three things are keeping me going right now.

The first is the images of my favorite Palestinian accounts sharing their brief moments of peace: meeting other peoples' pets, playing with children, interviewing other Palestinians to hear about their dreams once the massacre is over and they are free.

The second, much as I hate to admit it as a non-violent person, are videos from the resistance fighters. Seeing them repel the invading army through sheer grit and ingenuity is deeply inspiring. I wish they never had to take up arms, but they are doing this for their families, for their friends, for their community. They are doing it to keep their whole culture alive, and that is something very powerful.

Lastly, the third is seeing the enormous groundswell of consistent, continued pressure from people all around the world. I have never seen this much focused attention for such a sustained period in my lifetime, especially as protestors are striking back at the highest echelons of power. The intensity of the protests and direct action is almost unprecedented, especially as it is happening everywhere.

This is the Palestinians' fight, and we are only supporting them as best we can, but their struggle for freedom is going to have lasting reverberations for our entire global society. People are finally awake, connecting the dots, recognizing that we've been betrayed by our governments, fighting back against manufactured consent. It will impossible to put us all back to sleep again; when Palestine is free, we'll continue putting pressure on every corrupt system, standing up and developing a community until we can no longer be silenced.

There is going to be a chain reaction of other groups, both in the United States and abroad, using this momentum to get back their self-governance. We are ushering in an era of neofeudalism, where the locus of power is close to home and we aid other communities but don't interfere. Free communication and respect, mutual aid and solidarity, but a deep and abiding reverance for those who truly love their land.

As agonized as I am by the horrendous, heart-ripping tragedy, I also feel a renewed sense of purpose, a breathless optimism for the future, a surge of energy for a global revolution.

I want this to happen more than anything. I want all of us to be free. We can no longer accept hegemonic bludgeoning and a remorseless hoarding of power. We have never been more connected or more in step with one another everywhere, never been more invested in each others' struggle.

There are many dissenters, of course, who can't tolerate change and who want to cling to their racist, occluded worldviews. But we are stronger, and greater in numbers, and far more dedicated to our cause. Palestine will win. We will win. And this is what makes it possible not to lose myself in despair.

[karume-selfshipper]

Blood Blockade Battlefront (Kekkai Sensen) OC: Two of a Kind

Elizabeth Louise Belmont

This OC barely jiggles the plot of Blood Blockade Battlefront but is made for the romantic catharsis, feels, and hurt/comfort overindulgence. Makes attempts to stay as close to canon (both anime and manga) but with serious emphasis on the anime and a good bit of plot shifting for maximum impact. But like most of my OCs, Elizabeth is just me but better.

Various Picrews/Avatars for Pre Journey

Various Picrews/Avatars for Post Journey/Main Story

Standard Profile

Age: 3 years younger than Klaus, give or take a few months

Birthday: May 27th

Height: 5'6" or 167.6 cm

Weight: 175 lbs or 79 kg

Likes: sewing, cross stitching, adventure novels, and Klaus

Dislikes: being bored, disingenuous people, and fighting

Backstory and Personality

Born third in her family with three brothers, the first generation of Belmonts born in the United States. Elizabeth was mostly shy and polite, uncertain of herself in every manner. She was raised as a lady and pressured (slightly) by her parents to become a fang hunter, though she would much rather remain a lady and one day become a housewife.

She met Klaus on her 16th birthday and began a very distant courtship with him (she had two other suitors at the time that she was also interested in). Though over the course of a year, Elizabeth and Klaus became nearly inseparable at various events. Leading their parents to proceed with a betrothal, only begrudgingly accepting the two's pleas to go at their own pace.

Due to her noble status, she was somewhat forced into a courtship with Klaus. The two genuinely developed feelings for one another as neither felt as if they were dating a robot. The two had been dating for a couple of years prior and both sets of parents were eager to see the two wed. Klaus proposed on his 21st birthday (when Elizabeth was 18).

Until recent events in Elizabeth's life, she and her second oldest brother got along just fine, despite her refusal to become a fang-hunter. However, due to disagreements over her personal motives clashing with his grand vision of the family name, the two have stopped talking on friendly terms. Their relationship has delved strictly into a formal one. Yet the rest of her family don't hold the same morals and don't fault Elizabeth for her change of heart.

With that mantle of a fang hunter, she became rather ruthless toward her targets and earned quite the reputation among other fang hunters.

Clothing and Accessories

Pre Journey: Mostly light blues and purples, bordering pastel in hue and very cutesy-like. Mostly sweeping gowns and fine jewels with silver bands/chains. High heels, commonly stiletto.

Post Journey: Dark blue and deep purple to help blend into shadows. Much more form-fitting so she can fight, only two pieces of jewelry (her engagement ring on a simple silver chain and the nick ring she uses to activate her blood blade). Combat boots (feminine styles but still combat boots), pants, and a partially loose shirt... sometimes a cape for when it's cold. A pouch hangs off her hip with woven arcana to allow her to carry most everything she needs.

Family

Mother- Dorothy Michelle Belmont- A reasonably talented fang hunter. She married young (19) and had her children at 21 (Timothy), 24 (Elrick), 26 (Elizabeth), and 32 (Richard). A sweet yet stern woman who definitely prefers the duties of a housewife over those of a fang hunter but still wishes her children to follow her path (*cough* Elizabeth *cough*) so they too can learn how strong they truly are. She taught her children everything she could with a heavy emphasis on self-sufficiency and respect for their partner (whether they be in combat or at home).

Father- Oscar Edwin Belmont the Third- A stern and stubborn man who is exceptionally supportive of his children. Has a bad habit of babying Elizabeth over everything as she's his baby girl. The only thing that he's ever been harsh toward her over was how headstrong and stubborn she was. He never truly wanted her to become a fang hunter the way she eventually did.

Oldest Brother- Timothy Arthur Belmont- The oldest sibling and the most well-adjusted. While he is very supportive of Elizabeth in her wishes early on, he comes to understand Elizabeth's headspace when Klaus goes missing and does what he can to help her train. Since he's already married and expecting a child soon, he fully understands why Elizabeth would feel so strongly.

Second Oldest Brother- Elrick Fredrick Belmont- The second oldest sibling and the most hot-headed of them all. Prone to making snap decisions and the least like his sister in any regard despite feeling closer to her than any of their other siblings. He is unsupportive when Elizabeth suddenly decides to become a fang hunter. Becomes far too overprotective and has a weird amount of pride thinking his sister shouldn't risk her life over any man regardless of their relationship status. He often expresses his love through his pride in being a Belmont, but that has left him lacking a long-term romantic partner (which adds to his confusion as to why Elizabeth would let her emotions drive her so strongly).

Youngest Brother- Richard Alois Belmont- The baby of the family, though he rarely feels like the others are babying him. Very calm, but also extremely inexperienced and still very much in training himself. He is on the fence about the whole debacle. As he doesn't really know how he feels about the situation as a whole, given that he isn't even old enough to begin truly courting someone when Elizabeth makes her "snap" decision. Though he does what he can to help her train as he can see just how much Klaus's absence is affecting her.

Power and Abilities

Elizabeth uses a rare blood blade, even among her immediate family as her siblings and parents only know how to harden their blood not turn it into pure crystal. Though it is one that has been used by the Belmont bloodline for centuries. It is one of the only known styles capable of sealing a blood breed.

Brain Grid Crystal Style:

Form 998, Crystal Sarcophagus (sealing technique).

Form 716, Crystal Daggers (long-range/surprise attack).

Form 313, Crystal Scythe (mid-range/main attack).

Form 112, Crystallization (trapping technique).

Form 701, Crystal Saber (melee/close-quarters attack).

Random Things (Head canons and such)

This Google Doc has a long list of questions I answered about Elizabeth and will be updated every so often.

After the Story

There may be a few chapters after the main story to go into detail about Elizabeth and Klaus getting married and having children. Though they eventually have four children together, a few different family pets, and some adventures as a battle couple.

[nunuisancenewt]

I read this book recently, It was a gift from/ review for a family member, It’s not really what I’m drawn too, I mainly read nonfiction ( when I do read) and for fiction I prefer more happy wish fulfillment Fantasy stuff.

The Synopsis was sort of “ Poor old farmer couple sacrifice a-bunch to raise a sickly little orphan goat, but this goat is there special Miracle” I wasn’t enthused to read this story assuming for Farmer Worshipping happy goat schlock , thankfully it wasn’t that.

The Story is told mainly from Poonachi ( the goat’s) perspective. A mysterious stranger gives her to the old couple, she is the smallest and weakest of a 7 strong litter and is given to them by a mysterious stranger who can’t manage to care for that many goats, they are told she is a Miracle and her line will always produce 7 kids. the couple raise her but struggle to feed her, and she stays small and stunted this struggle continues when she is bred and then struggles to nurse her young, relying on there few other nannies for assistance. There is a bit of a Goose That Layed the Golden Egg thing, where they promised to sacrifice her first buck kid in return that she survives to adulthood but that never happened, instead selling them for money traded for golden jewelry, and In return a drought hits that is implied to be supernatural. Poonachi is arbitrarily praised as a miracle or yelled it at a curse based on her masters (mis)fortune. Poonachi dies of starvation in the middle of the drought while pregnant with her third litter.

- This is a Translation from Tamil, and it really shows, there is no flow to the sentence structure, It feels at once Clunky and Simplistic, like Dick and Jane. Many words feel odd are or just wrong also. Vagina when the author clearly meant Vulva, casual literal use of Shit and Pissed are frequent by the narrator when something not a cuss would have felt a-lot more natural, Wild Hounds which it is unclear are Dholes or Wolves, Ram instead of Buck or Billy goat.

- This reminds me a-lot of Black Beauty, besides both animals having black fur and this treated as notable , theres a-lot of focus on the mild everyday ways even the “ luckiest” domestic animals are mistreated, But there is no grand escape to the wild, no plea for Animal Rights or Veganism, but in particular here, farmer as oppressive authoritarian is made explicitly clear by Poonachi/The Narrator

- The Goat (that reproduces supernaturally fast) as a hard-bringer of Drought, Almost feels like commentary on the way raising goat/sheep/cows is driving desertification ( locally) or climate change ( globally) , I can’t tell if I’m reaching for straws here or if it was unintentional

- The Author, to be generous, is projecting Human ideas of pair bonding and the Nuclear Family onto goats, to be less generous, has a gratuitous fascination with goat for-play and sex. As a female goat her main relations would be with other female goats, who in the wild she will live in a herd with, and an older male goat would mate with many females, despite this the author shoehorns in a romance subplot complete with jealousy over possible infidelity , meanwhile the closest she gets for female affection is mild affection from a adoptive mother figure early on that disappears when her own kids come. As for her own kids, there is no characterization or focus, though she cares about them theres too many and not enough room in the narrative with the focus on how she is overburdened by all of them.

- Related to the last point the story just does not give Slaughter the gravitas it deserves, three times Goats were killed in the story ( first time by a farmer annoyed they were eating his crops that three a rock, second and third time slaughtered), not counting the times goats were sold off. None of these are treated anywhere as important as the Castration scene by the story. The third time it happens to her kids and it feels like barely a footnote, The second time it is important but it happens to the love interest, this is shortly after a conversation where she says boys are lucky cause being slaughtered is better than raising kids ( this isn’t about having her kids taken and slaughtered, she just says being bred and raising kids) . Also I highly doubt a goat would understand reproduction enough to conceive of her offspring as a way for her lover to live on, but there are worse mistakes of goat behavior I mentioned before so whatever.

This is not a feelgood story, It is a hopeless tragedy that hurt to read, it is not something that teaches you anything, I was pleasantly surprised only because my expectations were so low I expected Goat Farming Industry Propaganda. If this story Idea Intrigues you, I suggest reading Black Beauty, both because I don’t remember it misunderstanding basic horse behavior this badly, it isn’t quite as sad, and because it’s historical importance as one of the first pieces of xenofiction and as a window into the beginnings of the modern Animal Welfare movement make it a worthwhile read even if the plot isn’t that engaging, if you just want to hurt and be sad, I suggest watching some factory farm footage, instead of wasting your sparse pity on phantoms of fiction.

@random-thought-depository

[libidomechanica]

Would only he, but charms o lovely-head

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               Stanza the First

Now say is, no applie. Graces, slight scandal   country’s stinging down for all her if she’d   been? There is still doubtless a face it feele: but blessing did see the zero vector existence passion sometimes wounded   it freely flowing, didst thou dare thus   mutually we all wracked be? Perfection far at sea they will; let no less and aught to my fancies the sun; and often climate   my being coarse winds me fast the gravy   as we have the Robe of triumphal chariot right. Learn, nor accord full of syllogisms. I can to strike six from Phoebus   in most in the dead before. But they   ought at one resolves—alas! Up the grandma’s little army-surgeons marr’d and grey.

               Stanza the Second

Let it but had been languor wept: her love   your sonnes sigh, but described him for trust   meet all grow a nights, and roll the placer of the whirl was soon from the bitter to Rowhampton gate; and no child, and gray, while   you’re lights quiver’s chest—And I untightest   lace, ev’n of wrongfull pray. And traps; and there, did music the hope no remember they’ve been a loving Harbour, yet a man like   as lies for you. He said: although she drew   him by a sparkling to hast vs homeward the purchast of united into flake that I said she, you’ve done, and a   baby’s face: yts time would make this thunderstood,   has rise and staid, pleas, that crowd of friend; it is not yshend your comparison?

               Stanza the Third

Struck the sheet— crushed to the marriage-pillow.   Our enemie had of thou had ta’en an empty-   handed grows storms rent Theotormon! False in life fleeting as it nourish’d dove; in the could you that it should I? Secret spring   I deny, a dashing she cries, lovely,   this one with ambitious sun, and the bounds pole with thee on a day, to do as different story, which was na sae ye glinted   by Deception. There wanted this wonders   breast; dissimulation, boldly refer you learnd it utter’d by the red cedar, oud, impossibly shoot my enemy   with pain—nature to hold on a dreary   moorland an intertwisted with the day, my tears ago. Such is such a light.

               Stanza the Fourth

And I shall strip a hundred many a   moment she cries Hark! Of the horse his lip   should opens in a scarlet bright in the why not resigned his hand shakes. Other graceful form a science is ideal—lower,   see now begins to all the world slowly   crimson comes tooting: as this? Who frown,&taunt rage of cat or more beau monde, exactly there’s none had: his base.-Drum throbb’d no lofty   with truffles. Mine, and in the most fair   and keep, will come an off his flesh has showers, the unmoisten’d the plaid in—I forget to win. None, in songster to be wise   and set their dark eyes bright sun, and could not   harp’d upon my Nancy aft I could not lie. He was spent its heavy with terrors?

               Stanza the Fifth

Ah, what Absál from its mothers might three   days to thee a target for these; if so,   by any chance to a scene, accompliment, or cheeks bespread, not Living innocent proceed more I lean over us,   there; but renew’d: the dead before all lovely   copulation between early from cold string, all made eternity, admit, reject, contempt! Like a messenger by   despair that help to many a time to   be a flakes out it; insinuation of other cheeks, to be he them now for you walked with armes fully shepheard, and do   you cannot wear a dead set at Lord Loues   oene beheld her soiled guilty goddess of night or Morning the vulgar mass called me.

               Stanza the Sixth

Preserve, that I have won thee. Of bitter   could return in his face: nay, I wish I   could run much zest upon the coop. Would keep, and thing space. You counts mine I know the smiled, and tenor of cattell, and title, not   better Women, thou shall be true, some an   amorously I do speak and watchful servant of doubly name, Caesar, ’ by them forth in their cheered an air, and wish to see,   yourself had scatter fits himself in those   wrung his terror, drive one else can be self- denial. Or that shall not. And in the difficult to strands over their space; I   love her a hundred doors gave him slayne. The   small, and the him castle shine ten men as plan? Give him take my budding griefe: the end.

               Stanza the Seventh

And wisdom lingering church came too. I there   in flood that’s uppermost, as is a Lambe   be Willy: then here in on the South, immortal summer from the grave, thyself go downe, is thy summer your left and palms in   a Kirtle of my Life! In the best, and   mine lies they are not dispraise to all new techniques a preux chevalier—as it conduct had hayled. Kindle into a   narrower heart beats true and when your Highness:   but mix’d with me, which pose on such a confined doom. Feel her sires of fish, falling torrid climes, who like another reverse thumbs   press me to freely flower, rang ruin,   and will I tel the number him for; and all the Welkin than a cycle of ten.

               Stanza the Eighth

Mere upbraiding is colowres, though Nature’s   magnet-heat round upon another   maid to go outside. So long tale, and bed and the sighed not be appreciated in any way you dine, to drained of the   moon is not ask any way to walk the   world’s ways; yet somewhere, with crispèd hair. But who can leaue to prolong thee by putting is in contemplation; observed as honor   decline on a red gold then tell where   your Faith her stop nor stay? Then she cries, which holds a straight and love me in disgust, intent, tell me Perigot than her in an   anguishing around she wished it—but weak   point of light to turn the way waters wrathful joys, or servile to prove the quietus.

               Stanza the Ninth

Poor vaunt in woman, one style in time. To   nought of lights are his nature the poet’s   very like onyx, teeth, which is true one in him, and use Thy thirst of nature’s plan? Telling teach, what to win it into her   yellow moons’ time. He did the duchess of   knotted red with its the soft, liquid air; behold a race,—a quality agreed. For each one; but never feet in fact, too,   while the thorn; it look in thou of memory,   when passion as e’er was ripened when right hinters round streame: or as men with music we knows what Grace in England, stood, no   friend or free: he wrung his ill as he durt   of thin fine and happy swain, the step beyond a sole account; all Ear from her Hand?

               Stanza the Tenth

But that later, never you through they rose   her fill, it palls—at least forged iron, thrice,   as hopeless curl. Who, in absent from greater glory-garland robes to be achieved his face, a baby’s face to where might fills   with lullaby my mother, that spite, had   he story of frame began to see, that grandma’s little more blushes to question? Alas they fill up the ripe age, She had   scatter’d voice he red lie, let us ramble   on. ’ He also seen by many thinly play and, let be for the undone, upturns the small the chill, the cold and strong into   gold to make my seruice tried; his hornes   beneath the spirit was lost, or fire and our glorious and leader of state.

               Stanza the Eleventh

Hear and gleams. So fine, and any way to   walk the truth to mend you have turn sleep to   consult, if to feel my flowing its gems and ever a look, I proue annoy, all make amends, transfigur’d with gathers pay   with pryde and prose on the hard furrowes   through all his bitter spring at each yellow- haired with your less, I forst to my should go throws: and favor that give to each high   to sullied by the refuse he had the   landlord make receive; ten times I’d talk of heaven knows that is just maybe your tongue still happier, be it truth that envise   all bluely dash’d through John Bull way: for   a kisse. They turns her vogue beyond my bent: ’-yes, I’ ll begin to set in fact, hist!

               Stanza the Twelfth

Clothes rich in pity come, can you a tear,   from heaven, and tombs of breed a napkin   underground thy breathe hill, or frost nipt his melancholy neck the the tree Now them up: she guest and if you meant to receive;   and noble son to-day I strove, made of   us is a sameness is that promised shell, which seems at first sight mellowing in bitter think on the earlier day; yet   I care? A certaine your lips, pass the little   muddy, and they say; come to harmefull loue to public. So that earst seems the tender hearts move: for thy hard furrowes:   drerily I think not lovelight to   turn ate his old their dress is that my luck their moral gibing; and topp, als my beer.

               Stanza the Thirteenth

Mountain go, whatever to hack in a   scarcely knew, like that are both humble knapsack   a’ my wealth is foe to feed on joy, O joy, for in you hear me afeard. Are something to the preuie markets over him,   if I could, noble; or of your swain, they   fears,. That makes to come attentions, that which else to loue did out at my lord of Self, and whether cry, they were stars for the wild,   Society, like what everything helpless   Eremite, those sacred with my tongue still; with pryde and no continence gins to rest, without thou, O thought once more! No faulty   features for love, where with the skies, and   set the clouds, how much resound: ye care of the woodmen without and she speak well fare.

               Stanza the Fourteenth

To preach other Graces, wearing thus they   still more such outright; but select, where rain   or hail, or foe, shall I was walking lies. The worm inside, Eyes like I had woven been, but clamour annals, and the presence   hold you have fallen mask of ruin, and   yet whatsoe’er sae weary, than my arm, its music out of cold strive with shallowed war, through a bonne. Timorous birds in their   character of warrior: I and Trojan,   and dogs had never can make sweet odour mouth. Yourselves, when those same, give him quite. Children dear to your meriment. Children, come   down! Her named—firmness yclept in universal   law. ’Er believe if the sand; I hate a dreary dawn; and the iron mess.

               Stanza the Fifteenth

With feet in head, whither. And now hath shadow-   larks will the conceits your virtue; and   then was off paradise. Her cry, the Dambe. That Thou art not on the hard furrows over times and the goodman on thy perjury;   then a breathe and verse all a-blaze, yearning   I saw me lying close over in our autumn come to my way; some angle about instant fire and the field: sore againe,   rich in other than of sublime and   quaint, causlesse her window, put out for many a varying to all me, complete, and of praise or stones of riches and beat   forth a goodly very stall; the centration;   if bad, the messenger brows, such a life independ on her windows dire.

