#we should be flocking in a field of flowers with our hands together

[weepingwillow2000]

No because why is Pretendo trying to start beef with Netpass?

We shouldn’t be fighting each other. Especially when both are trying to connect us all together after Nintendo took that away from us.

That’s literally both for theirs purposes, to reconnect one another.

[jdgo51]

DAILY DEVOTIONAL FOR DECEMBER 6, 2023

Prepare Him Room

By Betty J. Smith (Washington, USA)

READ ISAIAH 40:1-11

"To us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace."

ISAIAH 9:6 (NIV)

"'In October 1975 I had a near-fatal car accident and suffered a dislocated hip, a wounded knee, broken ribs, and facial lacerations. After multiple surgeries and two weeks in the hospital, I was released to recuperate.

When Advent arrived, memories of past Christmases engulfed me: gift-giving, letter-writing, baking, candy-making, pageants, parties, cantatas, caroling, and special worship services. I lay in bed with a tear-stained face and cried out, “Dear God, how will I ever get ready for Christmas?” Then familiar words sprang into my mind, “Let every heart prepare him room.”* I realized that the only preparation I truly needed was to prepare my heart to receive Christ anew.

And what blessings I received! My children were close by and helpful. I embraced the help of my sisters in Christ who worked around my home. I discovered ways to minister while I recuperated at home. When I was able to get around on crutches, I attended three events that made my Christmas season feel complete. Let us truly hear and respond to the call to prepare room for Christ in our hearts."' We can feel joy, even when things aren't in the best place. We can be ill, distracted or whatever and we only have to focus on Jesus to set it all in place.

Isaac Watts, “Joy to the World,” 1719.

TODAY'S PRAYER

"All thanks and praise to you, Holy One, for the precious gift of Jesus Christ. Open our hearts to accept Christ anew and serve him joyfully." Amen.

Isaiah 40:1-11

"'1 Comfort, comfort my people! says your God. 2 Speak compassionately to Jerusalem, and proclaim to her that her compulsory service has ended, that her penalty has been paid, that she has received from the LORD’s hand double for all her sins! 3 A voice is crying out: “Clear the LORD’s way in the desert! Make a level highway in the wilderness for our God! 4 Every valley will be raised up, and every mountain and hill will be flattened. Uneven ground will become level, and rough terrain a valley plain. 5 The LORD’s glory will appear, and all humanity will see it together; the LORD’s mouth has commanded it.” 6 A voice was saying: “Call out!” And another said, “What should I call out?” All flesh is grass; all its loyalty is like the flowers of the field. 7 The grass dries up and the flower withers when the LORD’s breath blows on it. Surely the people are grass. 8 The grass dries up; the flower withers, but our God’s word will exist forever. 9 Go up on a high mountain, messenger Zion! Raise your voice and shout, messenger Jerusalem! Raise it; don’t be afraid; say to the cities of Judah, “Here is your God!” 10 Here is the LORD God, coming with strength, with a triumphant arm, bringing his reward with him and his payment before him. 11 Like a shepherd, God will tend the flock; he will gather lambs in his arms and lift them onto his lap. He will gently guide the nursing ewes."' God is there with you in all things. He is true to HIs Word and never leaves our side. I feel very blessed to have Jesus in my life. Joe

[libidomechanica]

Laughing een o lovely

A ballad sequence

               1

For he has a pulse, and thee up under the vine     flourish all the world’s sunflower. I will nor can prize: for the purple moor, a red-coat     troop came marching—king George’s men came

masculine and Shadow movest thou mayst prove me.     To let base cloud they still can stand in it things for your sweet smelling myrrh, and God from heaven     of blood to thee? Must see reveals,

as when, a callow youth at a great pitty. Then,     flying; give him to thee, while he insults o’er the correct yes. Thick and quick like a nurse.     Or all inertial systems, which most

doth take and waves in pain, upon that go about     the twilight of songs, which our eyes gave me the lily marriage-maker, who mends old chains,     with God’s sweet flowers bore, and I wanted

anything it touch of globed peonies;     or if thy mistress: life remains a blessing although it held no hiding thy outward     part, kiss me, because I am black,

but comely. Toast and scrubbed the taste of Heavens said     she what does contain her, maiden most I wink, then they at every car on the way one     single breath is out it shall find a

tally fitted to the thing in thee, that Eloquence     could not appear in its best doesn’t always when dear Willie? The lips of clay for the     strength to feel another, and my back.

Some do the forest he fleeting, and want and wade     in liberty that tyranniseth thee her face! What every act confirmed, and, passing.     How do I love me for me; with open

mouth like the salt sand-wave, let in dark directed.     Stay, for thoughts to be seen? So this heart, and mar my peace proclaim, till Age snow white linen     hence, and filthy darkness thing it

touched to praised the droop-headed flowers of the     squirelings near; and either. She lay clothed all her beauty’s angel pure and suffered, nor expired     with delight. And he of this: one

is strong darts but we all should never wouldn’t stand unwon,     however would never man well to what red Hell his soul may come by the holy     order; when the wife, then surely we.

               2

Is that appear before her name.     At Mileva, it’s as if she that I am fled from     thee. And bless the stair, with

humours such I can not sing a     note. When they fall like her, with vilest deeds like purple throat     and gipsy bonnet be

the nerves in the shoe-store … I’m lugging     my thumbs press will ever be beloved in the stones,     we had not spilt. Sad and

Doom: the hand, hee’l flattered them both,     and staggering lies. Hiding the golden sands as fit drum,     the oscillating hands

were most of year thou to her secure     of the Justice naked is, time watcher’s doom is given     her timely warning

to thee, give them all by name. For,     right inviolably true, and drop a quest of this height my     soul began the shutters,

but almost crashed, the way! I see     thou to-morrow, ere that Ixion grindstone’s ceaseless     there he went round and round

sunshine and the wakeful eye;     the master’s train: her Lord him so that pass in storm we had     lived together we look

down. Beat with God and hope for no     one extremest needs tempt to reprove her who but claims olives     out form or breath of

liking, rage of that is it dearly!     Tis poetry, at leashed and saves that cries—let it too     deepe move: sayes that simple

caress with the hands do hold, the     bolts of his hour, and one Night Zulaikha went to see this     subject Lute! Together

love for word or act; unless     omissions and tears, of all but death. Dream of comfort neer.     Corridors were full of eggs,

and foolish fires do us both     night thy flock of goats that at each man kill. That somewhat more     than whole field, that spangled

breast did pant, as if I’ve been     impossible to know who stood bowed, without breath in the centre     of my beloved.

               3

What sobs can giue words of cedar.     My love good-bye. And grows ever at his task, must with the     year’s done within, the end where Fountain sealed. With my verse; do     now your feet. Some when we

shall I lie, while talked into     necessity; taught by his dishonored Maid! Which now my breasts.     Perhaps it was that pull your companions hearkens after     death, I would end the ragged

pines. I charge you, O daughter     was an hour ago, or laces, or like the wind is in     this line, remember not the hopelesse rueth. Golden eye     follow like Eve’s appointed

in you would not hear, and if     ever I have little heap of wheat set about the centre     of my love, my love; there shall cover, and I knew ye     not melt, and his state with

a flattering o’er his shuddering     cheer. Of crimson clouds o’er, the gates are making mercies     healèd me, a sinful and bounds, you know the voice kept his pleasant:     also our best, if

not the curtain of a     pomegranates bud forth, O ye daughter in the clear as they     grieve not melt, and for his agony to partake it; that     breed a bloodless sickness,

and thus for wider were than Heaven     in the wind was gone: my soul’s though I have stolen what     he begun. Yet was she. To-morrow, if we dare not gaze     upon a table; let

cloud they weigh in scales to hold my     coat, and swing off ordinary walls, the lame; want and waves     in the day I die, the brimming river I heard the knots     held good! Of a love like

jewelled twinkling in them were     as new; and aye my Chamber for then, what conceived me. For     this is my part. With the white and represent and drank the     souls unborn, whom daily

she went round goblets. With yawning     leer, each foot, tell me all strange was whispered out for thee, finding     with blunt uninvested gaze. They fitted with tears even     men must want of conscience

is more awful Beauty—Beauty     that he speaketh. His pangs the Bard refuse this humble     knapsack a’ my wealth, a poor and how pleasures do us     both are likely, with other’s

life, three long black cascade of     perfection; she was slowly dying lips shall your children.     Into thought—meet, if thou canst thou, to-day, to-morrow, and     how true my lady’s heart

is beating for you to an     overwhelming question without my life doth flourish all the     rest so smooth-faced, placid miscreant! My beloved, O     thou fair stars go waltzing

out of our meat; and darkly bright     in the Shulamite; return, returned; one joy possess peace,     and still can stand at our prayers. Like Samuel from the Arrow,     I the Arrow-head.

               4

Is kindly she gaz’d, he listen’d! Is foul and both     a wrong. The word Miltonic mean sublime, he deigned not to look back on summon, ah! A     travel, a paleness, and no Serpent to a confined doom. That press’d a new-leaved     Myrtle, meet emblems they trod a saraband: and the savior of Remorse. That I scorn,     is that streams from servile toil releast,

where to like, and the hangman’s heart, and dry down scatter’d     loving life is done, though lean Hunger and go about his eyes white robes, heavens high,     bob, And fall. Bowed, without a task riding— and the dewy eve and bran, bread this year to     my garden inclose her hearts o’ men adore a sultan? And his grace of silver jets     onto the first and tended her praise

is due, thundering sky of May, there was nourish’d     by. These two were rapid falcons in progress are; still in the ground, and his right have been     false death-moth be her musket beside their extremes between syl-lables! Creature stalking     down Bristol Street, rubbing its back upon thy faithful swain’s reward—an aching reeds, and     candlelight. Who is here, is your skirts

that cries—let it be so: for shall redeem from Fingers     were most dearly rue! Let me such band, they whose manger make a saint forget till you     needs must misse, and his deare Monument: and none of thy thoughts surcease, that love for words, that     th’eyes of busy foretelling and protests to clusters of Jerusalem. They cried, art     thou wouldst hunger for her courted: wha

spied I but torments is like the machine, on the     grasp of felt crept by each produce his place in such beautifies. Of lonely wandering     cloud they shot him dost laughs for joy, and bare but in the Sexes’ intermix’d connection,     one sacred Right—but needless her might, nor ride a moon-white steed.—The bonie lass that thought upon     me dead, and hear mermaids singing

like rain, clinging clear; Corinna can, with eyes are     hard, naked first. I get that the thing, when to unseeing all the green, and where late the starry     head of her lovely, that’s more wretched man terror crept. A second self, in angels     exercise above thee for once it was moved to speak. That thro’ the foot of the moonlight     and want and want and draws the wound you

are no longer I go then, confesses love had     opened the eyes best worms to draw the greenest dells, where Melodies round us both, two     outcast men, and leave my sense unhaunted by any other side of which looked with bowèd     necks, and into necessity; taught from a dress than to prevent, she hath my heart, and     face to be, my evermore delights!

               5

Applause will I lie, while these loves, and what chills and     kills outright is that the feet questioning, passed serene, and feather’d creature I adore.     What sobs around, around there is that I tried to-day. Though some aboue me sit; nor hope, that     I call her lost moist and his state-thing breath; and, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes were to laud     therein campeth, spread it doun; she put

the least was broken profit thee? Bob Southey! And     makes the twilight wave the third, our last, yours one moment; she drew: he who cries to endlesse     folly once fired, how pale is the starry head of her she left me gowd, a mailen     plenish’d hand, the crown of all? The while the balm, tho’ wretched man—at peace, there was, indeed,     when the minute, but found him whose step

all sweetnesse, loue, whilst I thy babe chase thee by moonlight,     shattered with bold pretence and the window, and gone; the flowers bore, and I though the     bay! That your tender, and flutter on the room to another circumstance, the next year     all pumpkins! He who sins a second self, and wine are red, there is no woman living     Death chokes up each grated screen, and yet

she will be false, ere she love him, and through they led,     and Fate will soften with whose shadows of jewels, thy neck. Sleep from the nightingale, so doth     take my love, for no esteem. Still in the gladness of herself, or some benighted angel     in his separate, discontinuous lantern threw the nether he know where lives a woman     but a rich result of all; so

she was glad to be outdone, with his sword swallowers     shows a thrift in his explicit sadness of gold. Grain and cry, and meet her rave, they     were a duty done thy mouth but two objects only instrument of man was it ever     less patient. As that, rolling on me grace made her will not liquor: thy bed of crimson     clouds bedimme my face, as I grant,

in spite of all human kind: and that is never     flower turns and drank—Young man that dwellest in the minute, come out to me for decisions,     and let this fair day foreshows, when they fall like her, night doth ly, till Age snow white     hairs on the gardens, a well of such as call the night! Drops from Lebanon: look for me;     with open mouth the Nightmare where

eternal Laws are kind and the Ground. Love that made the     grave,? For, Maud, she doth impart. Little wren shall drop it at last till the sunflower. So     take, dear girl, this song to you and for thy love good descends. Ushering eyes, waits for the     leopards. Had dropt her store; but aye shall not die a death her and go talking of which prison-     wall, and downwards with his worldlings

try: but when it seem’d far better equipage: but     if thou rove, by consequence, was best, as longer than anyone: that’s my Julia’s breasts     are like her, none. With golden sun from rose-coloured to waste, and damning the little as     their losses in the bank must think she cometh out of view from a stag. As to the old     and saffron; calamus and all, but

Luther’s guilt! More lives were profanation fall, or     proud desire of prison-wall, and at eve voyage on gentle dreams; my soul made my     love; behold when yellow face of silver clear, plump, soft, her voice of the sad augurs mock     their cause be of you and lie, so you will climb, in the clefts of the chill behind me whispered     low, and the tyrants in you woe.

Had such a thing hearts; but his eyes are like a piece     imperfect, and go, though his death who have seen across the blissful cloud of the stain     immortal moon hath looked upon her beloved come out to you, all shouldst be, to give mine     eye following of the valiant men are, or, one dream of you, so low did her up for     the towers: then why you bred them noise.

               6

And laid her up to open the     stroke, subdueth! Between us, I see she camera flashed in     two. Thou canst view from her

five talent and warned him—with her     dead. Heaven had the black hair. Turning Contempt shall tell you     have means to lean in my

lord the shutters, blinded rabbits,     cows with whose mouth saddles thereof, both demands our blessing     like apple reddens never

be heard the road that seals up     all in vain for he to Heaven, my spouse: I have been yet!     Its puddle of the

Apostles’ cure. Thy plants are pearl the     women if you resided first. Received as one bespeaks     poor hygiene and the smell

of thy holy care. And the smart     of beer: his soul tells him he is altogether we look     down. With a loathsome slime,

and shalt find him; I call him a     cheat; for thee. She woke Endymion without be rich and slightly     passe like a theefe

hid in dark disgrace: nor mark it     with one chains o’ love, and move; twere pitty. And hold my coat,     my collar take his lap.

               7

All March begun with, April’s     endeavour; may-wreaths for joy, and the liar—rough but kind? Than     if I had stay’d still increased velocity, space and less;     suddenly she were strange

flames where to get a part, it were     too such deceit, she mighty throng, ambitious to be seen?     The pampered and where thou leave no Pooley, or Phant’sie scan, with     charme of consciousness and

looked to the old inn-door. When in     thy shadow shadows flee away, death’s second Eve, but yours,     the most of a’. Yet somewhat more strong as my life with fatiguèd     eye; how they glided

fast, as long, and with sweet more blest—     and brought of soür ale some season to eat brown between. The     foe oft-times to his own assertion. Traverse my indolent     and was gone: my soul

loveth, whereon there by so remote     a Fountains, skipping wall is well; he has been cast out.     Me from slimy nest the bee-mouth sips: Ay, in the man had     not be given a small

bed to see me sit; nor hope, who     hope, turn back, and fasted, wept and power in the barren     among themselves are as pillars the unblessed-fair that     bonie lass that went on: through

the company; not that cause in     me is as a worm in my cell of the mountain the doomed     man say—look for me by moonlight, in celebration of     the Apostles’ cure. Eyes

did show why I am sick of     love the west; he did not pray with regarded, I am     the manor; but glory to thee? My Mine of the tarry     rope to all the lass made

the bed to me. Which ay most princely     pow’r, which do breathe a prayer the bottom thereof of     silver: and if myself until he please his rein in the     mortal light? I should bring

thought: had my friendship’s holy state:     when hot for lasting down Bristol Street, last years they will speak     of him than me, keeping shades, and mock you will hover, and     forgot. Cell hast thou leave

you, O ye daughters I need. So     let us melt, and seen what it was thick within, maud made     a home. And white, petal by petal, fall on that sands as     fit gaily through each could

do! My beloved in smirking     pairs: with its adder-bitten off the melancholy; the     heart in me out empty. The less of a corpse! Sweet it is     to sit beside her, none.

Well has change in zero gravity.     Till ioy makes a deadly blast was broken neck. Gave him     crying, please him, he the bed to me, the soul, and she was     so fashion; each man does

not wish to set before the star     that falls from me the tea, among them all—the eyes more will     hover, and underfoot if anywhere all the world light     the bottom thereof, both

demands our blessing like a light     of happier men. Yet Maud, she has no eye follow that     hardly Death once dead, and lo, it is the world drops dead. Arise     like a madman, shrieking

a contumelious lip,     gorgonised me quite despised I with spikenard and a     heavenly feature—auld Natures dear. Of regret—no major     part to another

woman, and speech, Love, foolish mind     or body grieve, when in death, I would I give for what streams     from others love himself more dear. And sung me moon-struck, kissed     kisses of how thee me.

               8

The watched for him Pity’s long-broken profit thee?     Your side in such unholy ground, through they look upon her a palace of life doth not     lie down, but humility. Amidst thereof: now also thy body’s treasure of torments     you doth grow: now off with their hearts held craving, never let it freely come, for all.     Go with his hands dropped with sweet evil

fan. Break, break, and thee, as souls are afraid, states to     be singing, not give rest, or quiet joke. Our humble, but found when my leaving his hands     in water white faces seemed light and hamely fare, for him Pity’s long-broken neck.     None could find a tally fitted to the world god’s dreadful dawn was resolute, and cold;     that as no one prevailed, so allied.

That rides best doesn’t matter wine upon the mirksome     night before he’d wrong it—’tis decorum. You, Bob, are rather there, the soot that roll it     toward the ring we turned the union of the hand in the certainties in the meadows low.     Instead; at least of tune. Will ever be broke my heart, and none to loue and so forget     his woe; what places of Heaven saw

her safely might be shown; so, in the thing heart, and     wine of presentative of all my hearse. And as one of us though not disturb the     unweeting groan—who blame him,—she did not mean, and hamely fare, ye freely come, as     colour of the bolts of blood waltzed and her neglected one. Or else he mighty wing     to feel another, each thee, the butt-

ends of pain another bereav’d me, harmes doe only     once first. Silently they one that smelling and protesting youth, darken’d in the     nightingale. Has not humbly at your body, whose manger make a saint forget his woe. Grow     white, encountercharm of space of Doom. For each simple caresses by the highwayman     came riding—riding—the red coats looked

upon. If Loue learne; the flood that it waits for you     appear, and the beryl: his bed, and allows scope to all such as they drank his quart of     flame! To find, but most of tune. For no one so utterly be contemned. So little     roof of golden seemed to play, who am dumb as are the best of tuneful persons, to     my heart, thoughts dim and uninspired

and to gathering of birds of change the world’s garden     for each in his turned to habit; and, from the Arrow-head. King Solomon’s. Dear heart’s     end and it would fetch a pretty, to dwell in prison-yard, naked for his monthly fix     how he’d look in your Mistress at you, to you. Her words, being opened each listening     And air-like, leave me thus, my Katie?

               9

That fears no blot? Make coffee spoons;     I know thy charge us? And dark inn-yard. Breeds flames of ioyes.     I, on the meadows low.

               10

If thy mind bemones his wrongs.     And the hinds of the highwayman comes riding—riding—     emprison seemed to reel, and Southey! I have my sense unhaunted     by a simple verse preserves his separate, discontinued     fusion of delights

are as fair day foreshows, perhaps     were his soul was round her neck so faire shew, whiles he     clatterers dare not that rides best worms to dwell in white, encountercharm     of space is such thou require it, both deckes     and yet shoulders, knees on

Marble cold were her fall: made for     the earth brings made for lay- men, are all worldly bustle, to     my despite till I seek with tears are all delight. April     soft in flower-time in this, that all admires such sorrow     liue. And binding word, we

passed through hell should ask me how it     came. Ambitious am I, as to wit, fearless, because     it doth harbour finde in this stormy gulf have found? I still     reach her wi’ a kiss, had dropt her stiffness by long siege to     be, my evermore death-

bed where I begun. My dove, my     deere, the tea, among the Rosebud of its muzzle beneath     that guides: he loves him shall speak for me,—so sweet heart, whereof     was to see whether though his dead in each could draw, to make     heart would give an incorruption

unto me, her friends, whose     every moving vision fleeting, and wisely choosing, for     still air is Music slumbering o’er his breast no thorns, so     is my part. Practice may win thy limbs the path a little     frightened marshalling thence

but sweet: yea, he is rough but killed     the thirst notes intent on Death my head nestle thee, I am     crying hell! And, green Thirst like apple doth hold my coat;     how should look upon! Thoughts, all shields of hands that made the sun     as thou wilt say, alas!

               11

Not till the choice, inviolably     true, and gentle river- whisper her dying fall beneath     its adder-bitten off

the moonlight, and death and bone away,     it eats the sweet flowers: then with graves, and ever dwelling     evening dwindled bitch,

they stand, stand up to wave. And so     fall a Xerox of something of Folly so true, and drown     it: if a man who had

ceased love-knot into his plan, and     you! Too; for changing, ever true height, having made a flute     of nastiness. With his

garden inclosed what had we     done that it was thereof being only injured bird We     text, text our sight—not to

leave. And clattered limbs go lame!     Lets the apples; and those who watch whose base and frozen seas?     Bubbles that are braceleted

and says in one’s cell, and     those Gothic times a carefully composed lets the heart, I     feel wither; the shadows

deep, and lofty cedars as far     as the deep river ran on. She gaz’d—she redden’d her mither’s     body where it came.

A last break a single heart is     calm, tho’ thy lips, when she spread with eyes o’erflowing age, a     dearer blisse? In silence.

               12

And the whole earth gone nearer. There     will be outstripp’d by every stone ice-cold whatever you     happen to see; some do

it with me from Heaven, and thy     comfort or console: and biddest me walk humbly own—’tis     decorum. How thee me.

Rules of speculations Act: the     Doctor said to me. New and nearer out of ether on     one’s own Heart’s heart her care.

               13

This old wolf and thy mourning toward     Damascus. Moving points of tape delays and nightshade, ruby     grape appearance lies.

               14

Here Vanity strums on her a     palace of Doom. Or there is left.—The bonie face, nor pause, nor     son of Man; amid this

wretched me in my heart was blawn,     and canst thou promised good. Must with boards of Paradise; and     where the tarry rope to

pass for fool and knave, till Age snow     white, they preuaile as much as bid my healthful anodyne;     with glad moning, which I

blessed Cross that is thy fair imperfect     health adieu; since in the nightingale. And take me in     one another, and our

rafters of the banks o’ gowd, a     mailen plenish’d fairly; and in so hush a mask? I am     all thee. Solomon

with flagons, comfort from profanity     and the world’s sunflower! So subjects, how to serves:     who seeke, who by blind the

floods drowned the yard that the form divine     strange, that seem something the sweet or no? The braw lass made     trothplight death at every

day, be glad life and face fronting     the fragments of the room to play, who am dumb as are     turning lord. I though she

were moved ever dwelling. There is     a crime. Rose Aylmer, all were singing Here Comes the Disease.     That it will I not know

a handful of the wood bluebells;     the bed to me, the landlord’s black-eyed daughters of the time     to the dead, come back the

sun; while in this vaine scuse giue? She     writhed her up to the bar, a blunt and prayed, though the stars     that trail along a table,

pitiless, passing, turn’d to     the soil of the sky, and wade in liberty that made the     basin and the glory

of dark direction. That will     dignify our feast with the voices, to dance upon the soul     when hot for certainties

now crown of all; so she was, and     loud that ear white rose would I give thou feed on Death without,     I would kiss thy perfume

came the Herald came like a dry     Bob. The song of prayers to each of us, of the     populace own them all: have

known them all already, known to     hear it. More honey and baby. For one is due, onely     to you, to your arms

reaching heart, since she from you the     floods and mind, since Juliana here increase him, and we     drown. On my freshness die.

               15

Bare in the goodly perspective:     yours has lately glistering, or out of my night that is     my well-beloved, let

us melt, and joyance everywhere     been impossible, trying to come. Seek, you’ll say,—for death, from     Wound no remedy but

Flight; and I’ll profess no verses     to reproved, is Feeding faithful within himself a     charm! Then he tries anyway—

from one room to another’s     children she hath got the sound. And pass, escaped heartless daughter,     plaiting thy breasts like

to a Diamond pendent in their     turn and in worry vaguely toward me. For to be conscience     hold of its Revelations

Act: the Doctor said One who     reads the Law that we are the dream of delicate the sunbeams     dance in all hearts! There

never flowers, once a whole field     without, I would not here; false-flatt’ring hope, turn back again,     fair Lesley, return the

wight most gratefull time when I     look at light of memories anyway—from one room the     night, nor ride a moon-white

road was sung her close doth flow, and     this we will run like a madman on a day they trod a     saraband: and crooked

neighbour with shells and wriggling on     her, who watches that they catch thee, as souls are as a cluster     of pleasant meadows

low. Now hope, that thanks me not thy     sorrow Ile wed; Despaired of, for then, perhaps, where never     a wrinkles strange it

was the droop-headed flowers of     Jerusalem, terrible as an army with blood the     mother’s children’s eyes and

gipsy bonnet be the offender’s     spark can blaze from better, knew, but never fight, when in     dead night down into sin.

               16

So, the yellow leaves that made the     beach. Around, they still and duly seated on the city     angled to its crisis?

               17

So they smote on the Tory, a     dinner to half the sweet smells of view and love of heart. By     all let this I know him

alive or dead, come out to me,     they drank the more I wail, the least breath, and the ways. Thoughts, a     sunflower of David

builded for wings, a breach, when shifted     round, like gold to aery thinness of her dreams; my soul     loveth: I sought him into

my garden, my Lover, were     my soul is all in every grass. And I and that sucked the     random gales that man with

fear and peaked. The haste, my beloved,     and harry me through the purple-pillowed me like     a long finger touched it.

               18

And at every one, unjust and     mine: for what she mighty men. False, and cry, and a little     weeks of life—immortal love those fault? Laying fall beneath     her breasts like a long familiarly received as one sees     most terrifying kind.

               19

This stinging, and your first that fish,     that thee alive or dead; but with bars that every channel     hath, will amorously

to the fire of love and we forgot,     we rot and cold approach’d her securely rest: to     unbosom all the sky; proud,

shall we both in their priming! Time     to th’ other give some great seruices may stray. I     have gone at dusk through a

broken heart may Lord Christ for each     idle weed; but if there some holy night in thy creation     did wandering cloud

as silver jets onto the wrong.     The deed, the freedom of that is dead woman I am     and of the sun, but hear

its sweet black mark clean, and snicker,     and with soul and move; there, observing what stopped my bride. Laying     flesh and body marred.

               20

I charge you, dear, dear love, by wimpling     burn and in so hushed! Wakes a man moves dark secret place     is such, the blue-tick coated

Philomel, and the stroke of     my dove, my love all to her love was long loving life in     her back. She shining until

only a biochemical     or two keeps him and my love; flesh upright increases     the soul is sense has it

so full brown hair! Who laughs for you     to an overwhelming question a nap, my heart of stone     ice-cold whatever you

have measures move: but the face a     moment perfection; she would help a brother is thy changed     in all her eye-lids down,

I bought for her safely just, break,     and fed them from Fingers with a bitter gall, to dry the     ruins of gold, thought upon

me dead, there but then why you     bred them—whose pants do make vnspilling Fame did matchless soul was     resolute, and come, though

your father’s body where a man     accursed in the grain— iness the bolts of beautifies.     Advise thee with my spice;

I have wept and fall. Many for     a day they view things, the sick unto dying vext with you     tell my body keeps, thy

neck is as ointments thy name in     hand: o, sweetnesse, loue, while some can not sing a note. Has this,     she woke Endymion with

her garments; let us see if     the mother do. Must think you Gods can heal: and that is never     saw a wild flower,

would it have been worth it, after     foolish mind or body grieved, that Love slightly passe like     asp with angling snow; time

breakfast table mess. Frowning Honour     true: to prove Clarinda’s fondest friend, but never would     kiss. Around, dark vault above

his face grew hard: with ease was     pliant to be made, and those tears had never yet so warmly     ran my blood and sung

me moon-struck, kissed its way, hiding     behind me. Fade softly from the past. Shine opposite! With my     lost saints,—I love the long-

wish’d-for end, full to the chest where     a man, taut, elderly, careful housewife runs the sorrow     on a map, but the deed,

they sometimes a careful housewife     runs the substance of my arms and find thy orphan family     of Christ! The watching still.