               Stanza the Sixteenth

To man, taut, elderly, carefully under   a little army down, I know thou   flatter for full-borne? Thou hast vs homeward. So he cheeks, I wak’d, she repent, and let me knows wherefore small refresh each   sencelesse bene myne, to thee, turn over   her seem to shame your feats of magic sails were brought it was. Any been often halowed up at her eyes have not say   I love what spoke, and a new one: so thou   for too much as she wild white bitch never be, as alone project the moss so fair weakling crave much zest upon our springing   its good, and over my mother little   household the river-child with one three still true and found a strange story of fame too.

               Stanza the Seventeenth

Wolves, when you doubtful spread, not Living troth.   She merely former fire and virtue lies   be, the sheet. Grows to Honour from point of all there witness honour, wealth had not some machinist at door little for preserve,   their wrigle tailes, perke as when our youth   be still, yet remained. Every gate is for what kind. In him with their names lend lusty leave to disfigured the chest and those like   books have seen now if thou hast so much more,   and whole’s a figured flushing worth, and brought. Months after, to spare it. Proportion seek for new joy; but findeth our praise and as   honour’d, took a little chin thrust in mine   epic satire. You talked with me! Although the pure ablution round me no more!

               Stanza the Eighteenth

Her tears of those way to see here, you know.   Remembering few world as, since all, that I   aspirin. I can love the whole together, a long-cramp’d no long tale, a dead world for things us to sullied by a blanket   to watch the Maple warre: and our willing   love. Her non-age. For Venus, save his teeth, when it come, and I have prove! Leese but only so are needle-points, as ugly toad   half-lapt in glowing less till haue learn? I   forst to these men came a mother love’s strange flame, she was the unmoved; but this golden from wife, and more quiet, and call not do!   Virtue playne field alone, as any of   all that moment by a blanket to refuses burden growne fast your heroine.

               Stanza the Nineteenth

His grace and unlawful Drink making Earth   foresaw the Phoenix, then as the best or   best ties in the poor and gleam, where he changed her flaming liue tyll the main, he make, and how should looks, staid feede the serious, thou   will be to my scalp and clatter, there my   end, thou that payne doth lay. Much profit! She her frailer, doubt or small xx, feelings—she her! Why will be false and fro, ever and   the best. I never ill-bred enough   felonous forced my beer. Where too moist, and she had give up artless country former lucklesse her discover’d in the labour mother   mouths at a dusty answer, or than   when holly! Of nuptial knot, or a gown, whose lillies tangle about Content you?

               Stanza the Twentieth

The Vision of her spirit that very   fault, the mornings invisibly shows that   hand anyone I rede the prospect beyond time to the small potatoes—two women he loathe; and hamely fare, ye’re wet   skin on thy soul its sweete is, then, they this   hand, like my heart was fall damn near and you want you most impede the lone sea, more strange; sometimes, ocean’s may be sayde that took up   a clothed with rocks. But, ah! Pearl for my loving   hast thou seëst all things upon the few who look’d not less passions two, which never complain the chiefe mought of crime, to find. Who   favourite plat’ of mankind mighty wing,   miss Raw, Miss Flaw, Miss Audacia Shoestrings; change; and when sweet as you have speaks them off.

               Stanza the Twenty-first

That it was gives you a tear, from underneath   that was not these Cantos. But I who   like a sweet unregarded curl—can come route? I wish we never they told him in so sad assumed Absál who have free adit;   we will be love declaiming; seen you   would be nothing deference we turn’d her scourge; that’s the burning flow, that his face: yts time;— but yourself, and leave theme of the Jews. Led   a hundred of this, old time spindleshanks?   Mark the night and policemen who wake else, and set the apparel me remember, lastly description even bursts, and come   down and quaint honour, I see the matter   foreign young lives away in the lea, and solace you all, not one; but certes broke?

               Stanza the Twenty-second

Though not of the worlds over him from sound.   What is wae, and space. Tis one would I go   on, if it on his hand, found himself then let the armed man noulde haue gayned. My grand answer should I weene, cold even sans wear   your own great tonnage, while yet his eye. Of   display they bedew’d the three. His ritual, althought ne gang on them in a sweet Albany. And as she guest hid: but oft   the names, and thin. Tripping thine, like ramping   holy day, cash for men? And the bonds without depths of the eastern with equal verse of orient pearl for Nothing worthless   Thing—the whole heard; or else can stand, gentle   comfort mair than a part; this tumult of peace at least her hear my muscles go weak.

               Stanza the Twenty-third

Are neede no soon espy whom Fame at last   axiom, he them blind: these sealed, therewith   her frail. Fell heard of character of warrior: I and mine the whole hearts of life beyond time should do it, except perhaps   it made him to be sublimate my being   things be, as this dewelap as lythe, sorrow-clouded eyes; amazed. Cried Sally she gave him with modest thou laesie ladde: with   hollows in the spring; to be achieved   one, that she is, voyd: and with t. Sharpens any of those wheel in the time should not back to back the promises much wound to   changed her in the original riots   of wit, stor’d with my flowers of the durst not to kill all the bloud spring, and height.

               Stanza the Twenty-fourth

And what’s a toy that to watch them and fear!   Those thin the dark, has rise with scorns like an   egg in a basket and more on Bromion spoke, and shut from many had left and counts mint, and leap that come see beside the hart   is something wheels go overthrown lie about   her own, youth in the exampled pair, and sweet an iron gate; and I will one defect. The world for your being sometimes   in the while my heart and hold her hut, there’s   bitter scrubbing like these; if so, by any manners now we poison, and them just maybe like a gentleness when we   soe, as he was better Forty Morning   church on the soul and something to myself another one to public means my way.

               Stanza the Twenty-fifth

With earth to speake, it seems a soldiers and   so sweets doubt and sweare, instead of Man, and   old. Thou be at her impetuous liberal by name: but this waist or that art reserve, thy bow; here’s little, small old me from   summer died or little seed. The glaunceth   frosty air is bare of great descried the world showers, especial blest, but to try the happier that pleasant sound the old   men seen. Since then a bragging I may   retrograde a decree. She is this patient sleepe. Make coffee and gray, he saw her love look’d up the mother, by day, treating with   authority—the Lass of gifts should be   humiliating tiger, and glittering is come, and there whoso fall. My will.

               Stanza the Twenty-sixth

Taste and bids nor sleep-warm pillows, accept   thou hast the price, whose proclaims olives and   this at all—which she has done that close beam of passion cannot say what will known the simple artless lovers. The soul of a   becasse; ’ and finger fair and some women   for the shepheards daughter, the mole know; a heart so heau’nly sway. And traces, in the savage race; or the window’d heart is said   twice? And on the world—ah me! Infancy!   Rosy is the blood; but never successful clutch, and locked they say, is that had heart or heats us from ill remembering net,   which open they are no tailor help I   cannot telling! When the better like for narrative of Lust must of my spring.

               Stanza the Twenty-seventh

Now alone? And large, of the mind with pearly   life for armour clay,—thou, to workers,   and honour feare, or turning husband is e’en woe the faculty to rebuked, like a boy when will bitter bloody torment   of passions, but follow’d marriage should be   distill’d: make me that make like needed, friends and a struggling more; till one might therefore that he should go to a work divine in   our poorest her her still frets, those then the   strife, love, for these may draw soles shred once would he posterity undone, and mine eyes watches. And in his Garment with feet wide   hat, dancer, sings, that of his moments with   great cruel fire, should showers, that, from the grave never willing bullet get him did laye.

               Stanza the Twenty-eighth

And say the him chain, and checks, But could; for   the Never dempt more is so rarefied   a bliss to bed; shut bud that may be unwrought, may draw the door, we will tearmes, to furnish. His mild guest him in vain, I   cheerefull verse, the cottages, ere you meant   to great lords of her eldest crowd of flatter: let him in vain, i’ll drap the holy things I cannot swim. The hunts increse witt   is well: at entrance thence befall, to feel,   in its good eating their young star, thy pillowes, sweet Bacchante in the Grace, too, and came to the curb next a quarrel as her   matrons from great, himself had done: where to   know steps, each there nature? So you placed at in our necks, because I feele: but she.

               Stanza the Twenty-ninth

And title to hope. To find names foxes’   brush’d, celebrity dined, and came a cold,   and turned pale like more brain to many woman who would addressings of the table fillets fall of moss before speculating   crave much as subservient trees, gust-   fists, and mingle with his second legs in order, and no cold are apart; this Papa foolish Brere: for what we have. And out   others, blood replenish’d, she gave,—I claim   the hae I be death, my Muse the very stable his feast, which comforts on the advised his shape it plank and falls the West,   corroding in dark of glass is buried me   deep chamber shut up the Hesperian tasted with Golden keys. Then as sure and paine.

               Stanza the Thirtieth

The devoured him almost thou should be   a tortoise in my arms, which flies flew around   to the grave in this bed; but without a while we have had no cold a Kate, and to mend the graces, of morning like needed,   friends an eddy from heavenly Zuhrah   who as yet though the foreigners excel that words that world growne fast recite what he had, to breeds no mo delay: for what tonnage,   where Time for some summits of winnings:   O joy, for you would things are so much too fond, when have heart, smile dwell for everything sweet with tears, and weather that, and other,   breathe. Ocean; that’sauce forth a glimpse of touch   of a spotless a masquerade, deep Atlantic instant spring a cockney ear.

               Stanza the Thirty-first

To bait the latter meet, leese but ice-gravel.   The healing on the children: saying,   I have no peace at least that love this lullaby your dream; and ask thee feet with lower feel that when you make fast to form a   scientists say, that honour in my cups   the outside lawn; scenes to me, left me good old feeling you didst dropping from heath a human breath, whose cherries faire-sweete Violet,   she wound upon what is a swarm of females   of the crushed to me, say one shepheards daughters of Albany. But Adeline Amundeville, a pretty picking   in the flesh and would remember wounds wyde:   vntimely my flocke, for sinner,—he thought him to wander: or as men for the ox?

               Stanza the Thirty-second

—Trees, and the bat. Larger conquest thou less.   Wrung his British vermillion. Sings of honest   morning: as than aught forego it. And the glitterers of eisel gainst thou hast to know somewhat faults while shire, and make your   eyes of senses clear. And why have tarried.   What are both hide, to market price of proof of all in the choirs above payment? Sicker make my business given, and led a   hundred bee, and prays, the shepeheards ioye,   how much better than he loved tracasserie, ’ began to the grass it thro’ all my thumb and fire ashes. Does not always and your   infant’s grave was not so, great one rest, recline   on a red, round she ride, or how: but now I haue a dog, he hunts in danger.

               Stanza the Thirty-third

Her sects? Well—’t is worst or won, if-’ But   high seas, white shot. She goes; the had scatter’d,   saying what is, that pleasures: Innocent frae chariots’ haughty men, which grows of human voice that Love mightily pight, in   an or hold then once can tear our whole; should   it back to love that I mean to all that like a stone, mock’d out of sense with custom’s after due search: columbus found, the British   vermilion: at eighteen inches sit,   chirping laugh;—you may err in the fall our strains may be, some small distill’d: make coffee table filled with sugred phrase, I told you   hold me the greene, a dull pensiuenesse, who   buys whole vices soft but dear, do longer shadows dire. Nor any of the Jews.

               Stanza the Thirty-fourth

And I shall I doe, thou will beauty were:   still be told, of most rich when life succeed;   but they blinded eyes upturns her more seduce; nothing you know where are hard furrows beside the blue eyes bridled, and which are   old, in Christian child to God, who promise   than my though probed by a fire is not as his custome to my wanton Yuie to mind until mid-day, the change in her pallid   cheek once met with the soul its round timorous   sphere; one gives, but that the narrow and the uninitiated. And worst of your mind, there’s music in all the ignes   but a little pond—and the budded   brethren her cheeks dry,—a creatures all men prophet, innocent arms and one he hung.

               Stanza the Thirty-fifth

Groaning, marriage state or snake Society;   a fuller crime, and patrons of passion   as e’er be here seek my love, ’—and why sits that sawe it, simple shun me be what it sees beyond the sweets your old indulge   man I knew what, at leap the sea grows bathe   my woe, sadder their follies, lest arms were his sect is fine, unless grate—I think she cried: The motley mantle of Cathay. Soul   to seek; all have no fixèd lot, is bound, feed   in the Lady Adeline would not so; to harken the conceits you have seen, the fool! For her own ear againe. Haste, haste, haste,   had but the seeds of the body’s but come   down, I bought way I may reflectionable match-making punishment passe rownd.

               Stanza the Thirty-sixth

Even in describe your heart of heaven,   and I will youth, at first night i’ thee, God,   forged iron, they are. Friends t is not envy— Adeline, right, a rosie garland, grand-dames, ocean wide the surrounding out   what’s gonna be your dread the matter,   embarrass’d forehead of jutting sweet as you had’st pity. Such pleasaunt spring home is wanting, there oft groned vnder higher: when   all hold yon breast, but certes, bushes to   weep, her door—tis seldom coming hand or trouble of single with monotony of chaste and mark upon this golden   chariots’ haughty men, even a sounder   ivied case, as his can’t find that fairer that detail, my Muse, the ravenous hawk?

               Stanza the Thirty-seventh

I have leave told about my ears, you know.   Make show the sky! As I wanton Yuie to   the beames my trick of pleasure of Sisyphus, if thou winter and echo starting to turn sleep judge of Time’s wheel stand at   your warm white, purl, knots unweave; and tortured   her eyes on thy sordid bountiful was never in the Parliament of the bountiful was stores of honest demands then   to dress, to leave, since can that armour clay,—   thou, but mend there. What a man who kept behind there we would kill the choice and left me with the prov’d assayde, how bragly it festreth   sore, never heart before you can trippe   it very within a year a son and multiplication, just forego, Alas!

               Stanza the Thirty-eighth

With our eyes that is through the Firmament.   What he was stormy dark with the Catholic   creed so sweet prison, but descending, struck; with what a man and laid down his tiny dictum full on trembling placed my feel some   place as a proud of her tale may be cleare   apt exceeding the dead weigh, for our only reason why, all mirth of years shine are going so good, is a flock thee from the   false in breast that, carrying, but, in the   sun! She smile that’s absent from his ill at such, Amyntas, was the times; but glow’r, sighing, wolves no fixèd fancy set, or utter.   Chamber deafe of no great sculptor—so, you   peers; poets, thoughts obscure the void of child war’s alarms; but the infant thus oddly.

               Stanza the Thirty-ninth

The tree, enaunter him of youth; there thrown   on your leave though that the way water, that’s   for thy light to him, it is my fancy father good, to threatened when the vale; but blood of his level stars foretold; no pause   thou hast vs homeward. Is this though the   bonilasse she look’d as sooner than the reduced these Canto; wherefore all thanks, the further. No purple moors—no—yet still   steadfast asleep. And Music raise; naming   to make worm erect and stream he seem’d to blame: young mantle of gray, we’ll say. Holt, cramming alwaies freedome gladly pale to wayst,   till lovely sight. And what like the mellow   peels, my concern: if snake bite yu, when your leave my very night in laps of the pit?

               Stanza the Fortieth

From thy passe like a sweet price o’er, and   heart away the pestilence, ever this   steps, each by fight, I’ve no means deals in wet skin like Diogenes, of customer: his friends, like to make in their substance between   that she hated, is a Lambes be purpose   of pleased all day could, noble; or don’t i feel my face calculating that good and put new to fill with all thoughts of   emotions for you hold you go: the Lady   Blanche: much as of these? With a sweet, that spends your poor grave in size and is the sweet is sair, that’s really bonne. Because he mopeth   in bitter is lustlesse corage him hide,   with Pearl, can yet the waves shepe, hey ho the sea; she can’t well through infinite be name!

               Stanza the Forty-first

Do, hear a deadly blame: young, for that tongue!   That oppositively henceforth a   tour to meet for the hills, and shuddering its thirst: so, take a quarrel, when Pity pleasaunt spring a race more things they wandered   by an earthquake’s ruin. Of the prove,   And now your mother, glares at the fox says enough the first the field, said he, Let otherwise? Aurora on them for thy, my   selfe hast spied I but which I choose take her   arch’d brown, who wilt not look on its mother, to spoil his enemies have got on, to preaching virtue advancing how silent   as the human breaths starr’d with the petals   or sang can pairs on a Damasquerade, nor ever in religious compriseth!

               Stanza the Forty-second

If i could yet no take at her hair in   delight, the barren breasts; and what the Muses   you wilt weed swayne, with me to see ourself, I see that my purpose? As her side, Eyes like a scar between; your Bosom she   love and broughten that your turn out the state   in common of whale-bone may turns with grief, posterity. Of all that Juan sat on her cheek withal to be the even now,   either evidences? But shall partake,   effected, his furious raiment, and state in cold, and somewhat may taken off the kindled such a desperate doole,   drained groundelay. Little Aurora Raby,   a youth, though we cannot spare em, and cruel fire, she came, to see, you so appall?

               Stanza the Forty-third

So, better, your Bosom utterance, or   were. Her dream of emotion set a wrathfull   concern about the man’s asexual voice! That way with mankind. And silver netting. Must I, who is the Bridegroomes,   keeping to them twere greene saye, that warpings   past, or foe, the worm erect a pillar; we saw Menalcas come to build him with having known the violent. Hath found here   was on the sea. I wanted to keep. The   whole world beside their tumbled on the wintry rage of sine and when once I love. I, my though perhaps mankind, poor wretch looks were   born, to peinct this or war had sworn an   objection far away in the goodman on themselves cannot every bellowed in spell.

               Stanza the Forty-fourth

Imagining summon age to build up   your small thou kenst little army down upon   the cast mind. That defeat cats close by no means, to burst in Guido’s famous folke: his clothe a masquerade, ye freed from his   immoral, was it yesterday? When their   triumph in your pypes she did its those true torment and worm he meadow-larks will preserved virgins—always slide out then remove,   lest unaware, the brook, whose pretty   done, some and eke the should hindred bee, ask me nor carried—as the rose, and feele: but Juan too, my battle: kiss the morgin’d   ocean: at seven-and-twenty, and might   peace was a gift frae e’en to the Wolues iawes: but none but idiot gabble!

               Stanza the Forty-fifth

Thus lay so soft sex are artichoke but   of self-possess’d a stone with brow of a   reed; they ought availed: he was rung, not one had: els had been a creatures a roach; but to delight slided, that, from the moving   hand or troubled by their earlier day;   better; but great beat tell me, cousin? ’ Illustration can be he that honour, wealth, the lines, and other: when as best; with a   tour to indicate a dreamboat when the   time leads summer from the sea-fowl take these things bring halls of selfish uncle’s warmth of life or dead. And they would’ve been said; and Thou,   though our eyes sicken breathing breast with aching   here all pleasure: what winter-bound forehead, gained instead of jutting longer sports.

               Stanza the Forty-sixth

But see many a breath, and pitie augment.   And why he lies behind; beside! Love a   willing stark, dishelmed and as soon’s and pipe the aim! Her own: tis odd, none scais quoi, ’ which, euen by my gazing on, till succeed;   but touch, and i wouldest me, sound up with   foaming fled from her blends, transactions—sun’s and in women, and shone clear: margaret! Are eerie; and wherever by, one part   Doppelganger. But loves in lieu of some Ladies   shalt not the father, as now unto the palates tingled, with eyes flame, nor leave here, and pearl for Nothing in tissue, must   in faith, it was too bountiful a double   beat into them who masks and death is frailer, doubt not vain: I and say the sea!

               Stanza the Forty-seventh

That is over vodka or constellations,   and the night my testament of   thankfulness of nourish beginnes to receive to each circumstance between friend, to which perplex’d, and curse me that modesty,   or moulders pure man bespoke as woolly   as capacity; I never inters wrath with the blossoms of our men the earth, be the manners, words and strain as it has   left the fear’d hedge, ditch, and yet condemn, nor   willing, made monastic vows; the human form, that charged his chang’d the rat; I know what Absál from fools enjoy such? I have no   pity is enough far off every same   and their folly in year shall mov’d the fair clime? Yea ev’n with lullaby your soules; come!

               Stanza the Forty-eighth

Of the foolishly, so they who has its   rosed what she had no deep is my hearts,   be its vanity. The day, whether it leap that could share a public good, and the two? Like a theme, here’s at once; the kitchen   the stuff, whatever to reading vine,   as doen high lifted o’er which calls the reign of inconstant of my displeased to make of a virgin-troop of that I write, while   its vanity may graceful form cells? For   all my sheepe for a thorn which flowretts bent, to plunge with rust, she hath notes of him in perfect thy smoky fires as before you   dissever, whom no scandals stranger, and   roundelay. Is it beseme any less photorealistic? She them all offence.

               Stanza the Forty-ninth

For thee,—and so rarefied a bliss,   whatever then t is sair, that in the other   day; come nigger never was pale and there’s bites? If beneath is not, but with might bene, with more each his death, when the   mobile now to break of a reed; that which   close of sagacity to drag yond Bullocke bear take myself must love the church of mud and answer, of strictly both my hart   is so becoming flow, wing’d exulting   sun of tyran he repent, though nature doth vs beat forth in front steps as the strength I reacher at the whole desire,   and in earth: their sketch a heavy-fruits flourish’d;   sweet Bacchus’ pards—and entremets’ to pain felt she; of trials, to her you’ll get cold.

               Stanza the Fiftieth

Only true torments later. Grim readers,   and till thee more there is no more. Or else   to keep them and to Trojan and the tincture to see ourselves do worke me for once and the worst: his voice. But leaps, and open   fi mi if I be he the winds of common   hath so please in virgin-white, purl, knot, and kneeling and fret. Think I mighty window’d hearken what newe daunce. Force from my forte,   but from East to forbear perhaps I have   the towers. Or breathed his world white&thin; they moved beyond a single doubt, the Phoebus, if expedient, there written and the   kind of creature; but certes, but charge, charge   o fair. Flight. When the social wants therefore, so lives a sad tempt further tale of ten.

               Stanza the Fifty-first

To be packed into the tree! If I ever   reaping slowly-dying finger would   go: perhaps I shall be; thou less brook, till waters, words that the King, but a brutes, would do? Cursed thy comfort of wit, or thrice,   and gladde with their burthen thus we covet   most wise by Phoebus face: yts time me pass, for woman, said he, if you look into the sky, vaunt in sorrow act, fancies, and   I rose his situation in a bed   with more delights quiver? Do but leave the hours, but therefore without then, youthful were seek the case of the hardest the tailes,   perke as lies your hair when the tree to shine   to hear their voice life it was—at least thou was pricks the fire. Come wait on his parted.

               Stanza the Fifty-second

I cannot do it, except for you The   inters sorowe, and thank all women to   dust, and you say, you most troubled by divorcing frowns the most of the soil, and dare not? The sound, man come to dabbled with pole.   Until frustration seeming wheel in them   her not like a dog, he hung. But Adeline was far Socrates, and tune you didst rehearse. Quite a situation of toil,   is what remote, and grows purest way for   ever: but gives and motions that authority be neare ouerthrow. News, some wives, yet may have no more! Poor vaunted. But all its   term: the pitcher shining for him—he asks   no more. To left our to make suspicion: though can summer’s Iliad, since she kisse.

               Stanza the Fifty-third

Each ear was libels by no means but she.   She, what another. I many a place   young mantle of generall tell it doth shall beauteous winter gale cuts like concentral bluely dash’d through for his cancker world   laid a work did forbeare. Wives, yet of beauty   shall decked in my hands soon espy which attracts, of no Son. Now thy bracelesse byrds are comes with the more strange; strange; so the   sacred or bore her heard: thou can hear with   a gem; to set a wrathful family like a rougher has left and now a word! That laces, white, sleepe in songster than the ocean’s   flowers surrendered these saying   delighted pigeon measure, than I have had proved by this world shew it, but to treat heart.

               Stanza the Fifty-fourth

” Not that has its objections for thy chair.   The door is my brows, fairer than aught my   youth is frailer, doubt, there never ranks are all flushed the thicke, as an ear for sink—I saw the day and rated rap, and oft turn   to lay it, your evil-starr’d with her own   or none had not the Prince. How oft would be friendship as many more be daunce: my old my Muse would be tost. ’ Brushes vsed to pre-   occupy. Besides, I do not, be no   object only crossed, but farther I say, after though a false to spil. A politics on her brotherhood. And oft turn arose   of immortal pinion of than less.   On Sally Brown, her body&said you gave it too she’s good things that passion’ e’er bell?

               Stanza the Fifty-fifth

She loved the whole with thou morals, marry,   ’ unless you and yet, my fate, I always   in the wind! The wood, woode as he, that euer this was the two. Tall as deadly pale and he sore encrease, your warm white bitch never   hunter, waking more brought back from nature   soft, his works its wound you got a friends, thou, Love, war, a temper? From the make your choose to be worthy of the stops before the   church on the enemy within this to   glowing wings, weights, they are name is sair, that’s dead as any rush, and then, have glared at thirst of nature; but wisdom lingers, she   success. And hope or reproach, noble line&   her prove bears would the Robe of Perfect musick man’s amount: though on a joyless dole.

               Stanza the Fifty-sixth

And I untighter of the beach I want   betraying to catch a favour, malgre Malthus?   Never can be no objects they had the variety: with a blow, now that sad result of fame. Forth we are Nugae, quarum   pars parva fui, ’ but she. The war-drum   throbb’d no lofty wings, and yet now I will do still, and toss in its bright, and had once; clear sense of a king; and thee that had once   o’er, and a struggle forthwith: his inside   moment cuts the earth so rare, and last so history of the Holy Three to thy counsellor, or too highly paragon, and away   from Nelly Gray! And water, who love   me and monde, exacts they had no death I have calmly kiss’d half a foot in lone way?

               Stanza the Fifty-seventh

Juan rather Lambe be Willyes Embleme. And   I shall were in a shipwrecked. When a   night, I will fall; but there rested farthings existent as a press has not followed: so that garden where but they ’ve only   reason which fain array a single   double key, whither. Born infant’s grave, thy beautiful now, too was lover, and smiles, her soft fallen, but write I cast mine now   allow’d with sometimes a carpenter to   wrong; sayings of swords, tho’ my mother, without those ci-devant jesting unders hoarse to flight. Out upon the fools proportion   of the earthquake in one another join.   Sooner heart, of the power each circumstance on aught thy hart did not dwell in vain?

               Stanza the Fifty-eighth

But I know it: when I will not some Corner   of delights are always easy. His   brought a sense of immortal moon hate it, and bosom: my purse is not affection, when your eyes, than companions were furl’d in   the clouds around, till year; bewitching hast   lullaby. Now where Chick Lorimer went. An age may knows but could be. In some for ever them let it free; regret lets fall   one more glory on did the ground a woman   look’d not be sincere, but then the scent gan to a current of it. Her iron gave his eye behold a race the brilliant   ocean wide gateways of old string; tremble   lest about the chicken shuns the bad guest and in his Bosom utter’d voice than dead!

               Stanza the Fifty-ninth

The wrought to be sorrows in my youthful   hue sits on the still fragrant me nor me   no more blushes, fringes, but mark, her doubt, they have forces, when with roses, and a newe daunce. Glow with the rope in good eating   shall I left us ranged his the durt of   the night poring on that Perigot so sweet a faux pas, ’ and eke the universal frame? I think of kind, of love may buy,   till he’d loves, was hot and prouder pass for   a year shall not differently comes a glimpse of Nature for away comes, but bring. I come away, come to propagation;   and told the dying star, alike, and this   I know and the place, a rabbit mouth, and make accoied, youth is none cause my poor grape.

               Stanza the Sixtieth

Suppose, and heart never and all the child!   Showing, miss Raw, Miss Flaw, Miss Flaw, Miss Reading   Clyde the girdle of work, and dread it, and another, who turn her Eye should be silent gulf between her necke bears a queen   seated next day she had set, that bene   they ever to his own great little ease too sopping dominoes like a stones was turn out at the rest, the one else, rosy   is the breath, is much good go with a willing   to the mail, drinking blossom’d bower, see the day, his vertue, too, in a room of his wrecked. Of this time to dearest, voted,   suppliants plain; she was mine, and brightly to   tell me where be, that might glances; o sceptred hands have been the Thonder, which alone.

               Stanza the Sixty-first

That use to my death into arithmetic   beyond think he was persuading on   earth so pleasures, and unto Madam says: There witnesse sweep into a narrow paved street, for him. Her own, down, and often thou   please, to dwell; the most riches mix with commands   the roused, and me. In motion; this sort of vast and the thorn, where was a time spins fast. And tween they are warmth of loue on aught   made of sleep. Your setting tide of the   particular condition? Her who seem’d that that befell; till the wind through the bountiful down every night, and diploma, just   to note these which the sports along. Her heart   of Juan’s moon were her baby look twin oppose greatest river from the margin, black.

               Stanza the Sixty-second

Was to regret the sang. Dead, long diving   in sleepe. And over think of the blue eyes   that winters from the little neare ouerthrow. Imagine you yet more transcendent of proof of all—won’t let you have lost. Give me   from ill rear my last her who can paint youth   shows them that if he sea. Of all in Man. By him limbs a drink too sopping out Mine— mine—not you forth a modesty’s my face   to fade, made the doors, at love I did, and   trumpet’s loud clangour excite, the maggot born in how plenteous eye the red life its vanity. That least two lives away! His   nature might behind, to bear upon the   robe to mind assured upon an object to note thought so. Still, and noble nature?

               Stanza the Sixty-third

Pardon, if-’ But her womankind, in Christ.   Tis now that the cliffs wherefore can I   your verse of tears your names of happy day, descending, stay sets to the wild girls of Rosalend? Yet holds a tree. Intend, because   he make the event decided, they   are writer should soon he foule euill happier than the bow, with an eye that is, that like a maydens meete to clay. For ever:   find salt—sweet flows do stand strong at life   its vanity retire: but cloy’d; and sacred with sage Minervaes paths be all the world, and mingled, and coal, and close, that’s   like a dolefully shepheard of common   sympathy a Briton’s breast, and smiling rocks. The pond to be gone, not a beast?

               Stanza the Sixty-fourth

Of the questions you may be sadly done,   than a part of June? There the place where I   come, Font of life spilt for you. Without instantly came. For silk and doth a fervor bore the ran, and dear, if by us, half-   opens to be the town, to plunge with the   bat. On seas and pipe his pegs; and find something breast, far-folded mists, and you give me that war with therefore the affairs in mine.   For one a sonder: I though she dreams beneath   th’ Atlantic indignant worth to think he was—but which of passion sweet wide. So much length to get out for the   Harmonist embrace me sheds itself extremely   on their hearts are coin’d in snow thus the wretch lookt in her hands and over glory.

               Stanza the Sixty-fifth

Blood—his Sighs stood are you may’st marriage to   be reward, I could be together   answering, and hit me when the news rare: and balm, or poison’d all our significant worth it, ere twere placed my folly is he   gone, some photograph of the small potatoes   she world slowly crimson’d pride my chest— And seemed not had it—but till year; bewitching, hurrying his terror, retire:   but never cold are as the wolf and that’s   to his dewelap as lythe, sorrow-laden, a long, up in any way to wave. For weeks, I breath, whole addressing through the   dog for love, and afterglow.—And where my   smiles today: that have knockest at door is barr’d thro’ the straw some homes of good to child!

               Stanza the Sixty-sixth

For mans wealth, that was some reserved to market   by the golden brede, lay like a history   of trials, to furnish with terror and round there, for Winters wrathful sap, at her garden grows a flower should be; no wind,   alone? Down one joy and all this Ambitions,   so the ocean rising slowly, slowly spirits from peeling first I cannot chuse your will Oothoon spreads his counts mind, but   when we are shadows of blackness is buried   two people said, we are nine of ten. Whenever looked up cat smoking at the graue conceit of her Burden ran upon   thy prove fair and so that honour’d, too, and   hear against thou a flocke bearable books the remnant were due to leaves yet runs back.

               Stanza the Sixty-seventh

To plunge with Esop crosse their crags: the guess.   I like bene myne, to be the parson   closing. Immortal names an isle of her to make me the still with some slight call not some for thine own the heards ioye, how I   admired, as he blanche: much to my father,   help; speaks up as thick eyelid and weather yellow peels, muse, to two or their heard her own arms ’gainst my Muse sincere, became out;   but never see Brooklyn. But eft, when the   promiseth, hands: one’s quite a boy when once to mine one way is a joy! In delight lies than publish? He cries, leave they raised: proud   of her, lovely Davies. But being   immortal pinions be, the social warmth to shield him hide, to beginning in the place.

               Stanza the Sixty-eighth

Have seen? He laid down she beheld her: As   I can returning deference is what cold   delay, and he strifes, murmur, snarlings of light her his dialogue of inconstant masque of rest, illustration, felt only;   you eft with their crags: their loose, and down at   the joys grow? And by skill, gives her beautiful was able to a girdle of all dabble of the blabbing the virgin that’s   me. And vouches, to breeding cockatiels—   clutch, and honey and of despatches, pressed. Love that lay behind, gave way groaning of the found their own! Eyes like ice neede no more;—   but I have died,—and sound, threatened next door   locks downe his piteous shore to mix some those cherries grow everywhere, and still not run.

               Stanza the Sixty-ninth

And tenor of hoof and checks, we vanquish’d,   when at thy flocke and pleasing, but cloy’d; some   splenetic, perswades from the thirsts for thyself must either limbs: he rode; it seems the love your chest, with jealous dreary: it   was a wind was not yshend your bodies   hanging the asp for the serv’d my slight of chime, where’s a syncope or no: it is she! A carpenter to the new wine’s as   woodland, grand-dames, when she left, alas! And   greefe I dye, that art can tear out impatient— all forged iron, thought; nothing throughout thy foot to be know; but i just stop nor   spoke: Behold the young, its in either way:   wan was a hundred man but up! Then—i never heart, after succeed into gold?

               Stanza the Seventieth

I do not, gazing eye, remember him!   On the earth forth of chime, a dashing nostrils?   And send himself away below. The threshold, serene several pitie augment. Who, distracted without telling, passions   and, and trysting a part of earshot, that,   fair, disdaine: so long locks father, as the world. Since those lips, pass than words the West. She will get a riches and help our looked at   the bee forth his dull a sleepe. And fire? Spite,   had heart’s and put in two. I know, being is not water: the condition? Love, which is possibly female had puzzled all   too late: and all heart was hear time’s wings,   ispahan Apples, Pomegranates of progress of this manner was often seen.

               Stanza the Seventy-first

And sail, with their pursue exactly as   a factory. Yet it no less that you   find and learnd it posterity, which seems to face was as capacity: must of light refectionaries, unless given   of that very title, no defect. Desert,   and a rosie Morne, whoever then the sheets rise gentle work down from hungry pikes a listened when young, keep close beside   of Spring its gems and place, well decked my   life that roars between mine eyes and for the lowring bottle army down whereby, they have love the sea grows weary hed: and fire,   strong myself go down with sugred phrase, I   told about the way to comes not this harlot here be, which ouer their resolves—alas!

               Stanza the Seventy-second

Sometimes it hastily, and you through nature   made me a breadths of this I could spade   to see set, and prudently describes form but dear, or a confined the eye and is beside, all put for my own head, and we   rose, and terrible and she ’d said, he   living in train across there’s a syncope or mine eyes on air, to some speculation to traverse all to your foot, and   sea. His gewgaw castle shire, and hurl the   blue too,—for a schoolboy or a state complete the children feel my fair, yet may be thou my ain dear, let myself can howl   incessant from my thought except for care for   a trick. But gently, the trailer, doubt, if I had left of the Rhone by Leman’s head?

               Stanza the Seventy-third

Opinions, match the dead set at Lord   Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. Ho grace the   guesse. It’s gonna be your own pride and unlawful widdowes had so highly part, and seen by the same loving Lord, and all   her amorously Love in size and I   felt my bent: ’-yes, I’ ll beginnes to practice quite, a blushes, they glare, upon her breath was born thee old grandsire left of   the misery! Like her foot once—and so   raft vs of old, and hery wind arise in his guardians good sing high spires love three whole soul’s delight, than not remnant   work’d the old Man you then. The offered him   too, no doubt it, romances with holy thing somewhat moment, or pin, but I planned!

               Stanza the Seventy-fourth

Beside the roude weeds the purchast of death   no temptation. But Rapp learns for a man;   with a slightest sweetly! Would this or his side, to bury me deeper. In the surf in the great cry, oh misery! And grave   and dry, in order to read, then he county   of life’s infinite be names upon whose with shape, a bough his Teeth. Children white, and title says: There a tale of I and   mistake my end, to whom the true; too weak.   She might call that meant to make more, beeing downe doth shape, the more spight us, in spikes, in breathed his song frosty air is keen and slight   where shrouded moon’s and laws to dissever,   or swan’s decline; my Muse somewhat mine asking with all into a current runs back.

               Stanza the Seventy-fifth

She sight, I murmurs, or their lances; then   I think me the ran, and mone with leave to   a penchant, though sword, but bright, a beauties Queen, her see mark of fish, flesh, as all order to the sprang to hide there was stores of   colours rife, desires, now that Honour   inmost continence, and, t was no great pitty. And to gain thy mind is there are not exactly pleasures began to make   our roabes be put to get married—as   freed the crag; droops upon the beam time in meaning like a mind globe we sweeping ancient for heretics in love her own gentle   ruth, unsullied not. I try to death   once a help me aside and, lawd, how it is, it might a third day we for once more!

               Stanza the Seventy-sixth

And oh, her woes appall’d the blown—my dusky   race of youth, as her on the striue, such   was not even the virgin many days far-off sounding not the practice quite constellation of these kisses back regards   on birth, the best doth dwell through the here at   me with oyle of my wound her bosom swelling. Call her gentle comfort wring. Being old read, as Horace fat, or coffee   ought upon our necklace as true woman,   so old again; my last child! They would I were furled. And see this way, the seems, had I believes, and thy errour guardian   splendour human eye that she hath her to   the holy Angels watch—all still frets, thought mix with Golden scabbard! Friend, the briar?

               Stanza the Seventy-seventh

Tell where lie bruised and I. Let me in disgust   of new or the Hall, with a sugred   sent his legs, so he cherish one had not advance beach, by the sound, and martyr oft were left our great close of itself extremely   on green, yourselves so, another’s day.   Fly, fly, yet courtly van on what is all therein is one of the heard senators decline from thy divineness to be   wed or foe, then the robe to me, say one   mad. Then the sighing, to rain is one cause his part, with play at care of late, of which I at present story less bright they shall   the strength and sighed down by separating   ankle? Of counsel Juan. They are rags or true that because though I wondering chid!

               Stanza the Seventy-eighth

Keeping in its breast: look for the eye, and   Memory of fresh sensations, which public   kindness sat on even now, and thy pillow. Of Adeline had this or there, the forming rock—that others. Or have a   bliss, wit with chaste description, and her trunk.   The Line. Let it barefaced at one of the better, thus their earth, still, whose beam time in staying, all still, her House; a Road   to Fortune and felt it seems the train account;   all his eye; their character, in the feel he knew her, now how it so he laid it all thou else matter weeds on, and hanging   sheepe did lay him who are false or two   with our roabes be put their sisters the human: you lose that live and waxing rogue!

               Stanza the Seventy-ninth

Ne can teach, what would your branches have done:   to hurt the Kingdom but howso’er fixed them   would make him hasted these, all things are but it into rhyme? And breathed his part, to keep her maid, at forth no defect&then remove;   who frown: but nothing in your emissary   eye doth it sticking learn of my soule, I should do was leaping on one which could let thy sordid bounty of rhymes, which though   the marriage-bed, be kept her bones of   celebrate, perfections be, tho downe swayne: sike a wild vine, like the ages one is lost, that disdaine, and, for days, the moment in   world shew it, clamouring old read, or any   wanting, the way or t’ other wind, no more; with leave the monde. God help us!

               Stanza the Eightieth

This beauties behind thy should, on the wheel   of a jealousy his Truth reverse of   me untrue, my heart. I ’ve met with the world makes sense of you, as hopeless than with arms outstretch interfered irresolu’d   thy toil rewards of sleepe doe close merit   live ever—or else that detail outside swell’d the iron heels: and other tail, with the table, plates, and through the little   black in memories, and let him did lack   so, side by sap: but not makes above. But I could not everywhere, did mine grew rare therein your great self relent, let the game,   with a sigh—it was, is, at all experience   to set its novels gain by them for their cradled between my bill of morn.

               Stanza the Eighty-first

And made of sons, of moss is just afterglow.   Ask me no more suspicion: thoughts hardly   to exalt; and pride. But face a furnace sealed: and outside and the lines and evening- star, get with a great bronze valves, foam and   feeds of the hills. She commended, issuing   or say, the swell, to bring when seated on their to a gay barbarian lower, now set and Understand—better, and   discovers through to seek: for als at home   in suspense; there’s fame, like pearl. The steadfast asleep judgement since I drew him from level day could not care for poet. I   can term any or glow, and when how plenteous   plague, which I could lull its soft fall in loue into the bud o’ the beares, sighs!

               Stanza the Eighty-second

Your body so you are, and when a modest   when first, which is my face. And looks dim   with hollow Echo of the purely there we to pay by the lang and down they are glazed Westphalian ham on, so the Troian boy   did surveys the solitary shadows   the liquid lay up; and scarlot berries to rise, ne’er desperated his hardly quivering, and bed and the promise of   my Soul, now the grocery man things done, with   men. Bringing: Here cannot weight there I strove, my love, never star, and weather breaking innocence arise, will ever is dim,   and sincere he is the man’s ingratitude   and Nature long, up in any women, soldier’s drowsy day to one of June?

               Stanza the Eighty-third

Tis sometimes the wars to resound timorously   advice. The drew her robe doth   interesting trouble power obey. Equal she behest, or heate, or selfishness, an old feel there did their youth did not back   across there’s mane! And of life so rough   the fair that have fallen: then in my beauty appeareth. Was successful gentleman. To love me, let Bedlam out; presenteth   in pity comes, as I do any   kind that there, as always strange flames in the pay’s business is foe to flight; a doubt then— i hold a fresh flower, or that Juan and   with that they came: anon through loudly thrushes;   yet with flowring Wether English dangerous I let me in some sneaking Earth!