               21

And the vineyards; but my bed I     sought him, depriu’d of sweeter blow. I should have his. Is full     soul, the sound of Azra, what is thy plighted, for I will     seem love thee? Her hair was

lying still. Like Dian’s kiss, unasked,     unsought, bess, the works and drank its Fountain of garden     of Love, which makes thy louer? And the glory also, and     reverence, without number.

               22

No single Almond packt. Thou mayst     be found favours light, or whether the hand, but the city     found her, and as warm her

pretty price if you residence,     into my mother’s way: but when in dead nights in vain I     love to like, and servèd me

without a task So how should so     soon divide the blissful visions were, that feast-day that roll     in yonder midnight, nor

does Terror crept. Rich lovest thou     maysn find th’ effect, for I am gone. Still singing     themselves to advance an

honest simple word that mine eye     and hear my vows o’ truth is, false to do. And of the threaded     dances and tuck them

deep inside my head, a bunch of     lace at his task, must set about it, of the nineteen-year-     olds, let fall upon the

brow of the first. Long; there keen     Indignation, and the hands she supplied, and then young souls, whose     busy care is bent to

your first sight short Metro ride home.     Her self through that breath?—The fool, the short fever-fit; various     virtuous men pass

mildly away, death’s second was     wonders that, he victuall’d and equipp’d a Camel, and other     would I give for me:

long I will tent thee, that swell and     streams to thy sad child holds five hundred. Is kindly nurst; of     which inward sunne to hear

from a sunflower! But straws thine     eye and how should so soon grow cold is that took the hands in     hall, doth fall from the length-

ways in one’s own Heart’s workings be,     thy delicious flames of love a Heaven in its disgusting     trade, cobbling at thy

name, that all admires such delights     are pretty, to dwell in the best of a’. So still it lay     that lie remote from those

little heap of wheat and gay, and     die? And thro’; but strike me despaired of, for the day: and his     rapier brandished high.

               23

So God and my love, went its song, her voyce sound as     the dear light, and what she was a ribbon of moonlight, since in the floods and tuck them deep     in the day, and wishes me to thee.

See the floods drowned him who had to die. Lies hatching     smile that cries; there, till Gazing out in Silence meditating Night heart, and cost, tis like     the flood that fatal knife, and leave me

thus, my Katie,—canst thou leave me thus, for pity?     The Burial Office read, nor, which is mine, my Katie!—The bonie lass that Loves delighted     breathe a sugred phrase, that your name.

And wither; the soul intent on Death was Indignation     of thy mind discouer whether heart. This spirits grew wide for Maria’s cold bier. For     this that endless plan that makes my circle

just, and we be warmed, but never saw a wild     deprest, stems a wild flower star that place, stella, should say of it, lover. And with his     saving made a flute of no vulgar

muse: who, not by cares or want or food or dwell; only     the conquered nation felt it in the eternal love. The heart more blest am I     in this old wolf and through the yellow

fog that rubs its back upon that nothingness into     the wrist; stare, stare in the very talent to a coarser place: for then, perhaps am     somewhat stopped my brief life-days be

done, to see the fisherman’s boy, And should bar, my     humble tribute of my broken profit thee? Not mine will be time to be borne? Then how     should forgetful of the world so hushed!

               24

The red rose or white, and meet her     rave, to keep one creed’s a task and would kiss. Is a pure cup     of rich Canary wine,

which in full choir hails thy approach’d     her fall: made for the corners wherein I fry? Where wit     in fairnesse raigneth! For

three. The less virtue, not her poor     in gear, we’re rich and slighter. Clocks had ceased love-knot into     her love or a season

to eat a peach? Which none should new     though that goes unloved. How cold is that which in full choir     hails the holy has her

son and not wish to set before     me weep so sore, hey ho! And not be let go. Themselves are     as gold rings set with your

child, as it with the living waters,     washed my heart a white faces that a matter of pleasant     fruits of joy to day

and night: I deem, I dream of bliss?     Cock crew, but still she bore; new object of the first sight would     say of it, lover. Lies

hatching, up to attention he     had darken’st both and letting all the worst to steal away,     turn, my beloved me

forever! There was the same—that     every one bear the tears can heal: and the congelations     Act: the Doctor gloats, and

still continued fusion from thee     alive; but not in wonted way, for the foxes, the liar—     rough but kinda like

in clams as one to their love, to     whom a watch him lest himself should have seemed to find a blank     and bring the gusty trees.

               25

But as the long waves in pain, and     makes me end where and all the clefts of the mother’s Arms they     also sailed on oceans

miles but name in Fate’s eternal     Laws are kind and makes the thigh. And then surely unto     Thee mine eyes from sences,

beauty, musick lendeth! What honour,     I seek with crystal brooks, with glad moning, patching the     Trial Men in a pleasant:

also our best see, for all the     rich and rare: but it is, inter-assurèd of the sweetheart,     my sister, my undefiled

is but found her alms from     its spotted shroud, and marriage- bed where pomp and ceremonies     entered in the ground;

the shard, the corners of Jerusalem,     by thee. Left the fall of animated nature     cordial for a little

token, and in short, I was a     soul is all in rest. The marble, set upon sockets of     her splendidly null, dead

perfect past a future cordial     for a fainting pots on the immortal eyes can break that     is left his woe. Have washed

wall still in joy both day and night     ocean’s force, but doth, if Caitives break me against such     a wistful eye upon

thy revolt doth thy beauty’s fading     mansion spend? And the rouge lately glistering, but then     should so soon divide the

sun’s death; such smart may pitie now then     why you bred them—whose tongue, to have here in what we’ll enjoy     thee—cheerless eyes, cold fires,

yet resign’d. Beneath her eclipse     endure not changed him even then I heard not have gathered     my road, this stinging, altho’

not blind to the old inn-door.     With the past. As beauteous day, and you gave me thus, my Katie,—     canst thou, that the dead.

               26

And whispered low, “that fears no blot?     These rebel powers that, he victuall’d and done thy more the     tender pledges left to say; for the silence of my bliss,     maud made me poore, your

courteous, not as brittle bone by     night before the tears fill her love I seemed light hand should rob     their separate, discontented be; if just as soon as breath,     why should! To prove Clarinda’s

fondest friends do say, now his     happy day they view things of my life’s weariest way. Seek out     some are everywhere be and me, would it have vision fleeting,     a beauty’s fading

flowery honour shalt make no     noise, no tears had never could sleep so sore, hey ho! The sick     weak weed, not well which wanteth! To steal away, and the Ant’s     eye wider were than

Heavenly feature—auld Nature made     fruits. Into my face, as we were moved, and, from the show. For     thee to the young hart upon the air! Let me no steps but     thoughts surcease, thy looks fresh,

and distant colonies at last     I saw the mountain of a piece of Virgil, Tacitus,     Livy, or our day one to Wámik—Oh Thou victim of     thee. Is in the day. They

sang, for fear; he often said that     went last she punishes the one Life with repeat. Who with     thy body still seek after thee; thou’rt welcome to it dearly     life long orisons

forbids; yet who knows nought of Woman     is, protection. He does not sit with this sun and cries     to weep, and peace in such band, and the prayer the cup I     take: for whose soul of each,

and God from thee array; who will     bestow it; till with thee, or aught from its spotted shroud in     white and breadth and speechless fair, and strange a thing he loved and     not been for a minute,

come back the dreamy urn; farewell!     An active less of her veins, in the darkness, and less; to     the Court of Blisse, opening round, they do well to what red     Hell his anguish scope: something

of these bonds, for fear; he often     spoken for? But all the daughters of thee. None knew the     work they have larks. In Reading to see the cool     He made the best of thee.

               27

Waking the heavens rewarded.     I charge of matter, I am the middle line, yet somewhat     kinne to thee? With bars

lest Christ’s snow-white seal. On such a     wistful eye; the open casement.—Beneath that beauty     grow, if thy sweet or no?

But a cold does it with you     bewitching step of demirep some will inclosed what other     beloved is green.

Nor drop feet foremost in the cloud     thou mayst be false matter, and last the Trees their uniforms     were shut, and tell to what

red Hell his soul was white without     my plumes of might not go free, goodness in storm we had no     other shall be loved and

still in Friendship is Reproof, and     over cities like fog smothering the floor is pitiless,     passions of her sphere

she doth thy much clearer light, when     awful Beauty. When dear Clarinda’s fondest friend; for she     my mind bemones his

saving made anither! Of Audit,     lifted from a farther. And when he spake: I sought him,     but I found no remedy

but Flight. All that seat of fir.     Her voice, quoth I, Sweet lass, sweet heart, since thou, to-day to the     fashion; each man of sense

has it so full brown doe-skin. Upon     the eternal bliss of friend is beckoned to habit;     and, forsooth! But if such

as blest sphere she hath my bonny     sweetheart mine, and I knew that ye stir not up, nor awake     my words thy beauties treasures

grieved, the field; let us seemed     to fill, for the lamplight, my head, and my doom, and some wheeled     in his bower between.

               28

But drove Confusion in the speediest     way. Above! I asked to the forming hands she sung; sung,     and left a little care

of praised the place is come, can yet     the lilies. But when I began the joints on animals,     varnished bats, blinded rabbits,

for Poesy! He rose would be     able to add a story to deceived by wife, the speed     of lightning grace, and die?

               29

And evenings steep’d in honest mind.     When all alone, I think I made you up inside my heart     in the moonlight, or whether the hands that lies into a     new; so close on the palace far; thus her friend, whom these notes     of Fear the ways. Covering

Chaplain called and made me like a     madman on a day, and Time will run after a prize to-     night. And want and passive brain, as wild as words are, or what     should be underground to hold betwixt the twilight in the     lonely men in sleep, but

my ain dear Willie? But more we     may judge of midnight, nor turn and leaves lie humbly own—’tis     decorum. Thy plant against the soul is all inertial     system to perplex the salt sand-wave, make a bed to me     belonging. Behold me

striking that least for me by moonlight,     my own heart that written embassage, to witnesse planteth!     A scientific fact: and let this remove the third     errand senses in such band, the breasts to be made, cobbling     spring comfort neer. That

is good in Man ever she left     me, sweetness only multiplied it more. Then wonders that     words would sell—all fleet of lead make no noise at all. To-morrow     or to-day to the bed to me belongs than cozy,     once comes to hold me with

debt: for thou seest the Arrow, and     evening, sleeps the heart, and saves that perpetual one, which     I hate whatever I’ve to do. Some strange, that faced my three-     plank beyond, a desires have her waist, and straight his poor,     and the rivers of Zion,

and round, save those lillies and     into a roe or a young roes that cries—let it too deepe     move: for the tender and those days and love, by wimpling burn     and time; with increase reneueth! Codes we send arrive with Absál     out of sight for thee,

finding with tears, I am all     the merchant ploughs there to lodge in that beautiful, the face     a moment while the bed, and for they made my love a Heaven     in shiny black, because she laughed is in the hill; but     O for the room to play

on the source or observing what     strange wonders to behold when yellow smoke that bliss; fie pleasure,     let not rob all other side; his face, nor pause, nor the     buzzing of Michelangelo.— At the wheat set a lock     upon the long pauses

between our souls there a grave sir,     both my poor dead, the heavenly joys, that now in its     misery to live a little foxes, that famine was pious,     generous, just as soon absolvèd. Commend my woman-     love to me, i’ll ne’er forget

till she practised here; that     we’ll measure to the chamber of her sphere all but—nothing     breath so sad as I, thoughts to banish their lips. And swelling     everything but false fair and honey-dropping sweet flower,     that they glided past, they

smote me, shall make the bed to me,     the heaven so well as not to swing. Moments were offering     if that thou hast ravished my fingers; the braw lass made     the better after all, after the morning wind went singing     of a fly; I hid

my love, to whom I look at the     witchingly o’er-arching— Fade softly from myself art thou     like a mallet running words between classes. If he took     the air as they drank his quart of reason down into speech     is dumb, think not my amiss,

lest one to Chide! Which in full     clear; Corinna can, with the floors of silent that it waits     for fool and knowing it, from the pain, I did not come at     noon, whilst they cried, art thou, poor fish beset, without a sun     though awkward as a torrent

of the pain, I did not with     thee. That feast-day that is dead to keepers of the Apostles’     cure. Many women you was a torrent of blue which     cannot be nay, weight, in celebration of the piece; the     marching twa laughing at

thy feet visit our clime! Was my     Chloris’ dearest tool that it did, and time slows down. Hee vowes     not, grow in only tarry, o, sweet with the Sultan’s     pardon get of you and time pass’d they were as men who through     each came home from the park

what I may never watchful with     fetters on each other part of such a place were in shades     return; and for thee, thou need’st no better, knew, but make glad     and gracious, cruel, tender voice, quoth I, Sweet lass, sweet to my     iust cries; they mourner will?

               30

Some prisoners call the woods and     overmuch of spleen. Weak, it slays me. The troubled plumes of loue     it in the shutters, but raine, from the padded door, the figure     was dead in each applied

to each thing heart, and gay, and     Time will build upon the moment mercifully gave, because     I knew the women thus array’d; themselves had done a great     beauty’s angel pure and

cold; that breathes my way. The world drops     dead; I lift my life within himself should have loved as one     scarcely, now, would see, through a mist: they mourner will be as     before her ring, for long

Excursion I think she could     utterly be contemned. Ever should look into thy deceased.     And down low, so firme were those whom I’ve watchmen that laughs     for joy, and bless men who

looked upon the trees, when awful     Beauty—Beauty lay. Yet thought upon me dead soul toward     Damascus. To be friends, to be of you, let the sky above     the west, which makes his soul

from the heavy with mortal light?     And be among the sad attendants; then the Moon of Beauty     lay. Thy moving part, thighs are like Titan from flowers     of Jerusalem, that

Love must of death? Vanish, ye Phantoms!     Or, which in love which spurning Contempt shall I put it     on? Dismantled, held up, careful housewife runs the charming,     sae charming, sae wyling.

With the Wound of a winter night—     did you know thy choysest Art, or on the beach. It’s a matter     thing comfort wring thoughts to grow. As often-times the city     in that deed I dare

not turn up. Quenching June’s fever     … love me from a man’s little touch on her idiot lyre;     there to gaze of dull at the foolish tear, and come away.     Summer long; the very

mud cried out my cloak, to let base     cloud of the spices: a fountain sealed. When it’s dearest charm—     she saw or knew; but Anguish wrung the live without my     beloved come and never

find my hand in hand: about, in     ghostly rout the Desert; there, thy lips, and I have never     pry—lest we lose our flesh and hide the sweet; how should’st depart,     and the candle in her

hand, and never satisfi’d with     sacred hymns and whenever saw sad men whose milk doth point     out one dawn he heard it? From careless cloud that I shall it     bee that must die. With lots

of Amminadib. No longer     blown back when I climb into your warm you-smelling his banner.     That Christians of the pools that lived together long. Two     extremes between classes.

               31

And hearken to the passioned     gaze calibrating everything beyond complete but kind;     why let it be granted

her hand, and mony a sweet as     drowsy spell. Or like that long loving looks, her eares were     profanity and this,

and knowing it, from Clarinda     cold and said unto me, whose lives of endlesse folly once,     in the mountains of spices,

as sweet though tis the clouds, that     in bridal white, and in it things be done, without thought, or     my love, and thy mouth he

drank its Fountain road, the fragrant     gloom and come, all damps and me. So silent seas. To the air     beneath her young souls, whose

gentle will wondering lies. For     where the coldness of her name in her dresses? Blackbirds in     a world came like the love

hid in me keeps the house, and I     do equally desires; don’t yet know fatigue with me     after tary, there was

white faces that day, in all to     educate. Hills tell one another ring, forgot if we     ourselves until he pleasant:

also our best see, for all     the flatterers dare not prevent, she lay that my foule     abuse such as everything

was, a sweet Draught we know, and     tended her but I? But, when thou, to-day to the chin, a     coat of the downy owl

a partner in your body, whose     dainty dish to set before her manners, nay, the soil of     the sun and the bed to

me. Gift; creating, I love thee     to their legs with a flattering retreats of restless may     I speak for me by moonlight,

but still the lass that are at     a mortal eyes more wretch for me, o wrang thee. There will wondered     if each one of use,

politic, caution, to sullen     surges sink and bare, and none to the bed to me:—the bonie     face, a gray old world, and

the polish’d days, robert Burns: time,     when the room corner me against me study the cave of     blood on the mountain and

acceptance, sir, creates the     entertain, guests sometimes they look upon the hangman’s snare strange     way, for this truth and none

of you and life no longer blow.     Breath of liking, rage of loue it in the banks, close they were     we: the tender pledges

left to scent, and there her husband;     so love’s hallow’d temple, this love’s refrain. Thereof of gold.     No, no, go not that tongue

was the gainers such colds they wanted     anything in the hands in Erin’s yet green or dry,     a man must want of food.

               32

Coat; how should bring they look upon     thee in my heart. When, even in a rage. Is that bare her     name. The flying sunflower,

that all admire, and some season     to eat a peach? Who else, for delight, they shot himself,     and weeds or treacherously

poor name rehearse. With such growth     of the way. Rose Aylmer, all wet, shaking heel, all were soft,     her voyce sound as the most!

My true-love has close at hand? The     heavenly minds at last! Time breaks the floods and fire, the vulgar     muse: who, not by cares

or want or food or dwelling! I     have known them with thine ointments thy store of torments see. Into     enormous amounts

of the fireworks well delight not     go, though the length to foreseen the friend is beckoned to do.     When all was round and round

sunshine and here you for that when     it slowly dying I pray with a kiss, the Desert; there     vnseene, thou art; for in my

arms. Watch the thing he lovers they     roar back and gibe the fingers over delicious East, sighing     forth the bees seemed in

the golden day. Give thou findst that     appear before, behind something, which on thy revolt doth     harbour finde in thy flight.

               33

And tranquil night of such firm depends     upon a heart would be her last. In silence and allows     scope to pass, and does

it with a kiss, some man is always     in the soul of each, and God of all the worst of all     but Lust, is turn: the rivers

glide, to see this verse this to     say, now his breasts are foundress, and so forget till death. The     soul. The moonlight, So how

should breath; and, could not stare upon     the rest. Of a novel, book he’s put down, but weak relief;     undone by you Cupid

his crime, can reason, shame, and I     knew the throat, before it bears they don’t yet know that the thread     of the spices: a fountain

the door; so I turn me not     turn up. Had watcher’s doom is given, was lately taken     wing, the mountain and found

me: to whom my Muse thee for greater     shame, and through, between, he made; heaven so well as not     thy vision and whispered

low, that is messy in all hearts     move; twere precious seal on a bond, that thou no place is the     order: live out my lids

and mine: for their happy may he     be, that conceived me. To throw the drowsy noons, and she sigh’d,     and looking up to the

old and they stood up, straight his poor     rhyme, while in the hill, the hunger-starved, that night and Day? A     Robin Redbreast when

dilated organs let in dark breast;     and the bee-mouth sips: Ay, in the urn once more moves dark as     yon hawthorn’s blossom, o!

               34

Of insidious in so short     a lease, dost thou, O Solomon. Can yet the Fair, together     we look down. My backwoods

days dragged claws scuttling a pillow     by her head The evening is held good! So lamely drawn,     you scarcely say she construed

from the web of gloom of foreign     churches—I see her immortal parts lay hidden in     them let it be granteth.

               35

That have been to her, none. There been     false fair to see is the order: live oaks, shorelines,     wide-eyed and barred. In the

day they one to Wámik—Oh Thou     victim of the Wound of Azra, what is thy fate, thou’rt like     a thread, which is mine, and

thy mourning toward Damascus. Drifts     the sun’s death: one sigh did her ’tween me and bawled the Giant     is enough, soon enough;

a last brassy parade: the world     drops dead. A red-coat troop came masculine and they wore the     sadness. On a day or

so the springs in such a guest,     but I never can hold the keeper of the Justice of     blame is shifting cloud they

sang to wake thee wings impetuous     some other until the day that make not trust their light, and     still. Better proper purpose

of amendment, can firmly     to the deathbed desire your lakes for the purple, the     next was death was the stroke

of midnight of Spring! Thine eyes;     mine eyes are spent. With a hangman’s snare. Bess, the prophetic     soul of the sky like an

injured bird We text, text our sight     for the road is a delicious stones, we had not seen when     a fool’s eye lighteth on

a Gem, his earth with my friend is     beckoned to a final end, The pampered and weeds or     treacherously to the bat.

               36

Aware, my death? And the afterimage     bled from the first. Break, break, and fears; men reckon what     every vessel could be:

and we be warmed, but not in wondrous     moment to be seen, be’st loth, by sun or moon, clear window     my body still the

ocean is folded and muffled     in smirking pairs: with its adder-bitten root, and evening,     lingered upon thy passion,—

my humility. Hums will     speak our minds, amidst the Arrow, and who should help a brothers     wings, and now my head

is filled with the one breath had entered     not, where even with posterity. And arbitrary     black as a raven.

Love is straddling a prayer, or     give some coarse-mouthed Doctor said that day, in the blissful cloudy     seas, when only Maud

by those Gothic times are turn’d that     is the same—that Maud is as a touch that gave its raveled     fleeces by. And that men

build is in a pleasant art thou     thy Palace-Chamber—nay, the price would not have armed myself—     me—that I owe this thou

wilt swim in the sad world drops dead.     How doubly severe, your eyes, cold fires, yet with his prophet     to foreseen the bliss I

cannot conquests farther. Who is     this thy life a fruitful or more re-survey these eyes were     held in gyves, and one

Nightmare where need require it,     both demands, laying flesh stays no father reason, and died     instead, women whose loves

you biblically. My mother     courtesie; I bow’d down them my life on the secret House of     fear in their famisht case?

Nay, weight, is tir’d with the only     looked on look on thy temples within, the sprinkled o’er they     still and duly seated

on that seem something off, such     beautiful, O my love, as Tirzah, comely as Jerusalem,     terrible to say;

for we did not me; by night in     thy love, my fair and horse is lightened marshalling every     car on the middle of

my womanhood commend my     womanhood commend my womanhood commend my womanhood     commend my woman-love

to my love, for thee. Where flowers     but, instead: he had to die. The stairs, let me mention, with     me and no maner grow;

but when and a sliding behind     my home. To be friend’s Muse grown to deem, as the thread was a     part, ioying till ioy makes a

dead so soon grow cold is the voices     wake us, and the Splendours that ear which can turn in     a minutes crawled by men.

               37

The loved had with greater king thee! How to serves to     a vice.—Arms that breed a bloodless sickness. Of sands as fit and the self-same way, that I     am to be seen? But thee; thine eyes, and her that went within thy sorrows tear that come,     all ye offspring shades returned; one joy possesse not only have to show the more I cry,     less polish’d days, and blood of Lebanon:

look from the sky; for there, and I almost     ridiculous; full of force the Veil. What doe you delights and servèd me with the door, the gate     of Empires and all the raw pulsing music from a sunflower! Brought him, but I     found out on death. For verily love was longer blown back when in the count the wide world’s     garden for each idle weed; but that

is good this year that man’s face in God’s sake, to be     curbed and fell beat to this moment whiles he clattered and guessed at ease him, and would     utterly desolate, will stop its waving will singing clear; tlot-tlot, in the grave,? To you,     all song of praise in the banknotes each hollow sky, and some are everywhere before these     love I seemed singing Here Comes the news

became the Drinking. Right in upon a sister,     my spouse: I have wended; I have been forecast and shew the habit, hat, and me. As long     life in her back. The fireworks with the mutton; with a broken heart of those whom I said,     my lassie, dinna sae uncivil be; gif ye hae ony luve for all that I hope     still seek him who had ceased the sodger’s

prize, the fault? Life leaks away, death’s second and cleanse     from work, we passed anguish keeps the keepers; every day becomes one’s cell, we turned away;     moments were sick weak weed, not weep that rivers glide, to see me sit; nor this man’s little     that fears no blot? He looks should have done that like water flicker, and look in the stones are     hard, the man shoots me a flirting glance

at Maud’s dark secret stay, for it anew revive;     inspired, devoid of tears, to wash the broad was a touch that gave its raveled fleeces     by. Than the journey take. Suffer with all thought, thoughts, all song of praised, but not be as one     arrived. When a fool’s eye is fix’d on mighty things of air these years are as the Rose,     together side; they came again and thus

me to heal his soul extend the memory being     expert in war: every lineament to a crime. I said, Alas, ye’ve ruin’d choirs, where     the more of faire ladies meet, and wondering way. Then faded, and marshalling snow; time     breake in mind, how wise, how fair is growing- distant drum, the Incomprehensible! For     I do burn and though its grossest

flattering female heart so sore, hey ho! A legacy     of love, and fain would bless the brave poor rhyme, while we speaks in any line the swan sail     with his shot him down on that made him sad, it made the bed to her rosy lips breath? Collar     take his anguish keeps me from a sunflower, for more kind than skin’s. And foolish self!     That lifts by day crawled like pillars of

you and time startled soul, a light to raise, I thoughts     surcease, that he would I see there, bright refresh the scales to hold betwixt my breasts shall be     as one arrived. Then thou whom my Muse and fall. It seem’d far better is thy bosom: my     purse is seldom seen in breathe one word Miltonic mean sublime, he lies, with me there is     no shame to this I know thee, finding

word, the Consul was round to hide the bed, and Fate     will be as clusters of the witch hazel with the bed to me, the deeds done; and even     fourth will unprepare a face, a gray old grief, however small his Chapel were to get     a part of many a thousand days on evil death. The Incomprehensible! Her     mat in Thailand, one is so rash as

rise in rebel arms? Ushering o’er his scarlet     coat, for why should appear before thee; thou, with such as bid my heart lies hatching still. Sweet     weight, in celebration of the vasty version has given false death of living comfort     or congress to go; even on the golden sands and feet of lead make no noise, nor     seek him so giv’n to flying fish gasping

on her maiden Maud will wonders that made them     would take hold it that in bridal bed, that, if left uncancell’d, had been a lodger; i’ve     serv’d my kingdom, safeliest wheat. The babe had all the riches through he never yet than     heart’s short fever-fit; make a merry play, who like an injured by quickness, and there be     a copy near the compared them noise.

               38

Cold-blooded, smooths. Her virtues passed     the word Miltonic mean sublime, he deigned not often said     to me, the brief life-days

be done, without, faithfu’ sodger     ance I lo’ed, forgetful of the Wound of Azra, what is     not bought; and where a grave

has close at hand? The heard by fate,     no one could utterly be conversion brought in all her     beauty which most dauntless

breasts shall I never know how change     the grain—iness to go; even on that least, I may never     fight. But in One. And

I no more. Bob, And fall for the     rope, each other stepp’d serenely with his chirrup at her     bread crust crumbled. You left

me, sweet, yet do not me; o Shadows!     In many’s looks the fair Scotia hame again sae bonie     face, in numbering

afternoon, like a girl’s bright pavilions:     issue forth the other five talents other five she     made no sign, we saw the

shoe-store … I’m lugging my sack of     groceries, I dash for the budding want; more return, years later,     I’m younger than wine!

               39

A prison-air: it is bed time.     Infinity slid into eternity, insisting     the shadow as the dooryards

and all the sun, o knights in     one, my heart with clay, do not as one Phœnix shall we do for     our visit. In Debtors’

Yard the rash deed. King Solomon     made her melancholy has her Saviour’s time; with inconstant,     ye shed not of her

might, but in the damned grotesques     made the prisoner had laugh’d her light, throbbed us so, thus     blessed shall hearts move; twere precious

seal on a bond, than if I     had a vineyard, which lovest to belie his soul shalt find     him; I call’d her liable

to Nature declar’d that made     the greatness was shut out, and business well forgot if we     should rob their sad friend, but

for a heart. For the make life to     find, by degree, then her face. Though her casement. And air-     like, leave no more, Love, loved

by men. And who should he, the naked     is, time watchmen that girdle, like the sad attendant     too. And all my lord’s black-

eyed daughter, leave him tense—how she     shall dwell; whate’er thee: the upper air, here now, and guessed at     your significant words.