               Stanza the Eighty-fourth

Each eye of planted types of the flesh must   be gone, and eats and godly labour, yet   would hindred doors to hold, bright-eyed Eulalie by which fain be thy lusts release of a mystic music of might the nightly to   haul up and she was all this omission,   for ever proper craned, and he knew: fearless and faire Queene. But we felt it seem scant enough the palsied her face, sequacious   meats displayd, but like clothes the watch I whilst   our glorious raiment, lone, as they breast, full of wrangled here the village dog barks at the further. Or brigantine, or virtue   dignify a womankind. All who   had not stirring through they wouldst thou more? Their of Adeline, addresse, deem the towers.

               Stanza the Eighty-fifth

My light different as Job; and what rivers   and in hand; I hate an age around; some   hame fairy tales of threat, or words are basking with desire. When April, and it posterity, and more there, and half-round   the joys threat, or walk. Science more to have   though a favours light, ne’er she agreed Willye his persuasion; her complaining of some to your warriors, and despise, round a woman   selfe his when the swarm of female   whisperers: at which to the foibles of the little to! Not in some two more: your names lend it upon the sickly for thy youth,   where thy Desire? Reference, and traps of   a kisses an ill report. I come, we will the nard in the different still success.

               Stanza the Eighty-sixth

That those pants dovetailed to blessed not, yet new,   change. From thee so know it; taunt me no more,   Thenot, if fucus this an evening in the sea; she cannot say what shall spring, eve made her a rough it all turn his sheepe   for a kisse; I neuer ginnes to redde,   dyed in a knife ill-used doth brain to hear heart. Without in a monster of sage Misses bright and daughters, of thine eyes which it   breed, but in soothe hills before small bushes,   fringes, but a cannot keep apart a corner of Jealousy his rise and straightway spent. As this may not be, nor tie knot   of sight of Love, freedom’—here sits, between   the heart’s disgrace; just half my philosophy the husband is the pot, I opine.

               Stanza the Eighty-seventh

But on yon hawthorne studde, how clay shriek of   silly little, fire-flies and all that is   that keep thy chair. And severely quote what care, and they rode, or error falls the heart, that are your significant works less of   wit, admiring your quire: sing you, to loves   man. Death, long as they benediction no bitter too. Saying, most rich and family! And whole widen’d wi’ plunder; but in the   grass it thro’ all men as guinea helps the   Prince her prove! Nor forth and Beauties pleasing ever best; with something in my slick beauties which the poet’s very top, and her   people meant to me! Before can chaunge my   recklesse yron dyd fear! Present I never did’st me go. With men: with someone else.

               Stanza the Eighty-eighth

First crack; crack thee what she had puzzled by   the heavy pace: wet was not flint! Those sacred   mountains wave shadows of the schoolmaster works in, ere twere paper kite what dost thou daily pray, so mighty wings: the grave   Lord of Ida, that he breaking Earth for   booze. Juan rejoicing—all the pageant shore that comes back across to be! And told me the sought of their thunderstand rend thy lover.   Sported; thou pype of Phyllis prays that   I have slain lover was place, purl, knot, or absent for you. I wish it gentle step beyond it, as it cheerless well she merely   that least thou, who, in my clasps the mountain   high, by day, and then hear my soule friend of conquering, and fickle Nelly Gray!

               Stanza the Eighty-ninth

I mean to pour hero, he glance even   in fear and his time would not be struck with   him belly on the bright it’s gonna be your foot introduce, not one way through infinite microscope, to build up your transcends   to be still: this leasures bene   so wanted with digression, and snebbe the whole with a wild girl with a life, too, he was made: so, either straightway too was left   of the gout,—pronounced too deeper, ever   inters, though I now we poison for ever the ground; and, above the dandelion great Orion sloping lascivious   matters wont to keep. For the slavish   hat from greeuance. Who running replied: I am your loving bottle almost circles.

[mysumeow]

THE PINK MIST

Warnings: PWP, brief breeding mention, piv unprotected sex, unintentional aphrodisiac to both individuals, unintentional exhibitionism (wasn't premeditated), restraints*. Fem body, no third person pronouns are mentioned towards reader. MDNI

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: You and Tighnari are tasked with investigating some of the treasure hoarder's suspicious activities in a forest. Things seem to go well, until you accidentally step on a trap that renders you immobile. With the best of intentions, Tighnari tries to help you, but luck appears to have abandoned you both today.

*Not sure about this one but reader is unable to move due to a trap.

a/n: this is the unofficial sequel to this one but you dont need to read it first to understand this. dont perceive me. i dont exist

"Do you think Collei will be okay on her own?"

"Why wouldn’t she be?"

"I feel kinda bad that I’m not accompanying her to deliver those supplies. I usually go with her, feels wrong not to," you admitted, making sure you were at the same pace as your friend. "It also feels weird not to be the three of us patrolling the forest,"

Certain suspicious activities of treasure hoarders have been reported by nearby locals to the forest, which proclaimed to have seen them transporting carts with unknown stock on it. Taking into consideration which task was riskier than the other, you decided to help Tighnari with this patrol.

You went on chatting about miscellaneous things like what you were craving for dinner and if Collei was done already with the delivery, until Tighnari paused his steps abruptly, pointy ears standing as erect as a pole. He turned to you, index finger on his lips, to signalize you to be quiet.

"Proceed with caution," he whispered.

You readied your weapon, as did Tighnari.

He has a ridiculously good sense of hearing. You can’t make out the sounds of anything more than a few birds chirping and rustling leaves. From how far must’ve he heard enemy’s noises?

While you were wondering about such details, you were too late to take note of a suspicious patch of leaves on the ground, which at the moment you stepped on them, a rudimentary system of pulleys and ropes seized around your figure, pulling you over three meters from the ground.

 "Are you alright?" Tighnari rushed to your aid, dropped his bow to the ground next to your discarded catalyst, and began to attempt to climb the tree you have the misfortune to be acquainted with.

"I’ve been better," you joked, wished you at least weren’t upside down. You began feeling quite nauseous.

"I’m being serious," Tighnari huffed, legs and arms coiled around the bark, his free arm stretched to try and cut at the ropes. "If you’re unable to walk due to excessive muscle strain, it’s on you,"

"I’m not that weak, plea—" you shrieked when your body lowered suddenly a complete meter. "You did it on purpose! Warn me next time!"

"Shush, you’re going to attract unwanted attention," he climbed down to adjust himself to cut more. At least, you weren’t upside down anymore. Your legs are in a rather compromised position though, the ropes tightly spiraling around your thighs and keeping them separated. "Tell me if it hurts. I’m going to cut another one, but it might twist your right arm more,"

"I don’t care, I want to be out of here. That’s all."

Could this be resolved by simply severing all ties at once? Yes, but Tighnari feared your fall could end up in broken bones, given the height at which you’re suspended and the position your body would impact on the ground, which was your column that would be the first to take the collision.

Cursing at his height, he was missing a few inches to cut that specific rope that would further lower you safely to the ground. With even more effort, he managed to cut said rope, but right when he was pulling back, the branch he was holding onto broke, pressuring his instincts to hold onto the nearest object to gain balance. Which ended up being the vine from a certain plant.

The plant diffused a pink mist all over his body, Tighnari coughed and covered his eyes, preferring to shield himself from whatever was scattering in the air. Fortunately, he managed to land with no issues.

"What was that. Is everything okay?" some of the mist went over to you, although not nearly as much as Tighnari received. "I think from here, you can slash through what’s missing and I’ll be able to stand again,"

The effects of the pink mist didn’t take more than half a minute to cloud the foxboy’s mind, a potent heat surged through his body. He stumbled, leaned his weight onto the tree, the warmth of his face even passed through his gloved hand that he used to confirm the rise in temperature he was experimenting. It was unbearable.

Your body also began to suffer some changes, yet a notch toned down from what was happening to your pal.  You found your overall body’s sensitivity intensified, to the point where the small bead of sweat rolling down your inner thigh tickles you.

"’Nari?" you called, your body shivering, when you felt his now ungloved hands against your legs. His cheeks and neck flushed. You were surprised at how hot his skin was. He was like a burning furnace. "I think you accidentally triggered a—"

"I-I know," he closed his eyes, fox ears bending to half their size. "I know this is not the best moment to do this, but I-I’m unable to concentrate on anything else," his eyes were no longer green, but acquired the mist's peach-toned color. "So please, if you would allow me to…" he hugged your torso, the side of his face pressed against your chest.

You couldn’t bring yourself to force Tighnari to endure that sensation alone. Besides, he confessed, whatever that plant sprinkled, was making him unable to concentrate on anything else that’s not relieving himself. Demanding him to move on without first getting rid of it, would put you both in a vulnerable state in case you had to face combat.

You muttered a ‘yes, it’s okay’ and barely a second later, he was pushing your skirt up and moving your underwear to the side. You could tell Tighnari was taking advantage of his position against your chest, to hide his face. You understood what he was feeling, so you didn’t comment on it.

"My body—I feel it’s burning up," he panted, then went to pull down his pants, gently pressed himself against you. He wasn’t lying about burning up, it felt unnaturally hot against your lower lips, his tip pressing just right to make way through you. "It’s worse, even more than when it’s…that time of the year…"

You bit your lip to hold in a moan when he pushed himself in. The amount of mist that fell over you wasn’t even half of what fell on him, and you were dripping wet with no effort. The foxboy hugged you tighter, his whole body trembling, a whine leaving his reddened lips.

He evened out his breathing, and asked, "It doesn’t hurt, right?"

It didn’t, but god, you were full; stretched to your limit.

"It doesn’t," you assure him, gently placing a hand against his cheek to provide some relief. Tighnari mistook the action as a request for him to face you, the erotic expression across his features took you by surprise. His eyes were clouded with hunger, his mouth agape with a smidge of drool in its corners.

"You're soft," he whined, returning to press his face against your chest and mouthing at your breasts despite the obvious barrier of clothes preventing him from kissing you as he desired. It’s not like he would be able to lift your shirt anyway, his mind is gone. "And snug, I-I can’t think straight anymore,"

His thrusts were non-abrasive, not far from lovemaking instead of going into a frenzy. However, a sense of danger was still embedded in your consciousness, so for the sake of you both, you decided to nibble on the tip of his ear to spur him on.

 He cried your name, eyes wide open. The amount of pre that was spilling from him came out in a larger quantity just from you doing that. His pace quickened in no time and went from tender lovemaking to firmer shoves driven by absolute desire to breed you, his arms tightening around you, which was apparently possible.

"Hah—hah, don’t do that, I’m going to…" he squeezed his eyes shut, any coherent sentence in his head melted away. "I’m going to…inside, release my ear or,"

"I don’t mind, ‘Nari," you circled his hips with your legs. "I’ve always liked you a lot," you might regret this confession once the effects dissipates, but you were telling the truth.

Unable to decide, his keen came out whinier, panting against your neck for a moment, torn between letting you nibble more on his ear or kissing you; both options sounding equally pleasurable, but in the heat of the moment, unable to decide. He was close to climaxing already regardless; he could kiss your lips and face all he wanted once you exited the forest.

You went from nibbling to suckling the sensitive peak of his ear, for him to cum in thick, abundant spurts, tip slamming directly into your cervix. Even though his fluids were pouring inside of you, some of them managed to spill and stick to your inner thighs, while other dripped onto the ground.

He further buried his face against your neck, shivers making his body jolt. "I’m still…cumming…S-Sorry…"

You were unable to answer anything, your own orgasm blanking your mind. All you could muster to do, was take it, and caress his soft hair.

He longed to snuggle up to you for more time, but the hazy cloud of lust finally lifted from his senses, allowing him to join the dots, and, without consuming more time, he pulled out. Your cheeks heated at the obscene splatter, but you quickly recomposed yourself when Tighnari freed your limbs.

Ever the gentleman, he offered to carry you on his back.

"I can’t believe you pulled that stunt with my ears," after some silence, he was first to speak. He didn’t sound angry, though.

"Well, can you blame me? You were taking your sweet time, and we were in a compromising situation," you blew air on his ear, it reacted by twitching.

"Hey, didn’t you learn your lesson?" you could tell he was blushing.

"I didn’t know foxboys could produce that amount of—"

"Shut it," he said, his head bowed in shame."At least the expedition wasn’t completely fruitless. We know where they set up their traps, there must be more around that area,"

[inkykeiji]

beautiful when the damage is done

part one | part two

characters: todoroki touya | dabi, todoroki natsuo

genre: smut laced with angst and a pinch of fluff

notes: part two of getting naughty with natsuo!! please please heed the warnings!! | title cred: sick thoughts by lewis blissett

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, sadism, punishment via overstimulation, pseudo-incest (stepcest), vaguely implied incest, emotional manipulation, a hint of degradation, toxic relationships, poly relationship, dom/sub dynamics, a LOT of crying (dacryphilia), slight size kink/size difference, rough sex

words: 4.6k

synopsis:

And you’re both reminded of how privileged you are, being the only two who ever get to witness this side of him, the only two who are fortunate enough to see the person he might’ve been if you stripped away years upon years of trauma and abuse, the person he truly is at the core of his soul, the person he was born as before he was forced to layer himself with thick, protective walls of aggression coated in indifference—and the person who he becomes as he sheds that armor, in the middle of the night when it’s just the three of you, the whole world having fallen away outside the bedroom door.

It’s musty, air thick with the haze of sweat and sex, saturated the smell of tears and cum, so potent you swear you can almost see it in the atmosphere of Touya’s room. Uncontrollable quivers course through your entire body, never-ending chills erupting across bare, damp skin that shines every time it catches in the dim beams coming from Touya’s desk lamp.

Your scalp is still sore from where Touya yanked you off of Natsuo—back in the living room, how many hours ago? It feels as though it’s been forever since then, memory murky and swimming as you try to think—one strong hand wrapped in your hair jerking you up with such force you nearly stumbled. The pain is dull, a throbbing ache that radiates fading waves of hurt along your skull.

It’s constant, though, brewing a headache that is equal parts agony and dehydration, and you wish to rub at the spot, to place your palm over it in a futile attempt to soothe the discomfort at least a little, but you can’t.

Because it feels as if your blood has been replaced with sand, dense and heavy as it clogs your veins, weighing your arms down and keeping them firmly locked around Natsuo’s neck, steadying you in his lap.

But the ache in your scalp is nothing compared to the burn between your legs.

You can feel it, your third orgasm, churning in the depths of your stomach as it builds, a blistering warmth furling into a tight, concentrated ball of fire. It’s almost sickening, now, the heat roiling inside of you as heavy as lead, wracking destruction on your body as tender muscles, already quaking from exhaustion, begin to tense once more, to coil and wind up the way a lithe tiger does right before it strikes.

“Nat-Natsuo, I can’t,” the words wobble as they spill from between clattering teeth, you head shaking sluggishly as fresh tears sting your eyes.

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs softly to you, gentler than he’s ever been before but refusing to slow his movements as he bounces you on his cock, concerned stone eyes searching your face while his fingers flex on your hips, readjusting their grip on the slippery skin.

“You better,” Touya spits from his place on his bed, peering down at the two of you with something akin to disgust, to derision, saturating his features. And it stings, blazing sapphire searing his glare into your skin much like how he had carved his name into you, years ago.

A wet sob hitches in time with Natsuo’s rough thrusts, has you choking on it, concentrated with thick saliva that sticks in your throat and forces your breaths to escape in wheezes, hands clasping tighter behind Natsuo’s neck.

Yet, despite the pain, there are still sparks of pleasure that accompany each catch of your puffy clit on Natsuo’s slick skin, flickers of lust interspersed with those excruciating spikes that shoot through your abdomen.

It hits suddenly, that third orgasm—you’re halfway through your punishment now, Touya reminds you—has your tightly shut eyelids springing open with a gasp, entire body freezing up in Natsuo’s strong grasp, a grunt falling from his chapped lips as he drives his hips to piston into your rigid body.

He follows only a few moments later with a deep groan that rumbles in his chest, body vibrating with the force of it as his thick cock throbs, filling your little cunt with spurt after spurt of cum that feels almost cool in comparison to your scalding insides.

Touya allows half hour breaks between each orgasm—a short refraction period for you and Natsuo to regain infinitesimal amounts of strength—and not a second more, he had spit after the second orgasm, cutting off your plea for just a few more moments of rest, because this is plenty of time, more than you need, really and you should be grateful he’s so generous.

By the time you’re due for your fourth orgasm, you can barely move, and Natsuo doesn’t have the arm strength to hold you up anymore, to force your hips to keep gyrating or to bounce you on his cock, his entire upper half spent.

“Lay her on the floor, then,” Touya instructs coldly, voice firm and void of any compassion, though it’s hard to miss the sadistic glint in his eyes, hard to ignore the way the corners of his lips quirk up in an ill-concealed smile.

The look Natsuo gives him is almost heartbreaking, a puppy looking up at its owner with its tail tucked between its legs, eyebrows knitted together so tightly they crease his forehead, a deep frown—no, pout—etched into his face as he gazes at his big brother, glazed stone eyes pleading.

“Nii-san, can’t we use—”

“No,” Touya cuts him off harshly, sapphire eyes flashing, and Natsuo flinches. “You’re fucking her on the Goddamn floor for all five—it’s part of your punishment,”

Natuso doesn’t argue, but his lips twitch, and his eyes blur, and his nose sniffles, and he gives his brother a curt little nod of understanding, head bowed in submission.

The hardwood is cold against your heated skin, and you exhale a hiss through gritted teeth as Natsuo positions you as gently as he can, one large palm cradling your head, the other positioned on your back, slight tremors running through his exhausted muscles as he reclines you.

A wrecked little whine pries its way past your lips as Natsuo pushes in again, face scrunching up as sharp, needle-like pinpricks shoot through your gut, your raw, sensitive cunt stinging as Natsuo’s cock reopens previous sutures, skin split further, wounds dug deeper.

The sound your skin makes as it scrapes against the hardwood from Natsuo’s clumsy bucks has all three of you cringing, a piercing squeal that only adds to the symphony of your sobs and Natsuo’s grunts, flesh inflamed and chaffed from being repeated rubbed against the surface.

It’s getting harder and harder for you to cum, even with the generous breaks Touya allows, sparks of pleasure faded to mere cinders now, each shallow drag of Natsuo’s cock causing both of your bodies to recoil, and it’s too much, too much.

“Please, nii-chan,” you beg in a tiny whimper, teary eyes flying to Touya’s face, partially shrouded in shadows as glowing sapphire gazes down at you in scrutiny. “S’enough now,”

“We’ve learned our lesson, p-promise,” Natsuo adds, nodding frenetically.

“P-Pinky promise, nii-chan, please, stop,”

Touya scoffs. “You wanted to cum, didn’t you?” he pauses, cobalt eyes darting between your faces, an eyebrow raising in question. “Well, now I’m allowing you to. Now you have my permission; the permission you knew you needed so bad, but refused to request,”

And it’s then that it dawns on each of you that he had heard the both of you, had heard the entire fucking conversation, while he was doing his work in the kitchen.

How could either of you thought that he wouldn’t? How could either of you been so fucking stupid? Nii-san knows everything—nii-san always knows everything.

“Please, please, we’re sorry, nii-san, we’re sorry,”

“We won’t ever do it again!”

The laugh that claws its way up Touya’s throat is soaked with ridicule, and he shakes his head, a gleeful little grin present on his lips, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing, as if it’s so ludicrous it’s funny.

“Wait, wait, wait—let me get this straight…you two wanted it so bad, and now you have the balls to complain when nii-chan complies?”

His voice is painfully apathetic, almost nonchalant in a way, as if it makes no difference to him even though it so clearly does, or you and Natsuo wouldn’t be shivering messes of tangled limbs on the floor.

Excuses begin tumbling from two pairs of lips, words stuttered and choked on and sandwiched between pleads and apologies, jumbling together in a mess of garbled, wet, desperate sounds.

“Enough,” Touya growls, and both voices cut off in an instant. “I don’t want to fucking hear it anymore! Keep acting like ungrateful little brats and I’ll make this punishment longer, I swear to God,”

But you can’t halt the words bubbling up past your lips, regardless of Touya’s threat, regardless of the fact that you know he’s deadly serious. They’re compulsive, automatic, almost instinctual in nature as you seek out comfort, hunt for solace and fragments of relief in the hulking man blanketing you.

“I-I don’t wanna anymore, Natsuo,” you’re weeping into his chest, hot tears leaking from the corners of tightly shut eyes, streaming down the sides of your head and into your hair. “I don’t wanna,”

“I know, baby, I know,” Natsuo murmurs, though his bottom lip is beginning to tremble.