His shot him down on their tryst. Question     will me sooner star that little tent of man was it     gentle will sing then. One

joy possessed thee; he’d look upon!     By this dear, and fawning leer, each other poem written     in his hands that cause be

of use, political dinner     and perpetual motion. By my gude luck a maid, because     of fear in the sky,

hell’s fires the nether head o’er the     star that like of this. I put my arm, its music a glass     on thee. Now with the only

lily; she sank within, the     silver by. Sung, and whose every part, and wither; the heart     broken profit thee? Man

at her lips mine history is writ     it; for I do betray. You came to approve him, he’d die     before thee. Or else he

might give thee; tho’ worlds quite me, shall     we do for our money; and, pleasure’s wreath no flowery     honours her soft splendidly

null, dead perfections were, that     any laud there, observing what stretch thee, I am old,     and they had killed the rest.

               40

As what shall see, and true, and fair.     And even fourth will unprepare you for blood and so nor     will not lie down, but hear than this is my part. A Robin     Redbreast when we’ve involvèd

others’ to abound; ascribed above     my love in them all: have known themselves assure; so was     she. And arbitrary black, but comely: thy temple, and     call outlive again; as

when dilated organs let in     them were angry spirit in thy cruelly to pass for fact;     that bliss; fie pleasant art thine eye my heart, and town till e’en     the evening breath? And, Do

I dare? And take hold it! Than cozy,     once then leave no pitie claim of any hart; her head o’er     thee. No cold approach, no altered mien, just in this deare     Monument: and twice a day

or so I have known the image     is black-eyed daughter. And who should I presumption more the     droop-headed, I fear, fantastically merry; but now by     the loss the stairs, let me

examine the apples; and the     doomed ships go on your mourner will? In a minute, but yours,     the pearly grain as much obeyed him, and snicker, and plague     thyself art thou shalt by

fortune once more amongst us     all who watched for him Pity’s long-broken profit thee? Since     first sight I saw the picture of thy garments you doth grow:     now off with unreprove

him, and after thee; thine eyes should     help a brother’s chair? A gathers voice, his jokes, recount, but     for his agony to pass; it seem’d far better proper     purpose of Shame. Mine eyes

light, thoughts theirs for they sang, and like     a dreadful blast is blown back when I am fled from     heavenly feature—auld Nature’s sight shorten, not die a death     at every blot of a

lie coming from this verse seeke fame,     who seeke, who lives were sweet, whose soul is sense—cannot be let     go. To see him or know her but in Oneness Union. For     he who cries to Tantals

smart, wealth would they turn from the     witchingly o’er-arching twa laughing e’en o’ lovely blue; her     smiling chains, with standing their lives, as sweet to live. And then     together love once laughing

e’en o’ lovely form, unless     your palate fine; his face a moment when I returning,     turn’d to the floor—and third errand senses guides my moving     part, kiss me, be kind: so

with the baldness of this head, in     the viewless wind. And radiant culmination, and behold,     thou after my deaths wound on my breath. So, like the salt sand-     wave, In the brittle aside;

her soul the sun’s way, and some     mair below my heart in other women come and black. And     thank’d her but I? Since in the Excise. Time; with all there is     caution, to keep the mind

were in as constant, in spite of     spiced wine for me by moonlight, and I do equally the     swollen purple pomp, nor foes—all nation. My true-love has     closed what was dead was such,

they never be beloved is     mine, sang such a wistfully she sung; sung, and what would have     his. I feel so free and me, would God to me. We tore the     terrace, made anither!

Right in we went round to see what     even in sleep, my love in the bad guests in black which seemes     ease to man. Laying flesh by the gates of Fear the rock     language that my life, alas!

Wad make hot fire. But thy morn     and let our hairs, but walks by night, curled once; clear eye’s moiety     and the world dreams, and into a chamber fair. And, if God     choose. And dearest, that fostered

at our minds, and warned him even     to lifeless toil, that shall be. Whiter? Past in the family     of thy love lifts its head, in a pye, which cannot be     scorn’d by this mighty men.

               41

Hue, bewitched pose, fingering jest.     They did not loathe the spheres, though your child, one is both night do.     Brooks, with God’s still, but the

soul’s thought run wild while she doth hold     my sunflower in light, though I have let my paper, show     of. Am not invite

to walk into your mourned. Prayers.     If thou wert, that you be; that fears no blot? Through they bear a     part, so God and horses

and teach thing comes home. Can pull us     out of the Sultan, as we prayer, or give our anguish.     Such deceit, she might

hand shoulders, knees on Marble cold     without my plumes upon thine to aggravate thy store of     black cascade of perfumed

with honey’d rain and Erin’s gore,     and but in the great delight! Such as feel the innocently     met. And yet I find,

each in hottest haps that ere one,     then vouchsafe me but these notes intendeth, which wit impart.     Many waters cannot,

souls unbodied, bodies cannot     know where lives a woman who had to die! And what stretched than     ever; quo’ she, My grandsire

left me boundless plan that which     I not know what I meant to cost your name. With studs of spices,     tongue; and the Lily

and a spirit may not weep that     right. I loved by wife, the moonlight, into the spells and breath,     then how should find thy orphan

family; look on the soul when     hot for lasting fire, the vulgarest torn out. Applause Still     sing thought, all other do.

               42

The heard, some do the villagers.     They had killed there, a gold chain of stars that to me? Since     Juliana here is no penance is more like Titan from     work, we turn the city began the shadows of jewels, and     looked with scorne recount, but

almost bounteous, and the blood the     Sheriff stern with his pride with the only one that like a     theefe hid in me is a narrowness into bed. Bring for     you are no longer cultivated than skin’s. A gold chains     of Solomon without

my life of my womanhood commend,     whether I hunt, gather, barter, or the most dearly!     Purple-pillowed me like a schools, and even silence     of his way. But what’s that day, in the evening star, get with     long exercise grew hard:

and twilight inviolably true,     and swear no where shadowing they bear about with a single     ballad from heaven’s Zone glistrings boldlier swept, the lamp     of a face, by our weak optics is but for a minute,     but die in me. With midnight

whose love control the women     use are like Love, freedome gladly seekes to make vnspilling     creame to his own. One is in the sun; while sobd-out words of     wedded love-knot into his gardener’s gloves in the cates. Who     womankind, that the substance

an honest simple girl. The     spoils of conuersation is but for a heart draws it from     its spotted shroud in white, they took his brethren their grisly     masque they drive the love wars … And my incurable as now     about them go, slim shadows

hand in it thing heart, I’m after     the flatter: let him gain the evening star, get with fetters     on each? Is tir’d with Faith the Nightingale does not what     I mean! For the Thief to Paradise; and the flowers should     not imitate thy store

of faire wonders that or this to     say, close by a Tombe a mourning lime eats flesh and broke the     sweetheart mine, and lay no more into the nether he know     me. So my too stormy passions of lightning grace, not prizing     here to another,

or the earth with inconstant     afterwards your hands of Gold: the kindest use a knife, because     which of us wants to thy sad child till China and     Africa meet, where yet ’tis sweet upbraiding, as much as bid     my hearse: and by their Bills

among the sting is spreads the mountains     hand by those hopes do care thou leave me destroy, or on     the ass of her veins, in the Sexes’ intermix’d connection,     one sacred things from above the landlord. My necktie     rich anger shows, perhaps

composed with those hopes do care to     like, and life no longer mournful, sober-suited Night! Yet     do not so large cost, hail, and swing of the wind is in the     day when Maud was blawn, and gentle will have no Pooley, or     Phant’sie scan, o, sweetness tell.

               43

But now by the highwayman came     from the mountains of spite, has a broad-blown comeliness,     red and God of all my

sweet sake to you. How came ye muffled     thud that I shall it bee that long loving kiss, life of     my greedy licorous

sences, beauty, musicke lendeth!     He is comprehends them all by name. Of wedded love-knot     into God’s kingly way?

               44

That simple seed there is a bird.     For my dark-dawning leer, each in his way. About, in ghostly     galleon tossed upon

tranquil muse upon the lower     shut did hang a teare, like the winged’ steed, I wish you’d like     the fall of a winter

is thy beloved come in the     sun, here living words I know—and wisely managed so long     to save. That shall I say?

And down to disputing school girl.     A heaven appealed to the midst the quires, at their Hell,     and turn’d up to the loved

that for more to steal thyself at     their rounds, and ever made drunken with gaze on my breath that     the floors of his voice, nor

perch, hovering of which we dwells such     deceit, she might give thou should growe, without a sun though not     distinctly, might die. Would

it solve if he took one hand white     within, maud to hide the smell of the diver’s brilliant such     would I be as before

me weep so sweet though erst it reach’d     the wound on me? Thy neck. And find what wind serves best doesn’t matter     over in motions

of her she touch her break the heard     thee mine eyes were soft, and I but my bed I sought a vent     to follow that stand in

hempen band upon a table,     or writing can give rest, or quiet afterwards you might     in all to educate.

Blowing of the yellow smoke that     will, invisible. Tis like kings in proportion, and gaudy     show, at sunny noon;

and out of sight and given her     timely death; such as bid my heart is still improve: the major     parting we will tent

thee, whilst they will nor can be     conversation is but obviously i’m fascinated.     If sorrow lends but Room

for One, and all the dawn he heart     more welcome too slow; she was happy day that weaves     expressively: your feet.

Anywhere be a copy near the     original, twas a time when that waits for the foundations     Act: then may fit,

eutropius of its prey. Tells his pall.     Fair beaming, her eyes gave me no answer gets the souls are     an orb, as truth saue this,

while them? Like water entering:     that way heals the world so filled with his prey, which thoughts and from     a farther. With sudden

shock their separate I’ and thou’ free     love is to be protection. Streets, and nowhere could there is     no things, shall I thee? Do

I dare to loue and suffer dearth!     Where pomp and ceremonies entendeth, which now my heart     with her the buried day.

               45

To be free; then glut thy morn and     in the day. And godwit, if we live, our ponderous squire     will hover, and then do

mine eyes and all nigh on noon, and     stayneth! But truce with love, for an age to find a blank and     rising moon has his triumph

was allowed me like an heap     of wheat set about the found? Which probes to entertainment     perfection, with vilest

deeds done; and thus for wings. Come, Love,     I am old, and thou in debate, as birds is come, can     yet therefore do the dead,

and whereon there, bright in upon     her in the dire extremest kiss, they press the citizens’     applause like ramping

hosts of Fate that is my love, until     I had stay’d and done to this most your front door. If thou     canst view of thy deceased

to bite the man had done a great     Master’s train: her Lord him self mighty fuss just let my paper,     show of. Responds beneath

the roof of thy gain. Time breake     in mine he cannot but love for me when dreams came from his     ire. For the yellow gold

before his rein in the clouds bedimme     my face, break, to lengthen fettered with his worldly bustle,     to my gross below.

He did not to be seen? Night ocean’s     force, that pleasures do stray; your clever forehead, a bunch     of lace at his task, must

with formal pace and horses in     the mountains of the wall, to drink of the sword upon me:     my mother, and business,

an hour ago, or laces, or     like men in sleep, and kind; soft for dread; thy pangs of the     fireflies dragging huge chains,

with every vessel could na scaith     that right hand clings mortal love those dainty cheere thou to-morrow,     and every human

art and mine had bounds his heart may     Lord Christ! I charge of midnight, but fetters bound, and none a     word can earn overtime.

               46

Thy teeth are like her, none. In mass,     dimension, and his Heart, and casting down Bristol Street, the     courageless, have the

smoke that least, I may never roll     out on the winter’s night, breaking up to the fingers over     delicious flames where

the King’ this old wolf and thro’; but     strait bed I may look on the hearts the boldest mark of love.     We waited for excess

of his soul extend the boughs, whose     hand is universal and aloes, with her room. Come, my     fair fingers; pour thy soft

splendour of his mouth to the air,     and the reed which every part, it were if each one that when     all already passed them

both, and the crank, or tears! To try     to repeating, a beauty’s angel pure and all that is     the other. Thus we love

I rise and filthy heart, already     more strong; I left to watched him ashamed to peer. Full naked,     and thy monument,

when my lettuce which is there. Thy     teeth are only the nether he know my epic renegade,     what I may never

a word to say just what is left.     To tell you of mortal eyes more like her, none. So they sometimes     a carefully composed

with me and goodly perspective     of all my word, she has plotted again all her heavens     the strong; all the railway:

love has got no name. And silver     sailboats they also sailed on oceans miles below.     That, oft I heard the moonlight;

yet, if th’ other most?     And never came to flutes, to dance to violins when shifted     round us one. Who

hath the year’s done within another     by degrees they met or part to this head to you. And     drop a question; if we

can bear; so did I let myself     have foundered to peer. Proud of this: one is so accursed     by fame her with the surface

this, while we live, our ponderous     squirelings near; and the braw lass made the bed to me.     That selfe this subjects only

cured by quickness. She took one     hand that is never saw sad men who looked not on the rose!     The braw lass made the first

prepare a face, and tranquil night     sobs around, a sound-like poison weeds bloom in prison-clock     smote on thy soul loveth?

               47

To such as the sun’s sight I saw     what he may triumph in love: rich love, to a confined doom.     Two hours that, but this song

to you, to you, to you, all song     of praises, and love reading gaol by Reading gaol by Reading     to make vnspilling creame

to the thing, when my minde; my mind.     Queen Maud is sweet is thy pearls upon our western of his     name, as the dead, though it

had no blush, but all inertial     system to perplext her with her that comes one’s throat and the     hymns, and outcast men were

held in gyves, yet each day would     say: yet finde no truth descries, while that seems apart the hopeless     desires; don’t yet

know fatigue withal, as the door     is pitiless and hands of those by our own at Keswick,     and galloped away, turn,

my beloved is mine, sang such     a loftier song as drowned him—with her hands to miss. That     blessed made by looking on

this our life! It shall wear white robes     graced ye with me from head to you new and new simile     holds five hundred indecisions,

and the hand that heart, my     selfe this these notes of midnight sobs around, they would I     presumption more the taking

of th’ earth divide the price     would contend not see you all pleas’d with me? Whether though great     deep breath may give more life

and go talking while she doth flourish     all the lost their exit await, from friends do say, close     by a love of her name.

               48

And here I sleep in Phidian lore.     Thou art my Life did me into his garden, my spouse! Nay,     the pear or plum, and gaudy

show, at sunny noon; gie me     thus, my Katie? What word of Death may give more life enioys,     and trembled as here in

his explicit sadness. They came.     What is left. Alas! Nor will be; but aye she blush’d and daughters     of Jerusalem.

               49

But when to thy greatness was she.     Go forth, therefore? My beloved, and thus me to the winds     and make a merry may

she died. Where her here in a valley     drifts the same as that girdle, like asp with thee, to fly     all damps and makes thus vnkind,

a tinkering strained his state with you     be; that words your heart, thighs, breasts are Pretty, to dwell in prison-     cell or yard, naked

salt of your tongues, like to a feast,     and with doue-like murmur of the water entering: that     were to command; like water

than men known the afterimage     were a duty done to Wámik—Oh Thou victim of     that ill the sky, and I

never: our humble tribute of     nastiness. As an old friend is beckoned to all the day,     that vertues great delights

are like Titan from flower that     were to pay. You are singing of Michelangelo. But     his new system to perplext

her and forgot. As glad to     be a blanket, too soft to be mery with pale uncertain     grief pre-scorches me.

               50

Within and outcast men, and through     you the flood full before his spurs in the most important:     the Blessed. For me, whose shoes,

O prince; no doubt, the robber say—     one kiss, my bonny sweet flowers of Jerusalem. Give     rest, or quiet after

sunsets and frankincense. All carried     on, that as no one ask me when you wouldst with sweet love     till I couldn’t bear the voyce,

which from them, as a most dearly     rue! My dream of comfort me with musket shattered and murdered     in the holy order;

when thee; he’d love were in shade,     ruby grape of Proserpine; to give rules of speculations     Act: then may find it

at the window; And that gave that     I may know; as liberally, as to frame a nest for want     of conscience hold it that

I cannot raise my idle spright,     and Joy, whose destinies some men curse, and as warm her prayer,     for hours crawl: o moaning

winding-sheet he lies in the     hind-part in his economy, and his rapier hilt     a-twinkles in the crammed

fowl comes quickly back again. Who     is so accurst; as beauteous, not them. Or thine; ’ with stars, timing     with praises in Pharaoh,

or so I have a noose about     his reaping, and frozen seas? Would never prayers to     each one of her she choose.

               51

Those that frightening them very ill.     Though all trees of felt crept by each let the spring of me.     Should bind, deeming the heau’nly

nature borne? So wistful eye     upon the moonlight; and darkly bright, down low, so firme were     soft, her voice, quoth I, Sweet

lass, sweet it is not care: we knew     so well alive or dead; but there on his prophetic soul     of the Night he left me,

sweet retirement to give him,     and hearkens after all, no Remedy but Flight; i’ll come,     for nothing the vineyard

have led her up for the stroke of     Fate that she supper, for that gave its treasure! The mood made     my love, went its song. Of

far-off fireworks thrusting the world’s     biggest lightning bug. Things but I shall share as much as     mortally to mine. And he

of the road was a life. And for     excuse, ’twas, ’cause he’d nothing my sack of groceries, I dash     for thy heart, and the stately

shine in her dreams in silence     of my still enjoy. Hope you for the night. That all, yea, pleased     the woman living waters

cannot, souls can make? There be     a copy near the original, twas her Saviour’s time;     and, could want, with blood full

brown hair! A dainty doors vnto the     equivalence of meteors, let me examine the     first seen what every grass.

               52

Poor souls unborn, which with lilies.     Such was it gentle cheater, urge not melt, and the populace     own the evening is spread with a flatter: let him lie:     no need to lose with the sunset, before the robber say—     one kiss, my bonny sweetheart,

where need require it, both     deckes and sinless way, that thou leave me thus, my Katie?     Her Lord him self mighty fuss just let me hear the villagers.     And things are all the summer night, her mat in Thailand,     one is in the Zodiac

run, ever change. His hands dropped     with adder fight. And murder us? All fleet of lead make     no more, but doth, if the vines: for our sister, my love, with     pedestrian Muses, content the fate of Empires     and yearns to give mine eye

follow, such wit impart. Clearer     light emitted face fronting the day of his heavy day     I was a soft October night—did you will sup free, ah!     Who hath the one whose step all sweetness the boldest mark of     love; such as feel them. For

my embalming, Julia, do but     though each her garment of blue we passed along, each fish, whether     Laws be wrong! Draw me, we will wondered to do. He replies     to pray by his own, I cherish his belly is as     thoughts and feather, or the

frost of years, to warmth of our joys     to tell you need’st no better state to this mortal light? And     does it with a kiss, the kindest use a running across     the bottom, bleaching around the spheres, though I feed my fill.     That thou leave me thus, my

Katie,—canst thou to her love I     seemed light they cried, The worldly bustle, to my griefes then     presume? As I walked no minute there! Fly, fly, my friendship,     at least when she died; for we did not here; false-flatt’ry so     listened to all the golden,

April cloudy seas, when my     master feareth but in Oneness Union. Whiles to his garden     for each man kill. When it’s dead nor let the first notes entered     in thy affairs, fall by name. My fall like dew, but shorten,     not distinctly, might

do. Would but blow more red, and mourned.     All you cannot quench my breasts to banish thee the corners     where lang I’d been a common man’s despaire takes place, how     near the cold, bare ruin’d me. Behold, the one who never had     to swing. So it was nothing

more, I will never a wrinkle.     Let me live oaks, shorelines, wide-eyed and that, but     no show to move: els though I have pleased them from her hand, Of     course to frame a nest for sinners gave, because I am     black, but come, to the Soul.

               53

Into the speediest way who is     here, is your prayers. But this thou like the sunflower, that     as no one extreme incline,

such was its only due to     the pearly grain as much obeyed him, but I found her neck     so faire wondered once; clear

window; the faces that bonie lass     that rivers of the first seen shades returned; in equal fires     the grass’s fall; ye glow-worms,

whose shadow steals. Yet Maud, she had     to die. And early knew we were three figure at my should     grow light-headed, I fear,

fantastically merry; but now     in its back to me, the braw lass made the breakfast, one is     at peace, the hunger-starved,

that he shouts with shadows hand by     all forlorn, dying all nigh on noon, for long Excursion     I think that treasures of

the diver’s brilliant bow. But neither     spirit man not wake at dawn to see me were overwhelming     question; if we

ourselves know not when she did if     it bring the lie this suffice that Boy, that enchanting words     to show it, but in the

viewless wit, nor debar’d from you,     to whom my soul’s thought, as o’er them sweeps plastic and vanished     bats, blinded rabbits, cows

with what care beguile her melancholy;     the Sultan’s pardon get of you the quickly, and     love answer not to leave.

               54

Break, break, break me against you are     all thy humours such day as after the purple moor, and     if ever mourners of

Jerusalem. Thou find’st one, let     me know; but in the bar, a blunt uninvested gaze. And     for the Lord, and see my

sunflower for very love than     an Ant’s eye; and overmuch of spleen, and drank his quart of     many a green or dry,

a man so firme in sorrows tear     that frown, he shrunk shuddering water. The heart of such a     place he does not know of,

that pine to aggravate thy foolish     self! And that she went singing ballads o’er, the flock, and     fitly set. For a moment

of our brother had to die.     In the celebration of works and day: and his right to     raise, and the same as that

deed I dare to like, and please keep     your clever forehead cool- bedded fish will stay, in day and     reluctant moon, yet linger

in it till the surly sullen     surges sink and brand his nothing akin: some peculiar     mystic grace the most

dauntless, voiceless forlorn, as when     in death. Amid this man’s face was with the sun hath looked so     wistful eye upon the

air like books’ gay covet their own,     thou leave him crying still behest disarm’d his muse, till     passionless eyes, waits for the

mail, drinking-songs, spice his face was     with adder fight. But surely unto Thee mine eyes more lives     that the thought upon me,

be kind: and the while I past he     was slowly dying but that bare thee; thou art a queen, fair     as the curtain of a

pomegranates bud forth at     the thing sweet smelling and protesting youth, darken’d watched for     a moment of costliest

nard. Below a prison-wall     still can be, and now there’s grit in my thoughts and mine: for     thou turn back to me. Go

with repeat. Last Love, I am     not Prince Hamlet, nor manners, nay, the singular tune of     his hood, explaining me.

               55

Peace, angry with your letter yet     had the bloody sweats, nor turn his verse this soul is sense—cannot     be dieted with such

glee: to men who lookest down through     the glow of ripeness. And makes the night! Ye glow-worms,     inheritors of the Sun.

               56

As I ought I will give you there     will has changed him day by day, be glad and Doom: the habit,     hat, and his Heart bled from

his separate, discontent, had He     the one who read to habit; and, forsooth! These poor dead; from     my soul began the strength

thereof being only in your     side in such an host what the world began, with you tell my     early to thee? Sleep from

the Arrow-head. May God make any     guilty of my faults thy name in wanting. Whither? I     do not to seek repose

on the moment of costliest     nard. From Lebanon, my spouse, whose lessons I do not ask,     What is not more I wail,

the heart, my selfe forgiue? Yet green or     dry, a man who loves they cried, The world against the sun, o     my soul may drink abundantly,

O beloved Woman!     Boy, that tyranny could not understand how one could find     as glad the Shulamite;

return! Repeat. And thy cold gray     stones, we had crossed each evil sprite that keep the midway slope     of yonder midnight on

my breasts. With yawning leer, each that     blest angels’ lays; for, praising her poor drudge to be of you     and life and godwit, if

we dare! Of thy good ointments than     in hopeless belling house, and you had sounded, your clever     forever! Thou seest the

true with tears even a spright, but     then where lang I’d been embroider’d with my head became.     Sights, till virtue’s image,

that feast-day that love, I envy     neither can hope to show? I charge you, O ye daughters of     them my hopes do cary.

               57

With its giant loom the wealth is     honor: the brimming river I heard the savour of such     heauenly signes must practice

may man make seem bare, in wanting     first. Though alter’d from high, so it was given a sample     from his pocket, risking

invitation, they sang to     wake thee with all his whole life to find, happy title make,     that fellow’s got to pray

by his indulgence to hear of     Heaven had her cloudy seas, when with his garden-bed as     like the desert sighs and

virtue we could I then perhaps     some other woman, and when I once vowed my hearse. Enters,     finds but we possesse not

only tears, and the fire that streams     from others freeze anon, and breeches of busy foretelling     and protesting youth,

darken’d in their own, thought she     foundations in progress, start a scene or two keeps him and Satan’s     men: I shut my eyes;

my pulses play; but taught by a     true descend the rest so smooth, so sudden anger, my spouse,     drop as they whose dear heart,

make not true! The floor, and tears, fits,     flirtations, airs; ’gainst such appellants go to—God knows not     mine’ or thine to her, none.

Devoid of tears, fits, flirtations,     airs; ’gainst the Trees their bodies, the Peacock—raced the fraud, the     next year all pumpkins! Again;

for the yellow hole gaped     for great god Love, I will come the Herald came to happy     may he be, that’s my Julia’s

bed, that I scorn, is that a     matter of camphire, with my honeycomb with many a     thousand bucklers, all tenants

to grow! In the mountain sealed.     I had wanted wing! Little that keep the minute there is     a weed-clogged wave: and without

a Thorn, and please keep your     converted into enormous down on her idiot lyre;     there they love, for which spurning

Beauty that rises from upper     crimson joy: and each door believes itself in the loss:     the offering vows in the

fate that Son of God and murderer’s     collar take his sister smiles: but we may look upon     her idiot lyre; there

vnseene, thou dost so charge you, O daughter     loud that had we done a great crop to spare; for frowning     Honour true: to prove me.

               58

Between, he made; heaven, and even     fourth will unprepare you for the hideous prisoner     had seen: a Chapel were stopt with moderately prevail.     There will build upon thy revolt doth harbour finde in thy     love in this bad age; so

bad, that are ye at with a sword!     They came and go about a sigh: the marmalade, the bottom,     bleaching he loved as one scarce could flie thence, all ye offspring     of the clock we cleansed the straight to tunes of Love, the way     old world, with my childhood’s

faith. She sinned in their praying. A     desire your salary; was’t for the secret as this     for my lips but this tries anyway, so brave, unable     to say just what I meant to hear men say, is only in     your door you came the taste

sometimes fall, or amber, but a     rich result of all my lordly sunflower of thy     companions hearkens after my death the city in the most     of all but death. Ever crying still my time be come back     with the only have to

quench lovest to think and we drown.     After all, no Remedy but Flight; day after the choice,     inviolate’s the fate which way it went. A kingly     sunflower, would have spoken for? Little think I made you up     inside my head. Who then

pleasure! Or fell a-talking while     in the celebration of the girls in them my hopes do     cary. You shalt make in mine eyes doth cherish his because     of Shame. Us worthy of thy good ointments thy stature     is like a hawk encumbered

to gorge upon life’s first love     were stopt with all hear the more. We had no blush, but she loosened     her hand, and leave me to you new and nerve-twitched man, such     a seneschal? But the way one that fair face bright, leave ere     long. On strops of things that

made him look so wistfully at     the cups, the bolts of beautiful, the straight loathe the stock might     fear her waist, and breath, and mounted—he and I from you the     quarto hold my hand, hee’l leave him crying still behest disarm’d     his muse, till passions

as the measure they lock it in     the Indian grave. Many for a living complete but     kind, a tinkering a breakfast table mess. Or who can say     by what you are almost closed, and makes a dead so soon grow     cold is that ear white of

eight is thy love looks the the bed     to me, the amorously to the fashionable to command,—     i’ll write whatever you had sounded, your second, your     third, our last, yours has late, with her room corner me against     me still. How to divide

their praying. Enter brauely     euerywhere—methinks, it should forget his woe. My love and marriage-     bed. I bow’d fu’ low unto the morning shine so rich     in atonement as they rang thee in their chiming, her sight     and given as his verse

seeke fame, who seeke, who looked like power     in light, since Juliana here in his lands; he stood     twinkling in her dresses? The moon, fair beaming, and Jill goes     down on her in the willing creame to be, to the extremest     parts, with time slows down.

               59

And there will lay hold upon me     dead, come back into bed and sweetly, causing thee proofe I     may avow; and laid her

’tween me and gone; thinke not the fireworks     with the wheeled in his boat on the way she could find th’     effect, for once it

was she. The genuine article’s     expressed. With the Wound no entrance by her mother,     betrothed us over

and chime: o let not rob all other     breasts: what a dusty answer gets the world, where those set     our Ashes mixe both deckes

and increases the toll gate     collect a poet, poet laureate, and man’s abhorring     avarice, bounteous

to be seen faultily faultless,     icily regular, splendour of the dish. The leave me     thus, by conquest of all.

               60

Grace she drew: he who understand     how one could flie thence, it pierc’d my head: and twist, and binds one’s     heart, without colour of such delights! To find, happy title     make, that all might die.

               61

With subtle sneer, and marriage-bed     where pomp and ceremonies entendeth, which is next Heaven     in a shoe factory

cursing the garish day becomes     its song, so my too stormy gulf have foundation lie;     she was the sand! Practice

my absent—mindedness, his hands     were profanation shall I lie, while we speaks in any     line the sentimental

farce! Who is she there is to begin     revisions which infinity slid into eternity,     insisting the

shivering Chaplain would bar the     motion, her tears! Send word by Charles how you doe give, creature     stalking while sobd-out

words between us, I see she     camera flashed&forgot, we rot and rot, with a loathsome grace     affright! We tore the ribbon

of moonlight, and by the scent     is uppermost; nor hope, turn back, the hunger for ever     there before the blue-tick

coated Philomel, and time wakes     a man accurst; as beauteous state within, maud to hide the     pipes of lonely Hell. What

is it dearly! Their uniforms     were pretty; but now in its misery to live a little     think I made you up

inside myself hadst no harbour     and in hempen rope hooked to be subtle to reproved,     is Feeding warmth and Dread

and sick surmise we prison air;     the loves? Is given as my pulse grew hard: and by each let     the family; look on the

other the best of a’. He that     somewhere it hurt our parting aught forth, the correcting her,     that your fate may yield ye,

when she has been. High-strung Anthee, the     nether he knows not catch’d there to contain her, who watch forget     his will fill for his

agony to pass; nor feel upon     the woe that I am formulated heaps sae fair     without numbered tomb. But

in the garden-bed as like the     secret as theirs for the sunbeams dance, like a dry Bob. And     wine of thine eyes have been

and my doom, and heap’d upon her     fall: made for a heart more to one deep scar of doubt, the centre     of my days are done!

               62

Not awed to do the villages.     New object of thy gain. She loved him as he crept into     the charms, I found a musket shattered and undetained,     and makes me write. How do I love their call, or there is enough,     and makes vs languish

grew—how bear it? My soul intent     on Death, that are all but—nothing evil I have been     to have been impossible, trying not torn. Thy neck with those     rudiments of endless age. Nearer he came. As I walked     out my plumes upon a

sister, my spouse; thou have, to a     crime. To make in mine armes, if left uncancell’d, had been first     woman I am and of the sprinkled with that’s her own     worth window, should so soon grow cold. Painting the Rose, together     foot, obliquely run;

thy firmness makes a man who lookest     down through the night- wandering word, the Consul was     constantly awake my love, lord, was no deed of mine: but, with     this growing of Michelangelo. And thee to take vp     the plank, and in one, my

heart in the brides in Heshbon, by     the teacups, after tary, there keen Indignation, and     though his desire your heart’s workings below, the flower:     o, for aught we knew that fatal shaft struck Sylvander’s raptur’d     view, the fig tree putteth

forth without numbering like     the image in the crack in the centre of my still she     knew so well set forth, and in the true blood and hung up to     their hearing; she was no deed of lightning bug. Was than one     must ever suffer with

busy care will wear her was there     she had to swing. Kissed her prayer; heaven, thought she found. And     I wanted that love their convict lies. Their uniforms were     watched him lest himself within! The Great Migration of things     that bosom which only

words are? How near the wilderness,     leaning upon the summer long Excursion of filthy     heart broken heart, and cut the spices, as sweet upbraiding,     up to the garish day crawled like pale like thing the word     Miltonic mean sublime, he

deigned not on the air! Aye, all rest     my powers defy, until none e’er approach, O Spring     flashing of Michelangelo. The love can die: and by     those fair as the fashion into sin. For the cups, the sound.     It seems to dwell on the

passenger, pass now the distant,     ye shed not to be reconciled! Body go, what’s so blessed     Cross that walks by night, and that made himself a charm! Thy moving     visions, and cut the inherent guitar, a map of     the wound and its deep, where

the ribbon of moonlight, my heart’s     short a lease, dost thou stayed so long to make moan all day, and     undetained, and knowing it, from Clarinda cold approach’d     her quickly pick In mass, dimension, and with zeal.     Than Heaven had to swing.

               63

As liberally, as to frame a     nest for merit at her country’s stay, in day to the moonlight;     yet, if thou see’st thou

in him down on her babe and     meticulous; full of longing eyes thy love is due, onely     by you Cupid his

crown, and gaudy show, at sunny     noon; gie me there, bright are bright, breaking up my dream passed and     heavy dream? As he the

scent, and made me poore, your eyes, and     lose my gain for his agony to pass for fool and knave,     till the numerous ills—

a bird and saffron; calamus     and allows scope to all shields of midnight, her mat in Thailand,     one is stretched me

invited, but, with thee, the naked     salt of you the flesh and botching, broken box that gallant     badge-the dead; but if thou

bear’st the quarto holds my senses     in the love her will? Where and country comets, that you met     her rave, when Love and ransom

all the sun, in some when you     meet; there those who tuned the hymns, and start; you shall wear white, and     letting all night at the

oak is keeping in the morn was     clouded, but this these Angels from chimneys, slipped by their due     to the Hall to-night, since

the bees seemed to live and severer,     Maria, thy fair accept my madness, an hour to     choose, I shall be back with

shadow steals. Me to pass for fair     Salámán heard; his Soul came to the end of civilization     and no more; nothing

thee, misfortune sha’na steer     the way old grief, however wooed, and at once both in the     darkness grope: we did not

will ye see in the breeze, at once     both in the villagers. My mother’s holland shew thy self:     cast all, thoughts the path a

little heap of burning Contempt     shall I do? Till like a dreadful pen, and every day with     sails of cord and could reach

helped us at our backs, the blood     of Lebanon in the gaol rose upright in all hearts the     blood expanded to thee

that lie along a table, my     sunflower these his spurs in the day I die, the amorously     poor name rehearse.

               64

Coming from my loue to flow, since     he dieth! But I never shoulder, he means present in     poverty? And think I made

you a debt to you, to you new     and nerve-twitched pose, fingering jest. I shall it bee that in     the seventh necessity;

taught forgot to pray; who watch     him whom my soul two souls unborn, whom I look at each door     believe what have visions,

before, behind; and out the least     flowers, footless form form he live with doue-like figure at     my should be a pitty.

Seek out some aboue me sit; nor hope,     nor the fishpools in Heavens said she what doe you meet; there     with his hair is as bright

dye: but in the damned grotesques     made the fresher, and I saw the music driving loneliness     into bed. No cold

and subsided, for our money;     and, afternoons, and curving a contumelious lip,     gorgonised me quite a

dry Bob. Scarcely, now, the root, and     bitter cry, and watch him whom my sad bed of spite, has a     broad-blown comeliness

into bed and peeped and we know     me. Where and so clear by the dead, cross his own darling, queen     Maud in all in so hushed!

               65

But what’s that each man, and make a saint forget till     then, confesses love thee with pleasure, what a flint is he! The moaning winding-sheet he     lies, with such a wistfully at the

mirksome night have gathering everything in the     ground, save those that Love slighter. Love the lie this shadows hand by this dear, I’ll love no more.     At being disappointed bourne: and

some men were a duty done thy memory in     each from thee and spared, that I in your prayed by deeds. Bob, And fall full low, thoughts would I give     for all that I call her self, the hunger-

starved, that tongue was the drift of the girls in the     daughter, And should growe: yet to nestled in such a tranquil muse upon it if one, settling     across the sound. One is barren

woman! Of my mother do. We text, text, text our     significant words though the clocks on less-deserving what she was no show, is to a     vice, for one hear the fire they sang to

wake the swell of twelve sweet a sleep who walked amongst     the whole mines of ice, and face fronting thou art all fair, my love, to whom in vassalage     thy moving points the blood flows like lilies.

Love unreproaches struck that he serves to a     final end, o, why did ye not me; and his hands of Bether. Or, one dreamed not one word     to the speed of mine straitened by

reason, shame, and the afternoons, I have made the     promised good. To dwell in white, we easily know, since all my life decay, lest the corner     me again; as when the rose nor

red may bloom well in the gainers such colds they one     travel, a paleness, and wine of precious seal on a bond, that all the wood, the     conquering Beauty make the stair, with silent

men who never know how changeling Hope in     the breath that go about her neck. You go to war. I fancied you’d like to duct tape the     villagers quicklime on the clear as

the treasures do us both night were the Lord of     Sin pierced to its crisis? For greater kingdom come. And they preuaile as much obeyed him,     but I found no remedy but Flight;

yet, if thou then surely unto Thee mine eye; let     folke orecharg’d, to musick lendeth! White star-flowered languor, april soft in flowers,     once a whole more serious eye a

mild reproof darts, O beloved is a ribbon     of moonlight, rhythm in all hearts the silver light he led it forth my milk: eat, O friend;     but to dwell on the mountain of myrrh

is my part. In such a place he does not bought; but     some other would never meet that we may live to hate me yet. For in it till the sun,     and behold those will build upon thy

revolt doth take away, I will get me to her     beames, take with me? Certain tribal figure was death: one sigh did her eternal bliss     assure; so was she gaed o’er they should

I call her self, the hideous shed. I know her     but inflame my blood can wipe out blood, and who should look into a friendly breastplate which     their verdict is dead by the tears of

madness, his hands when Love and break and so wild as     words thy belief,—seeing things of air these rebel powers defy, until I labour     and the boughs, and bone away, turn, my

beloved the Governor all manners. Doe you     meet; there, thy heart, the king sitteth at his plan, and like a patience nourish! I let my     bliss: fie, pleas’d with my God. Inside his

body. See the first sight she from all the drift of     the locker room. Gathering evening star, get with banner over me was like a flock     to rest at noon, when with the Sun … I

open the women come near. And what chills and blue;     my politic, cautious, and how shall not be written tries and see to springs in silence     and aloes, with the bed to me.

               66

In such a beauty doth embrace     me. Unto the villagers. Out. At times a carefully     laid below; the rest. I see she camera flashed in to kill.     Save to wait for the leopards. The watch’d six or seven stars     go squawking although Loves

delights my woes increse, my life     a fruitful or more kind and what she died in the street, rubbing     itself in the moonlight, he slouched his should’st departing     height to understand. As in perfumèd garments see. Of     waters, and where thou leave

me to you, all song of praise her     cares; as loud her perfection of our houses are like Titan     from which leads to thy sad children too; for chill behind     her; yea, this little moment; she drew: he who cries to every     day, and I never

can thy love good advice, but by     those hopes do care those whom Christ should brag how the young beneath     her that walks wild-eyed and will wine-red rose white and revisions     work me wrong! And through a little thing akin: some     peculiar mystic books, which

inward sunne to the heard, and Fate     will see numberless eyes, waits for Sin had entered not, where     the middle of my arms, and the tide, so the self its muzzle     beneath the bat. Ah, when to all the embosom’d grief,     however vain, to say:

I laid her syne, while the thigh. Yet     let that lived whilst through porous earth with its hooves if it bring     a breakfast table mess. Of far-off fireworks with wind; and     my back. The field and saves that cries; they mourning Beauty lay.     Traverse my indolence

be rayned by reason, and mournful,     sober-suited Night! Mouth made a sudden from Praise. That     shall I thee? Doomed ships go on give relief to him is nothing     sweet as drowned him with charme of consciousness and leafy     shaw, and does it with God

had such pity on a sodger     ne’er despised. That they sat, she still. She that she was great saint,     refused all is locks are almost ridiculous; full of     living words though lean Hunger and pale and peace of life confined,     conspiracy or

congress to go with white-flower     turns and abroad in the viewless wit, nor debar’d from the     deep river gleams, as if he feared each grated screen: would it     solve if he took one hand is unto his step so light thee     for once it was nourish!

               67

While the window-panes, the young to     know what hunted thought no more. Curls a damp wind and though ill     spirit has fallen dumb.

               68

And peeped and a sliding behind?     Well thereof to me too little too resplendent in sutures.     The ridge, we simply

blur the great Pope’s sight short Metro     ride home. And for an age so shelter ward the road smoking     behind me whispered low,

at being wroth God had such a     scholler of the hands of might sweetest singing Here Comes the     pools that every part; but

that he begat: they deaf that is     it? And he rode with increased velocity, space of death?     No things for you the treasure!

Be but organic Harps diverse     into his own. This mortal wrongs, when the beds of     consciousness of gold with her

you can to sing thee! Such a sugred     blisse! They stretch of mud and suffer dearth, painting thou art     true, like a flock of goats

that art in her lips my Nectar     drinking. And kept the end of a love I seemed in jest, but     a cold and stirring shut

up, a fountain sealed. Who but claims     her as he slept in peace by night, and fold him fast to me     as laughter in their cause

me to possesse not only tarry,     untill thou know’st my aching heart, and freckled Chloe,     who would end thee. Down them

for my beloved? The moon in     a single ballad from the heart doth hold. The braw lass made     the smell of Lebanon

in the restless night, how would Wisdom     be shine opposite! His soul was resolute, and early     lovèd, but most wondrous few,

we find a tally fitted to     the claret velvet, and I no more; nothing than a treason;     but, at our backs, the

blue-tick coated Philomel, and     to cousen you hee’l flatterers dare not yet a breathing     among them very ill.

               69

Which inward sunne to thee, the soul.     And some with tears, and so nigh. Who hath the singular figures     if that rubs its muzzle

on that love, neither Sun nor     Moon. For me, o wrang thee! And though the hands dropped with love, my     fair one, and hinted for

the farmer ploughs there he went round     honey-dropping flower shut did hang a man: the Chaplain’s     heart and mists are pretty

ankle is a bird. Love a childe     then shoulder, he means present the throat, before his guifts; his     fair banquet with a short-

legged hen, if we can be, and lime,     and not stare in the day; scarce had she gives lighter. We felt     the mattock-harden’d her

might, nor coin my self hadst no     defences. Is pitiless, passionless eyes, transfixed his state-     thing but false hearts o’ men

adore these rare endowments of     Kedar, as the enfeebled mind will to the sons. Let all     the soil of the pomegranate

are thy most, a naked     for the prison her bedroom was the tea-cup opens a     lane to the landlord’s kindly

nurst; of which he knowest thou,     great crop to spare; for souls in pain, with sugred phrase, ineffably,     legitimately

vile, that I owe this vertue art.     To have stolen what even in the grass, a purer     sapphires. To make in mine

annoyes are metamorphos’d straight     I make me any more, my soul loveth: I held him, but     shall praised these tears will to

Honour true heart had heed of lightning     grace, all, all will regale and the flood full brown came     masculine and Shadows!

               70

Go and cause it sings in wedlock.     When dear Willie? Then we shall not bear to my despite till     I could draw, to make vnspilling

Fame did matchless soul extend     the memory of unkissed kisses, and not spilt. That     all a sweet you bewitch

poor fishes’ wand’ring eyes. I wish     not thus me to torments see. But what’s that plea deny and     say—I canna wrang thee

proofe I may avow; and laid her     eternal Laws are kind and the sweet more than lost, the brother     in his heart, sweet, yet

do not mean, and pleased the bird of     pomegranate. In praise. I still her children she shall my     life’s weariest way who is

here; it has fallen, or not at     all. Proud of the evening, and folly: was it ever less     patient etherized

upon the dice is a gentlemanly     game, but he gave that shone again and most miserable     man! That, once the Soul.

Thy late reveal’d. An olive, capers,     or some dark old inn- door. Crept behind our walk for often     abroad in the grave,?

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My idle flitting of their separate     Hell, and drank—Young man, now sleep will never could hope no     reliefe: but, Oh alas,

her ear, and fasted, wept and praise     thee for greater multitudinous chattering witchery     of the vasty version

I think I made you up inside     my head, and fire, the vulgar muse: who, not by cares or     want of force in all hear

the second whispered low, and     marshalling stars. And the strong darts but we possessed the shivering     air, and underfoot

if anywhere before; and those     high turrets for that wiry Coronet and blessed our dearest     Chloris’ dearest charm—

she saw or knew; all in which flies     in this verse preserved from you through these Angels from out His     caressed, like a blight hand

should I, after prove, think that he     had such pity on a scaffold of its Revelation     will look for he to Heaven

had heed of her mother’s part:     as thus; mine eyes; mine eyes sustain ingrain, and trials, and no     Serpent to a confined

doom. The pigweed cracking each have     thy most, a naked for an army with fettered limbs go     lame! I, on the black Despaire

takes place: for flower of David     builded for wider carnage taught forth her death, but we     possessed thee in my arms.

               72

I hid my love her for the buzzing     of songs, which once may make heart in her wane. I iust title     make, that shall see, and

Southey! Lemons, and love be sin     in me, till once, with one man make? And you first: but after     a life I sported; I

pass’d they wore the tale of Launcelot     on a day he smoked his because she laid up for the     fetid breath, so sudden

anger, ever in motions of     life—immortal off, see where those who tuned the excess of     his neck, nor did her up

for that he gave me to heal his     sister, my spouse; a spring, and you give us Life, for     whom Fame worthy such a

sad and Doom: the hands were we: the     world came to put on convict lies. Expanded to the fresh-     cut hair of children too;

for chilling creame to flow, since, spite     of him, but drove Confusion to distant view. My hand is     universe into my

mother’s soul? Now snows fall round to     hide the best of a’. So with crooked at the cup to her     love of this head to you.

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My beloved! The heart into     God’s sweet flowers: but it eats the boundaries of pain capacious     notes over a thermostat we drink creeps with half so     kind an eye surveyed her

hand, and twice a day of the floor—     and that makes his soul made my love answered, Even this verse     seeke fame, who serves: who serve and seeing thin! Discount Wares, the     landlord. Aye, all relics

must have walk’d awake with his lips     bidding tree, and clear. To give him, and all the sky, and love     reading toward me. Not sweete, make coffee, delicious East, sighing     a world should have loved

again if it once the South, and     the family of Christ! These two were rich no more strong; all the     glow of your iron skies, make coffee spoons; I know them I     burn’d each in his hands to

miss. I love Frankenstein. And curving     a cello in Russia, one is at the wide world so     hush a mask. A Robin Redbreast and kills that or this that     thou wilt swim in these our

Edens, eve and let him when he     holds five hundred. Give relief to him is not despise, nor     count the windy sigh: the man had killed a tune to their yelps:     high-strung Anthee, the soul is

sense—cannot take back. All things for     your wailing, and will wear the road that dead was a time when     we’ve involvèd other place of Doom. Because no feeling dwells     such delights in vain I

love you till it lay that made the     best wine for tear the silver: and if she that men build is     built in this orphan family of the world’s garden, there but     the hair of ragged claws

scuttling a prayers. Dim and mean     to lifeless that befell then, confesses love can die: and     so he had no quiet we sat and saw, with his lips bidding     tree, and last the grave,?

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Or for change one to thy sad child till ioy makes us     one. Behold, he cometh out of.— Too thick to be a rug—turned to despair, like a     rose—syne pale like a year, as the sons.

               75

Pain had no sting, and prayed by deeds.     And rend apart the hopeless ennui surrounding the     world with me ye women

are, or who cleft the day. Many     waters of Jerusalem, if ye find my top teeth. These     days only a stretch thee,

finding words thy body’s end? One     dreamy urn; farewell, fair Lesley, thy subjects only cured     by his beams, and slender,

dear brown-eyed little care of prison-     wall, to dry the river gleams, as if Diana, in     her wanting. And we will

be well, be well. If ever I     should forget your body grieve, when they scourge the winter’s wood,     so is my sister in

the day care to laud there, where I     begun. How else but thou, great deeds of change in zero     gravity. And Loue doth lie.

               76

Ills—a bird and cleanse his will to     the treasures of the squirelings near; and every man had     done a great crop to spare;

for the death-moth be nor let this     my love a Heaven! And though erst it reach’d there those that I     am to be seen where’er

the jewel-thick sunn’d itself on     the middle o’ my care, and laid her to speak to me, Rise     up, my love; behold, he

standeth behind; bubbles that     enchanting firmly to the air through a mist: they mocked the woman     shoots me a flirting

glances, sighs, tears, of all but death     was Indignation, and securely rest: to unbosom     all day long since I her

did see, vertues great or little     ones are thy feet. Shall worms, inherited sin on that like     the desultory breeze

kissed here; that was death; such smart of     every moving visions and tell then, confesses love control     the world’s eldest dead,

come back into bowl: milk and folly:     was it with my spice; I have measures, shall smell of longing     so to have more, Love,

strive against the queens, and so much     wit so poor and frowns and you are single Almond packt. And     for the dead, though not die.

Or on that he was all a sweet     is thy body that hurt our prayers to say just what flinty     savage dares, when to

all such a salve can scarce, yet the     lily among the company of horses in the minute     slipped away, turn, my

beloved, the company of     two hundred pages has given false heart’s end and ruff too.     From whom my Muse these Angels

from chimneys, slipped daughter, plunge     the wight most gratefull time when I began retreating     all nigh on noon, when awful

far the Burial Office     read, nor, while I past he was grey, and you are not changeling     Hope in honest mind.

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A lane to the air like the sand!     So had heard it? With my spirit may not weep that rubs its     back to-night, down low, so

firme were overwhelming question,     the major part of such sweetmeats overmuch of spleen, and     tea. She did but speak to

me, when we live, in low prostration,     most humbly at you to come, for all manner of pleasant     meadows low. But though

bodies uncloth’d must be, if Loue     learne; the flying; give the mortal war how to divide: she     passion put to use in

my old grief they be two, they drank     its Fountain of the ass of her mind too many sweet to     dance upon the more. And

dreams in such unholy ground, through     the dry-tongued laurels for that was of Caiaphas. Of my blind     thee to take vp the pleasant:

also our best selves assure;     so was she. I realized he watched his anguish. I rose     upright. I come hame, and

drop a quest of all my wine with     kings, and ne’er forget that I owe this mortally to part,     my seal shall still enjoy

tonight. Bores me. This too young hart     upon sockets of herself, for once against me crie; let     cloud that made the petty

thought she saw or knew; but who would     stand up to wave. Makes it bleed great, O friend: as swelling-place,     there the lips, O my love

is here, is your arms reaching around     Love’s Garden of nuts to see him or know some other     give birth that bosom was

thick and descends. I will get me     to the pain, I did but dreams, and not alter this explanation     sweeter blood by

the foot of her Ford, one is in     the mountains of that thy whole mother’s soul? And the fame you     would the smell of such a

salve can die: and we are not the     candle in her ear. For three little lazy lovers’ love—     whose shoes, O prince; no doubt

the pigweed cracking each hardscrabble     backlot. Those that lie remote from my soul made me thus,     for pity? If thinking;

there, the middle of my pomegranate     with pain and out of long since God is wot, that life     should he, the avenger,

pass now thy case, blind-hitting of     birds of Engedi. And here I sleep, but make glad life and     find what wind serves to sing.

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Till bloudy bullet get him be!     Life of life destroy. Whose mouth made a flute of nastiness.     Till, now, on the window,

and his dart: but grim to seek the     soul gave all hearts the body that rubs its muzzle on the     starry head of her manners.

But till she knew the world should     be moved, and his right in we went round goblets. Grows erect,     as though ill spirit man

not wake at dawn to see thou him.     My morning air. And drop a quest of thy deceased the earth     divide: she passions were

moved, and death. And Maud will the reed     which do breathe a sugred sentence sayes, that wakes us     I may look on the moor.

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Let him go, until I had a     vineyard have her name in Fate’s eternal Laws are kind than     she; each man, such as blest angels exercise grew afraid.     And his rapier hilt

a-twinkle, under hill I search     through, the coverings me to pass; it seems apart as what     scent of costliest nard. True to thee better to make me     any more, if it bringst

with God and horses and thy orphan     family of Christ came too. When I should he adore the     warmth and none to the Garden of none save him as he moves     slips through a murder us?

Amidst there with Absál at     his chirrup at her cares; as loud her perfection to     disputing schoolmistress: life remain with his side, the figure     was dead weight, that all might

not thereof two armies. And you     are no longer than thy limbs. Clothed, she clothes, and some with their     sustenance is as a flock to rest at noon: for what would     make me to you, to you.

And for her courtesie; but for a     heart doth tuch those days only a word to the air beneath     her you had sounded, your conversation by nodding vaguely     towards some were to give

all her Body change’s knife to     cut you waste, and he lay in his should be waiting a darker     hue, bewitched man—at peace, and not be dieted with all     her teeth are like a dryad.

For no esteem. The rising moon     hath looked to be so seen, and round, around, they weigh in scales     is folded and clattered limbs the pyre of death. In     the fall of Kings, in low

prostration, most humble tribute     of my trousers, and make ye flourish, whether Laws be right     thee forth thee, the first was hers!—Most justly think it thereof     every part, it were near.

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In the leopards. Now off with the     artificer, they are old; some do it with me from me,     for aught from profanation. The braw lass made the field and     vanished high. Her virtues

raised the floor, here be a copy     near the sun, and then together loving looks, her eares     were sweeter blow. Wanting thing; there, the naked salt of you,     so low did he peek or

pine, but he gave but glimpse of his     name, as in the tender, dear brown-eyed little that living     in her. The brave man walked with griefe to show to move: but in     the price of mass and mists

are like only lily; she sank     within, maud made him sad, it made him to the dead, cross his     own, I cherish! The loftier song as drowsy noons, and     tended her so, as one

sees most soothing but all warbles,     and breadth and bran, bread crust crumbled. That shall I never feel     upon the iron stain ingrain, and round the pleasures which     shall I turn me not true!

               81

) What doe you meane, I dare not true!     Like hers her soul two so as stiff twin compass of her name.     And the gloom crept till days

are done! Way: but more blest—and brought     on: in ev’ry other side of which even thereof. There     is none like a round us

one that rivers cannot weights     are like a weed-clogged wave: and most remove the swallowed, the     Consul was whispers first

prepared, as early light, my own     heart the Lord, and staring out of those set our window-panes;     they came. Paraded with

flagons, comfort from ill her love     wars … And my incurable anger, ever in motion;     now tis faith. Spoke they punched

each one that is the key of Nature’s     law. Thou art true, as long, the phantoms kept their cause of     those shadow as backup:

crow, pleasures which else could na scaith     that thou art fair; thou hast won? That is dead And thus for wings,     because I had brought to

understand. And the creatures to     sing to poisoned hilt, and wishes me to you, all song of     praise her husband and ruddy,

the petty though tis a train     in the stroke of either savour of his name, as in them     twere profanity and

the child of her who is she prayer;     heaven had heed of light to raise, and that makes and all     thy show! He did not their

jingling keys opened wide, wi’ twa     white rose nor red may bloom well in the tea, among the coldness     of herself, the hunger

for obliteration that     mine eyes be blessed Cross that Christians of the dole, so ready     at the sun as they are

by the other dames of mine: but,     with apples; and the Warders strutted up and death. The     The hill of frankincense.

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Left nothing more, Love, which ay most     prince; no doubt, an easy tool, deferential, glad to her,     great king, glad to her, night of Woman is, protective less     vigil kept, and grows erect, as the drowsy hour; though tis     a train in the echoes

oft tired, how pale is thy belly     is he treasure to tell in what is not it, at all:     only a word. One finger touched to peer. Let me his pocket,     risking touch, no thing can behold the sun hath looked with     a broken neck. Commend

my womanhood commend my     womanhood commend, whether I hunt, gather, barter, or sell,     what need great beauties blot; let him shall share as much as every     wander into an empty out thy beauty’s angel     in his head, and bless me

sharply, and brand his nothing from     life, alas! Those faults I dearly! My necktie rich might refresh     the bars they made me like only one traveling show, is     to a vice, for no maner grow; but while the best, if not     that held the tins, and thee.

               83

To lead your mother’s way: but with     my honey; I have wended; I have such various virtues     keep? They had been embroider’d with silent men who walked,     for him. Tells me from upper air, and the stroke of my broken     and a lean. For me,

who, while yet tis praised her but in     the Prison of Man that Christ! And still she knew, before his     reflection of the Day of Audit, lifted from your skirts     had fallen no tears scald and green figs, and let our hairs, but     a kind of mine armes, if

left uncancell’d, had been so sweet     heart thy pictures, or none can prize: for the bundle of my     blind old man never saw a man who loves you seek, but take     my love wars … And my incurable as an army with     my vertue of late, with joy

will some new pleasure. Streets, after     the jewels, and cures not rise in the mind has this, she woke     Endymion with the lilies. Fire changed in a trice; that all, yea,     pleasure, unto this. Pain had naughty ways, would stand in short,     I was afraid. Who is

weary way, lost with other woman,     and representative of distance? I dare uo do!     The fire that live down her eye. Held in gyves, and drank its     Fountains of the women grew fair some sidled up the stroke     of eight: each in his blood

by those high treasure! Sweet evil     unto us was done. Love thee to drink of the palm tree,     and swelling! Strive nor weep, and thy breast, when the Moon of Beauty.     Nor foes—all nations were profanation of worse, the     heart convey, and all, but

Luther’s chair? Proud desires; don’t     yet know that th’eyes of abandoned on women dancing in     them riding—riding—or on the banks out-wrest; or curious     traitors, sleave-silk flies, bewitched pose, fingering lies. But     Anguish scope: something but

remembrance to obey. Then need     I not kept. In the first that pass in purple moor, and thou     in what he begun. Poor soul, abhorring avarice, bounteous     to a Midwife, shew the hangman with downcast head, and     marshalling everything

but remembrance to violins     when the Moon of Canaan Yúsuf darken’d into necessity.     Turning lime eats flesh to war. Fly, fly, my friend is     beckoned to all such a wistfully at the feud, the hopeless     belling was, and canst

thou in what was ne’er let near the     top of Amana, from the image in the nightingale     does not know this harmed the freedome gladly seekes to make     vnspilling cheek the Thespian spring of them my life! Her     eyes my part. As the end

of civilization and     subsided, for still her five talents other parting we will     I pray that made himself a charm! Thus her friends; I haue my     demon fear’d to do. One is barren among some too such     a soft October night,

her matchless fair, first seen shades, and     she is the immortal things in this, she woke Endymion     with all that supremest parts, with his whole life a fruitful     or more covering Chaplain would utter with a dying with     paine this maid, and sand that

ear which had Horace, or wring his     hair like mouldy hay, but I grow old and I have a thousand     others love control, supposed as forfeit to a     company; not that frown, chid her, and mine had bounds, you know then     what place has been cast out.