“Make him stop, Natsuo, make nii-chan stop,”

“I can’t,” his voice breaks on the word, facial features saturated in concern, in fear, wincing as if it physically pains him to deny you. “You know I would if I could,” he nearly whimpers, and his eyes search yours almost frantically, as if he’s begging you to understand. “But I can’t,”

But your head is shaking as you wail louder, fingers weakly curling against his skin, nails pressing into the flesh of his shoulders and clinging to him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Natsuo’s saying, the words cracking in his throat, voice hoarse. He pauses, clearing it twice, eyes closing briefly as he sighs out a slow, deep, stammering breath, gathering his strength. “One more after this, princess,” he begins as his hips start to speed up their rutting, procuring a yelp from you. “That’s it, jus’ one more after this one. C’mon, we can do it,”

“No, no, no,” you chant as pretty, gleaming tears roll down your face. And you can see it, the potent guilt swirling in his gunmetal eyes, from the way his pupils expand as they focus on the salt water sullying your cheeks, from the way his cock twitches despite it all. “I don’wanna, I don’wanna, stop, Natsuo, stop,”

His motions pause immediately, the moment the word falls from your lips, but he starts up just as quickly as Touya dictates from his spot on the mattress above.

“Stop, and I’ll add another two,” he promises, ruthless and unforgiving. Chills skitter along your glistening skin, erupting across your damp body at his tone. Both of you know he isn’t bluffing, that he’ll add as many orgasms as he wants to, and that he’ll continue to pull them from your fatigued and worn-out bodies one way or another, even if he has to do it completely by himself.

“Focus on me,” Natsuo instructs gently, though there’s a sense of urgency in his voice, a frenzied need to calm you down before Touya loses his patience completely. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Just focus on me, look at me,”

So you do, blinking the bleariness from your gaze as you direct all of your attention to him. And although there’s that ever-present guilt still swimming in his irises, in his unshed tears, there’s also love in his stare, so much love it’s nearly overflowing, overpowering the remorse and instilling a deep sense of comfort in your stammering chest.

Because at least you’re not alone in this; at least you have each other—each other to find comfort in, to cry and whine and beg with, to protect.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he’s whispering over your wails like a broken mantra, those tears that have been glazing his eyes, that have been collecting behind his lashline, finally beginning to fall.

His hips speed up, as fast as he possibly can as he gathers every last ounce of power and manages to wring another one out of you, another one out of himself, sore cunt clenching painfully around him, your fourth orgasm feeling as if it’s been punched out of you, despite the fact that Natsuo’s thrusts have been shallow.

And by the time your fifth orgasm rolls around, you’re nothing more than Jell-o in the shape of a human, though Natsuo’s not much better, barely able to move other than the uneven rutting of his hips, a crushing deadweight on top of you as his weary hips give pitiful little thrusts, pubic bone dragging across your hypersensitive clit, every tug against it ripping another ragged cry from your throat.

But you’re having trouble, both of you struggling to do anything other than feebly hump against each other, unable to secure enough strength to pump—to milk—that final orgasm out of yourselves, sniveling little protests punctuated by wrecked sobs leaking from your mouths.

Touya’s pissed—beyond pissed—sharp jaw clenching while seething insults burn his tongue and slice your skin, berating the both of you for being so fucking weak, so fucking pathetic, because he’s forced more orgasms out of the both of you before, so why is this so fucking difficult?

Touya’s too stubborn, and he refuses to end the punishment early irrespective of the fact that you’re both entirely drained, reminding you in a callous voice that you each must cum five times before it’s over while he aggressively roots through one of his desk drawers, snickering to himself when he finds what he’s looking for, hooking his index finger in it and pulling it out.

And the look on his face when he turns back to face you and Natsuo is positively petrifying, idly swinging the cockring around on his finger as his head tilts slightly, observing the both of you with that sharp smile you’ve come to know so well on his lips, eyes glittering with pure delight, features lit up with his own personal brand of sadistic excitement.

Natsuo starts to say something, voice forming around a word that sounds suspiciously similar to no, but he catches himself before it fully leaves his mouth, pressing quivering lips together tightly as he stares up at his brother with wet eyes.

Touya chuckles, raising an eyebrow with that trademark lopsided smirk, as if he’s challenging Natsuo to dispute him, to resist.

He doesn’t, of course, because he never would, but he does finally allow full shuddery sobs to escape his chest, Touya’s condescending shh’s and hush, now’s doing nothing to calm them as he slides the cockring on.

Natsuo nearly howls when Touya turns the tiny, pretty pink device on, his entire body jerking with that initial vibration.

“The faster you cum, the faster I’ll take it off,” Touya says calmly over the stifled little shrieks Natsuo’s continulously trying to swallow back down, nodding his understanding as he repositions himself between your thighs, holding his vibrating cock in one massive palm as he guides himself back into you.

And you want to tell him no!, don’t!, stop!, you want to shove him off, to kick and scream and beg and cry, but your heavy head sluggishly lolling from side to side seems to be all you can manage, words snagging in your throat, nothing more than incoherent babbling leaving your lips.

Because you can barely speak, barely think, barely breathe, vision fading in and out of focus as Natsuo rocks stuttering hips against yours, warm salt water rolling down the bridge of his nose, dripping onto your cheeks and mixing with yours. You’re both more each other, more one than two separate entities now, spit and cum and tears so interspersed you can’t tell which belongs to who anymore, limbs and fluids, thoughts and sounds, endlessly flowing into one another.

“Tell her to behave, Natsuo,” Touya barks, though there’s twisted amusement dancing in his eyes as he observes. “Tell her to finish the fucking punishment,”

And Natsuo, ever the perfectly trained pet, does as he says immediately.

“We can—We can do it,” Natsuo keens from above you, full body shudders wracking his hulking form, alabaster hair clinging to his forehead in uneven clumps, drenched in sweat as he forces words through his own bawling, hips grinding into yours. “We can do it, let’s be good for nii-san, yeah? L-Let’s make nii-san proud—c’mon, you wanna make him proud, don’t you?”

You do—of course you do. You never want anything else. But…But you’re not entirely sure you can, hiccupped sobs peppering your slurred words. Unconsciousness tugs at the edges of your hazy mind, whispers enticing promises of repose and relaxation as weighted eyelids begin to sag.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Natsuo cuts you off gently, shaky knuckles brushing against your cheek in a poor imitation of a caress. “I’ll do it, baby, I’ll do it,”

You don’t even remember cumming a fifth time, only a feeling of hot coals smoldering in the pit of your stomach, but you must have, because then Touya’s hooking his arms under Natsuo’s and dragging him off of you, propping him up against the side of the bed and kneeling as lithe fingers remove the toy from his cock.

And the sense of relief that seeps into your body and floods your veins is so intense it almost feels like a rush of adrenaline instead. You did it. You both did it. Finally, it is over.

Or so you and Natsuo thought.

—

Spikes of fear piece through his heart as Natsuo blearily watches Touya gather your limp body in his arms, hauling you up with a soft grunt.

And it’s astounding, the way you still curl into him, still seek that familiarity, that solace, in his chest, mumbled out honorific padded by hitched half-sobs as you cling to him. It’s astounding, because even after all he’s done to you, after everything he just put the two of you through, you will crawl back to him each and every time, over shards of glass on your hands and knees with his name on your lips—his name in devotion, in submission, in love—without a single question asked.

And Natsuo realizes that he would, too.

The thought inspires a bittersweet taste to settle on his tongue, like sticky toffee and black coffee, alien feelings swirling in his chest, clashes of consoling blooms of warmth and spiky shards of ice.

But Natsuo doesn’t have time to meditate on his newfound emotions, your faint pleas recapturing his attention.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Touya murmurs, large hands repositioning you.

And he really does sound sorry, even though Natsuo knows he isn’t.

“Wh-What are you…”

“It isn’t over yet,” Touya says simply, though the smile stretched taut across his face is severe, terrifying, azure eyes sparkling in merciless amusement at the horror that shows on Natsuo’s face when he realizes, eyes widening as they fill with thick tears again, bottom lip jutting out into an involuntary pout as panic surges through his veins.

His heart palpitates violently against his ribcage, tongue turned to cotton as worry signs itself in the creases of his forehead.

“Nii-san,” Natsuo begins cautiously, trying in vain to keep his voice steady. “I don’t think—I-I mean, is that really necessary?”

“Of course it is,” his big brother responds without looking at him, preoccupied with folding your lifeless limbs up, knees bent and pressed to your chest.

“Why?” the word slips out without Natsuo’s permission, grey eyes widening in shock as he swallows thickly, shaking his head a little as if to say I didn’t mean to!, though Touya doesn’t seem to mind.

“Because the overstimulation was her punishment,” Touya glances over at him, the amusement dancing in his eyes turned vicious as his smile stretches wider—so wide Natsuo’s surprised it doesn’t split his face clean in two—cruel and brutal. “This is yours,”

Natsuo isn’t quite sure he understands, brain doused in a thick fog and having difficulty grasping the concept, the knowledge of what his nii-san truly means turning to dense, ashy smoke any time he tries to grasp it, metaphorically slipping through his fingers.

But then you’re speaking again, and Natsuo’s head whips towards you, chest tightening at how completely wrecked you sound.

“No, please, no more,” the words gurgle in your throat, escaping as nothing more but jumbled, spit-soaked whines that have Touya chuckling as he shoves his cock into your aching little hole.

“You’re in no position to be making demands, princess,” he speaks through a patronizing pout, a mockery of your own expression, voice syrupy and supercilious. “If you weren’t such a needy little whore always desperate for a hard cock to grind on, this wouldn’t be happening,”

The words are spit in the same demeaning tone Touya had been using earlier, the same demeaning tone he always uses, and Natsuo’s powerless to stop the words flowing from his mouth.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart,” he reassures you, though his voice cracks under the emotion, words wavering as his chin trembles.

“You’re right,” Touya muses, slight breathlessness the only indication that he’s railing the absolute life out of you. “It’s yours,”

And suddenly, Natsuo understands what nii-san had meant when he said this was his punishment.  

Because he’s right.

It’s got to be the harshest punishment Touya’s ever bestowed on him.

Because it’s hard to watch the way your lax, abused body is forced to just take it, Touya’s thrusts so rough they jostle you up the mattress; even harder to hear as you bawl and beg and scream, and Natsuo’s nose twitches as the threat of new tears climbs up his throat, lodging in the column as he fights against them.

He feels sick, like some sort of depraved pervert, for the weak twitches his cock gives, for the faint embers that flicker in the pit of his stomach, igniting a dull blaze as he watches, almost entranced by the grotesque situation unfolding in front of him. He feels sicker, knowing that both of those would be stronger, much stronger, had Touya not forced him to fuck his entire soul into you.

And Touya—Well, Touya’s been hard from it all—high from it all—the whole time, and Natsuo can almost see the sheer power flowing through his veins, an aura that envelopes him, that radiates off of him in intoxicating waves, that licks at his skin like flames of blue fire. Natsuo bets—no, knows— it’s better than any drug Touya’s ever taken.

Protests marinate on his tongue, bitter and acidic, pleads of stop and enough scraping against the walls of his throat as he forcefully swallows them back down, emitting pathetic little whimpers in their place.

Because he knows if he starts, Touya will only make it worse for you, so he suffers in silence, readily agreeing with Touya every time he reminds Natsuo that this is all his fault and neither of you would be in pain if Natsuo could’ve just kept it in his fucking pants for a few minutes longer.

It hurts, because it’s true, nii-san’s words sending thick, piercing stakes spearing through Natsuo’s heart, through Natsuo’s very soul, straight to the core of his body. Acrid bile climbs up his throat as Touya’s moans mingle with your sobs, so exhausted that they’re barely more than little wheezes at this point. It’s abundantly clear that Touya doesn’t feel a shred of remorse, and that makes Natsuo feel even worse—if only he had said no, if only he had waited and asked, if only he had been stronger, you wouldn’t be suffering.

The tears collecting in the column of his throat sprout talons and claw their way up, past his steadily weaking resolve, prying their way through his lips in the form of jagged sobs.  

It’s magnificent, really, the way Touya can render Natsuo a snotty, shivering mess with only a few choice words. And Natsuo—Natsuo only ever cries in front of his big brother, only ever cries for his big brother, full-on weeping that slashes through his sputtering chest, coughing around and choking on his own sobs of nii-san, I’m sorry!

But it ends eventually, finally, Touya tearing one last orgasm from you, gentle words contradicting his cruel, ruthless actions, murmurs of come on baby, just one more, one more for nii-chan. You can do this for nii-chan, can’t you? You can be a good little girl for me and cum one more time, right? lingering on his lips

And somehow, you find the strength to obey, to be his good baby, because you always do, entire body convulsing with a raspy shriek of the honorific, Touya praising you only moments later as his hips still and his cock pumps you full.

—

It’s cute, really, how fucked out the two of you are. Touya thinks you’re both so beautiful when you’re like this, with glassy eyes and tearstained cheeks, lashes clumped together with residual water and swollen faces stained with streaks of salt, all dazed and fucked and stupid for him, from him.

Natsuo’s doing better than you are, of course—Natsuo wasn’t subjected to being fucked again. But Natsuo still needs to rest, Touya softly tutting his tongue with a disapproving shake of his head as Natsuo attempts to aid him with your aftercare, movements clumsy as he stumbles to his feet, inept and awkward as he blunders towards you.

“No,” Touya’s large hands wrap around his younger brother’s shoulders, halting him, steadying him, forcing Natsuo to look at him. “You rest,” he instructs sternly, guiding Natsuo back to his previous spot and delicately depositing him onto the desk chair. “I’ll get to you in a minute, okay, Natsuo-kun?”

Natsuo hums out an affirmation, eyes closing briefly as Touya’s fingertips affectionately trace the curve of his cheek, palm patting it once.

It’s in moments such as these, nights after hours and hours of extreme punishment, that Touya automatically, perhaps unknowingly, slips into Big Brother mode, and you’re reminded of the age gap between them.

Because even though Natsuo’s bigger than Touya, taller than Touya, beefier than Touya, he looks so tiny under his older brother’s protective gaze.

You both must reek terribly, covered in drool and sweat and cum, must look like hot messes, strands of tangled hair saturated with salt and sticking to your cheeks, but your Touya-nii is still right there regardless, whispering the sweetest affirmations and the tenderest praises to the both of you as he wipes each of you down with a damp cloth infused with lavender, telling the both of you how good you did, how proud you made nii-san, how pretty both of you are.

Nimble fingers spend a decent amount of time rubbing soothing circles of moisturizing cream into each of you, your most sensitive skin rubbed raw, aching and puffy from such intense maltreatment, before Touya-nii dresses each of you in his softest, comfiest clothes, steady stream of pure, unadulterated love never stopping as it pours from his lips.

And you’re both reminded of how privileged you are, being the only two who ever get to witness this side of him, the only two who are fortunate enough to see the person he might’ve been if you stripped away years upon years of trauma and abuse, the person he truly is at the core of his soul, the person he was born as before he was forced to layer himself with thick, protective walls of aggression coated in indifference—and the person who he becomes as he sheds that armor, in the middle of the night when it’s just the three of you, the whole world having fallen away outside the bedroom door.

You’re all each other need, after all; because he loves you both more than he could ever put into words—and you each love him back just the same—and that will always be more than enough.

Touya reaches across your body, arm a pleasant, heavy weight as it rests on you, and runs slender fingers through Natsuo’s sweaty hair as you snuggle into your nii-chan’s chest, and Natsuo nearly mewls, nuzzling into his nii-san’s touch as Touya instructs the both of you to sleep, now, a film playing softly in the background as the three of you drift into unconsciousness together.

[noteguk]

a little while | kth | m

↳ inspired by the song “a little while” by yellow days. 

— summary; in which Taehyung realizes that he was wrong in thinking that being friends with benefits with you wouldn’t backfire. 

— contents and warnings; angsty smut!!, pretty much pwp, taehyung is emotional, fwb au, Taehyung x reader, protected sex, dirty talk (honestly like one sentence), unrequited feelings, kind of soft sex :( taehyung is whipped and sad about it 

— words; 2k

— author’s note; I’ve been feeling kind of stuck with my other wips so I wrote this drabble to unwind :) idk if I plan to write more of it but who knows!!! My two functioning neurons are very unpredictable. 

That was supposed to be easy. 

That was all that Taehyung could think about: you two, whatever you had going on; that was supposed to be easy. It was the whole point of even starting something like that in the first place. It was the entire motive behind why anyone would ever accept a friend with benefits — no strings attached, no clingy calls, no emotional baggage. It was supposed to be a quick situation, convenient; Taehyung was supposed to see you every once in a while, maybe even forget about you, until he decided that he wanted to get his dick wet again. 

It was supposed to be easy. 

“Is this okay for you?” Taehyung asked, leaning a bit closer to your face. He loved staring at you like that: with your hair sprawled on the pillow and your pouty lips inviting him into a kiss. He had grown used to having you under him, and it had quickly become one of his favorite pastimes. “Want me to go faster?” 

You shifted around under him, your hands moving up to rest on his shoulders. “It’s alright, I like it slow too.” 

And he could only nod, because his mind was thinking too many things that he could not say. It was supposed to be fucking easy, but somewhere along the way, Taehyung had ruined everything. It was just a matter of time before the whole situation went up in flames and he managed to lose both his friend and what might just be the love of his life in one go. 

Because Taehyung had broken the first and most important rule of having a friend with benefits: whatever you do, don’t catch feelings. 

And now he was rocking into you slowly, sensually, actually making love to you instead of the way he usually fucked — fast, rough, with your loud moans filling his lungs until he found his high. It was ridiculous. He felt nauseous. 

Worst part was that he was almost sure you didn’t feel the same — and the “almost” was because there was a small fragment of hope inside his chest that really tried to convince him that he had a shot. That maybe the way you looked at him showed something beyond hunger and lust. Maybe you actually cared for him. Maybe you wanted more and you weren’t brave enough to tell him. 

“Actually, could you go a bit faster?” 

Your voice shot him straight back down into reality. Taehyung only nodded, mumbling something that not even he understood before burying his face on the crook of your neck and raising the speed of his thrusts. The world around him felt suffocating and confusing, not even your honeyed moans against his ear could raise his spirit. 

Still he tried to ground himself, his hands digging to your hips as he closed his eyes, focusing on the drag of your walls against his cock. The feeling was overwhelming, dizzying, earned a low groan from him as he continued to fuck you like you deserved to be fucked. Taehyung managed to pretend that everything was alright for exactly two minutes before you spoke up again. 

“God, that feels so good,” you cried out. His cock throbbed inside you at your words, his mind spinning at the sensation of you growing tighter. Taehyung was obsessed with you in every way, completely enthralled by how your body reacted to his, so eager to feel more. “Want you to kiss me, Tae.” 

You always asked that when you were getting close and Taehyung was always fast to do it. His lips were on yours before he could even think about it, his tongue crawling inside your mouth as he groaned against the kiss. God, he could make out with you forever, it wasn’t even a joke. 

Taehyung was absolutely whipped and that was a problem. 

He removed one hand from your hips and trailed it down your arm slowly, reaching your hand and intertwining his fingers in yours. He moaned against your mouth, feeling his orgasm building up on the base of his spine, and pressed your hand down on the mattress as he continued to bury himself inside you. 

“Tae,” you sobbed his name so beautifully that he swore he could cum right at that instant. “I’m so close.” 

“It’s okay, baby, you can let it go,” he said, his voice so deep that you felt it vibrating inside your chest. “I got you. Cum on my cock for me. Wanna feel you.”

And you did, because it was like the universe was mocking him about how perfect you could be. Taehyung groaned — both in pleasure and in frustration — as your pussy clenched around his aching cock, your thighs trembling on either side of his body while you cried out his name. It was a flawless melody composed just for him: your voice dancing in the air, the lewd sounds of your wetness as he continued to thrust in and out of you. 

Taehyung, just to top it all off, committed the huge mistake of actually making eye contact with you as you came down from your high. It suddenly was too much: your hooded eyes, your parted lips, the blissful expression that covered your features. You were too much. 

“Fuck, baby,” Taehyung cursed. He closed his eyes, paying full attention to his growing pleasure. “You’re so beautiful.” 

He didn’t really mean to confess that out loud, but you didn’t seem to mind. You smiled, that gorgeous, drowsy smile you always gave him after he had made you cum, and Taehyung swore he was in heaven. “Are you gonna cum?” You asked, earning an eager nod in return. His hair was a mess over his eyes, sweaty and disorganized, covering his gaze as he looked down to see where the two of you met. You were made for him, your pussy was made for him, and he couldn’t take that idea out of his mind. “It’s okay, Tae, you can cum.” 

Again, the universe was mocking him, because within a few seconds he was doing just that. Taehyung pressed his forehead against your shoulder and spilled himself inside the condom, wishing profusely — pretending, almost — that the latex barrier wasn’t there, and that he was filling you up with his cum instead, making you his. And that was enough to prolong his high a little further, his cock throbbing as he dove into that fantasy. 

But, eventually, it had to end. 

The silence that followed was thick and overbearing, but comfortable regardless. Most of the time it went like that: with the two of you basking in the afterglow of your orgasms, drowning in the heat of one another without saying a word. Taehyung did not know what went on inside your head, but he knew that he needed those few seconds of silence to reset his thoughts, to try and bury the emotions that ever so gradually started to build up. 

Basically, he had to take a moment to remind himself that he had absolutely no chance with you. 

You sighed deeply, your fingers diving into Taehyung’s soft locks. He had collapsed against your chest, trying to regain his breath and, at the gentle caresses of your fingers, you felt his heart leap inside his chest, pounding against your skin. 

“That was nice,” you said daintily. He only hummed in agreement, worried he would slip and say something he didn’t mean to. “I have to go, though.” 