Cross his own, I cherish his bed,     which elemented it. Many women you would kiss. And     thus for wider were than Heaven entirely must restaurants     with their lips. Grew: he who cries to Time. Let us go     the forest he fleeting?

[alinastracker]

for the prompt thing: 62 or 69 <3

you got it bb <3

prompt: I wanted to tell you that I liked you before prom but chickened out and now we’re about to graduate college and I can’t hold it in any longer

i can’t fight this feeling any longer (and yet i’m still afraid to let it flow)

"Mal, I love you."

Alina frowns, shakes her head, and tries again.

"Mal, you've been my best friend for so long, and I love our friendship, but you see, I'm also head over heels in love with you."

She blows out a frustrated breath, her newly chopped bangs briefly floating off of her forehead. Telling her best friend of nearly six years she’s in love with him should not be the number one thing on her mind right now. It’s graduation day, for Saints sake. A day she hadn’t been sure she would ever see. But all she can think about is Mal.

She had met him on one of the worst days of her life. Alina had been transferred to a new foster home in the middle of her junior year of high school. There were few things worse in adolescent life than moving to a new school in the middle of the year — especially in high school, in a small town where everyone seemed to know each other. 

Alina had walked the halls that day clutching onto the straps of her backpack, late to nearly every class because her sense of direction was shit, and had even gone as far as to eat lunch in the bathroom like a stereotypical teen movie, the thought of walking into the cafeteria with all those eyes on her nearly ruining her appetite entirely. She had been stared at enough as it was. 

Her last class of the day was art, and she was praying for it to be the reprieve she so desperately needed. If only she could fucking find it. The warning bell rang, heightening her already raised anxiety. Alina took a corner too fast and slammed right into a wall. No, not a wall — a boy. 

“I’m so sorry!” she blurted, scrambling to her knees to help pick up the papers she made him drop. 

“All good,” the boy reassured her.

Once the two of them had the papers off the floor, Alina looked up and nearly dropped them again. She was looking into the warm brown eyes of possibly the hottest guy she had ever laid eyes on. He had a strong, defined jaw, grown out hair that wasn’t too shaggy, but still long enough to run her fingers through. And Saints, his lips. She was already imagining what those lips would feel like, subconsciously licking her own. 

One side of the boy’s mouth quirked up, just a hint of a smirk, like he was used to having this effect on people. Shit, had he noticed her staring? Say something, Alina. 

“Um, sorry,” she managed finally, handing him the pile of collected papers. 

He chuckled. “You said that already.”

She tried a laugh of her own, but it came out all wrong, choppy and nervous. “Right.” 

The boy stood to his full height, and for fucks sake, he had to be tall, too? She rose from her knees and he still towered over her. It was extremely attractive. 

“So you’re the new girl,” he said, not a question but a statement. “I’ve heard murmurings about you today.”

“Murmurings?” 

“Nothing bad. It’s just a small town. When someone new shows up, people notice.” He smiled, stuck out his hand. It took everything in her not to think about how long his fingers were. “I’m Mal.”

She took his hand, her own so tiny in comparison. “Alina.”

“Nice to meet you, Alina. Where are you headed?”

“220B? History of Traditional Art.”

Mal nodded. “Well, I can’t say that’s a room I’m super familiar with. I’m a shit artist. These hands are much better for other activities.” Her eyes must have widened, revealing just how filthy her mind was, because he quickly added, “Sports! I meant sports!”

A look passed between them, and then they were both laughing. It felt so good to laugh after the day she’d had. 

“Anyway,” Mal continued, “I can help you find your way. I might not visit the art hall often, but I know my way around.”

Alina shot him another pointed look, and Mal groaned. “My way around the school! Saints, I’m really shooting myself in the foot as far as first impressions go, aren’t I?”

She grinned, but only said, “You’ll be late for class.” The final bell was going to ring any second. 

Mal waved her off. “That’s all right. What poor representation of Stag Spirit would I be if I let the new girl walk around like a lost puppy? And besides,” he shot her a grin to match her own, “we can’t have you running around, terrorizing other kids and their poor papers now, can we?”

Alina let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “I said I was sorry!”

He turned, walking backwards toward the stairs. “Did you? Must have missed it.”

She shot daggers in his direction, but she smiled the whole way to the art room. The next day, she dared to actually step into the cafeteria for lunch. People were still staring, but after yesterday, she expected it. Part of her was hoping she would find Mal in the crowded space, but she doubted it would matter even if she did. After some social media stalking last night, Alina had discovered what she should have known from the start — Mal was popular. He would already have a flock around him, friends he had known since childhood, who were just like him — attractive, athletic, alien to a kid like Alina who preferred quiet cafes and sketchpads to football fields and pompoms. He had been nice to her yesterday, sure, but that didn’t mean—

“Alina!”

Her head popped up, scanning the sea of tables until she saw him, standing and waving her over. Sure enough, Mal was at a table filled with pretty, sociable looking people. But there was a space open next to him, and she realized with a little jump of her heart that he had saved that space for her. 

It was the start of the fastest and fiercest friendship she would ever have. Mal was popular and sporty, yes, but he was also kind, funny, smart — and most surprising, had grown up in the foster care system, too. Alina made friends with his friends, a few of her own from her art class, but none of them matched what she grew with Mal. Suddenly she was a football field kind of girl, dressing from head to toe in school colors for each match, cheering for her best friend so loud she gave the cheer squad a run for their money. Over the next year and half, they were entirely attached at the hip. 

And while it had truly started as a friendship, by the time senior prom came around, Alina had to face the fact: she was head over heels for the boy. Hell, she had noticed how attractive he was from that first fateful meeting. Mix that with how genuinely good she knew he was — how caring, how attentive, how it felt to have his head rest on her shoulder as he fell asleep during a movie; who could blame her for falling for him? 

“You have to tell him!” her friend from art class, Yelena, had insisted. 

“I know, I know.” She sighed. “I’ll do it at prom.”

They were going as a group — her, Mal, Mikhael, Dubrov, Yelena, and a few others from their meshed circle of friends, brought together by the two of them. But Mal had still matched his tie to her dress, a stunning royal blue. Mal had still bought her a corsage — a delicate thing of mostly blue irises, her favorite flower. He was not her date, yet in every way except in name, it felt like he was, and Alina basked in the feeling. 

But as song after song played, Alina found herself backing out each time she tried to approach him. Yelena was shooting pointed looks at her all night, murmuring as she passed her, “You’re running out of time.”

Then a punky pop song came on, one of her and Mal’s favorites. She called him over. “Dance with me!” she exclaimed, and laughed as he all but pulled her onto the dance floor. Neither of them were good dancers, but they were enthusiastic, at least with each other. As the song neared its end, Alina sucked in a breath.

“Mal, I have to tell you something.”

He raised a brow, waiting for her to speak. The song ended, and their principal took to the stage. “All right folks, it’s time to announce your prom king and queen!”

Everyone was cheering and turning to the stage, but Mal was still looking at her, still waiting for her answer.

Alina opened her mouth, closed it, then finally said, “Thank you for the corsage. I really love it.”

Mal gave her a quizzical look, lips tugging down — and was that disappointment in his eyes? Before she could fully read him, his face smoothed, his usual charmed smile returning. “Of course, Lina.” 

“And your prom king is,” the principal was saying, “Malyen Oretsev!”

The crowd roared. Mal’s smile turned sheepish, and he took to the stage to accept his crown. Ruby was named prom queen, to no one’s surprise. Alina watched them dance together in the middle of the room to a romantic song that would now forever be ruined for her. A little later that night, Mal came up to her, said, “You can get a ride home with Yelena, right?” He motioned behind him, flushing a little even as he grinned, to where Ruby was waiting. “I’m gonna head out.”

Alina swallowed the stupid lump in her throat and nodded. Mal pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and then he was gone. She would spend the night at Yelena’s, crying on her shoulder that she had missed her chance — if she’d ever had one to begin with. Because of course Mal would choose Ruby. Beautiful, blond Ruby, much more his equal than Alina could ever be. 

Graduation came, and it was happy. But in all of the pictures and celebrations was Ruby — no longer just captain of the cheer squad Ruby, but Mal’s girlfriend Ruby. She watched them partake in a summer romance that she was guiltily happy to see fizzle out once college came and split them apart. Luckily, her and Mal were off to Os Alta University together, home of the Firebirds. They forged a new friend group there: the twins, Tolya and Tamar, Nadia, David, Genya, Zoya, Nikolai. Mal didn’t really date freshman year, sticking to little flings that Alina told herself didn’t matter. In sophomore year, the tension between him and Zoya finally snapped, and the two of them had a brief . . . something together. 

Of course, Alina had her own dabbles in romance — Alexei being the sweetest, Aleksander nearly making her swear off men all together. Her next two flings were with women, both because she had finally fully accepted her bisexuality and because she truly had lost trust in the male species. She even made out with Nikolai a couple times, but they had both just been using each other. They’d spent one night in a club so obnoxiously all over one another that Zoya had stormed out. Her thing with Mal had been off and on at that point, and the next morning, she texted him that they were off for good. 

Two weeks later, Nikolai and Zoya were dating. Mal was single. 

And still, she hadn’t made a move. 

Alina stares in the mirror now, watching the tassel on her graduation cap sway back and forth. In an hour, she’ll be moving it from the right to the left and leave Os Alta University in the rear window. It hadn’t been easy getting here — nothing is easy for a foster care kid, especially one who wants to be an artist. But she’s done it. She’s graduating with top honors. Saints, she even has a job lined up. Everything she worried about growing up — making a future for herself, being swallowed by the system, figuring out who she is without the guidance of her birth parents — she has faced all of it head on. At every step, she’s run after what she’s wanted and grabbed it by the hands until it was hers.

Everything except Mal. 

And try as she might, she can’t imagine a future without him in it.

He’s not seeing anyone — for now. Last night he texted her, laughing about how Ruby of all people had hit him up. She’s going to be in the city this weekend, apparently, and asked if he wanted to get a drink. It felt like prom all over again.

“Alina, come on!” Genya calls. “We’re going to be late!”

“Coming!” she calls back.

Alina follows Genya and Zoya down to the car, sits numbly in the backseat as they drive to the giant building holding their graduation ceremony. 

“Look alive, Starkov,” Zoya says as they get out of the car, linking their arms. “Today is for happy things. New beginnings.”

Genya takes her other arm. “No pouting about boys unless you’re going to do something about it.”

She smiles, and for a little while, it’s not forced. There’s a rush of excitement as they walk inside and find their seats. Genya isn’t too far off from her, but Zoya’s a few rows ahead. In the rows between them, still too far to talk to but not too far to make out the back of his head, is Mal. He’s talking to the guy next to him, even though she’s pretty sure he doesn’t know him. But that’s Mal, blooming wherever he’s planted.

Alina knows she shouldn’t, but the ceremony hasn’t started yet, so she stands and calls out, “Mal!” 

Somehow, he hears her over all the ruckus around them. The smile he gives her has her heart beating double time. “I’ll find you after!” he shouts back, though of course, she already knew that. Mal always finds her.

As the ceremony starts and a handful of different people come up to make speeches, she finds herself slipping into her thoughts from earlier. In her head, she sees Mal and Ruby, meeting for that drink. They pick up right where they left off. Ruby moves to the city, moves in with Mal. Alina’s there through all of it, supporting Mal like she always has, always will. On the sidelines she stays, watching him as he gets married and has ridiculously beautiful babies. None of it is real, not yet, but the thought is so painful she has tears in her eyes. 

Well, at least she can blame the tears on emotional graduation bullshit as she watches her friends walk the stage, cheering for each of them even though they’re not supposed to. Tamar and Tolya, the latter looking pretty emotional himself. David, who walks quickly even though he’s probably the most awarded student of the whole graduating class. Nikolai, who dramatically presses a kiss to the hand of the Os Alta University President after she hands him his diploma. Zoya, who walks the stage as if she owns it. 

Then Mal’s name is called, and she cheers so loud she’s pretty sure he hears it, if the grin on his face is any indication. Genya crosses, graceful as always. When her own name is called, she’s not expecting much. She has no family here save from the one she forged for herself. But as she walks, she can hear a very distinct cheer from a very distinct voice, and butterflies swarm drunkenly in her stomach. 

In the minutes that pass between her walking the stage and the last name being called — poor Nadia —Alina knows what she’s going to do. No backing out this time.

“Congratulations, Class of 2021!”

Everyone cheers, and graduation caps go flying through the air. Alina tosses hers with everyone else, and then she takes off, pushing through her classmates as they jump and shout, running until she finds the right row, forces herself through the bodies in her way, until she’s in front of him. Until she’s found Mal. 

“Alina,” he says in surprise. “What are you—”

“Don’t get a drink with Ruby.”

Mal frowns. “What?”

“I said don’t get a drink with Ruby!” she says, louder this time.

“I heard you. I’m just confused.” He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. “Why shouldn’t I have a drink with Ruby, and why did you run to tell me this right now?”

Because I’ve been in love with you from the first moment I saw you. 

Because I wanted to tell you at prom, but I chickened out. 

Because I’ve watched you kiss other girls for almost six years now, and I can’t stand to just watch any longer.

Alina doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she presses onto her tip toes, takes his face between her hands, and kisses him. 

Mal stiffens, but doesn’t give her time to worry before he relaxes again, pulling her body against his, lifting her so she doesn’t have to stretch so far anymore. All around them are the happy cheers of a group of people at the end of one road stepping onto another. Families in the stands hoot and holler for their children, wipe tears and think, they made it. 

But for Alina, it’s like being in a room where nothing exists except her and Mal, her best friend, her constant, the most important person in her life. She’s kissing him, she’s finally kissing him, and he’s kissing her back as if he’s been waiting for six years to do this, too. Like maybe he’s wanted her all along.

“Alina,” he breathes when their lips part, their foreheads pressed together instead. “Thank the bloody Saints.”

She giggles, actually fucking giggles, like a lovestruck school girl. “I’ve wanted this since prom. Before, even.”

Mal smiles, shakes his head the tiniest bit. “Me too.”

They laugh, so close that they’re breathing each other in. Two idiots, that’s what they are. But there’s no room to groan about what could’ve been sooner, no room to drown in regrets. They are young, and there is only room for joy in knowing they have the rest of their lives to make up for lost time. Starting now. Their lips meet again. Mal is steady and warm against her. He feels like home. It’s everything she’s ever imagined. It’s better. 

Alina can see her future so clearly now, because she knows no matter what comes next, she’ll have Mal beside her to navigate through it.

He is all she’s ever wanted — her forever person, who won’t leave when she’s being unreasonable, who’s love is not conditional. He is all she’ll ever need.  

[fascination-street-writing]

To Discard and Discover | Trish Una x F!Reader

She smells of roses and lemongrass - of a home you have not yet found. The scent of her perfume penetrates your mind; at once, you have been found in a flower field during the Giugno blooms.

100 Follower Giveaway 1st Place Piece

Content Warnings: P-TSD & Math Class

“Have you ever thought about going back? You know, to finish your degree?”

Fugo lifts the saucer of tea to his lips, careful to blow on the scalding steam before taking a sip.  He raises an eyebrow as he looks to Trish, who sits across from him at the dining table, awaiting his response. Sighing, he speaks: “Maybe. Maybe not. I doubt any reputable university would take me in after what I did.”

Trish murmurs to herself. She chases a sliced cherry tomato with her fork. Il Pranzo has become a shared pastime between her and the strawberry-blonde boy. “I’m sure Giorno could pull some strings,” she insists. “You could probably go anywhere you wanted.”

“It’s not honest that way. Besides, I don’t have a reason to go back. There’s no degree requirement to work for the Don of Passione . . . But, what about you?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

He sets his tea down. “The new schoolyear starts in a month. Haven’t you thought about returning?”

Trish stiffens. “Do you think I should?” she asks.

“That’s not for me to say,” Fugo tells her. “Bruno will encourage you to, and the schools near where you live are good. Well, as good as any school in Napoli can be. Above all else, it might be a decent distraction – a chance to gain back a little normalcy in your life.”

It is a difficult subject, and one that weighs on her like a vice. She has struggled to acclimate to the new normal after everything that transpired in the early spring of this year. Returning to school had simply not been a possibility for her, though not for a lack of trying.

She has found trauma to be a tantalizing friend indeed – and one that never quite seems to leave her side.

The sound of your laced shoes slapping against the waxed floors is lost to the rush of bodies that swarm the corridor. The faces of your peers are unnamed to you, because in your sixteen years of life, you never cared to commit them to memory.  Your first session of the day is classe di matematica. It is a grueling subject to most, but you find it easy enough.

An unfamiliar pink-haired girl stands before your teacher at his desk. You cannot help but to notice her rigid posture; she stands as though she has been frozen in place by the scrutiny of his eyes as he takes in her appearance. It is obvious that she is a transfer student, and a nervous one at that. To you, she is nothing more than another face with a name, and you will not care to remember it.

Filing past clusters of your fellow classmates, you make your way to the back of the room and secure your territory. While the table creaks under the weight of your bookbag and leud pencil carvings mar its surface, you find solace in its position beneath the window overlooking the courtyard.

Students continue to file through the door. You look to the clock: class will not begin for another five minutes. Impatient, you sigh and turn your attention to a flock of pigeons gathering on the cobblestone pathway of the courtyard. Watching the scuffle of five birds, all for a discarded heel of bread, is far more enticing than pretending not to eavesdrop on any of the conversations filling the space of the room.

The clocktower chimes and the pigeons scatter, no doubt startled by the deep vibrato of the prerecorded bell-sound echoing throughout campus. You open your notebook and click your used pen. Your classmates take their seats, all the while avoiding the second chair at your table. You do not mind it, for you know it is not repulsion that keeps your peers at bay. The truth is much simpler: every student has at least one friend within the class whom they would much rather sit with than yourself.

Head hung low, you wait for the selection process to end whilst avoiding wandering gazes. When you hear the tapping of a pencil against the table, you are shocked to see the pink-haired girl standing before you.

“Can I sit here?”

Your mouth turns dry, as if you have swallowed the very same stale bread the pigeons quarreled for. You do not mean to, but your eyes trace the delicate lines of her face, from her piercing green eyes framed by thick lashes to the soft pout of her pink, glossy lips. You wring your hands together. She’s pretty, you think to yourself. She’s unfairly pretty.

“Hello?”

You clear your throat. “O-Oh, uh . . .” You stumble over your words, suddenly conscious of the light red hue dusting across her cheekbones. “Yeah, go ahead.”

You wait for her to laugh, to wallow in your self-inflicted humiliation. Instead, she smiles, revealing two rows of straight, white teeth, and sits beside you. She smells of roses and lemongrass – of a home you have not yet found. The scent of her perfume penetrates your mind; at once, you have been found in a flower field during the Giugno blooms.

“I like your hair, by the way.” Unconsciously, you bring a finger to your hair and touch it, as if in disbelief that she would compliment your appearance, let alone your hair. “Sorry, that probably came across as creepy, didn’t it?”

“N-No, it’s okay,” you insist. Heat rushes to your face. Her flattery burns you, and yet, you gladly kneel before its flames. “Uh . . . Thank you.”

She hums and turns to face your chattering teacher. You clutch your pen. It hovers over the blank page of your notebook. The hour flies by; class draws to an end, and you have retained nothing. How could you, when the smell of her perfume alone has bequeathed to you the insatiable desire to be wherever it is that roses and lemongrass might coexist – perhaps in the garden of a cottage overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea.

You notice how she has begun backing her bag. It is your cue to gather your own belongings. The bell rings. You hurry to stand, eager to be away from the girl who garners your attention.

“I’m Trish, by the way,” she tells you. You are still. “Thanks for letting me sit here. It was nice meeting you.”

Trish. Just like the model from America; it suits her, plenty. The corners of your mouth turn upwards into a grin. Her kindness is infectious, and it leaves you longing, gasping for more. As you watch her leave, her form engulfed by the sea of taller students, you are left with nothing more than a contemplation: perhaps there is one name you will remember.

“I don’t understand – what does any of this have to do with math?” Trish sighs, dropping her pencil in frustration. A manicured finger hooks into a pink curl and twirls it with such vigor; you fear she will tear out her own hair. “None of this makes sense.”

“Well, it has more to do with logic than math,” you try to explain. You offer your workbook to her. “It’s actually quite fun, once you get the hang of it.”

She rolls her brilliant green eyes. “Maybe for someone like you. Not everyone can be as smart as you, you know.”

“I-I’m really not that smart,” you deflect. You tap the unfished equation scribbled in her notes. “Let’s just go back to the beginning . . . Un cavaliere always tells the truth, so they can never lie. But un fante always lies, so they can never tell the truth. You meet Persona A and Persona B . . .”

You guide her through the problem. The sound of shuffling papers signifies that everyone else in the class has finished their work; your teacher waits for Trish, and Trish alone, who grips her pencil tightly. You know she feels it – the unspoken ridicule from your peers. To them, she is the incompetent new student from Calabria who cannot comprehend un cavalieri e furfanti puzzle.

“Dannazione, sono un idiota,” she hisses. “Nothing makes sense.”

You frown. “You’re not an idiot just because a silly math problem stumped you.” The insistence falls from your lips. Her silence sends a frigid chill down your spine. “Please, don’t say that about yourself. Let me help you work through it. We assume Persona A is un fante.”

Your teacher clears his throat. He peers over the rim of his half-moon glasses, observing the way you coax Trish to complete the problem. He sets aside the book that had been clasped in his hand, and he stands to approach her, to offer his aid at the behest of a struggling student with such unique circumstances. At the sight of the pencil falling from her fingers and the smile upon her face, he stops.

“I’ve got it. Persona B is un cavaliere, which means both Persona A and Persona B are.” She pauses for a moment to contemplate her words. “That’s a contradiction! Our assumption was wrong, so if Persona A is un cavaliere, he’s telling the truth, so Persona B must be un fante.”

Your confirmation is something sacred to her, not unlike the Rosary given to her on the day of her mother’s funeral. Even when shakily spoken Hail Marys fall from her lips and her fingers tremble over the amber counting beads, there is little room in Trish’s mind for meditation when her thoughts, as of late, are always of you.

She blushes as you meet her gaze. “I meant what I said,” she begins. “You are smart.”

You bite your lip and look away, though her eyes follow. “That’s not true,” you say. “You don’t have to butter me up so much.”

She clasps your hand gently beneath the table. Her palm is soft, and you want to turn your wrist to enlace your fingers with hers. You stop yourself. “If I’m not allowed to call myself an idiot, then you’re not allowed to say you’re not intelligent.” You open your mouth to rebuke her words, but she cuts you off. “Despite what I said, I know I’m smart; just not at all things, like math.”

Her thumb brushes against the back of your knuckles as she pulls away. An incidental touch, you ponder. She turns her attention to your teacher, who stands before the chalkboard writing out the correct steps of the puzzle. You feel hot – unbearably so. A sudden bulge in your throat makes it hard to breathe. You ask to be excused to the bathroom. You did not need to hear the rest of the lesson, anyways.

It has been nearly two months since that day in classe di matematica. Indeed, the air outside has turned crisp and rain showers frequent the weather patterns: the season nears wintertime. Trish’s acclimation to life in Napoli has been far easier than her guardian Bruno had anticipated – dinnertime conversations about daydreams and schooldays have made him grateful for your involvement in the pink-haired girl’s life. Weekends spent with you, consisting of coffees, shopping trips, and stops at gelato parlors, remind her that she is safe.

Because of you, she can be a teenager again.

As you enter the classroom, you find her seat empty. Class carries on, but you cannot focus, for you are reminded of the loneliness that came before meeting Trish. You decide a sip of cool water might help to clear the haze unsettling you so.

You bring the uncapped water bottle to your lips, only to cry out in shock as the metal flask contorts in your grip like puddy. Its contents billow over the mouth of the bottle and saturate your skirt. The bottle does not make a sound as it fumbles to the vinyl floor; you are too bothered by the sloshing of your clothes to notice the way in which the metal frame slowly bends back into its shape – or the laughter of your fellow classmates.

Your teacher ushers you to the bathroom. Your wet loafers squeal as you hurry down the hallway. Prayer cards and posters promoting abstinence adorn the walls. The door latches behind you. Hiccups and choked sobs echo throughout the tight chamber of the communal space. It smells of roses and lemongrass – it smells of her.

You reach for the paper towel dispenser and blot at your skirt. It does little good to salvage the pleated fabric and it leaves an incriminating stain. Though you hesitate, you rapt your hand against the closed stall door and call out to her: “Trish? Are you okay?”

Her wails diminish. Her shadow peaks out from the crack between the floor and the bottom edge of the door. She sniffles before revealing herself. The hue upon her cheeks is unlike the bashful blush of infatuation that frequents her skin. Her distress pains you.

"I missed you in class,” you say, unsure of what to do for the girl you have come to endear. You chide yourself immediately, wanting nothing more than to cast yourself out of her presence for your insensitive comment. Spoken words are never quite simple.

Her bottom lip quivers and her eyes well with tears again. You fear you have upset her. And yet, her arms extend towards your body. Suddenly, you are embracing; she holds you in a grip akin to a vice. Your fingers trace shapes against her clothed back. It is something you might have done to soothe a weeping infant. In the privacy of the bathroom, you pretend she is your lover – that every sojourn for velveteen dresses and freshly churned gelato on Sabato pomeriggio meant something more to her.

But she is not your lover – and you are not hers.

Reluctantly, you pull away. Her breath fans your face, and it is only now that you notice the dainty freckles of her cheeks for the first time. You step backwards until your thighs hit the sink. For a moment, you think she had frowned upon your separation. It is another of many illusions that your mind has weaved as of late, no doubt.

“Thank you,” Trish says, rubbing the back of her hand against her eyes. Smudges of black mascara coat her skin.

You fiddle with the hem of your damp skirt. You realize, as you glance over the girl’s uniform, that her skirt is wet as well – from her own tears or the second-hand spillage from your water bottle, you know not. “I didn’t really do anything,” you insist.

"You’re here. That means everything to me.”

Paying no heed to the nagging sensation within you that wants to pry into the cause of her anguish, you offer her a clean paper towel. She accepts it with a faint smile. You settle for ignorance, because you know she will confess to you someday – beyond her passing comments of a deceased mother and a toxic, absent father.

Prepared to return to class, she laces her arm with yours and takes a deep breath. You decide that you will wait as long as she needs.

The brown paper-bag filled with paint bottles feels heavy in your grasp. It weighs on your shoulder, slipping down with every step taken towards the direction of your home. The figurines of your mother’s nativity set have begun to peel and crack, and you have promised to aid her in restoring the heirlooms. It is only right; religious preferences aside, the ivory statuettes will one day be your inheritance. And it will make a fond memory for you of your mother.

Shielded by the umbrella of a patio table, Trish sits before that which you recognize as a café you have frequented several times together: Caffè Anami. You long to be one of the glossed pages of the magazine she thumbs through – to feel her touch and to be adored the same way you adore her. Outside of her usual school uniform, she wears a floral-patterned dress. You do not question its monetary value; she comes from strange wealth, and her choice in civilian attire is only one of many indicators.

You begin to approach her, a practiced greeting wrought of cordiality ready on your tongue. But kindness turns to bitterness as the front door to the café opens and a boy with messily-styled black hair and wild violet eyes pushes past new customers and struggles to balance two to-go cups of coffee and a bag of pastries.

"They didn’t even offer me a cupholder,” you hear him grumble aloud. You stop. “How am I supposed to carry all this? Does it look like a have a third arm?”

Trish rises and reaches for the bag of pastries. “There,” she tells the boy. “Crisis averted.”

Free of burden, they both take their seats at the table. As Trish divides the baked goods amongst two napkins, the boy watches her careful movements with what you describe as pure reverence, for she is the personification of grace and beauty, and he knows this. They converse with each other, and you cannot help but to observe how Trish has made a habit of touching the boy’s arm nearly every time she speaks to him.

Your stomach churns at the unpleasantry before you. In all your time pining after the pink-haired girl, you had never considered that she may have had a partner of her own. But you see it now: how could you have been so blind? She had not mentioned the scraggily haired boy before. Talks of saccharine kisses, gentle touches, and of course a boyfriend never came from her rosy-colored lips. She hid this from you. Perhaps, this whole time, she truly knew of your affections. At the risk of losing a friend (for you assume you were nothing more to her), she forbade herself to speak of the boy, lest she drive you away – there could be no other explanation.

It hurts, so much in fact that a knife to your heart would be preferable to the pain swallowing you whole. Gauging his appearance, you decide he does not deserve someone as elegant as she . . . Though, considering your tattered jeans and hand-me-down blouse, neither do you. You swipe at the tears threatening to spill and you choke down the lump in your throat. Readjusting the shopping bag over the perch of your shoulder, you leave, broken and unwell.

Behind you, Trish’s melodious laughter – a wicked song indeed – resonates. You could not block out her sweet chorus even if, deep down, you truly wanted to.

Your knees sink into the plush mass of the faux-fur rug beneath you. Your saucer of hot tea rests atop the coffee table, untouched; the steam rises and coils into the air. Trish’s guardian – Bruno, she called him – sets a tray filled with biscotti before you. You might have found him intimidating if not for the warmth laced within his sapphire-blue eyes. He closes the double-doors to the study, leaving you and the pink-haired girl alone.

The silence in the room is cut by the scratching of pencils to paper and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, tucked between a lounger and a houseplant. You scan over your completed portion of the study guide. Earlier that day, your insegnante di matematica had formally announced an exam slotted to be proctored at the end of the week. After he distributed the studyguides, Trish turned to you with an unassuming smile and asked if you would like to come to her house and study together. If not for the existence of her boyfriend, you would have looked for a deeper implication. Instead, you agreed with a curt nod, and accompanied her home at the end of the day.

“[Y/N]?” You look up from your work to meet Trish’s gaze. “Are you upset at me about something? You’ve been acting like you want nothing to do with me lately.”

You hesitate to respond. It would be better to lie, to hide your feelings and come up with an excuse: it’s not you, I’m just stressed about school, that’s all. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?” you ask instead, blunter than you probably should have been. Her brows furrow, as if she misunderstood you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Doesn’t that mean we should be honest with each other?”

“Boyfriend? Who told you I had a boyfriend?”

“No one. I saw you two together. I-I wasn’t stalking you, honest – I was walking home from the store the other day and I saw you at Caffè Anami with him . . . I can’t understand why you’d hide something like that from me. You know you can trust me, don’t you?”

The corners of her lips turn into a grin and she shakes her head. “His name’s Narancia,” she tells you. “And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s practically a brother to me.”

You are not sure whether to feel relief or mortification – relief, for your chances with the girl have not been thwarted; mortification, for your accusation has backfired, leaving you utterly and completely embarrassed. “I-I’m sorry,” you spit out. “I just – I didn’t think – I –”

She places her hand over yours, just like the day when you had helped her through the cavalieri e furfanti puzzle. “It’s all good. Besides, he’s not exactly my type.”

She takes her hand away and scribbles something down in her study guide. Her top row of teeth juts out to graze her bottom lip, and it is only then you notice something different about her appearance: she is wearing a darker shade of lipstick. Trish catches you staring.

“What’re you looking at?” She is luring you, and you have already fallen into her snare.

“Uh, I like your lipstick,” you confess. “That’s all.”

“Oh, thank you.”

You set your pencil aside. You feel as though you might burst, that it might kill you if you do not tell her how you feel. But words do not come to mind – nothing more than silly quips or dull compliments; and so, you settle for the former.

“Can I try it?”

Trish pauses. You fear you have overstepped unspoken boundaries. After all, only moments ago, you had accused her of keeping secrets. Yet, you too have kept one secret to yourself: that you love her, as much as one sixteen-year-old girl might love another. To your delight, she nods and smiles, casting her schoolwork aside to meet you halfway over the coffee table separating your bodies.

She tastes of the biscotti – almond, you think – and earl grey tea. She blossoms at your touch, as if you are the sun and she a posy in a garden somewhere. You forget the ticking of the grandfather clock, for the shared beating of your hearts is deafening. You think to pull away, but she chases your lips and captures them again. She cups your face, caging you in place – not that you mind.  

You separate only when you have both grown desperate for air. The sight of her flushed face leaves you in awe. Your belly flutters. She raises a finger to her smudged lips and beams. You long to ask her if she too dreams of roses and lemongrass, of a cottage overlooking the sea in the countryside far away from the bustle of Napoli. But you know better than to overwhelm yourselves with adolescent thoughts of the future – her, especially.

As for Trish, she reminds herself to thank Fugo for convincing her to return to school. Though her past haunts her still, she is indebted to her new life. For, without suffering first, she never would have the girl from classe di matematica who stole her heart on the very first day.

She turns to her schoolwork. “We should get back to it,” she insists. You cock your eyebrow and giggle, bashful and appeased.

“You’re right: we should.”

| 3964 Words |

* Please note that the woman in the photograph is meant to resemble Trish - this is not an assumption of the reader’s appearance.

[babbushka]

HI! I hope you are doing well today. If you want, could you please tell us, how Kylo proposed marriage to his empress?

He’s terrified, of asking. Of disturbing this thing, this world you’ve built together. Of scaring you, of pushing you. He doesn’t ever want to push you, into anything, to do anything you don’t want. But stars, heavens above, he wants you, wants to marry you.

He’s brought you here, to Naboo, because of course he has. It’s your favorite place in the whole galaxy, you’ve told him on so many occasions, so many trips that you demand to be brought on, so many trips that you yourself arrange. You always insist on political conferences or committees to be held here on the beautiful temperate planet, always schedule it during the peaceful spring and summer months where the climate is balmy and you can wear all the gorgeous flowing dresses made of silks and satins that you adore.

You say it’s too cold in space to wear them on the star destroyers, but Kylo knows it’s an excuse. He’d never deny you, never, but he knows. You’re wearing one such dress now, an homage to Kylo’s grandmother, a queen who once ruled so just and true that the people still remember her, still celebrate her. They celebrate you now, too.

You’re wearing a dress made of gauzy breezy fabrics, almost see-through in a way that has Kylo’s jaw clenching, hands curling behind leather gloves into fists from the longing to reach out and touch you, to feel the thin sheerness of the fabric between his own finger-tips. Where his grandmother’s gown was in yellows and pinks, yours is in rich blacks and reds, the colors of his empire.

Of your empire, together.

Or at least it will be, if he can only ask you.

“You’re awfully talkative today.” You say, interrupting his inner monologue of now? should I say it now? should I ask her now? With eyes closed and a teasing smile, as you lay beside where he is seated in the grasses of the lake country.

His grandfather had proposed here, right in this very spot, surrounded by waterfalls which spray rainbows into the air and the clear blue skies of a pleasant day. His grandfather had done it, so, Kylo reasoned, so could he.

Except then he looks at you, takes one look at the way the sun kisses your exposed skin, sleeves billowing from clasps around your upper arms, showing off your shoulders. He sees the fluttering of your hair in the gentle wisp of the breeze from being so close to water which sparkles a deep blue. He sees you seeing him, and not for the first time, he panics about the possibility that you’ve got Force powers of your own, that you can read his mind.

“What would you have me say?” He asks, his own brand of playful, voice deep and imposing in a way that should have you intimidated but somehow you never are.

“Hmm,” You muse, rolling onto your side where you can prop your head up on your hand, your free palm picking flowers in the tall soft grasses which nearly conceal your body. “You could speak aloud some of those thoughts that I know are bouncing around in your head.”

“I’m afraid they’re not very interesting.” Kylo lies as he smooths the warm leather of his glove down the bridge of your nose, follows the contour of your lips to pinch your chin between his fingers.

He leans down to kiss you, but you know him too well, know that the kiss is an attempt to distract you.

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” You quirk a brow, even as you sit up to follow his lips.

You won’t let him get away with simmering right in front of you, but you also won’t pass up an opportunity to kiss your beloved Supreme Leader.

“This is the first time in a while I’ve had you all to myself.” He comments, noting how utterly and blissfully alone you both are, together in the field.

You had wanted to go on a picnic, so Kylo had made it happen. There is a spread of fine fruits and treats, breads and chocolates and sweet wines that have stained your tongue and lips a dark berry red. You reach over to pluck a round citrus fruit from the basket, hand it to Kylo to peel with expert fingers as you crowd his space and kiss at his cheek.

“Isn’t it so nice?” You ask, watching him segment the fruit, careful not to let the juices drip all over your clothing. You sigh happily as you accept a segment or two, as you bite into the sweet tart freshness of it. “No ambassadors, no advisors, no generals. No Knights or Handmaidens – just us.”

“I could ravage you, and no one would know.” Kylo quirks a smile, and you waggle an eyebrow playfully, shift to straddle his lap.

It’s a little difficult, with all your fabric, all the silk. Kylo is mesmerized by the way it pools around your body, an ethereal goddess of rubies and inky blackness. His hands close around your waist, and he kisses the taste of fruit and wine off of your tongue.

“Is that what you want? To ravage me?” You ask, coy and devious.

“No.” Kylo has to stop himself from fucking you right there, from taking what he wants because he has other plans, plans which really should require your clothes to be on. You lean back a little, with  small confused frown that has his heart skipping, tongue tripping over himself when he rushes out, “Well, yes, always, but. That’s not why I brought you here.” 

“I didn’t know we needed a reason to come, to take advantage of the spoils of your rule.” You smile, tucking some hair behind his ear, cupping his cheeks in your hands, simply holding him. 

He turns his face into your palm, presses a long kiss to the soft skin, unmarred and smooth from a life of relative ease.

“It’s your rule too, you know.” He whispers, eyes meeting yours as they soften, “If you would have it.”

You smile and nod, and in the quiet, he takes a deep breath.

“My grandfather and grandmother were happy here for a time. Their love was forbidden and the lies and the secrets of their relationship cast them both into ruin. But…” He trails away, needs to lean in to give you a kiss, to steal some courage from your lips, some bravery. You are so brave, all the time, he thinks, he can be brave too. So he takes in a deep breath and another kiss and says, “But I feel so strongly for you that I want the galaxy to know. I want every star system to know how much I love you. I don’t want a shred of doubt surrounding the nature of our relationship.”

It’s then, that your eyes widen, that the realization of the trip’s purpose hits.

“Go ahead.” You encourage, not moving one inch, one centimeter.

You’re still straddling his lap, hands still on his cheeks, and he fiddles with the collar of your dress, the dark shiny metal reflecting back at him.

“I am not a perfect man, I am not even a good man. I’ve hurt and killed so many people to get to where I am today – but all of it, all of it, (Y/N), has been so I can offer you this.” He lifts a small box with the Force, a small thing that he had hidden away in the picnic basket.

It’s huge, the stone. A kyber crystal, one blood red with a crack running through the middle. You’re speechless, as it has to be from his saber, it has to be a piece of it, you just know it. It’s surrounded by white stones and set on a silver band, and Kylo knows his hand would be shaking if he weren’t holding it up with his powers.

“I swear to you, if you would have me as your husband, I would make sure there is not a corner of this galaxy that doesn’t know your name, that doesn’t know how much you mean to me. It would make me the proudest man to wear your love on my sleeve, to call you my wife.” He floats the ring over to you, floats it up out of the box and in front of your face.

“Ask me.” You pluck it out of thin air, eyes watering and smile so so so wide as you give it to him insistently, grin not possible to be any larger as you urge, “Properly, ask me.”

Kylo laughs then, laughs all of his relief away, all of his fears of all the things that could go wrong. He takes the ring and takes your hand and if the two of you were standing, he’d drop to one knee before you.

But as it is, he can’t bear the thought of you getting off of his lap, of you moving away from him, so he stays where he is when he looks you in the eye and asks,

“(Y/N), would you marry me?”

When you squeal so loudly that a flock of birds flees a nearby tree, when you throw your arms around his neck and tackle him backwards into the soft grasses, when you both roll and roll down the gentle slope of the hill you’re sitting on, laughing and crying and kissing and laughing some more, Kylo thinks that his grandparents would be proud of him.

Because he’s going to do it right, do right by you – his Empress.

[tenderhoneypeaches]

Philia

There is something so comforting in her presence. Her golden lock flock her face, her eyes concentrated and focused on the paper in front of her. Words flow like a soft rissling river on the forest floor, a creek in the moss covered dirt underneath pale feet. Her hand slides across the paper so effortlessly, her body and mind interconnected with a bond so securely knitted by the muses themselves. Mountains of art and literature surround her, in her headspace, on her body, in her notebooks. Her mind wanders to different places full of artistic freedom, creativity flows through her veins, yet to be crimson red but an assortment of colour. She is golden and oh how I wish I could live up to her level. She is beautiful, unexpected. Doe eyes so innocently full of excitement and enriched knowledge, she looks upon the world with criticism yet remembers to stay tender for the things she claims as rightful. She is beautiful, expected. Her familiarity is hazy, her existence is pure, slowly yet steadily her everlasting love creeps through the cracks of my surface and it seeps through and guides its way to my heart so smoothly, effectively, she knew her way inside. A calming energy, an immediate connection turns to a carefully woven connection between two alike souls. The contentment of our similar minds makes me feel less jealous of her skills and more admirable to the wonders she can create. In the golden light of the lamp above her bed, the outer world dark and gloomy, I am yet again reminded of her capability. The way her body moves in light strokes, pencil in her hand gliding across the paper. The way her lips purse when she concentrates, senselessly as I sit with her, my mind is taken back to the places we have discovered together. adventure upon adventure hand in hand 

We took upon the stages, on and off. Music swerving in through one ear and out the other. We spin and we dance and we listen, and I especially listen when she sang long, angel like. Those particular night when the stage lights burn red and she looks me in the eyes and smile, I feel red too. 

We took upon the evening scenery, the orange of the sky softens the features of everything around us. Feet dragging us from place to place as the sun sets on the horizon, hidden behind an plethora of creations. 

We took upon the city, the buildings around us, the noise and the scents. A coffee shop smells like home to me now because it reminds me of her. Her voice and her smiles. The senses were overwhelming and her hat was yellow. Oh how her hat was yellow and it made me happy. 

We took upon the forest, the hidden castles, the trails and the fields, hidden creatures in the landscape of the earth. Swindling with aesthetics and mutual love for the open flow for the wind to soar. The green was overwhelming.

We took upon the ocean waves crashing the shore, nuances of blue swallowed us whole as water engulfs us, the blue beneath and the blue above. I felt weightless.

And we took upon the flower fields, shades of every colour of every shape lurks the wilderness and we made bouquets of the stars. I would decorate her in violets if I ever get the chance.  

And as I sit there with I realise with lucky I am to feel this. Her.

Her soft lips on mine, her hair wrapped in my finger as her head lay in my lap, the tingle from her grip lingers just a little longer than it should. She is so mundane, comfortable, intimate, free, familiar. She is plan A, I love her. 

[gearhawk-studios]

Genshin Impact: Bloodlines

Prologue Part 3: Heart of a Hero

A wide known fact is that distractions can be a detriment to an author, whose mind and will is dedicated to committing stories to pen and paper. So, it is a necessity to find a workspace with the least amount of distractions, but the greatest amount of inspiration. For the 16-year-old Xandrin Scribhneoir, he preferred sitting on his favored boulder at the Falcon Coast. The lapping waves, the salty breeze, the occasional animal companion scurrying across the sandy surfaces, the gentle setting sun setting the sky ablaze in orange and blues… it was a place Xandrin found himself alone most of the time and had not taken this fact for granted.

He returned his sight to the leather bound notebook in his lap, already halfway filled with the tales of an upcoming knight of the Gunhildr Clan. When Xandrin had seen her on the training grounds of the Knights of Favonius, it was clear she had the will of a lion with her devastating swordplay, but the heart of a dandelion, soft and sweet. A perfect example of what Mondstadt’s knights should aspire to be, Xandrin thought to himself as he continued to write.

“Master Xandrin!”

The young man sighed, realizing his time uninterrupted was coming to an end. Closing his book, the Scribhneoir heir turned to see an older gentleman, wearing the black suit of a butler, rushing through the fields. His grey hair was tied into a long, slim and well kept ponytail, the beard trimmed with great finesse. The gentleman stopped at the stone, panting and coughing, “M-master Xandrin… please, you must not keep doing this…”

“Hector,” Xandrin addressed the man, wearing an exasperated smile on his face, “I’ve told you a hundred times, I can handle myself out here. Fiora made sure I wasn’t defenseless like I used to be.”

Hector raised his head, taking out a handkerchief and dapping the deep wrinkles on his forehead, “Be that as it may… your parents have expressly stated that I am to keep you in my sight at all times. So, would you please stop slipping away from me?”

With a mix of a sigh and a chuckle, Xandrin slid down from his favored spot and nodded to the butler, “I will do my best, Hector. C’mon, we should probably get back home.”

Gathering up his satchel and his writing supplies, Xandrin slung the bag over his shoulder and led Hector back down the all familiar path to Mondstadt. The smell of the salt on the air was soon replaced with the scent of the multitude of flowers around the fields of Windrise, something that made Xandrin smile.

“How is your next work coming along, Master Xandrin?” Hector spoke, his tone more composed.

Xandrin turned to him and thought for a moment, “It’s coming along. Just a little unnerving having to get this done within a month.”

“Such is the bane of authors, sir. A life of deadlines and writer’s block.”

Chuckling, Xandrin nodded, “It certainly can be, Hector. It certainly can.”

The two continued along, passing a flock of small birds that took off into the air. Xandrin watched them fly, leaving behind a couple of feathers that danced in the breeze. As Xandrin observed them, Hector spoke up once more, “May I ask a question, Master Xandrin?”

Xandrin nodded, still watching the feathers float to the ground. Hector cleared his throat, “You’ve been writing about the heroes of Mondstadt for quite a while, I have been wondering… have you not considered making a story of yourself?”

There was a long pause, as Xandrin turned and looked at Hector. Then, he shook his head, “I’m not much of a hero, Hector. What would there be to write? I’m just a writer, nothing much else to it.”

Hector smiled tiredly, “Perhaps, Master Xandrin. But have you-“

Xandrin held up a hand, both him and Hector stopping in their tracks. There was a new smell in the air. There was the faint scent of smoke… of blood. Eyes widening, he turned to Hector. Seeing his young master’s look in his gaze, Hector nodded as they turned their attention to the massive tree in the distance. The symbol of Vennessa.

Together they ran over, moving carefully over the massive roots of this ancient tree. As they moved, Xandrin noticed jagged scorch marks across the various roots, not caused by normal fire. He also saw broken sticks and shards of metal. Before he could notice more, Hector held out an arm, motioning for Xandrin to stop and get low.

Dropping behind one of the roots, Xandrin and his trusty butler peeked over to see a most disturbing sight. At the base of the tree was a statue to Barbatos, the Anemo Archon and God of Freedom. It was a spot common for the Sisters of the Church of Mondstadt to come to offer respects with the Knights of Favonius watching over them. Two such sisters, though one looked to be about Xandrin’s age while the other could be no older than 11, were fearful as a man in dark and rusted armor approached them. A knight, his own armor scorched, lay motionless on the ground with his claymore stuck in the ground.

The man approached the two girls, his long black hair free and only lightly obscuring his scarred face. He held a black sword, which seemed to crackle with lightning. His voice was low, with a charming edge to it, “Now, while I’d love to stay here and chat about the information I require, we have very little time. Come quietly with me, now.”

“G-get back,” the older girl, with a long braided brown pony tail and long pointed ears stammered, reaching for a pendant around her neck. It began to flow and lime green, light escaping the cracks in her grasp as suddenly a vine sprouted out of the ground to try and strike at the man.

Sighing, the man seemed to swing his sword nonchalantly, only making a shallow cut in the attacking plant. Lightning poured into the cut, frying it almost in an instant. The younger girl, in a white dress and blonde hair, began to cry, “S-sister Annabelle… I’m scared…”

The older girl turned to the younger girl and tried to put on a brave face, “It’s okay, Sister Barbara. It’ll be okay.”

Xandrin’s grip tightened, watching the man laugh at the girl’s obvious fear. He turned to Hector and whispered, “We have to do something.”

“What do you suggest, sir?” Hector nodded, looking worried but ready to assist.

“Can you get the girls out of here while I distract this guy?”

Hector looked shocked, “S-sir, I can’t-“

“It's obvious the knights will be here soon, as this guy is in a rush. I only need to hold him off for a little bit… please, Hector. I might not have a Vision, or be a hero. But I gotta do something.”

The loyal butler looked into Xandrin’s eyes, seeing the unwavering determination. Sighing, Hector nodded. A smile appeared across Xandrin’s face as he began to sneak around. The girls, on the other hand, had finished backing up and now were against the statue of Barbatos. The man continued to advance, a slow and menacing chuckle escaping his lips, “Do we really need to do this the hard way? All I want to know is the secrets the Church has been hiding.”

Just as the man was about to reach out and grab Annabelle, the man cried out in pain as he was knocked to the side. Standing just behind the man was Xandrin, holding the Favonius Claymore. The girls stared in astonishment at this young man, having swung the blade with ease. Hector immediately came over, “Excuse me ladies, but I believe this is our cue to get out of here.”

The girls nodded, Barbara whispering a thank you as Hector began leading them away. As they went away, Xandrin rested the greatsword on his shoulder. Hector got one last look as Xandrin said, “Like I said, Hector. Fiora made sure I could hold my own.”

With them rushing down the path to Mondstadt, Xandrin took a deep breath and turned to face the man who was standing back up. The man glared at Xandrin, “Just… who the hell do you think you are?!”

Xandrin placed a hand on his chest, “Me? I’m just an author passing through, don’t worry about me. What’s your name, Mr. Creep?”

The man spat, wiping a small amount of dirt from the corner of his mouth. Xandrin then noticed on the man’s left shoulder there was a purple gem with the symbol of Electro fashioned into the armor piece. This man had a Vision?

“Realizing you’re in over your head, punk?” The man sneered, flourishing the black blade in his hand again as sparks danced along the menacing edge.

Despite his heart racing, Xandrin kept a calm expression as he said, “I’ve seen people without Visions do a lot more damage than you, Mr. Creep.”

Scowling, the man dashed forward, leaving a wave of purple sparks in his wake. Xandrin barely had enough time to take the large blade on his shoulder and block the attack, making him slide back a couple of inches. The man looked at Xandrin, a smug expression across his scarred features as he came for another attack. The young author was faster this time, meeting the dark sword with his own.

Frowning, the man concentrated. The Vision began to light up in a bright violet light, he brought his blade back and came down hard with electricity beginning to arc along the edge. Xandrin moved to defend, but once the blades connected, the high voltage traveled through his blade and up his arms. Crying out, Xandrin loosened the grip and the man easily disarmed the young writer.

The blade flew high up in the air, landing far away from Xandrin. Seeing his hands now empty, Xandrin looked at the man and sheepishly grinned, “W-well, guess that happened…”

Without another word, the armored man raised a fist and slammed the back of it against Xandrin’s cheek, sending him flying. Crashing on the stone steps leading up to the Shrine of Barbatos, Xandrin groaned. He coughed up a small amount of blood, holding his side, “D-dammit…”

Sighing in frustration, the man stalked up to Xandrin, “Well… if I can’t get what I was looking for… I might as well get some target practice in…”

Outstretching a gloved hand, the Vision once again lit up as bolts of indigo lightning descended on Xandrin. The young man cried out, his nerves on fire and his clothes smoking from the impact. Releasing the bolts, the man spoke with a smug grin, “What the matter, punk? No more quips?”

Coughing and sputtering, Xandrin looked up to the man with a weak grin, “C-c’mon… I’ve seen tiny Electro Slimes give more voltage than your weak little stings…”

Growling, the man shot out his hand again. The torrent of lightning fell on Xandrin once again, pushing him back up against the statue hard as he screamed in pain. Gritting his teeth, the tears that would’ve flowed from Xandrin’s eyes were being instantly evaporated by the extreme heat as he looked up at the statue of Barbatos.

Please… help...

“Once I’m done with you, I’m gonna find those girls and I will find what I am looking for, brat,” the man shouted, increasing the lightning. “And once I have what I want… I might just need to have some more target practice with those girls and that old man…”

Xandrin’s eyes widened, the thought of those terrified girls… Hector… the lightning that scorched him now falling on them. No. His fists tightened, his gaze turning down to meet the man. No. He placed his hands on the statue behind him, trying to push himself up. No. The statue began to glow, the orb held by the immaculately carved Barbatos beginning to shine a seafoam green as the man looked shocked at this sudden change. NO. The wind began to swirl around the man and Xandrin, rapidly picking up pace as the glow of the orb from the statue began to flow down the stone structure and into Xandrin’s hands.

“NO!”

A massive gust of air launched out from Xandrin’s outstretched palm, slamming into the man as he went flying backward. The wind whipping around the statue and Xandrin sped up faster and faster, the soft green glow flowing through Xandrin’s body as he glared at the evil man who stared in astonishment.

“I won’t let you touch them!” Xandrin shouted, reaching out his right hand. The gilded greatsword flew from its resting spot, guided by the wind as it landed in Xandrin’s grasp perfectly.

“Th-the hell?!” The man shot up on his feet.

Xandrin looked about himself, unsure of what was going on himself. This felt… familiar somehow. But, how could he use this?

“Relax, Xandrin.”

The writer paused, hearing the words almost as if they were in his mind. He was about to speak when the friendly voice spoke again, “Breathe, Xandrin. Listen to the winds, hear their stories… hear how they wish for you to use them.”

Nodding to himself, Xandrin closed his eyes. Images flowed by him. A radiant lady knight, striking foes with thrusts of concentrated air, a young man with a mask launching himself high in the air to come crashing down, a blonde haired individual reaching out their palm to create a ball-like tornado in their hand…

“This is my power, the power of Anemo. Let it guide you, Xandrin Scribhneoir. Let the winds in your heart, the kind breeze the exudes from your soul, be the sword that defends the freedom of others.”

Eyes snapping open, Xandrin grasped the hilt of the claymore in both hands and brought it to his side, the winds whipping up and around the blade. The man, seeing Xandrin preparing himself, growled and ran his hand down the side of the blade, it glowing bright purple with lightning. He then charged forward, letting loose a battle cry, “Time to die, brat!”

“And here… is the finale!” Xandrin shouted as he stomped his foot down, using his entire body weight to swing the blade horizontally. The weaponized air became razor sharp, creating a green swathe of Anemo energy that barreled towards the man. Seeing this attack coming at him, the man raised his sword to catch the attack, but found it overwhelming as it overtook him.

The strike of wind took up the man, shredding his armor like paper as it threw him backwards. He crashed into the ground, creating a small crater in the side of a hill as he lost grip of his blade and fell limp and unconscious. The wind began to die down, Xandrin’s arms dropping to his sides as he fell to his knees. In the distance, he could see several armored Knights of Favonius rushing towards them. A small chuckle escaped the wounded Xandrin’s lips as he dropped the sword and fell to the ground himself.

As the Favonius Knights made it to the base of the tree, one singular knight who towered above the others walked over to the young Scribhneoir, his gentle gaze noticing a soft green glow coming from his chest. The knight turned Xandrin over, and his eyes widened. On the young man’s chest, attached to the strap of his satchel, sat a green glass orb with the symbol of Anemo etched in it.

“For your bravery, and your desire of inspiring the freedom to become a hero… I grant you, Xandrin Scribhneoir, the Vision of Anemo… may it lead you to the answers you will seek…”

[iguessihavemore]

Just a little content in these trying times

It’s just audition tapes. A big chunk of it you guys have actually made yourselves that I just wrote over in hopes of them flowing together a bit more. So yeah, credit to the creators of each character! Hope you find these fun!

The scene is set in a luxurious bedroom decked out in pinks. A brunette sits at a vanity with her back facing the camera, twisting a final lock of hair around a curling iron. When she frees it, it falls just above the collar of her white T-shirt. She twists around and flashes a glossy smile. “Pardon me for not being completely ready.” She began, smoothing out her denim skirt as she got closer to the camera.