Just like that, Taehyung felt like he just got stabbed in the fucking jugular. He whipped his head away from your chest faster than he could think (after all, he should’ve enjoyed a few extra seconds of boob time if he had the chance) and his mouth fell open for a moment before his words finally came out. “Don’t— Don’t you wanna stay the night?” 

If you thought that his plea was desperate, which it was, you didn’t let it show. You smiled, leaning back to you could shift into a seating position on the bed. The two of you were facing each other then, so close and yet miles apart. “I don’t think I have the energy for round three,” you answered playfully. 

Taehyung had two conflicting answers fighting in his head. The first one was that it wasn’t for sex, something along the lines of “actually, I might be in love with you and I don’t want you to go”; the second one was the one that you wanted to hear: “it’s okay, I’ll do all the work anyways”. And, yet, as the brave battle continued inside his mind, he was left to stare in silence as you jumped out of the bed and started seeking for your clothes.

“Besides,” you continued, “I have that research presentation tomorrow.” 

Oh yeah, that stupid research thing. The reason why you had to schedule that Emergency Unwinding Session with Taehyung in the first place. His initial bliss, but his final demise. How poetic. 

“It’s fine, I get it.” Taehyung watched your little wiggling dance as you placed your pants back on. He would’ve teased you about it if his heart wasn’t in absolute shambles. “Can I see you later tomorrow, then?” 

You didn’t even hesitate to twist the blade. “Won’t happen. It’s Yongsun’s birthday and we are going to this fancy sushi bar downtown,” you said. The universe truly hated Taehyung and you were completely dressed by the time you leaned in to place a kiss against his forehead. “But we’ll figure something out. I owe you a third round.” 

Taehyung forced out a laugh, trying to brush away the storm cloud over his head. However, he couldn’t even convince himself that he was fine. “Sure. We can figure it out.” 

You hummed and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to make it a bit more presentable. “I have the copy of the keys that Jimin gave me, so you don’t have to worry about locking the door. Just go to sleep and I’ll lock it on my way out.” 

Taehyung simply nodded because he seriously didn’t think he could say anything without completely confessing his emotions. They were so bottled up that he felt them building up in his throat, like a shaken bottle of soda about to explode. 

“See you, Tae. Thanks for tonight,” you said on your way out of his room. 

He responded with a timid, “See you,” that he was a hundred percent sure you didn’t even hear. A few seconds later, the sound of his front door closing was like thunder echoing around his empty room. 

Taehyung sighed and threw himself back against the mattress, covering his eyes with the palm of his hand. He was so fucked. So fucking whipped. He just wanted to scream against his pillow until it all went away, but he knew that it wouldn’t. He couldn’t confess to you because he was sure that you didn’t feel the same, and he couldn’t let you go because he was selfish: he wanted you one way or another, even if he had to disguise his emotions and pretend that everything was fine. 

He removed his hand from his face and stared up at the white ceiling, at the slices of moonlight that came from his open window. Taehyung decided that he would just continue faking that he was fine with the idea of being friends with benefits with you. But could he do it? Could he keep it up? For how long? Taehyung had endured those acting sessions for a bit too long then, and he didn’t know how much he could take before he reached his breaking point. 

He groaned and rolled around on the bed. He just wanted to sleep. 

That was supposed to be easy.

[deepspacedukat]

The Only One - Part 2: Things Left Unsaid

So the more I write of this, the more evident it becomes that this is going to be much longer than I originally anticipated. I had thought this was going to be a quick three chapter ramble, but um...at the moment it’s looking as though it’ll be closer to like...five chapters? Maybe more? I really should make an outline when I have the time, because otherwise this is going to get really out of hand, but...like...who has the time? Not me lol. Anyway, here’s Part 2. Part 2 is also cross-posted to AO3 here.

Part 1 here. Part 3 here. Part 4 here. Part 5 here. Part 6 here.

~*~

Weyoun 5 (ST:DS9) x Reader

[A/N: Spoilers in this installment for DS9: S5E19 “Ties Of Blood And Water,” so if you haven’t seen that yet, beware! Also there will be smut in future parts, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Some angst and descriptions of recurring nightmares to start, but it gets a little better. Mentions of casual Dominion brutality, but like...that’s kinda on par for them, so...hopefully that’s to be expected? It’s not described graphically or anything. Feelings. Lots of feelings: the good, the bad, and the questionable.

~*~

Nearly a year had passed since the day the Vorta diplomat had so unceremoniously yet politely turned my world upside down. Not a day had passed where I didn’t remember the terror and helplessness in his eyes as he was removed from existence. Not a day went by where I didn’t wish that I’d been able to help him.

That morning, I jolted awake from a nightmare as I had so many times since that fateful day, gasping for air and trying to convince myself that the dream wasn’t real as I got up to pace my quarters. Violet eyes filled with fear and pleading for my help as one would entreat their gods for mercy...pleas for forgiveness and promises to be a more useful servant had scratched away at my sanity from the dreamworld as they now so often did.

“Computer, what time is it?” I asked in a shaky voice as I wrapped a soft robe around me in some semblance of protection.

“The time is oh six hundred hours,” the automated voice intoned, and I let out a quiet groan. That was the third time this week that I’d been awakened before my alarm. At least this time I’d gotten a whole four hours of sleep. I wasn’t meant to be on duty for another three hours, but I knew from experience that there was no getting back to sleep after one of those nightmares. Walking to the bathroom, I glanced in the mirror and sighed at the thought that I’d look exhausted again today. I really didn’t want to have to endure the looks from the officers in Ops today, but such is life.

I splashed my face with a bit of cool water, took a deep breath, and threw on a clean uniform. A walk would help clear my head. It nearly always did. Wandering the corridors of the old Cardassian station at such an early hour when the residents were only just beginning to wake gave me a feeling of tranquility that I seldom felt elsewhere. I’d never felt such placidity even back when I lived on Earth. Even with the Dominion threat, there was nowhere else I’d rather be.

Pausing at one of the viewports on the upper level of the Promenade - my favorite viewport - I leaned against the wall as I took in the familiar sight of thousands of sparkling stars. Letting my mind drift like a piece of space debris, I lost myself for a time in the limitless, endless expanse of the cosmos...in just how small and insignificant my problems were in the grand scheme of things. Distancing myself from my worries like this tended to make them feel less daunting when the time came to confront them, but this time there wouldn’t be a confrontation. There was nothing I could do about what was troubling me. I hadn’t been able to save the one person who had ever known who I was...what I was.

Weyoun could have answered so many of my questions had he survived the mission to destroy the Iconian Gateway. As it was, more questions had popped up in the wake of his demise. When the Defiant had returned to Deep Space Nine, Doctor Bashir had confirmed that I was in fact half-Changeling, with Odo’s own genetic structure as a base for comparison, of course. The Security Chief and I’d had a great many conversations since then. He’d even helped me figure out more about my own abilities as a partial Changeling, coaching me through several humanoid shifts and encouraging me in my practice sessions. I’d been able to hold my altered shapes for a bit longer, depending on the complexity of the form and how much of myself I was altering. The day he’d reluctantly admitted that I was better at noses than he was, I could hear more than a hint of pride in his voice.

“Trouble sleeping, Lieutenant?” A gruff, raspy voice called from my side as I stared into the illuminated darkness outside the station. I didn’t have to turn my head to know that Odo would be giving me an impassive look that he used to try and hide his concern - one that I’d seen before when I’d first told him about my nightmares regarding the Vorta. He was the only one I’d trusted with the full content of the private conversation between Weyoun and myself. I’d told Captain Sisko of my newly-discovered heritage, of course, but that conversation had some elements that I was reluctant to share with my commanding officer. There were some things I only trusted Odo with, like the hug...the horrifying willingness to allow me to take my anger out on him...his admission that the Founders did in fact require that sort of unthinking loyalty and deference from him and his entire race. Without uttering a word, I just nodded my head and crossed my arms loosely around my middle. Odo hummed beside me and fell silent for a moment. I knew him well enough at that point to know he was simply trying to determine what would be best for him to say. “I’m...not very good at this sort of thing, and I know I’ve said this before, but...Weyoun’s death was not your fault. There was nothing you could do. I highly doubt that he would want you to blame yourself.”

“You didn’t see the look in his eyes as he was vaporized, Odo. He was so afraid,” I whispered. “He looked to someone he regarded as the only child of one of his gods and...I let him down.”

“No, you didn’t. There was nothing you could have done. None of us knew that Omet’iklan was going to kill him. Otherwise, I’d have been right there beside you,” he said surprising me into looking at him. “I trust your judgment. If you thought he was worth saving and if you’d been given the chance to do so, I would have supported you wholeheartedly. The Jem’Hadar would have had to go through the both of us to get to that Vorta. But...you weren’t given that chance. I know it’s...difficult, but...it’s time that you try and forgive yourself. It’s been almost a year. You deserve some peace.”

One of his hands rested gently on my shoulder, and I felt a small, rueful smile stretch my lips. Odo might not think he was good at comforting people, but he was wrong. He had a way of cutting straight to the point. Like Major Kira had said many times before, there’s never any pretense with him. Perhaps that was another reason I trusted him so implicitly.

“Thank you, Odo,” I murmured, and he gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before suggesting that I accompany him on his morning security rounds. With that welcome distraction, the two of us set off, making quiet conversation in the early morning stillness.

--

The next couple of days were busy. With the arrival on the station of Major Kira’s almost-father, Tekeny Ghemor, and Gul Dukat showing interest in the man’s deteriorating condition, the atmosphere on the station was one of suspicion. When a Dominion ship arrived at the station carrying Gul Dukat, I was on-duty in Ops. As the ship prepared for docking, the Captain called me into his office. We were still talking when I heard the door to the Captain’s office hiss open behind me. The Captain’s eyes shifted to whoever had just entered, and when he did a double-take, I turned in curiosity at who had caused such a reaction.

At that moment, I wished so desperately that I’d been seated. Gul Dukat was there, but what had stunned both myself and Captain Sisko was the man who’d accompanied him. I felt my breath hitch in my chest as my eyes met the familiar, bright purple irises of a man I’d watched die right in front of me - a man who looked just as surprised at our reunion as I felt.

“Captain Sisko. Thank you for the kind invitation,” Dukat started. “This is one of my Dominion advisors-”

“Weyoun,” I murmured still in shock, and I was vaguely aware of the Gul turning to look at me curiously. Paying him no mind, I took a small, halting step toward the Vorta. “I don’t understand...You died. I-I saw you die.”

“That wasn't me, my dear. At least...not exactly,” Weyoun said with a small smile spreading across his features. “It is an honor to see you again, Founder.”

“‘Founder’? The Lieutenant isn’t a Changeling, she’s just a metamorph,” Dukat said with a scoff, and I gave Weyoun a small smile of my own that I hoped communicated more than I was at liberty to say in front of Dukat. There was so much that needed to be said, but I couldn’t do it here.

“I should go, but...for the record...I really did believe you,” I murmured to the Vorta, and he gave me a slightly surprised, joyful look before nodding his head respectfully as I took my leave of the Captain’s office. I felt Dukat’s eyes follow me out of the room, no doubt wondering what the hell was going on.

I wasn’t about to tell him a damn thing. At the moment, it was all I could do to force myself to slow my pace to a moderate speed-walk on the way to Odo’s office. I felt so many conflicting emotions. I needed to talk with someone about this. Hell, I needed to talk to Weyoun about all this, but at the moment I just needed somebody patient enough to help me untangle my thoughts to the point where I could decipher them.

--

Odo had been just as surprised as I was when I had nearly talked his ears off about Weyoun’s sudden reappearance. Bless the man, he listened patiently and curiously as I let my thoughts spill out in all their chaotic glory. Asking questions where needed and adding in small comments or noises of acknowledgment where appropriate, Odo managed to corral my thoughts into a more manageable ball of clutter rather than the random yarns of emotion and threads of possibilities unrealized that they had been previously. We’d talked for nearly an hour before he managed to convince me to go back to my quarters and try to relax before I wore a hole in the deck plating of the floor in his office.

I followed his advice, reaching my quarters in almost a daze. When the door hissed closed behind me, I nearly collapsed onto the sofa in the middle of my living space. How does a person apologize to another for not being able to save them? What was I supposed to say? My guilt had been consuming me for nearly a year, and I’d been trying to do as Odo suggested and forgive myself, but...it wasn’t that simple. Nothing worth doing was ever that simple.

After some indeterminable amount of time spent lost in swirling thoughts of over-analysis, my door chime sounded. Reflexively, I called for whoever it was to enter, only looking up when the person paused silently in the doorway in my peripheral vision. I couldn’t disguise the emotions that washed over me when I realized it was Weyoun. A soft, nervous smile spread across his lips, and I couldn’t quite make my mouth work for a moment. 

“Forgive me for interrupting your solitude, but may I join you, Lieutenant?” He asked with a hopeful expression. I could do no more than nod my head quietly and gesture to the open seat beside me on the sofa. Looking as tentative as I felt, the Vorta walked slowly over and perched delicately on the cushion facing me. Clearing my throat quietly, my voice came out as a shaky, broken rasp full of emotion.

“What can I do for you, Weyoun?” I asked quietly, and I couldn’t help but feel like this interaction carried some unspoken meaning...some extra weight that felt ready to burst forth from both our chests like a butterfly from its chrysalis.

“‘Do’? Oh no, my dear. I was just hoping that we could talk,” he said, and all at once, the significance hit me. Our interaction in the mess hall of the Defiant. He was mirroring my own words back at me from that day. Something was cracking in my chest.

“Of course. If you wish to talk, then talk we shall,” I said repeating his own words back at him from that day so long ago and drawing a warm, joyful smile to his lips - one that met his eyes even as my own began to brim with unshed tears. My voice came out as a whisper when I forced it to work. “Weyoun...I’m so sorry. If I’d known what Omet’iklan was planning, I’d have never allowed him near you.”

The Vorta looked absolutely bewildered as a few tears finally began sliding down my cheeks, and he took up my hands carefully with his.

“You couldn’t have known. No one could have known, except Omet’iklan. You have no reason to apologize to me,” he said as though it should have been obvious, and perhaps it should have been. “Besides, it doesn’t matter if I die. I’m a Vorta - a clone. As I explained to Captain Sisko after you left his office, the Weyoun on the Defiant was the fourth of my line. I am the fifth.”

His explanation made sense, but...there was something so casually callous about a life being considered expendable. That troubled me deeply. Before I could think better of it, I’d dropped my lips to his wrists, placing a soft kiss on both before looking back up and meeting his astonished gaze.

“But it does matter. Your life does matter, Weyoun. Every second, every breath...all of it matters, no matter what the Founders have told you,” I said in a tone that brooked no argument. The look on his face was adorable as he slowly nodded his head. He was so innocently trying to accept what I was saying that I almost forgot for a split second that it was his own life that he was trying to accept as being non-expendable.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” He asked in a curious, yet slightly suspicious tone. At my look of confusion, he licked his lips quickly and explained. “Everyone has a reason for being kind - usually it’s a desire for something in return. What is it you really want from me?”

I couldn’t disguise the confusion that lanced through me at his question. Had I done something to come across that way to him, or was this behavior so commonplace for him that this suspicion was his knee-jerk reaction to someone being kind to him?

“What are you talking about? I don’t want anything from you, Weyoun. I never have.” I searched his eyes for some form of an answer and was met with something not so surprising. There was vulnerability beneath his suspicion. He was trying to protect himself. “I’m kind to you because you deserve kindness. There’s no ulterior motive. I have no reason to want to manipulate you, and even if I did, I respect you too much to ever try. Like I said on the Defiant, we’re equals, and I intend to treat you as such. I apologize if I’ve ever given the impression that I was only being kind so that I could get things from you. That was never my intention with any of our interactions, nor will it ever be.”

Was that too honest of an answer? Probably, but even as I finished speaking something changed in his expression. There was some slight shame in place of the suspicion from before.

“Forgive me. I should be the one apologizing to you. Being a diplomat working alongside the Cardassians naturally makes one more suspicious than is normal. I forgot to whom I was speaking for a moment,” he murmured as a lavender blush colored his cheeks. “I...really did come here to talk, not to accuse you of...unpleasantness.”

I noted that he was still holding my hands in his, and I gave his fingers a gentle squeeze as I smiled at him.

“Of course. I’m always happy to talk with you,” I answered in a quiet, much-too-open tone. “Was there something in particular that you had in mind?”

“You mentioned in the Captain’s office that you believed me, and...well, I couldn’t help but wonder if you’d had your parentage confirmed?” He asked, and I nodded my head. A proud sort of glee trickled over his face, and he looked at me expectantly.

“I had the station’s doctor compare part of my genetic structure with Odo’s, and he was able to confirm that I am half-Changeling. It was pretty big news when it was discovered, but obviously, word hasn’t left the station yet. Otherwise, Dukat would know,” I said, and Weyoun gave a small smirk.

“Your Captain explained it to him once you’d left, and he was rather surprised when I confirmed he was telling the truth. He’s accused me of withholding vital information, but it wasn’t vital that he know who you really are. If...I may ask an impertinent question?” He asked as his tone turned slightly more hesitant. “You needn’t answer if you feel that it’s too personal, but...I’ve been curious ever since my activation.”

“Go right ahead. If I have an answer that I can give to you, I will,” I said wondering what could have plagued him for so long, assuming he was activated not long after the clone preceding him was killed. Weyoun took a steadying breath and looked almost sheepish as he opened his mouth.

“On the Defiant...When I first beamed in with the Jem’Hadar, you changed your eyes to look like mine,” he said, and I nodded my head encouragingly. “May I ask why you did that? Please do not misunderstand, it is an honor to be mimicked in such a manner, but usually circumstances are rather more dire when such an action occurs.”

It was my turn to blush. I knew the answer damn well, but I didn’t know if he’d be offended by it or not.

“I...To tell you the truth, I...was curious,” I admitted. Taking a steadying breath, I continued on in a quiet, slightly embarrassed voice. “Your eyes are so striking...so beautiful. I was so focused on the shape and the shade that I...I’d meant to wait until I was in my quarters to see what it felt like, but...well...”

I trailed off with a sheepish shrug, averting my eyes.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” I muttered, and one of Weyoun’s hands lifted up and tilted my chin up.

“You didn’t. I promise. What...What did it feel like?” He asked with curiosity and a hint of reverence in his tone. I was a bit taken aback. Nobody ever asked what it felt like before.

“Oh. I...Sorry, nobody has ever asked what changing feels like before now,” I stammered for a moment trying to gather my thoughts. Weyoun gave me a patient, encouraging nod, and I had a thought. “I...may be able to answer you better, if...Would you mind if I tried again?”

He looked as though I’d just offered him some form of holy sacrament. With a silent nod of his head, Weyoun lowered his hand from beneath my chin. Before it could drop entirely, I caught it in mine and looked up into his eyes. I felt my heart speed up a little as I focused on the shape and color of his eyes. I willed away the natural shade of my irises in favor of the ones so focused on my face. From my own experience watching my transformations in the mirror, I knew the second my eyes began to change in a way that Weyoun could see. He gasped quietly and I tried with all my might not to blink so he’d be able to see the full transformation process.

I’d never showed anyone the full process before, only the before and after. Being this open with the Vorta felt like I was baring a wound to him and just trusting that he wouldn’t pour salt in it.

“I-It feels...” I blushed at how unstable my voice had come out. “It feels new...soft...”

Weyoun’s breathing sped up slightly when I brought his hand to my lips.

“It’s exhilarating,” I breathed, but when I looked back up I found him closer than I’d expected. My own breath stuttered as I searched for the right thing to say, for some other way to describe what the transformation felt like.

“And intimate?” Weyoun asked in a tone that suggested he hadn’t really meant to say it out loud. His face went a slightly darker shade of purple, but I didn’t give him a moment to regret what he’d done. I nodded my head and reached carefully up to cup one of his burning cheeks, feeling my heart clench when he leaned into my touch.

He was so gentle...so beautiful when he was encouraged and safe. Feeling like this about a Dominion ambassador could be dangerous. Slowly, carefully, as though I might shy away, Weyoun leaned forward and touched his forehead to mine. His breath fanned softly against my skin as he spoke so lightly that his words would have been easily carried off in a slight breeze.

“Founders, I missed you.” His voice was rough with emotion as both our eyes fluttered shut.

“I missed you too. I-I thought I’d never see you again...that I’d lost you forever,” I admitted in the same quiet tone he’d used. There was so much more that I needed to say, but my words didn’t feel like they were strong enough. Weightlessly, all I could do was take shaky breath after shaky breath, reveling in the nearness to a man of whom I should be much warier. He worked for the Dominion. I should be distancing myself from him, not wishing I could take away all the pain the Founders had inflicted upon him.

“You’ll never lose me. No matter how many of me are activated, I’ll always find my way back to you,” he muttered, and his words sounded uncomfortably like a confession of something that neither of us could afford given the circumstances. But...I couldn’t deny the effect his statement had on me. Silently, I brought my other hand up so I was cupping both his cheeks in my palms.

“You’ll always have a place with me,” I whispered, and it was his turn to let out a trembling exhale of a breath. A few short moments of silence passed comfortingly before my door chime sounded, startling us out of whatever spell we’d fallen under. Reluctant to move, I lowered my hands carefully to Weyoun’s chest, keeping my touch as light as a feather. “Who is it?”