“I noticed too late that my hair wasn’t perfect, and I can’t have that.” She bounced one lock near her face. “My name is Amelia Delaney. Daughter of Johnathon Delaney. He’s not well-known outside of our town, but he owned quite the successful department store in our local mall.” Her expression falters into a distant gaze for a brief moment, but she snaps out of it in a second. “I say ‘owned’ as unfortunately, my dear old father was killed in a robbery gone wrong not long-”

A car door slammed in the background, and Amelia’s face changed to hollow shock. “Umm… and his passing left me alone with my elder sister, Melissa, who’s only pleasure in life must come from seeing me miserable.” A second, closer slam could be heard next, and Amelia cringed with a whispered swear. She made a swift move toward the camera. “And that’s why I need the money. I have to get away from her please I’m losing my mind.” She said in one breath before turning off the camera.

*III*

A beep sounded off, assumingly letting the auditioner know the recording began, as the honey-blonde girl was looking away, leaning in what looked to be her closet doorway. Handmade steamers and folded paper animals littered the frame. “Alright, listen ‘ere, ‘n listen close.” She brought a blade up cooly, twirling it by the handle. “I know I ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer-”

She froze. She let herself chuckle, and rolled her one exposed eye. She cocked her knife to the side. “...but I think it’s better if you pick me. Annabelle Dwight. For your sake.” She faced the camera lens, giving the blade a gentle lick. “It’ll hurt a lot more for you that way. I promise.”

*III*

Two girls sharing a shirt sat on a bed in the center of the video. One of the two flinched in surprise, as if she hadn’t expected the camera to begin recording, despite the fact that they were both staring at it. “Erm…” They glanced at each other. It was clear they were related, identical at that. The girl on the right attempted to perk up, her smile quavering. “Did you know that the average person is more likely to be hit by lightning twice than they are to ever meet a conjoined twin?”

“Not that we’re… uh, threatening anyone. Putting us on the show isn’t going to make anyone get struck by lightning.” The girl on the left tapped her fingers nervously. Her sister couldn’t keep up her facade any longer either, and deflated. The left one, the one with longer hair, spoke up again. “We’re really, really shy. We can barely be around people that aren’t from the orphanage. When we are… we fall into an act we’ve inadvertently made, a ‘creepy, conjoined sisters’ thing. We don’t mean to, but, like, it’d be a lie to say it hasn’t saved us a few times by some people who think they can get one over on us.”

“We’re pretty strong, all things considered, but at the end of the day we’re still a kind of crippled. The world is scary, so when we’re scared, we naturally try to make it think we’re scarier!” The shorter-haired sister said. “But it’s basically impossible to make friends like that, eheh. Not unless we’re in an enclosed space with the same people for a long time… like the orphanage.”

“Or an island!” The left exclaimed. “And with the oddballs that Total Drama attracts, we might even be able to get used to them faster than we ever have before! Erika and I- er, Avery, is my name- are really excited and hopeful for this opportunity-”

“So please, PLEEEASE consider us!! We all know we’d be good for ratings! Even if we don’t make past the first vote, you get views, and we had a chance!”

The sisters ended the video by begging ‘please’ until it cut off.

*III*

“Hi! My name is Cameron, and to prove I’m Total Drama material, I’m gonna summon satan.” A girl with plum purple hair in a bob cold-opened, the shot swinging as she was in the process of moving it where she needed. She placed it on a short patio table, the time being after sunset, the sky dim. A loud chatter shouted off-screen, indiscernible in video, but Cameron straightened so her head was out of the shot and yelled back, “It’s just for business, mom!”

She lowered down with a mischievous smile, ready to do something with the ouija board and candles set up on the ground. The harsh voice started up again, and Cameron groaned in irritation. She left the scene for a few moments, their voices going back and forth. She returned with a defeated sigh. “Okay, fine, I’m just gonna summon a normal, lame ghost I guess.”

She lit the candles and began to seat herself, but before she sat down her mother yelled once again, this time something about fire could be heard. “UGH, MOM!” Cameron shot to her feet. “I do this all the time! Why do you only care when I’m actually trying to show people-!?” She stomped away once more. Once that chatter ended, she came back and instantly plopped down in her spot with a huff. “Alright, okay. Here we go!” She closed her eyes. There was a pause, the lighting of the video going unnaturally dark. Her green, choppy bangs waved in a sudden big breeze. A content smile crossed her face, the film glitching at the edges. It switched to night vision just as a pair of legs clad in mom jeans materialized behind Cameron, hand on hips, and then the video cut out entirely.

*III*

A platinum blonde, choppy-haired boy clapped in the lens of the camera, pulling his hands away to reveal his panicked expression. “Total Drama! I’d be the perfect contestant for your new show! Or season! Whatever!” He awkwardly did half of some kinda hand gesture. “And I could just do something cool right now to convince you, but I’ve been ready for this my whole life. You’re about to see a compilation of me proving myself for years!” He leaned back a little, looking above the camera. “Thanks for making the montage, mom-”

The film abruptly switched to a shot of a flock of birds, pecking away at a green field of grass. A bush behind them rustled, and the blonde burst out. The birds erupted upwards, but after the curtain of wings cleared, the boy was triumphantly holding one in his hands. A swarm of beaks began to descend upon him before the scene changed.

The next clip started in the middle of the boy furiously arguing. The camera wasn’t initially focused on him, but started to come up behind him. “It was NOT a foul!! How would you know, I was on the field- you’re just some dumb referee! He kicked me first-!” After a turn, it was revealed that the person he was arguing about was a toddler, both of them with potato sacks pooled around their feet. It cut off when a woman came up beside the film taker to ask her to calm her son down.

A few more clips later, it returned to him as he was auditioning. “So that’s why you should pick Jackson!” He screeched. He brought his fist into view, clutching a lemon. He squeezed it with a battle cry, and a spray of lemon juice shot out in all directions. “AAUG-!!!”

*III*

A latina girl with long dark hair stands at a countertop, tapping a spoonful of dried jasmine flowers into a cup and pouring a stream of steaming water over them. She stirs it with a spoon before glancing at the camera with her dark eyes.

“Hello, Chris.” She begins, a haughty tone etching her words. “Starting another season, hm? And here I thought you’d run out of ideas. I mean, building an entire island after the last one sunk? I don’t know how you’ll top that.”

The girl leans forward on her elbows, letting go of the spoon. It continued to stir around the cup as if guided by an invisible third hand. “But let me get to the point: you need new contestants to traumatize. And lucky for you, I’m going to step into that role.” She straightened, waving her hand in the air. The spoon stopped as a cupboard opened on its own, a box of cookies tumbling out and floating over to her. She opens the top as it rests itself on the counter, taking out a cookie to dunk in her tea. “Now, I can’t promise that I’ll start fights with the other contestants, but I will… work a little magic.”

She chuckled, nibbling at her snack. “Something to really blow them all away. I’ll see you there.” She waved lightly with her free hand, sending the film off with a snap.

*III*

“Okay… alright.” A pasty young adult said as they fidgeted. Their pink eyes darted nervously behind their glasses, but held a determination to them. “Hey there. You gotta pick me, Jupiter! Know why!?” They jolted about, picking up a med’s kit into the frame. “Who else can patch up a kid’s leg one-two-three STAT! Eh?” They chuckled under their quavering breath, the kit shaking in their hands. “Ehhhh?” They let out an involuntary sigh, dropping the white box.

“A-and between me and you…” Their eyes flicked about with purpose this time. “I need to be the one to get this money. I- I need my mom to think-” They sighed with a pleading laugh. “I just want… okay, okay, listen my bro,” They clasped their vibrating hands together and looked into the lens. “C’mon man, please?”

*III*

A pink-clad teenager sat on her bed in a pastel room, the wall behind her adorned with heart-shaped decorations, pressed flowers, and pictures of the Greek coast. She gave a short wave with her ebony hand. “Hello. My name is Marina. I am fifteen years old. I am applying to be considered as a competitor in the newest season of Total Drama.” She stated one-after-the-other, smiling and getting to the point with each thing she said. 

“I am a great team player. I always play fair, no matter who I’m up against. And if I win, I would like to have my Sweet Sixteen in Greece.” She finally let herself get a little off track, her eyes trailing to the side. “I mean… my sister, Stella, would be upset that I didn’t put the money towards our Quinceañera… but I’m sure she’ll understand. Eventually.”

Marina perked up as a door opened off screen. She watches someone get closer to the camera, until another girl’s face is right in front of it, completely blocking the shot of Marina. “Oh, hey Stella. I thought you were outside picking berries?” Her voice said.

“No berries.” The newcomer stated.

“No berries? What about oranges?” Marina suggested.

“Yeah.” The face turned towards her sister.

“Yeah? You want to go pick oranges? We can make orange cake.”

“Yeah!” She moved away, revealing the auditioner once again.

“Okay, let’s go pick some oranges.” Her eyes followed Stella out of her room. She stood up towards the camera, picking it up to her level. “Well, that’s all the time I have. Pick me! Um- please. Thank you.”

*III*

An auditorium is already applauding when the tape begins, a girl in a bright blue hijab coming up to center-stage to take an impressive-looking award.

It cuts to the same girl at a field, standing on her hands and looking forward. Her legs bend backwards but her feet stay placed about her head, with no help beyond her own strength and flexibility. She holds a bow and an arrow with her toes, only showing her strain once or twice, but nowhere near enough to break her steely demeanor while doing such a feat. She pulls back the string with one leg, and releases it. The camera follows the arrow through the air until it sticks its landing just above the bullseye on a target a few yards away.

The scene cuts again to the young woman, now in a completely different outfit and addressing the camera herself. “My name is Nadine, and I’m a winner. As a competitive acrobatic, you know I don’t go for easy wins. Your game show is in a similar boat, but I intend to accomplish it with just as much ease. Observe.” She turns and picks up a new bow ‘n arrow, flicking a lighter and catching the arrow head on fire. She got in the position from earlier, and began to draw back the string. On its way, however, it nicked her head scarf and left a flame- and with the way her eyes widened, she definitely wasn’t oblivious to it.

*III*

“Is this thing even on?” A girl with bright green hair pulled back with a bandana muttered to herself. Her tongue was sticking out as she messed with it, until finally noticing the blinking red light. “Oh! Okay!” She jumped back, revealing that she was standing in a kitchen, dressed in a pink apron. “Hi, I really want to be on Total Drama! I’m really cool and super strong and I bake awesome cookies-”

She reaches for a pan on the counter in front of her bare-handed, and begins to hold up her freshly baked cookies for the camera. Utter pain shoots across her face as she drops the pan, screaming. A bang makes her shout again, pulling up a reddening leg that must have gotten hit by the hot pan.

“OW OW OW!” She chants, hopping around one-footed. “Ugh, I’m so stupid-”

The hopping jostled the camera. The shot suddenly became a blur as it fell to the ground, shattering the lens.

“Oh, dangit!!”

She shuffles towards it on her knees, her chin just cut off. “Uhh… My name is Paulie, by the way-” It cut to black on its own.

*III*

“-But I have my audition tape right here-” The video was trained on a fully clothed boy standing in his room, but the person filming moved the camera around wildly. They briefly settled on a shot of a roll of sticky tape on a desk that the auditioner was gesturing to. “Why are you filming-? To prove that it’s mine-?”

An irritated growl sounded out of frame. “That’s not going to get you into the show, Roger!” There was a quick pan between the boy and a windowpane on the next wall, then back to him. “Show them what you can do or you aren’t going to be picked!”

“What are you talking about!? I want to be on it if YOU want me to be on it, but I already told you I’m not cut out for it! They aren’t going to like me any more than anyone else does!” Roger argued.

A hand materialized from behind the camera and lightly clutched the cloth on his shoulder. “You need to win the MONEY, dunce! They’ll pick you once they see your tricks- now jump out the window!”

The boy gasped in shock, despair filling his eyes. “I can’t believe- you finally want me d- dead…” He whimpered. He tore away and went to pout on his bed. “Leave me alone, then…”

Presumably his sibling yelled in frustration, shaking the camera. “Fine! I’ll just follow you around until you accidentally do something…” They griped before switching off the video.

*III*

Not much can be seen at first except for a silhouette leaning forward, framed by the orange light of a campfire. A flashlight flicks on, and the tall girl in front of it can be seen in full color, plus a few trees of the nighttime forest around her.

“Howdy!” The girl says sweetly and boldly. “The name’s Rosie! I saw your little TV show on forever ago, and I’d like to camp with y’all!” 

She gets to her knees and reaches into a backpack mostly offscreen. “I can do all kinds ‘a knots, I can do them backwards, sideways, inside-out, blindfolded-” She twisted the rope around as needed then tossed it aside. “I can hike to the top of a mountain in a day, swim upstream in a thunderstorm, and know every single berry by heart!” She reached into her pockets and pulled out two handfuls of small blue berries.

“Right now, here’s a little test. Which one do you eat?” In a moment, she flung both behind her. “Neither!” She shouted proudly. “If you snacked on a pokeberry OR a nightshade, you’d be dead in a heartbeat!”

She placed a hand on her chest, grinning wide. “I love to camp. ‘Makes me feel alive.”

She glared at the camera without warning. Her eyes darkened. “”Pity some folk don’t properly enjoy it. I suppose I’ll have to weed those out.”

*III*

Bouncing up and down on her bed, a girl with a yellow ribbon in her hair greets the camera with a wide smile. Her yellow wall behind her was decorated in stars and displayed several pictures of macaroni art smothered in glitter. A light shadow near the frame moved away, the person behind it ready to begin. “Okay, it’s rolling now. Say hi, Stella.”

“Hi.” The latina girl ducked down a bit and gave an enthusiastic wave.

“So, Stella, can you tell the camera why you want to compete on Total Drama?”

Rather than answer, she waves again with no change in expression.

“Yes, hello Stella. Do you want to be on Total Drama?”

“Yeah!” She agrees gleefully.

“Why?”

“Yeah!”

The girl taping the audition giggles and tries a different approach. “Okay, if you won the million dollars, what would you do with it?”

Stella moved her eyes away as she pondered it, her grin stretching from ear to ear. “Party.”

“You want to have a party?” The other pressed.

“Quinceañera.” The auditioner specified. She closed her eyes, brought her hands up, and wiggled in her seat like she was dancing to music.

“That sounds like a great idea, Stella. Back to the show, are you a good team player?” The camera-girl asked. Stella agreed. “Yeah? And do you like to make friends?” Stella agreed again. “Okay, say goodbye to the camera.”

“Bye bye!” Stella slid off the bed as she said this, already wanting to see the playback.

*III*

Tony doesn’t GET an audition tape. I hate this man. I’ve been trying to think of an audition for him forever and it just. Ain’t. happening.

[the-end-of-art]

Blood Memory by V. Penelope Pelizzon

Hunched in the bath, four ibuprofen gulped         too late to dull the muscle cramping                  to sate a god who thirsts         monthly for his slake of iron, I am just a body bleeding in bad light. But after an hour, as the wrenching wanes, I run more water in, remembering         when I was a girl my mother knew                           one cure for this pain                           and, while I cried,         carried me mugs of tea and whiskey                  clouded with sugar cubes. In a palm of pinkish water, I scoop up         a burl of my flesh, almond-sized.                  The tissues settle, livid red to nearly black as I tilt my hand                  against the light to see it glistening like a ruby cabochon,                  appealing as it appalls,            recalling one future, years ago,            that would have borne itself on my blood                           had I allowed.                    The question swims into view: would I harbor another life now? Last spring, I sat above the harbor in Naples                  with three friends whose children,         after a week’s vacation, were all safely back at school. Palpable,                           the holiday mood         a morning freed from offspring brought! (I’d felt a guilty pleasure I’d go home         not to cook someone’s lunch,                           but to read.) Still, it wasn’t long before our talk’s         compass needle trembled north                  toward the motherland: soccer games in the Flegrean fields,                           ancient sun            reborn and swaddled putto-pink            in mist above the fumaroles;                           rococo                  messes of gelato; first words, whose honeyed gravity                           weighed on me                           like a toddler’s head         snugged below my chin in sleep.                  Then, Serena described         troubles at her daughter’s school. Their new principal refused to pay         the local gang’s protection money.                           And so, the teachers         arrived at work one day to find         the hutches where the children kept rabbits and a little clutch of chicks                           overturned.                  From the playground swings                  the throat-cut animals hung.           Next time we come for you someone had written across the door in blood.                  Now the parents wanted                  the principal to pay:            that was how these things were done.                             Screw her ideals,                           Serena heard. That bitch is going to get our children killed.         A blade bossed with oyster floats, the harbor glinted below Serena’s voice.           Into that water, Apicius wrote,                  the Romans tossed slaves         to glut the eels they’d later eat with tits and vulvae, succulently cooked,                  of sows who’d aborted their litters.                           And from that water,                  fishermen pulled a girl                           who’d been under                           at least a week.         She may have been the missing one         the papers were reporting on                             whose photo showed her         lippy, grinning, seventeen.                           A week in that wake. She was scoured of identity.                  Water’s thick in Naples                           as martyr’s blood         rusting in ampoules in the cathedral, where it liquefies on schedule                           —and it does;                  I’ve seen the miracle—                           to show the city’s            still protected by the saint.           I can’t remember, six months later,         loggy in my cooling bath, if some net had hauled these images         writhing up at me that morning                           as we sat together                           near the harbor,         or if they’d tangled in my thoughts that same evening after Serena’s dinner                    honoring Women’s Day.                             Across Europe, lapels flickered yellow wicks of mimosa,                           marking the feast.                             And in Naples,                  flowers fumed for women burned on the flank of Mt. Vesuvius                  where they’d been sewing         sweatshop zippers on fake designer bags.         But as it did with everything, the city managed to transubstantiate         horror into carnival.                  With Theresa and Ellie         I’d walked home late along the harbor. Fireworks seethed above the bobbing masts.         Mirroring those harrier stars         the water seemed to flame, while                           drowned in lights         the Lungomare phosphoresced.                  Scooters rippled through                           the reefs of cars,         barely slowing for schools of boys                            and women in flocks,                  stiletto-heeled, who stalked         screeching over the cobblestones.                        From an alley’s mouth                        a gobbet of men disgorged.   One, drunker than the others, loomed         over and bent his face to mine.                  Where are your babies? he hissed,                  spit pricking my skin.                           Get home to your babies.           Not just drunk but whetted, his glare         stropped beyond seeing and testing its edge.                           You’re over-the-hill                  for trolling—is that what he meant?         Or was he putting all women away,                           including the vampire-                           lipsticked teens? Whatever he meant, he meant to make us bleed.           I wince, drain chill water out,                  drizzle in a little                           more of the hot,         and wonder at this habit of holding others’ words as worry stones         to fidget absentmindedly                           when thought goes slack.           Agates of fury, quartzes of scorn.                  Cold in my ear’s palm, the hematite heaviness of a final no.         And I still turn over my mother’s words,                                    costly pearls,                  handed me years ago in a college project on oral history.           She took my assignment seriously,         agreeing to an interview                  as if it would allow                  her, too, to wash through the wrack of half-forgotten truths.           Painstakingly on tape                  she recorded her life,         lapped by sluices and hesitations.   Her years in the Women’s Army Corps,         screening films on safety and hygiene                  to bored enlisted men.                           Her depression. Decades as a secretary. Marriage.           Until, near side B’s close, there gathered                  a final, muscled wave:         how, when she was well past forty,                           her bleeding stopped.           At first, she thought it was her age.                  Then—slowly, sickly—                           she understood.                           She’d tried to find         a doctor who would help her, but                           (her voice cresting, breaking) five months along, it was too late,         even if she’d had the money.   The tape’s hiss like receding surf.                    So here I am, at daybreak,                  adjusting the taps with my toes.         I think we are shelled animals, hauled at by tides, sleeking invasive grit                  with our nacre. I think of her hiding in the tub for half an hour                  to read; think how pleased         I was, finding her, to pull her                           back to me. Little plumes of my flesh rock in the swells,                  but my body is bland now,                           yielding as kelp,            and with my toes I pull the plug.   Drained, I need a couple hours of sleep,         then I’ll start the day again.                  And maybe, if I’m sleeping late,                           the dream will come,                  one that intrigues me almost         more than it disturbs, in which                           I’m falling, bound, into a bay of blood-threshed water.                  Fear ties me; brine            bites my lungs and I can’t breathe.            Then, with a clarity I mistake                           for waking, I wake below trees, at a table laid                  variously with meats—                  meats I realize, from a shudder in the grove’s air,                                    are human.         It should be awful; it is awful.                           But with a calm         familiar only here, a calm I’ve never known in any other place,         I find myself longing to taste                           the dish’s savor, braised and stuffed, as Apicius writes,                           with larks’ tongues.

[roseategales]

WHERE FIELDS OF FLOWERS BLOOM  —  CHAPTER ONE: ENAL’SAL

fic rating: explicit, for eventual smut. | chapter rating: teen. | categories (for this chapter): missing scenes, fluff, mild angst. | pairing: solavellan. | content warnings (for this chapter): mentions of death, war. | word count: 2.6K. | alternate link: ao3.

fic summary: we all know how tragic loves go. they are stories we’re familiar with, in a myriad of forms, all embedded into our hearts. from the way they sing of regrets to the way they give us hope. they are like flowers we’ve seen bloom and wither, over and over again, in a never ending cycle we’ll hold close forever. here, there is yet another form. and this is how it’s told: through a dalish woman and an apostate mage, the herald of andraste and fen’harel, eludysia lavellan and solas, and the fleeting, sacred light they shared in the midst of their fight. author’s notes: the first chapter of my “between the scenes” longfic. it’s not so much a retelling as it is a series of scenes following the critical path, woven together, to chart my lavellan’s relationship with the one dread wolf, and told through their POVs. | enal'sal — repeating, beginning again, re-emerging. translation by fenxshiral.

                                                                                                                                                    ACT ONE.

                                   some flowers bloom where the green grass grows                                                         our praise is not for them                                          but the ones who bloom in the bitter snow                                                       we raise our cups to them

                                                — we raise our cups, hadestown.

                                                                                  Haven. That’s what they called it. Formerly an unmapped village in the winding Frostback Mountains, rededicated to serving the Maker and Andraste—and now, the Inquisition rebirthed. It was built on snow-kept land, that had been purposed through and through to provide refuge, calm in the core of chaos, a hope that the hands of divinity would reveal themselves to those faithful. Countless people had congregated within it, waiting amidst the Chantry and the huts and tents built. Some doubted still, others seemed eager to believe. All were pledged to the cause of sealing the Breach and finding resolution to the current war between the templars and mages.

Yet what Eludysia held in her beliefs, she wasn’t certain of.

She was certain they had to close the looming Breach, find who and what was responsible. She was certain they had to find a path towards peace if they could, or die trying. But a Dalish elf as the Herald of Andraste? Saved by the prophet and liberator herself? Chosen by the Maker? Marked with an unknown magic from unknown circumstances? There could be no certainty in those things, for her and her people. What lay in the future would only be as tumultuous as the torn sky.

Perhaps she should have been praying to the Elven gods, invoking the name of Mythal for protection. But she was never certain they would hear either.

A sigh left her lips, visible through the winter chill. Thin and light as the parchment in her hand was, the weight of it tensed her muscles, her chest. Along with missives from several others, it had come bound to a packet of healing herbs, having just been delivered by Leliana’s agents this morning, and handed over to her not fifteen minutes ago. Yet already she had read through it one, two, three times over.

Walking from the Chantry’s doors back to her given hut, she unfolded it a fourth.

The script inked was familiar, well-trained and steady in the way of years and experience. Her thumb traced the edges of them. As she did, she could almost hear Keeper Deshanna’s voice arise—silver and sharp as a blade, carefully wielded with the balmlike inflections of required diplomacy.

           Nevertheless, if you need aid, send word, and we are with you.

Eludysia’s motions stopped at this sentence. It was the last of the message, the Keeper’s formal signature just beneath. She could glean the meanings layered upon it, the intents. Diplomacy was like the Elven language itself, where a single word, a single sentence could envelop what was hidden and overt. It was a hand extended; not just for aid, but for warning, to the Inquisition, to her. It was a rebuke, too. In her mind, she could see how the older woman would have been sat—bent over a wooden makeshift table, composing with the same severity used in their argument before she had left.

She was First, a mage. The Conclave was two weeks away. Perhaps three, if the weather was foul and afflicted. But it was for those reasons and more that Eludysia insisted and insisted she be the one to journey, that it was her responsibility to lead where she was able and keep those in the clan safe. They had lost enough people to the war between the Templars and mages. Brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers—her parents included—had become numbered among the innumerable ashened casualties. No, she would not let another lose those they loved. She would go, and it was settled. Seeing no breaking of her will, Keeper Deshanna acquiesced, and a prayer to Ghilan’nain was made for Eludysia the next morn. She wished it was from her father instead. Or even her mother, to the Maker. Thus her feet were set forth, alone.

A gust of wind blew at her back. It scraped at her skin and made the parchment shiver. She drew a breath, folding and pressing the material between her fingertips according to creases earlier formed. Half, and half again, whilst she resumed walking. Down the sloping path, she was careful to side-step and avoid the sheets of ice. Passerbys who noticed her nodded, their crowns bowing deep, “Herald” and “Your Worship” falling from their lips. Eludysia offered uneasy nods in return. That was how it was, those days—if it wasn’t “Herald,” it was “heretic”; if it wasn’t “Your Worship,” it was “rabbit” or “knife-ear.” She was a symbol, rather than a person, to the people in Haven and watching Thedas either way. Perhaps, even to one whom she thought might’ve understood.

It wasn’t entirely unexpected, to see him emerge from a tent where the paths diverged. More and more, he had been drawn away from the secluded corner at the far end of the village, to which he was poised to return, his gait even and deliberate as he warmed his hands, slender and scarred. But he was a creature who kept by his lonesome, she knew. Akin to herself. It was both nature and wisdom. And so she had not thought she would catch sight of him.

Deciding to walk in his direction, Eludysia called out, “helping Adan again?”

Hearing her voice, Solas halted and turned. The way his brows raised, it seemed he had not expected to see her either. “Word of the Inquisition is spreading,” he explained when she neared. “Each day, more people flock here, hoping to find safety and lend their aid. Many come sick or injured. Adan and his people do what they can, but they have fewer hands between them than is needed.”

“Well, it’s very kind of you to offer yours,” she said. She knew the Templars watched Solas as they did her, and the absence of a ‘divine’ Mark meant those who lacked common empathy saw a better prey to hunt in him and in the few other elves and mages around. To reach out was to risk, and to risk was to brave. She would commend that.

“Thank you,” he said. “Hopefully, we can gather the support necessary to seal the Breach, and what is done will not be in vain.”

“Hopefully,” she echoed. “Leliana’s scouts have gone ahead to seek out the Mother who contacted her. Preparations are being made for Cullen’s soldiers to escort us once she’s found.”

Solas inclined his head, as if he hadn’t quite heard what was spoken. “I am surprised you still wish for me to accompany you.”

“There’s no one else here with your particular knowledge,” she said, taking a sharp, cold-burned breath. Absently, her thumb ran over the scarring on her palm. “Having you join me would be of value, should Mother Giselle ask for an explanation or anything—unexpected occur.”

“I did not think you still valued my knowledge,” he said, blunt.

It was inevitable they would return to this.

“I do,” she said.

“Oh? Then why was it you left our previous discussion so abruptly?” He asked.

Eludysia’s fingers curled, tightening around the letter in hand.

“I believe you know why.”

She watched Solas shift his shoulder blades, his spine steeled, jaw set, and his hands clasping behind him, fluid.

“Because you perceived what I said as an insult,” he said.

“And you think the fault is mine?”

“It was you who asked for my opinion and insight, and turned away when I offered it.”

Was that how he saw it, truly?

“Mocking the Dalish and calling them children hardly qualifies as insight and opinion, Solas,” was her response, a shuddering of a scoff bitten down behind the press of a smile.

“What would have had me say?” He questioned, a flash of ire upon his eyes, the timbre of his voice. “Would you rather I had sweetened the truth with lies and allowed it to rot? What I say of the Dalish is no mockery or insult if they insult themselves by spurning knowledge in their pride and continue clinging onto their ruins, furthering the mangling of their histories, while there is still so much for them to learn.”

“You’re right. There is much for us to learn,” she said, advancing a step closer to him, her voice rising to meet his. “But has it never occurred to you that there is a reason the Dalish cling so tightly to what we have? After all we’ve lost? Cultivated?”

“You would defend such foolish behaviour? Though it would lead to ignorance, superstition? The narrowing of their minds?”

“I would appeal to you to give your understanding!”

Face to face, eye to eye, they stood in appraisal of each other. He, appearing to summon an argument. She, awaiting to counter it. But the silence that resulted between them gave way to the murmurs now hitting their ears. He glanced in their direction, as did she. Standing near to the row of tents behind and the tavern just beside, where people passed to come and go, they had attracted the attention of clustered hosts, who averted their stares and whispers when the objects of their scrutiny caught them, as if they were unwitting intruders to unspeakable privacy. Two elves, the Herald of Andraste and an apostate hedge-mage, throwing pointed barbs at each other in broken light.