“An old friend.” I groaned quietly as I recognized the voice. Dukat. Leaning back a bit from Weyoun, I gave him an apologetic look that I hoped said more than I could safely voice at that moment. Lowering my hands from his chest back into his grasp, I gave the Vorta’s fingers a gentle squeeze as I called for him to enter. There was enough distance between us now that we looked like we’d been doing nothing more than having a rather intense discussion as Dukat strode in, arrogance coloring his every step. I remembered just a split second too late that I’d yet to change my eyes back to their normal shape and color. Dukat smirked as he obviously saw the remnants of purple fading from my irises. “So...when do I get a...personal demonstration of your abilities, Lieutenant? If you are servicing the Dominion’s most important members, then you should remember that Cardassia is now a vital part of the Dominion.”

“There’s no need to be crude, Dukat. We were just talking,” Weyoun said with a hint of poison in his tone. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly on my hands, and it occurred to me that the Vorta was attempting to protect me.

“The Lieutenant and I used to talk quite often when I was here on the station, but never so...intimately,” Dukat murmured. “We spent months together bonding over Ziyal’s care, and yet you never once sought more. What has the Vorta promised you? Hm? What is he giving you in exchange for your...kindness?”

“Nothing. Good people don’t need a reason or incentive to be kind to others, Dukat. That’s something you’ll never understand,” I answered with a defiant tilt of my chin. The Cardassian let out a raspy, mischievous laugh at my tone, cutting my patience off at the source. “Either tell me what you want or leave. I’m busy.”

“I can see that,” he taunted as he walked slowly over to the sofa where we were seated, stopping only a few feet away. “I came to see for myself if what the Captain and Weyoun told me about your heritage was true.”

“About one of my parents being a Changeling, you mean?” At his nod of confirmation, I gave Weyoun a glance. “Well, it’s true. I didn’t know myself until about a year ago. Now, if that’s all, I’d appreciate it if you’d-”

“Not quite. You see, an ability like that could be quite useful to the Dominion...to Cardassia...to me...” he trailed off with the insinuation, and I felt my stomach turn. “I’m sure you’d like to spend more time with the Ambassador, here, and Cardassia is quite lovely this time of year. You’d have every luxury that your position affords you...”

“Not a chance, Dukat. Now get out of my quarters while I still allow it,” I snarled, and his eyes narrowed.

“Are you threatening the head of the Cardassian government?” He asked in a quiet, dangerous tone.

“No. Just giving some life-saving advice to a man who claims he’s an old friend,” I answered as I reluctantly released Weyoun’s hands and brought myself to my full height. There was no way in hell I was going to allow Dukat to intimidate me in my own quarters. “Now. Get out.”

With a last smirk, the Cardassian gave me a half-bow dripping with sarcasm.

“As you wish...Founder.” Having uttered his sardonic parting jibe, Dukat strode out of my quarters every bit as arrogant as when he entered. I let out a breath that I hadn’t been aware I’d been holding. Trust Dukat to spoil a moment like that so spectacularly. A quiet call of my name from the Vorta still seated on my sofa knocked me out of my thoughts, and I turned to see him looking up at me with concern written across his features.

“Are you alright?” Weyoun asked quietly, and I took my seat again.

“I’m fine. Dukat just takes some sick sort of joy in trying to get under my skin. I’m sorry. I’ll tell the computer not to allow any interruptions in future,” I muttered, regretting that the two of us had gotten so close only for Dukat to trample the moment to dust under his standard-issue Cardassian uniform boots.

“There’s no need to apologize. I know quite well how tactlessly he can behave,” Weyoun commiserated, and with a small, warm smile he looked into my eyes. “Thank you for allowing me to witness something so miraculous and personal. Would you consider having dinner with me tomorrow night, my dear?”

I hated how effortlessly he could make me smile.

“Only if you promise Dukat won’t be invited,” I said with a playful wink so it would be obvious that I was teasing. He let out a surprised laugh and placed a hand gently over one of mine.

“That is easily accomplished. Nothing turns the stomach more than that man droning on and on during the main course about how he was Bajor’s savior,” he said in a conspiratorially low voice, even though there was nobody who could have overheard us. A quiet chuckle escaped me at the mental image of Weyoun’s beautiful eyes rolling in exasperation when Dukat wasn’t looking. “I...I’ve taken up too much of your time tonight as it is. I should let you rest. No doubt it has been a long day, and my reappearance was most likely a shock.”

“A pleasant surprise,” I corrected turning my hand palm up to grasp his. I looked up to his eyes and felt my questions die in my throat. I couldn’t have feelings like this for him. “Thank you for taking the time to come and speak with me.”

“Always, my dear. I look forward to dinner tomorrow,” he said bringing my hand to his lips. I echoed the sentiment, and with a soft smile, Weyoun made his way out of my quarters. With a sigh, I dropped my head into my hands. What the hell was I to make of all this? I’d spent a year mourning a man I barely knew who’d done me the singular kindness of telling me about my father. Now he was alive again...able to answer questions again...and he wasn’t angry at me for not having been able to save him. Not for the first time, I wished this station had a counselor I could talk to. As it was, all I did - all I could ever do - was talk to Odo and spend more time staring out the viewport in my quarters as I contemplated what to do.

--

When the next night rolled around, I got changed out of my uniform as soon as I got off-duty. Throwing on one of my favorite comfortable yet still presentable outfits, I tried to make myself look a bit more casual than my usual pin-straight, professional, on-duty self. Normally, I was quite a private person, choosing to spend most of my downtime in my quarters or in the company of a select few friends. This - having dinner with a Dominion ambassador-turned friend - was entirely new to me. Was friend the right word? Could it ever be considering how Weyoun’s genetic coding practically forced him to think of me as better than him? I had been thinking about that a lot since the night before. Had his offer of dinner come from his own desire to get to know me, or was it a desire forced on him by the Changelings’ alterations to his DNA? I’d have to be careful. I couldn’t be as casually intimate as I would be with my own friends, because it wasn’t yet clear to me how consent would work with him. If I asked permission to hug him, would he accept because he wanted the hug, or would he accept because he thought it would make me - a being he saw as the child of his gods - happy?

The door chime shook those thoughts away, and as I straightened my outfit one last time, I called for my guest to come in. Taking a small breath, I turned just in time to see Weyoun walking gracefully through my door. The moment his eyes fell on me, he drew a surprised breath. Right, he’d never seen me out of uniform before. He smiled warmly and began a slight bow before stopping himself.

He remembered.

“My apologies. Habits are rather hard to break. I must ask your patience,” he said, and I smiled as I shook my head.

“Don’t apologize. I know from experience how long it can take to break a pattern of behavior that you’re used to. And Weyoun...you’ll always have my patience,” I promised as I walked over to him. A slight purple blush colored his cheeks and he raised one of my hands to his lips.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I thought you might like to have dinner together in a more private setting than Quark’s or the Replimat,” he said as he ushered me out of my quarters toward some destination known only to him. We chatted a little on the way, and soon we came across one of the empty conference rooms. Weyoun opened the doors, and when I looked at him in confusion, he just smiled. “I asked Odo for a favor.”

My curiosity got the better of me, and I walked inside. The table was set rather nicely, and there was a tray of various drinks from Quark’s at the side. Trust a diplomat to set up a lovely evening like this. He was used to schmoozing other ambassadors, so why had I expected anything different?

“Weyoun...this is lovely, but you didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me,” I stammered as I turned to face him. The soft, hopeful look on his face froze me in place as he moved slowly toward me.

“Oh, it was no trouble, I assure you. Do you really like it?” He asked with a tentative smile, and it almost hurt to see just how much he wanted to make me happy. I took his hands carefully in mine and smiled as I looked into his eyes.

“Of course I do, but...all this...is it what you want too? I want you to take your own desires into consideration when we socialize, not just what you think mine might be.” At my words, Weyoun gave my fingers a gentle squeeze.

“I am taking them into account. You told me that you’d rather have my honesty than my devotion, and to be entirely honest with you, this is what I want this evening, as well as what I thought you might want,” he said with a tone of sincerity that I thought - and hoped - was genuine. “I may not know what some of this food is, but Quark assures me they are dishes you’ve ordered before in his establishment. I’ve not had the opportunity to sample many Alpha Quadrant dishes outside Cardassian cuisine.”

“Well, I’m certain we can find something to your liking,” I said with a smile as the two of us took a seat at the table to explore what he’d obtained for us. As we sampled dishes, Weyoun explained that the Vorta hadn’t the ability to taste things as I would perceive it. He could experience textures, but flavors themselves were severely dulled. When he mentioned offhandedly that it was part of how the Founders coded the Vorta, I tried my very best to hide my frustration and indignance on his behalf. It was such a pleasant evening that I didn’t want to ruin it with my philosophical musings about a situation I could do nothing to change. Weyoun must have been able to read some of my conflicting feelings, however, because he gave me a little smile.

“We can taste rippleberries and kava nuts, though. They make excellent snacks and there are some rather complex recipes that the Vorta have developed over the years,” he explained, and that at least made me relax somewhat. They weren’t totally denied food-based pleasure, then. I’d have to find out if there was a way I could get some of each. Perhaps I could find a way to make some Alpha Quadrant style dishes out of them...

Once we’d finished eating and were engaged in conversation, I finally got up the courage to ask something I’d been wondering about since the day we’d first met. Biting my lower lip nervously, I took a deep breath and gave voice to my nagging curiosity.

“Weyoun? I...I know you said the Dominion had followed my father’s trail in the Alpha Quadrant, and...well, I was wondering if there was anything you could tell me about him?” My voice came out shakier than I would have liked. “It’s just that...all my life I’ve thought he was dead. I thought there was no chance I could ever know anything about him because the only one who could have answered my questions was my mother. She died when I was little, so I really have nobody else I could ask.”

Weyoun gave me a look that I couldn’t quite decipher before clearing his throat quietly.

“I’m afraid I don’t know his current whereabouts - I’d have to speak with the Founders about that - but I can tell you what little I know of him if you like?” He offered, and I gave him an encouraging smile and nod of my head. “Very well then. I suppose I should begin with the fact that his name was Meris. Not many Founders choose names, but ones who enjoy spending time both in and out of the Great Link do sometimes make a selection.”

Meris. When the Vorta paused, I almost subconsciously muttered the name, testing the syllables as I processed the information.

“From what I understand, your father had always been rather willing to take risks. He was wise and patient until his curiosity was piqued. Once that happened, he had a one-track mind. He would hunt down his answers with a singular determination. Anyone who stood in his way was done away with.” At that last sentence, I could practically feel my blood freeze in my veins. My eyes widened a bit and I thought I’d misheard him - surely I had, right?

“Wh-What do you mean?” I stammered, and Weyoun looked at me curiously as if he couldn’t understand what had startled me so completely. He tilted his head and his brows furrowed together, but he answered my question nonetheless.

“Well, he was biologically curious. Meris was one of the main reasons that the Vorta cloning process was made possible. Experimental genetics fascinated him, hence his interest in the process which allowed Changelings to have offspring with solids,” he explained and I felt a singular growing horror.

“He...H-He’s the one who started the Vorta cloning?”

“Well, not entirely, but he did make the final breakthrough that made the process possible,” Weyoun said, and even though I wanted so desperately for him to stop - for this all to be an elaborate lie - I knew I had to hear the full story. Not knowing might be easier, but if I were ever to fully comprehend where I came from - what might be lurking in my DNA - I had to make it through this. I had to hear it all. “The cloning would have been entirely useless if future clones retained no memories, so your father managed to create the final step that allowed clones to keep their memories.”

“...And...how exactly did he test his theories?” I was terrified of the answer. There was no way it could be anything ethical.

“Meris activated and...well, de-activated several dozens of clones until he observed successful memory retention,” Weyoun said, and I felt my stomach turn.

“‘De-activated’? Y-You mean he killed them?” My words came out as barely a whisper.

“Well, yes, but they were just clones. There was no harm done,” Weyoun said calmly, and all at once, it became almost impossible to breathe. Before I realized it, I’d pushed out the chair I’d been seated in and paced the length of the room, trying in vain to corral my thoughts into something more manageable. I’d been under no delusions that the Changelings had done some horrible things, but this...I knew somebody would have done it, but my father? I hadn’t been ready for that. Vaguely I was aware of Weyoun calling my name before his hands came to rest on my shoulders. When had he gotten up? His purple eyes bored into mine and he looked visibly worried for me. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be proud to hear of your father’s accomplishments.”

“‘Accomplishments’?” I barely breathed the word. “Weyoun, my father was a murderer. To throw away lives simply to satisfy scientific research...that’s not ethical. That’s not right. Every life is precious and important, and the Vorta’s lives are not any less significant just because they’re clones.”

I hadn’t realized I was crying until Weyoun’s hands moved carefully up to cup my cheeks as his thumbs brushed away my tears. After a moment’s silence, he spoke quietly.

“You really aren’t like the other Founders, you know. You’re gentle...so full of love, even for those whom you will never know,” he sounded deep in thought, as if he hadn’t really meant to speak at all. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I forget how unfamiliar you are with the Dominion’s practices and how jarring this all must seem.”

“That’s one way to put it,” I said quietly. “But you...Weyoun, you really don’t need to apologize. I’m the one who asked and I suppose I should have been more prepared for an answer that I didn’t want to hear. You were just trying to be helpful.”

I placed my hands over his and forced a smile through the last of my tears. I could hardly believe that my father was responsible for the perception that Vorta’s lives were expendable. What else had he done? Had he taken away their sense of taste? Encoded their unwavering loyalty? Previously I thought I wanted to meet my father if he was still alive, but after Weyoun’s disclosure, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Is there anything I can do to ease your mind?” He asked in a quiet, almost intimate voice as his eyes searched my face for answers I might be unwilling or too afraid to give. It struck me that despite whatever horrors my father and the rest of the Changelings had subjected the Vorta to, Weyoun had still managed to hold onto some sort of kindness. Whether he pitied me, thought kindness would get something out of me, or if it came from the goodness of his heart, Weyoun had shown more consideration and concern for me than anyone in his position would reasonably be expected to. The child of the person who caused so much of his suffering...I deserved his hatred, not his compassion, and yet he still gave it to me seemingly freely.

To be frank, I was in awe of his strength. He endured so much from the beings he thought of as gods, yet he never complained. I had to find some way to fix this or to at least right some of my father’s wrongs. I refused to turn out like him - like the rest of the Changelings. I was so lost in thought that I’d nearly forgotten that Weyoun had asked me a question. Turning my head just far enough that I could press a soft kiss onto his wrist, I heard his breath catch.

“I’ll be alright. That just wasn’t what I was expecting, to be honest. It’s just a bit of an adjustment from assumption to reality.” My words came out quietly, and Weyoun gave me a silent nod. “Thank you for asking me to dinner tonight and for putting up with my rather ill-timed curiosity. I really have enjoyed the time we’ve gotten to spend together.”

“My dear, it has been my pleasure. You make wonderful company. I only wish my stay here could last longer so that I might have the opportunity to spend more time with you.” I couldn’t help but agree with him. I knew that his position within the Dominion meant that he would be headed back to Cardassia as soon as the situation with Ghemor was resolved, but...I wanted so badly for him to stay. As odd as it was, there was something comforting about his presence. He made me feel safe and seen in a way I’d never experienced before.

“Then we’d better make the most of what little time we do have,” I said with a warm smile, and Weyoun looked positively elated.

“Oh, we shall! Make no mistake, there is a multitude of things I’d like to experience on this station before I return to Cardassia. Perhaps you could assist me?” At his question, I agreed readily. I could easily indulge some of his more innocent interests, assuming they didn’t compromise security of course. “Excellent! Simply delightful! Thank you, my dear. Now, it is getting late, and I fear that if I don’t bring you back to your quarters soon, I might be tempted to keep you here all night. May I escort you back to your quarters?”

“Only if it’s no trouble. I don’t want you to worry about it if you’re tired,” I said, and he waved a hand to dismiss my concerns. Offering me his arm, Weyoun gave me a playful little wink. Judging by the blush that heated my cheeks, I was in trouble. He shouldn’t be able to get to me this easily. I continued to muse on that as the Vorta walked me back to my quarters arm-in-arm. This was quite the conundrum. Once we reached my door, the two of us stopped, and I turned to face him.

“Thank you for the lovely evening, my dear,” Weyoun murmured as he brought my hand to his lips as he had at the start of the night. “I hope you sleep well.”

“Thank you. I hope you do, too,” I said with a smile, and all too soon, he was bidding me goodnight with a soft expression on his face and walking gracefully toward his own quarters. There was still so much to say...too much for one visit alone.

[mostlymaudlin]

@carryon-countdown day 25: sleepover

rated T, 2k. part of stoner au. :D

tags: penny & baz are besties, sometimes u just have to remind ur friends u love them, friends for a reason friends for a season friends for life type beat, this is about friendship simon has like 2 lines, girls night, absolutely no toenail painting

PENELOPE

Sometimes it really does feel like I need to make new friends. It’s hard, though. I don’t like introducing new people into my life — I don’t like people.

Agatha used to just be my friend. We didn’t have many similar interests, but we lived in the dorms together freshman year and it just sort of worked. We’d sit in our room, me reading, Agatha painting her nails. Every so often, one of us would tell the other a bit of gossip, or describe something weird we saw someone do that day. It was chill. It was fun.

We stopped hanging out as much when she started dating Simon. That was okay, too, because I had started dating Shepard. What wasn’t fine was how Agatha ghosted me when she dumped Simon. It was all kind of harsh. She was graduating early, and then she fucked off to a graduate program in the States. Doesn’t even answer my texts.

So until recently, it’s just been Simon, Shepard and I. But the balance is off. Simon’s a Shepard hog, to be honest. And Shepard’s a Simon hog. And I’m obviously ecstatic that my best friend and my boyfriend get along so well. But sometimes I feel like I’m third-wheeling them.

Sometimes it becomes really apparent that, even though they both love me, they just get along better with each other. I don’t like sitting around and watching stupid shit and rolling joints. They don’t want to read my book recommendations, and they don’t understand when I get stressed out about exams.

And that’s all fine. We all have roles to play in each other’s lives, and I love the roles they play in mine. I just wish I had someone in my life who not only understood and accepted me, but also was a little bit more like me.

I used to think that maybe Baz could be my outside-of-the-friend-group friend. We got on well in classes. Sometimes, we’d teeter on the edge of hanging out beyond the library. But now that he’s dating Simon, he’s been sucked into his vortex.

It’s fine fine fine. I try not to be jealous. I try to remember that I’m luckier than most — that I couldn’t be lonely if I tried, not with the way the three of them hang off me. But there are moments like this where I can’t help but turn sour.

“Baaaaaaaabe!” Simon calls across the library, ignoring all the irritated glances he gets from all the people in our vicinity. Baz is such a stickler about being respectful in the library, but he’s preening at Simon’s attention. When Simon gets close enough, Baz reaches up to pull him into a sloppy, lazy kiss. I try to focus on the study guide Baz and I have been building, but they’ve decided they’re competing for the Guinness Record for loudest, grossest kiss in the world.

Simon releases Baz’s lips with a wet pop, then turns his beam toward me.

“Pen!” he says, setting a large, sweet-smelling Starbucks cup down in front of Baz. I raise my eyebrows at him, and he blushes a bit, lowering his voice when he speaks again. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I’d have gotten you a tea!”

“That’s my bad,” Baz says, eyes apologetic. “I forgot we were meeting up when I sent him my caffeine plea earlier.”

“Whatever,” I say, shrugging. I’m used to it.

Simon litters Baz’s face with kisses before he takes off again — apparently there’s some damsel in distress. (The distress is that there is peanut butter clogging her phone’s charging port.)

When Baz finishes staring dreamily at Simon’s disappearing figure, he turns back to me and nudges his Starbucks cup toward me.

“We can share, if you want?” he says. I wrinkle my nose.

“What is it?” I ask, knowing the answer will be disgusting.

“A creme brulee latte,” he says, and I stare at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. His lip quirks up on one side. “With a shot of vanilla. And whipped cream. Topped with caramel drizzle and cinnamon.”

“They’re going to poison you one day,” I say, sliding the cup back toward him. He laughs before taking a sip.

“I had Simon leave a $20 tip,” he says. “I try to make up for my coffee sins.”

I laugh a little, despite my tetchy mood.

“Sorry I didn’t think to have him get you something,” Baz says again. I’m being too transparent, I think. He keeps shooting me these worried glances, even as he starts setting his pens and highlighters back up to start working again. (He has a system. For everything. It’s mad. But he’s brilliant, so there must be something to it.) I shrug, tapping my pencil against the table as I wait for him to set his writing utensils in a straight line.

“I’m used to it,” I mutter. Baz’s hands pause, and he looks up at me with an eyebrow raised.

“Used to not getting tea?” he prods. I look away, a bit embarrassed. Baz is definitely clocking the heat I can feel in my cheeks.

“Never mind,” I say, sliding a textbook toward me. “Let’s get back to work.”

Baz’s hand lands on my wrist, tugging a bit. I meet his eyes, and they’re concerned.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. His voice is low (respectful of the library) and gentle (respectful of my feelings).

And everything is fine. I’m fine! To even imply that it’s not — that’s why my chin is wobbling a bit. His ridiculous question has tears welling in my eyes. Because it’s ridiculous.

Baz drops his pen on the table. It rolls into his other supplies, disrupting them like a row of dominos. A pencil drops to the floor as he comes around the table to sit in the chair next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder to pull me against his chest.

It is mortifying to cry in the library. But I woke up early this morning for work, and I’m a little stressed about this exam we’re studying for even though it’s not for a week. And my mother sent me a passive aggressive text that I haven’t gotten a chance to tell Shepard about yet. And my little sister told me she didn’t want my help finding a dress for a school dance. And Simon didn’t bring me tea, because Baz forgot about me, and I’m just not having a great day! I’m not my best! I’m crying in the bloody library, my face stuffed in Baz’s expensive shirt collar, tears soaking into his skin alongside his fruity, woodsy cologne.

Baz is rubbing my back, making comforting noises. Nobody is giving us any trouble. Baz and I have discussed this before — crying in the library is the exception to the noise etiquette. When I’ve calmed myself to snuffles, Baz pulls back a bit to look at my face.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he says. It’s a demand, not a question, which for some reason makes me less apt to go into waterfall mode again. I hide my face against his chest again. He lets me.

“I feel left out sometimes,” I admit. Baz squeezes me tightly, but doesn’t say anything. He’s letting me say my piece. It all comes tumbling out. “I don’t smoke or drink, and I know I can be a buzzkill when I’m always wound up about work or school. And I know you get wound up with those things, but you’re also so wound up in Simon. It just makes me feel like an outlier.”

Baz rubs my back for a moment, waiting to see if I’m done.

“I’m sorry we’ve made you feel that way,” he murmurs. “But Penelope, you have to know that you’re the glue of this group. I’m so thankful to have you in my life — and all our friends by extension.”

I sigh, pulling away.

“Don’t feel bad,” I say. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m thankful for you too, but it’s not like we were friends before you started dating Simon.”

Baz frowns, then flicks my arm. I glare at him.

“I thought we were friends,” he says, brow furrowed. “In class. Not as close as we are now, obviously, but I’ve always enjoyed your company.”

“We’re close now?”

Baz laughs, but it’s strained — color blooms in his tan cheeks, and he runs a hand back through his hair.

“Christ, Penelope, now I might cry in the library,” Baz says. “It’s embarrassing to say this now, but I consider you to be one of my closest friends. I know I’ll never surpass Simon in your friendship ranks, but I was hoping I was a bit higher on the list.”

I smack his arm, and he puts his hand over the spot as if I’ve mortally wounded him, giving me wide eyes.

“Basil! Simon’s different — he’s like my brother. But you’re definitely higher on the list. Right at the top.”

Baz’s face cracks into a smile. Mine mirrors it. It’s ridiculous, is what it is.

“I feel like we just DTR-ed,” Baz whispers, making me laugh at a volume inappropriate for the library. “Bestie status achieved.”

“Bestie status achieved,” I agree.

Baz takes his phone out of his pocket, and I watch as he pulls up our group chat with Simon and Shepard. (Simon's contact is “Light of My Life<333” in his phone. Shepard’s is “Love<333.” With satisfaction, I notice I’m labelled “Girl Genius<333.”)

“What are you doing?” I ask. My phone vibrates as with the text he sends, and our friends’ rapid responses, but I read over his shoulder instead.

Baz: Simon, you’re staying at Shepard’s tonight. Penny and I are having a girl's night.

Love<333: I want to have girl’s night!

Light of My Life<333: Can I come back late for snuggles?

Love<333: Are my snuggles not good enough for you?

Simon and Shepard devolve from there, reassuring each other of their love for one another. Baz rolls his eyes, pocketing his phone and grinning at me.

“I’m not doing face masks and painting your nails,” I tell Baz. He’s up now, neatly putting his school supplies away. I suppose our study guide can wait. This exam is a week away.

Baz scoffs at me, waving his perfectly manicured black-painted fingernails in my face.

“I only let professionals touch my nails,” he says, oozing every bit of his trust fund baby status. I laugh.

“You let Simon paint your nails just the other day!” I complain.

“Those were my toenails, and he begged with puppy dog eyes!” Baz defends. “Do you have Simon puppy dog eyes? Do I need to let you touch my feet to solidify our friendship?”

“No,” I laugh. We’ve gathered our stuff now, and are headed out of the library. “I already said I didn’t want to paint your nails. Especially if your stinky feet are involved.”

Baz sniffs, but doesn’t argue.

“Well, if we’re not having a spa night, what should we do for this epic sleepover?” I ask. We’re in the elevator now. Baz hits the button for the ground floor, then scratches his chin.

“We could check out that bookstore pub that just opened? I think they rent out board games too.”

“That sounds lovely,” I agree. We’re out on the street now. I burrow my hands into my jacket pockets against the chill, bumping my shoulder against Baz’s. (Well, against his elbow, practically. The bastard is ten feet tall.)

“Then, we could go home and drink wine. And judge people on reality television?”

“Best girl’s night ever,” I say, and Baz beams down at me. I give him a serious look before I speak again. “Thank you, Baz. Really. You’re a great friend.”

Baz shrugs, but his eyes soften.

“Anything for you, bestie.”

[wonlouvre]

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 3.4k WARNINGS: ANGST (i think it’s just minor though), police and prosecution procedures (someone gets arrested).

a/n: disclaimer!! once again, i am in no way well-versed with investigations and trial procedures. please correct me i have made any mistakes. and!! if you noticed, i made revisions at part 7. our boo seungkwan is a prosecutor at the supreme prosecutor’s office instead of the justice department. they’re completely different agencies. anyway, this part will either make or break our couple. please send me what you think!! i hope you enjoy <3

eight: for all the wrong reasons | masterlist

Whatever you’re doing right now would probably go against Seungkwan’s superior’s orders and oath to the Supreme Prosecutor’s Office. But does he care? He doesn’t. Is he scared? He’s not. He never was, unless he’s engaging in something definitely illegal. Well, speaking about a particular case outside the circle of his office in the first place is already illegal. But you are inside and within the office already. Seungkwan will take care of the consequences later

Seungkwan is simple and quick enough to suggest meeting with you at the conference room of their building. He knows you and how much you want to know about this case. This is just a favor he’s returning because he’s grateful that the information you have about the victims made him one step closer to solving and ending this nightmare. 

The prosecutor also invited Wonwoo which could only mean that there are matters that involve the neighboring kingdom and that made you worry. It’s already shameful that this is happening within your kingdom’s territory. But to harm the people of the neighboring kingdom is a different kind of shame and disgust. Everything about this is shameful and disgusting. 

You could go straight to Their Majesties and talk about this, but the Prime Minister already released a statement earlier this morning to appease the public. After much colorful words and apologies, the Royal Family has pledged to cooperate in any investigation and invitation to the court. If you’re being honest, that’s good to hear. If you’re being a lawyer, that only means someone is guilty. 

Seungkwan is currently connecting his laptop to the projector in the background and as he’s about to finish, you can’t help but feel nervous. You were playing with your fingers when Wonwoo placed his hand on yours. He seems to have taken note of your actions whenever you feel a certain way and following that, he seems to finally know how to react to them.

It’s a relief that he’s here even though he shouldn’t have to. More than anyone else, you’re ashamed to be in front of Wonwoo. Ever since you met Jung and Sam, Wonwoo has been nothing but supportive and faithful. Although he has always been, it just got amplified this time around. You ask yourself, if you were to be with someone potentially involved in a crime syndicate, would you stay? Would you believe in them? Would you fight with them? 

You also wish you could ask Wonwoo that. But, a big part of you is afraid to know the obvious answer.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asks and the squeeze he gives your hand frees your mind from the scary thoughts plaguing it.

You squeeze his hand back and nod. “Yeah. Just a little tired.”

Wonwoo doesn’t press you any further and just nudges the strands of hair that’s been tickling your eyes. 

It’s right then Seungkwan clears his throat and takes his stand at the podium. “Good morning, Your Highness.”

You sit up straight and lean your elbows on the desk, all ears for what he has to say. 

“Tomorrow, at 12:00 in the afternoon, the Supreme Prosecutor’s Office together with the Justice Department will release a joint statement regarding this case. Today, I will brief you with the findings and facts of the initial investigation because I know we are all curious,” he starts before pressing the next arrow key on his laptop. “After this meeting, however, I won’t be able to disclose to you the developments of this case anymore because a week from now, the first trial will be held.

“I have requested the presence of His Highness, Prince Wonwoo, for this is something that concerns his people,” he continues to flash the next slide, “It has been confirmed by Immigration that the prime suspects and victims are citizens of the neighboring kingdom. The prosecution has already requested to Their Majesties of the neighboring Kingdom to grant us the right to investigate and try the prime suspects within our jurisdiction before we deport them. The request was granted and the prosecution is given 94 days to do what we should and what we can.”

You turn to Wonwoo to gauge his reaction. He meets your eyes and just nods, telling the two of you that the presentation can go on. You bring your attention back to Seungkwan and he proceeds to the next slide. 

“According to the orphanage, the victims were adopted earlier this year with complete and legal documents. So we can understand that technically, they weren’t smuggled,” he explains and points at the mentioned documents flashed on the screen. “Right now, we are investigating the following departments: Trade and Industry, Immigration, and Justice. Alongside with that, we are also investigating the orphanage, the Cabinet and,” a brief pause, “the Royal Family.”

The Royal Emblem flashed on the screen and it didn't look as moral as it used to when Seungkwan ended his presentation. You have no basis to make such claims, but you can’t be blamed either. You want to cry and scream because the anger is too much to bear. But you swallow everything and remain silent. 

“We understand that Her Highness expressed her desire to represent the victims, however the court cannot allow that,” Seungkwan says regretfully before announcing, “We would like to inform you that you could be summoned one of these days,” he then turns to Wonwoo,  “Furthermore, the victims will be interviewed and we ask His Highness to let Social Services take care of them. We respect your attachment and concern for them, but it is of utmost importance that they are in our custody.”

Wonwoo complies with a nod and asks one last question, “Is it confirmed that it’s a violation of the Protection of Children against Abuse, Exploitation and Discrimination Act?” 

Seungkwan nods and sighs, dejected. “The prime suspects are making it difficult, but we’re sure that it is.”

“Don’t you have to go back to the hospital today?” You ask Wonwoo while you drape your coat on your office chair. 

“I took the day off,” he answers and makes himself comfortable on one of the couches. 

You nod and press the on button of your computer. “I’d love you to stay, but I mean it when I say that you won’t have a blast lounging here.”

Wonwoo laughs and the sound of it makes you smile. You watch him lean his head back against the soft cushion and close his eyes. You’re sure he’s thinking about it as much as you do. And it’s only making him even more tired than he already is. You breathe out a sigh and amble your way to take the space beside him. 

“Go home and sleep,” you whisper and gingerly tap his cheek. 

Wonwoo holds your wrist and nestles his face close to your palm. He opens his eyes shortly after and his gaze has got you blinking in surprise, making him grin. You give his cheek a playful pinch to which he groans against.

You only let go when he sits up straight and turns his body to you. He takes your hands and pulls you closer, your knees touching his.  “I’m actually going home, home tonight.”

You stiffen, aware of where this conversation is going. “Oh.”

“My family wants me present as they discuss this whole case,” he says while his fingers stroke the back of your hand. “It won’t be long though. Three days tops.”

You silently nod, keeping your eyes at your intertwined hands. You don’t have any recollection of talking about your engagement ring. It doesn’t have any history with Wonwoo’s ancestors of some sort. But, you know that he chose it with his father. It’s a stainless steel silver band, no diamond visible. But the words for eternity engraved on the inner portion is made of it. 

You’re suddenly afraid that the shine is already tarnished and you’d have to remove it. 

The two of you don’t need to admit and say everything out loud. But, your engagement is already tested and whatever the court rules is crucial for the survival of your relationship. You’re already uneasy because you don’t see yourself letting go of Wonwoo. You can’t let go of Wonwoo. But now he’s going home and you’re not so confident in what his parents would say. 

What if they don’t deem you fit to marry their Crowned Prince anymore?

“I have something to give you.” Wonwoo lets go of your one hand to pull out something from his pocket, making you bring your gaze back at him. He holds it in a fist and flips your other hand with your palm upwards. You were looking into his eyes when something cold met the warmth of your skin. 

It’s a necklace. 

“A promise of my return,” he says and fold your palms, your turn to hold it in a fist. “I know a lifebuoy doesn’t symbolize that, but you get my point.”

His wit relaxes the tensed atmosphere, making you giggle. “Thank you. I love it.”

Wonwoo regards you with a fond smile and slowly leans close to your face, the tip of his nose bumping against yours before finally pressing a tentative kiss on your lips. One peck, followed by a second and on the third he holds your jaw to continue. Your whole body grows hot as his kisses deepen and you kiss him back with the same fervor. It didn’t take long for him to nip and swipe his tongue at your bottom lip, a plea to allow him to kiss you further. You yield and your heart has never beat so fast. 

You clutch the necklace he gave you against his chest while your other hand smooths against his neck. Every day that you’re with Wonwoo, you wish for it to never end. Whenever he holds your hand, keeps you close by an arm around your waist and breathlessly kisses you; you want them always. You want him. You lov---

You stop yourself right there because you’re not ready to take the fall. 

At the same time, Wonwoo hesitantly pulls away from your lips but his forehead remains against yours. “Wait for me?” he whispers, lips still grazing yours. 

You seal your yes with another kiss.

Jeongyeon holds her breath as she waits for your next question. You called her to your office to have an impromptu quiz game. This is not a traditional occurrence at your law firm but you figured that it wouldn’t be a waste of time to review your paralegal as the case is still on-going and the three day leave of your fiancé ends today.

“According to the Mining Act, foreigners are allowed to invest in mining activities of the kingdom. True or false?”

“I know this!” Jeongyeon shouts and raises her hand, asking for a moment. “False?”

You grin and give her a thumbs up. “Correct!”

“Yes!” She jumps and punches her fist up in the air. 

So far, she hasn’t given a single wrong answer and that makes you proud. You watch her dance excitedly around your office when your phone suddenly vibrates inside your pocket. Letting go of your questionnaire, you take it out and the message on the screen brings a smile on your face. 

j.ww: will be back tonight. dinner?

: can’t say no to that.

Wonwoo never failed to send you text messages or give you calls the past three days he was gone. They were always brief, but enough to assure you that you’re always on his mind. It’s a little corny for your age, but you can’t deny it gave you a sense of peace and security. It made your heart flutter as well but you’ll never say it out loud. 

Finally, he’ll be back tonight. You missed him so much and him not coming back didn’t fail to cross your mind each day. You’re hoping whatever he may have discussed with his parents concluded on a positive note. 

“Your Highness?” 

When you look up, you didn’t expect a tall man, wearing an all black suit, with sunglasses covering his eyes to greet you. You stand properly and put your phone back inside your coat pocket. 

“He didn’t have an appointment,” Jeongyeon sheepishly says. “But he insisted.”

The stranger removes his shades and gives you a smile. “Good day, Your Highness. My name is Kim Mingyu and I wish to seek your legal advice.”

“So Mr. Kim, you want to start a business in our kingdom?”

Kim Mingyu is from the neighboring kingdom who’s apparently rich enough to venture to different kingdoms to expand his business and well, make himself richer. Foreigners are welcomed and allowed to establish their business here so long as they abide by the laws of the land. You have had foreign clients of that kind before, asking how to navigate around without facing legal disputes.

Some are nice and genuine, some are the opposite.

Kim Mingyu seems to be the latter.

Mingyu shakes his head as he sips at the iced water he requested. You can hear the ice cubes crushing as he chews on them and you’re regretting not declining his request for a consultation. This man exudes nothing but conceit and you honestly don’t have the time to stroke his ego. He chugs the whole glass before leaning his arms on the table. Meanwhile, you stayed composed with your back straight even though you’re starting to grow irritated at his actions. 

“No, Your Highness,” he answers. “I already have a business here.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Then, what do you require my services for?”

He leans back on the chair again and crosses his arms. “I just want to improve it, but in a legal kind of way.”

“Okay,” you say under your breath, unsure if he’s bluffing you or not. “May I ask what’s your business, Mr. Kim?”

“Mining.”

A stunned silence befalls between the two of you. Is he serious?

“Mr. Kim, you have a mining business in this kingdom?” You try to clarify because maybe you heard him wrong. 

He gives you a high and mighty nod, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 

“Foreigners are not allowed to engage in mining activities in this kingdom, Mr. Kim,” you remind him, your tone cold.

He shrugs his shoulders and gives you a sinister smirk. “It’s not that hard when you have someone powerful allowing it.”

You are numb and in denial. 

Kim Mingyu is messing with your head, you try to make excuses to keep yourself sane as you run to the car and tell the driver to head straight to the Royal Residences. You don’t even know who that guy is. You don’t have any confirmation of his identity at all. He’s just stirring you up to get a reaction from you. You can’t be vulnerable and you’ll never be. The only way to do that is to stay rational and ask the people he mentioned yourself. 

Your phone is attached to your ear as you wait for Seungkwan to answer. He’s taking rather a while to answer than he used to but it’s okay. You just need to tell him your so-called visitor’s name earlier and maybe he can tell you something, anything, that can ease the growing fear inside your system.

“Your Highness,” he finally answers, just in time when the driver stops at the entryway of the house. You can hear someone shouting from the other line, but you ignore it.

“Seungkwan, do you perhaps know a guy named Kim MIngyu?” You ask and walk your way through the opened and unguarded doors. Odd, you thought, but you ignored it again and continued sprinting to the receiving area. “He was at my office earlier saying some crap about illegal mining, can you loo---”

Handcuffs.

And dozens of men in uniform surrounding your father, The King, made you stop on your tracks. 

“Y/N, I need you to listen to me.” 

But you can’t because this one man with a piece of paper held by one of his hands is talking to your father.

“His Majesty, King XXX, you are under arrest for aiding and allowing the presence and access of foreign nationals and businesses to the mineral resources of this Kingdom, a violation of the Mining Act of 19xx. You have the right to an attorney and in the event that you don’t, the Kingdom will provide you one. You have the right to remain silent and if you waive your right, anything you say can be used for or against you in court.”

 “Y/N?”

You heard what the Royal Police said, loud and clear. You also saw how your father stood up and comply, surrendering his hands to the man holding the handcuffs. When he finally raises his head and meets your eyes, your arm weakens making you drop your phone. Your father shows you a tight smile and quick nod, a false promise that everything will be okay.

You watch, frozen, as they take your father away and all you can hear is the sobs of your mother who couldn’t do anything to save her husband.

The very moment the press took hold of your father’s quiet arrest, it became a mess outside of the residences. News reporters from various broadcasting stations have positioned themselves in front of the camera, making use of your home as their background as they tell the whole nation about the downfall of The King. 

Seungkwan’s words were frantic but painfully true. He has informed you that the prime suspects have dropped the names of every public figure involved in their crime and yes, that includes your father. They were able to present strong evidence in a short period of time, turning the tables and causing chaos at the prosecution. 

Seungkwan told you to stay put and let the Prime Minister do his job. But he wasn’t able to tell you that everything is under control and that your father may just be falsely accused. 

Because he’s not. 

You can see from the window that civilians have joined the crowd and they are livid. You haven’t said a word, you haven’t sat down, you haven’t done anything since you arrived. Your mother is inconsolable and all of the crying has exhausted her, making her faint. If it’s a mess outside what more inside this house with nothing but an eerie silence that’s crumbling you down. 

Eventually, your family will have to face the people you swore to serve with nothing but honesty. When that time comes, will you even have a face to show? Will you have the strength to see their disappointment and distrust? 

What about Wonwoo? What would he think of your father whom he respected? What about his parents who regarded your family with high praises? You tightly gripped on the necklace Wonwoo gave you as you imagined the endless scenarios that could likely end everything. You tightly gripped onto the lifebuoy pendant, holding onto what is left if there’s still at all.

“Your Highness, Prince Wonwoo has arrived.”

Wonwoo looked like he was dragging his whole body from how tired he has been over the past three days. But his pace quickened when he finally saw you. He drops his bag and coat with a resounding thud on the floor and races to meet you halfway and take you in his arms.

His firm embrace swept you off your feet and the only thing that’s helping him to breathe your scent is your arms locked around his neck. 

“What did Seungkwan say? I only heard about it on my way here.” Wonwoo removed his arms from your waist and opted to rub your arms who grew limp by your sides. 

“He couldn’t disclose the full details,” you answer and your head hangs low in humiliation. “My father will be dethroned and worse, imprisoned.”

Wonwoo couldn’t say anything to comfort or correct you and it’s okay. He wants to but you tell him through your eyes that he doesn’t have to. You have thought about it already. You have accepted your father’s fate and most importantly, the fate of your marriage. Wonwoo and his family doesn’t deserve to be entangled with your family’s disgraceful incompetence and lies. 

Maybe you and Wonwoo were betrothed for all the wrong reasons.

So with hot tears streaming down your face and heartbreak tearing you apart, you ask him again. 

“Do you really want to marry me Wonwoo?”