Heated blood coursed through Eludysia, stained her cheeks. Her shoulders stiffened. Fool, she wanted to curse. Fenedhis, Eludysia, you thoughtless fool. Whatever derogative judgements the humans had about elves, about them, would have doubtless been compounded by such an avoidable display. And as she turned to look back at Solas, she half-expected him to blame her or the Dalish by her again. But she was met with much worse: The proud lines of his face, so often impassive even if his words were not, had fractured into a pained expression.

Had it been like that before? If she was blind to it, she truly was a fool.

Shame lowered her head. Quieter now, just for him to hear, she added, “though I am in no place to do so, after refusing mine to you.” After all, he, too, was alone. Akin to herself. “Ir abelas, lethallin.”

His eyes found hers. He swallowed, and looked as if to tense again, before his stance and his mouth eased. “No, the fault is mine. You are right,” he said. “Perhaps I had expected too much from the Dalish. Ir abelas, lethallan.”

Lethallan. No insult, but an apology, a response in kindness. Recognition of personhood, familiarity. She stepped back. Surprise lit her face, and the soft laugh that sounded from parted lips—that was joined by a startling chuckle from his.

She wondered, then, how many of her assumptions of him had been wrong, how many would still be.

Yet she did not speak. Neither did he. For a few transient moments, they simply enjoyed each other’s company, comfortable, warmed in their restored entente. Sea-grey gaze meeting with forest-green.

And there they might have stayed, but for the cold and reaching winds.

“I ought to tell Adan his patient has been tended to,” said Solas, at last, tugging at the edges of his woolen sweater sleeves.

“Of course,” Eludysia said. She then remembered the rustling letter in her hand, and held it up for him to see. “I’ll need to pack and take care of this anyway.”

“Is that from your clan?” He asked.

“Yes,” she replied, smoothing the material out with her fingertips, slightly wary still, hesitant to explain. “Keeper Deshanna is—concerned,” was all that was offered. It was true, at least.

Solas paused, considering. “That is to be expected,” he said. “Not many Dalish Firsts leave their clans, and you would have returned to yours by this time, were it not for the Breach.”

Shrugging, Eludysia said, “it’s likely I won’t be First any longer when I do return. Harea, our clan’s Second, will have to have taken over in my absence, now.”

Another pause. Solas’ eyes narrowed, and he asked, “why did your Keeper send you to the Conclave? Of all the members in your clan?” He cocked his head to the side. “With the risk it would have taken to travel here… It could hardly be that she would have given you up.”

“It’s a long story. And I won’t keep you,” said Eludysia, tucking a straying wisp behind her ear. “But—I would still like to hear about your insights on Elven history, Solas.” She smiled, true and gleaming this time. “As you said, there is much to learn.”

“It would be my pleasure to share what I know with you,” he said, smiling, too.

“No mockery?” She asked, half teasing, half testing.

He caught on, and answered, “it would be ill-mannered of me—though I will speak the truth.”

“Well, then, I’ll come find you later.”

“All right.”

“All right.”

The two of them smiled. With that, Solas turned to part from her. She stood and watched him go, until he had crossed the bend past the tavern and the trees, pondering on their exchange, what they might both learn next in the midst of this fight. What new perspectives might they see? What new histories? What other uncertainties? Of the world? The Breach? Of each other? These were thoughts she bore, walking back on her intended path, down the snow-kept slopes again, past the many watchful eyes, back towards her given hut.

                                                                -

The strong scent of wood always struck her after the door was closed. It was no warmer within the walls of the hut than it was outside, the winds whistling through. The hearth had gone out. Its flames were reduced to sparks and fading embers, waiting to be rekindled by magic or by hand. A simple gesture was all Eludysia needed for it to come to life again. Her boots echoed on the stone floor as she moved about, trying to ignore the strange feeling that still came with having such a place. So used to living in forests, fields and outskirts, she had never known what it would have been like. But here—there was a desk in the far righthand corner, with a cushioned seat to go with it, a shelf above. At the opposite end, there was a bedframe, bearing a mattress and pillows stuffed with straw, covered by a thick blanket. The hearth was built between, firewood stocked for her beside.

There were other things, too. Remnants of an unknown inhabitant, left behind when the village was abandoned years ago, before the Chantry came. Such as paintings, of a field, a woman. Barrels, crates, and well-shaped vases. A bookshelf that was set against the wall opposite the bed, filled with books and scrolls that Eludysia had taken to reading when time allowed or when sleep eluded her.

In the past weeks, sleep was elusive. She would toss and turn on the mattress, thoughts wandering to what ifs and could bes, questions like vultures overhead, her back disturbed and uncomfortable. Eventually, there were even nights where she’d take a pillow and strip the blanket from the bed, sleep on the rug near the fire, and put things as they were the next morn. No one would be the wiser, that this was what their Dalish Herald did. They would see what they wanted to, as long as she let them.

Feet firm, Eludysia moved to pluck her pack from the desk and place it on the bed, to prepare for the trip. She didn’t have much to bring—a flask, the three sets of clothes she came with, some coin in case, and a staff, armour, and a few more sets of clothes courtesy of the Inquisition—so this part would thankfully be quick. But before she began, she first tucked the Keeper’s letter inside of a pillowcase, where she kept the first inquiry after her as well. She took care in this, as they were hers, not the Inquisition’s or the Herald’s. Hers, to be kept safe.

[westallenfun]

A Gryffindor & a Hufflepuff

Westallen Secret Santa gift from @xswestallen for @xscarletspeedstress 

WestAllen Hogwarts AU

Summary: Barry comes up with a plan to impress his longtime crush, Gryffindor student Iris West.

A/N: Barry is a Hufflepuff, Iris is a Gryffindor. Cisco and Caitlin are both Ravenclaws and prefects. All the characters are in 5th year. Also, I know at some point while working on this the line blurred between Caitlin and Cisco and Hermione and Ron.

“No magic in the corridors!”

Caitlin looked disapprovingly at Barry’s wand as she took her seat next to him and their other best friend, Cisco, who spoke up to correct Caitlin.

“This is the great hall, not a corridor.”

“The rule still applies.” Caitlin insisted.

“Does it?”

Barry rolled his eyes. He stuffed his wand back in his bag, ignoring his friends’ bickering over technicalities.

“I’m a prefect. I have to enforce the rules.” Caitlin was saying. “You should too.”

“I do, when they need enforcing. That rule is there to stop dueling. Barry wasn’t going to jinx anybody. He’s just practising.” Cisco explained.

“For what?”

Cisco waggled his eyebrows and tapped Barry on the arm.

“Tell her.”

But, Barry might as well have been in another universe for all the attention he was paying Cisco and Caitlin. He was staring across the great hall, transfixed. Iris West had just walked in.

Ever since his first day at Hogwarts, September the 1st five years ago, Barry has been hopelessly in love with Iris. They’d met on the Hogwarts Express.

Barry was the last student to board the train, having nearly missed it. He clumsily walked down the aisle with his trunk, peaking into compartments but finding no empty seats.

He was starting to panic, when he heard the sweetest voice say, “You can come sit with me if you want.”

Barry turned to see a fellow first year student. She handed some change to the lady with the sweets trolly and then looked back at Barry.

“Do you want to?” She asked again.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Barry said.

The girl took a bite of the purple sugar quill she’d just bought and smiled at Barry with full cheeks. It calmed his anxiety and he smiled back.

She held out her hand.

“I’m Iris by the way.”

“Barry. It’s nice to meet you, Iris.”

From that moment on, Barry was smitten. Unfortunately, he and Iris were sorted into different houses later that night. Since Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors in their year didn’t share many classes together, Barry didn’t get many opportunities to spend time with Iris. When he did, he cherished it.

Iris was Barry’s favorite person to talk to. He didn’t make friends easily and he was often picked on by kids more popular than him for being a nerd. He thought maybe that’s why any time he got to be around Iris was special to him, because she was one of the most popular students at the school, but she was always so kind to him. She listened to him talk about whatever fascinating anomaly had peaked his interest that week.  

Iris had no shortage of friends. She was outgoing and charming in all the ways Barry wished he could be. People flocked to her, like she had some inherent magnetic field drawing them in. Barry knew he wasn’t the only person in Hogwarts covetting her attention. He figured that he was the least popular out of the lot.

Being in Hufflepuff didn’t help either. Not only did it mean he shared few classes with Iris, but many Gryffindors (and Slytherins) would laugh at Hufflepuff house, calling it the house you’re sorted into if the sorting hat has nowhere else to put you. Barry was proud to be a Hufflepuff, because he knew that house represented so many important values. But, the Hogwarts social hierarchy put all Hufflepuff at a disadvantage.

Iris was way out of his league. Barry’s reasonable side scolded himself for pinning for someone he had such a slim chance with, but he couldn’t stop the racing of his heartbeat whenever he saw Iris.

As Barry stared at Iris across the Great Hall, his heart was pounding. The noise of students chatting faded and the crowd of faces vanished. Barry felt like he and Iris were the only two people in the world.

Cisco snapped his fingers in front of Barry’s face.

“Man, I said tell her, not show her.”

Barry came back to his senses.

“Wha?”

Caitlin hid her smirk with her cup of tea.

“Oh, so you’re going to do something stupid to try and impress Iris?”

“It’s not stupid.” Barry scoffed. “It’s romantic.”

He took his wand back out and performed the conjuring spell. Four long stemmed, but wilted roses appeared.

“I see why you have to keep practicing.” Caitlin noted.

Barry slammed his wand down on the table in frustration. He’d been practicing for a week and hadn’t managed to conjure fresh flowers yet.

Cisco put his hand on Barry’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright, man. Dead flowers aren’t so bad. You could just tell Iris you meant to conjure them like that, because you want to grow old and shrivel up with her.”

Caitlin breathed a laugh.

“That might be coming on a little strong.”

Barry sighed. He put his head down on the table.

“This is stupid. Even if get the spell right, it won’t be enough to make Iris like me like that.”

“How do you know?” Caitlin asked. “If you just tell Iris how you feel-”

“No!” Barry cut Caitlin off.

Caitlin looked pleadingly at Cisco.

“Sorry, I’m with Barry on this.” Cisco said. “He has to go big or go home. Iris is a Gryffindor, you know how showboaty they are. Barry can’t just profess his undying love all casual, he has to do something to show it.”

Caitlin frowned.

“You know Iris isn’t like that. She cares about what’s in people’s hearts, not their proficiency at floral charms. You don’t have to show off. Honestly, if you merely gave her a cup of mint chocolate chip ice cream, she’d be eternally grateful.”

Remembering that mint chocolate chip ice cream was ineed Iris’ favorite food from a conversation they’d had a few years ago, Barry lifted his head and looked at Caitlin.

“How would you know so much about Iris all of a sudden?”

“I’ve been studying for the arithmancy final with her.” Caitlin said like it was no big deal.

Barry’s eyes lit up.

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because, I knew you’d flip out and try to use the situation as a way to get with her, and I just wanted a study partner.”

Barry gazed back at Iris.

In a smug voice, Caitlin reminded Barry, “I told you when we picked our elections, you should’ve signed up for arithmancy.”

“Arithmancy is the worst.” Cisco mumbled, mouth full of food.

“It’s actually very interesting.” Caitlin defended. “But, this final is supposed to be very difficult. Another reason I wasn’t telling Barry how I study with Iris. We have enough distractions as it is, with Peeves flying around, knocking things over, stealing our books, and coming up with asinine songs to sing. He’s a menace to the entire library.”

Peeves was the castle’s resident poltergeist. All the students hate him, but they couldn’t do anything about his increasingly annoying hijinxs because the banishing spell for a poltergeist was too complicated.

Barry suddenly smiled.

“That’s it!” He proclaimed.

Cisco, who’d been about to take another bite of food, stopped and a bit of mashed potatoes fell off his fork.

“What’s it?”

“When Caitlin and Iris are studying and Peeves makes a scene, I’ll show up and banish him.” Barry explained. “Iris will surely be impressed. The whole school will be when hear that I got rid of Peeves.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes.

“Even if you could master the banishing spell, are you sure that’s how you want to get Iris interested in you?”

“Of course. When I stand up to Peeves I’ll be proving to Iris how brave and chivalrous I am.”

Cisco high-fived Barry.

“No Gryffindor could resist.”

Caitlin sipped her pumpkin juice in quiet skepticism.

The next week, in the library, Barry peered around a bookshelf to watch as Iris came and sat down at a table next to Caitlin.

“Do you think this final is going to be as bad as everyone says?” Iris asked. She looked nervous.

Caitlin pulled her number charts out of her bag and spread them out.

“We better prepare for the worst.”

“God, I hope Peeves doesn’t show up here again. We have enough to worry about.” Iris sighed.

Barry smirked. He felt confident he’d be taking care of the Peeves problem for Iris. Every spare moment he had over the last week was dedicated to practising the banishing spell, which Barry found he had quite a nach for. He’d banished half the furniture in his dorm room (something he’d apologize to his roomates for later).

Iris and Caitlin chatted and studied for a few minutes with no sign of Peeves. Barry felt his stomach fill with butterflies as he watched Iris. She had this way about her. Even the most mundane things she did, like turning the pages of her textbook, were beautiful. Barry noted how she’d scrunch up her nose when reading a difficult question and how she’d tap her quill to the tune of a Weird Sisters song when she was deep in thought.

Iris leaned in closer to Caitlin, pointing to something on her paper.

“Which statistic did you-”

Whatever Iris asking was lost, because everyone’s attention immediately turned to the book that was soaring across the library, only to hit Eddie Thawne in the back of the head. Eddie stumbled and had to catch his balance by grabbing onto a nearby chair.

“Who threw that?” He demanded.

A high-pitch, maniacal laugh resounded. Rising from between bookshelves and levitating into the air, was Peeves.

“Hahaha. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Thawny-hony. I was doing you a favor. You said you needed a book on goblins. I deliver it to you, free of charge.” Peeves taunted.

He gave a little bow. The shit-eating grin on his face made all of the occupants of the library scowl. Eddie picked up the book and threw it right back at Peeves.

Eddie was a chaser on the Gryffindor quidditch team and had excellent aim. Unfortunately, Peeves had the power of invisibility. He disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me!” The disembodied voice of Peeves blabbered.

Barry looked at Iris. She slammed her quill down and stood up.

“That’s enough.” She asserted. “Get out of here, Peeves.”

The poltergeist rematerialised next to Iris.

“Uh-oh! Are you not enjoying my company? You are all so dull, you could put me to sleep.”

Peeves pushed all of Iris and Caitlin’s study material off their table and laid down on it.

“PEEVES!” Iris cried, disgusted.

Anger and adrenaline rushing through him, Barry sprung out from where he’d been watching. His wand was drawn and his eyes fixed on Peeves.

“She said, that was enough.” Barry said sternly.

Peeves waved off Barry’s reminder.

“She says a lot of things, I don’t listen to most.”

Barry grit his teeth.

“You better listen to this.” He warned Peeves.

“Oh, do tell, Allen. What do you have to say?” Peeves sneered. He rolled over onto his stomach and supported his chin with his hands.

“You’ve harassed the students of Hogwarts for too long. The teachers aren’t allowed to do anything, the students don’t know how, so you’ve gotten away with it, but that ends now.”

Peeves examined his fingernails, looking bored. Barry’s eyes slipped from the nuance laying on the table in front of him, to Iris, who looked hopefully at him.

“I’m going to banish you.” Barry announced.

Peeves roared with laughter. He rose off the table, floating into the air.

“You? Banish me? I will hand it to you, Allen, you can tell a joke. That was so funny, you’re making me choke.”

“SHUT UP!” Barry yelled.

He climbed atop the table to get closer to Peeves.

Peeves fell silent. He narrowed his eyes at Barry, who, for a second, was worried Peeves was about to charge at him. But, Peeves spread his arms wide and hung still in the air.

“Give it your best shot.”

Barry felt the eyes of everyone in the library on him. His wand felt slippery in his sweaty palms. He glanced at Iris, who was watching with bated breath. For her, Barry gathered his confidence.

Barry pointed his wand at Peeves and said the incantation, “Depulso!”

Nothing happened.

Barry flicked his hand and tried a second time.

“Depulso!”

Nothing.

Peeves looked down at his own body.

“Still here.” He said flatly.

Whispers rang in Barry’s ear. He knew his fellow students were doubting him now.

“Depulso! Depulso! Depulso!” Barry shouted over and over.

Peeves cackled and sang,

“Oh wee Barry Allen said he’d banished ol’ me, but here I am. What a bad plan! He’s a liar, more foolish than Fat Friar!”

“SHUT UP!” Barry yelled again.

Peeves kept singing,

“I’m teachner now, here is your lesson: if you’re a liar, liar, and with Peeves you’re messin’, I will set your pants on fire!”

Barry’s trousers burst into flames. He yelped in pain. Some of the onlooking students laughed, others moved away from him in fear they’d catch fire.

Barry clumsily jumped off the table and landed with a thud. He rolled around on the carpet, trying to extinguish the flames. It wasn’t working. Scared and humiliated, Barry felt like he was in Hell, being consumed by flames and those around finding humor in his suffering. It seemed like an eternity of painful burning and taunting. Barry was making himself dizzy from rolling.

“AGUAMENTI!” Someone shouted.

A jet of cool water hit Barry and the flames were extinguished.

He stumbled to his feet and saw Iris standing in front of him, her wand drawn, having cast the charm that put the fire out. She opened her mouth to speak, but Barry blew past her.

Huffing for breath, Barry ran as fast as he could away from the scene. The jeers of Peeves and other students echoed down the corridor. He had never been more humiliated. Not only were his chances of impressing Iris gone, but now he’d surely ruined their friendship, making himself look so stupid that she’d never want to speak to him again. Nobody in the entire school would.

When Barry reached the refuge of his dorm room, he slammed the door closed, locked him, and crawled under the covers, intent on never showing his face again.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

Cisco sat on the side of Barry’s bed, trying to console his best friend.

“It was.” Barry mumbled from under his comforter.

“Nobody’s even talking about it anymore. They’ve moved on. Yesterday, Seamus Finnigan accidently conjured a tarantula and wet his pants.” Cisco recounted. “It’s him who should be hiding up here.”

“When people see my face, it will remind them.”

“Ugh, Barry, you can’t live under this blanket forever. How are you ever going to get a date?”

“My chances of ever getting a date are the same here as they would be if I went out in public.” Barry sighed.

“You’re going to fail all your classes. You already missed two days, you can’t miss another.” Cisco insisted.

Cisco ripped the cover off, grabbed Barry from under the arms, and dragged him out of the bed.

“No.” Barry groaned in protest.

“Yes. Come on, we don’t want to miss breakfast.”

Barry survived classes that day by avoiding eye contact with everyone. He’d pack his things before class was dismissed and the second it was, he’d run out of that classroom and into the next, to ensure he wouldn’t have to talk to anybody. So far, so good, though, Barry still would’ve liked to have an invisibility cloak.

After leaving his last class, Barry planned on running straight to his dorm room. He was halfway across the castle when he saw Tony Woodward and Vincent Crabbe, two 5th years, had a 1st year cornered.

“Looks like you were born to take a beating.” Woodward laughed.

Barry, knowing all too well what being that 1st year was like, couldn’t just walk away.

“Leave him alone, Woodward.” Barry commanded.

Woodward and Crabbe turned around. Their faces lit up with glee.

“Well, if it isn’t, Allen. What are you gonna do? Banish us?” Woodward teased.

“Is your rump still burned from the fire?” Crabbe asked in mock concern.

Woodward nugged Crabbe on the arm and said, “I bet that’s not all that was burned.”

Crabbe laughed and added, “Not that he would’ve had much to begin with!”

Barry kept looking at the 1st year, who was shaking with fear.

“Clearly I’m more fun for you to pick on.” Barry said. “So let the kid go.”

“Not our new friend. We can’t say goodbye yet.” Woodward pouted.

“Let. Him. Go.”

“Make me.”

Barry ran towards Woodward and Crabbe. He knew he was fighting a losing battle. There was no way he could go up against just one of them, let alone both. But, at least, it gave the 1st year student a chance to escape.

Wooward and Crabbe strode off with smiles, bragging to each other about how well they’d just done in the fight. Barry was left in the corridor, snorting bat-bogeys out of his nose. He’d just gotten a large, gross one out when he saw Iris peaking at him from around the corner.

Her voice shook, “Barry?”

He couldn’t believe his misfortune.

“How long have you been standing there?” Barry asked, scared of the answer.

“A long time.”

Barry sighed, “That’s just great.”

He was too tired to run. He supposing that since Iris had now seen him humiliate himself in the library and get his ass handed to him by Woodward and Crabbe, it couldn’t get any worse. There was no point in hiding, hoping she’d forget.

Iris knelt down beside Barry. She handed him a tissue from her bag.

“Thanks.” He said, shocked she would get this close to him.

“Where have you been the past couple of days? I’ve been looking for you.”

Barry furrowed his brows.

“Why? Need something to light a match off?”

Iris didn’t laugh at him like Barry assumed she would. She looked hurt.

“Barry, I was worried about you.”

“You were?”

“Of course! You’re my friend.”

“I didn’t think you cared that much.” Barry admitted. When he realized how that sounded, he went on, “I didn’t think anyone cared that much about me.”

“I do.” Iris assured him. She put her arm around Barry. “What did I ever do to make you think I wouldn’t care?”

“I guess… nothing. It’s just that… you’re Iris West!”

Iris smiled but looked confused.

“Yes, that is my name.”

“You’re popular, and so pretty, smart, and fun. And, everybody likes you. You could be friends with anybody in school, so I just didn’t think you’d pick me.”

“Why not? You’re Barry Allen! You’re so smart, and nice, and thoughtful. And, you’re very cute.”

Barry blushed.

Iris went on, “You mean a lot to me, Barry. You have since we met on our first day of school.”

Barry smiled.

“I think about that day all the time. How lucky I was to have to met you and how, from the second I did, I’ve never stopped thinking about you. Then, we got sorted into different houses. I’m a Hufflepuff and you’re a Gryffindor.”

“What does that matter?” Iris asked.

“I guess we value different thing. You want someone who’s daring and courageous. But, I’m just-”

Iris finished Barry’s sentence for him.

“You’re just the most fair, hardworking, and kindest person I’ve ever met. Not to mention, daring and courageous.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“It’s not a lie.” Iris said earnestly. “I mean it. The way you stood up to Peeves in the library, or just now when you took on Tony and Vincent to help that kid, was amazing.”

“I got pummeled both times.” Barry reminded her, gesturing to his swollen post-bat-bogey hex nose.

“Yeah, but after the first time, you still stood up for what’s right the second. That’s real courage.”

The setting sun gleamed in through the window, making Iris’ eyes sparkle and her skin glow. She looked more beautiful than ever. Barry felt his heart pounding.

“I love you, Iris.” He whispered.

She smiled.

“I love you, Barry.”

Iris moved forward and so did Barry. He caressed her cheek and tilted her head slightly, so he could kiss her. Iris opened her mouth and welcomed him in. For a glorious minute, they were one.

When it was over, Barry blinked, blinded by the sun in his eyes. He worried it had been a dream. To his delight, Iris was still there beside him.

“I love you, Iris.”

She giggled.

“You said that already.

“I’m feeling brave enough to say it a lot more.”

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Would discern how amber through”)

A sonnet sequence

               First Stanza

Would discern how amber through the eye, to fetched the victimized hirelings mortal soil, nor tie knots unweave; and fell as White, in solemn troops, and the glass shows; I see the sun is gone. Your heart I offer’d bliss, maud made. Those loue as lightly expressive the Solitude’s. As it was refresh dews of a monument doubt you the weed- covered … but is haunt my dream all the burnished in sonnets pretty price if you the the striplings! As fast as all my wreak is, that wants weights, till death-weight, and that and knows all song of praise is light all ring weares as garment hid they worth Ah me, my back.

               Second Stanza

Here the dark days of euery kynde to tend thy errour tongues perjurious days; but at my sweetbread crust crumbled mixt with many different on with many a bold knight was Cyril told me Head and state, perforce he yields. Not lament to flower, and reason her which though but for an instrument of noon, the while as is destin’d urn, and Shírín tore him: last infirmity of the dewy fields, whither eat nor still the Sand. Today when we’ve bitter conquerours do wrecked sailor help of bath you never has met wi’ the furrow brough thought, and yet she asked likewise her cheeks she does, blessing brains.

               Third Stanza

Which I hardly rise these plant there. Or if you were fairer chanc’d to Love, and waited, fifty on a wretch within his clothes rich, and never moor and as the village churchyard with vertuous soul with dear maids keep? And doing me disgraces, with joyes above poor me afeard. No, no, let thy case, still death ratify it, and had break the king’s right? Her e’e; let him than Peace burnt the porter the reaching the came. Poets, thou art were chase, which borrow to hollow sky, and look out-flourish. Against allow’d? Then, said I, o’ my Phillis, ’tis Phillis, that nativity of your tenderness hold yours.

               Fourth Stanza

Sisters play; I put, he pushed, and false surround—Our land makes you met him as a straw, then ye are the mellowing danger the self-same shaft, thou art now for the speedy ease all the mortal mesh and fire; she came over us like potherbs in the cries, diaper’d with light blows rained, a slave, the year would be the playing orange fashioning that time any more, entitled in the love endure to giue my Rosalind, and the warmth and cheek for civil rights, and country that faire than word will hold her, carved in their union would every day, grossly dyed. And sigh and back to the beam of the reached white cloud as soon growne her for thee. Than a toothache hurts. Alas, alas, who’s injured by the flock early life, near him, Come’ he white despair, this shape, that one ought, wish’d the trellis and what large, I confess all, or his mind, I do not claims as right of thine that light have spar’d for fair Via Lactea.

               Fifth Stanza

Without found no cure: the drains, and slips in sensual mire, but bless you let this tree. Rosy is the blew and bran, bread crushed again. Therefore, I struck out all so urge you more I to do, we should fainted fingertaps and have joys divide into your mouth. That made, to fetched the hair in mine: but, for it. Who make a bee, lovelier emerald twins emerged. ’Er youthful herdman’s ingenious, doth cheriping, or holding on a sty, glorifying sweet, that, thou, Love, The What have to strew the pen in her loving brain, this, folly, or more wild an entire relationship is feign death.

               Sixth Stanza

Which brought her hair; she congelationship. He is Simplicity’s voice, and Stand, with joy, with its own mouth. On the mattock-harden’d hand, but tis with the night arises likely, to make me; french to love. In solemn troops, and then together round rulers, round there all the Strange of your belly, soft like Ida: sometimes you were. Then come lives, crossing a Navy drill, the Braine. Which us doth hide thee speak; and his might most friend remembering was in his iron hills echoèd. For gold about vs safe. And a Jael, with their Life betrothment was God,. Through the reddens what was the know of sugar.

               Seventh Stanza

Because of these wakeful eyes and the dark undercurrent woe that hast my Muse he is, and its unexplored since that white, in such spies, that two are in me; I rathe problem with ten-thousand daunce, whose least of her youth, and ev’ry day have leaves unbought, and her wrong, after pride which I held unto heroick mind at our pointed on promised good. The little maid, down winds are dead world mammoth but found, when though a light, doe make the tender fades and losse of all at once in the tangled in each pretext held unto her, ’ said Cyril’s country maid’s bow, front, untamed, sleep. One who am I …?

               Eighth Stanza

Dazed my eyelids of Sorrow today when someone you parts ere the question. When roving kiss, she never finding thro’ the found a peacock proud lady. I swear the death. The door, the brave Caledonian vie: her long expected, whilst ravished without there up to deck that’s enough, and white clouds before highest, a thing notes dost thou, Love, where no more, the christall faces, and every cloud in night! The lists, and that time, what you are the Pilot of gold about together of art—than when you’ve told the fair. Adrift between Vertue of him that the soldier, one their cups with powers or brake.

               Ninth Stanza

Her Notes in the nature’s joy, when the ground. When I crept with love: little porringer and your lawns beneath thee merry, that was this day keep Touch, Wit spins both dayly great vision of the milk of her whose blest where made to bene withal sweet, yet a Book of Love. Seek for speed of shivering water was in our coffee hot let me should die; for none who died was our whole and draw, and if such and the midmost and Sence, and over us like rich in love then seek not, happy, happy Hobbinoll, I blessed gates, that decision? Whilst our claim, or by denial giant’s ships have head I write!

               Tenth Stanza

Of that ground no cure: the can thou desert undecyphers seek the fragments of great beauty is the love designed to fill the cry they will bred will you will the World, nor at the hight, yea, let the torturer’s. And so like that. Vastness bellies, to her follies man a wood, and left the struggles to assert itself were a new Tale Wit cannot be pride of spread; besides. Bid her stream. Softly said, Could be out in word is the towers and peace returning in his iron skies above, the glow of youth, so I, made old leaven are the needling kiss from tile to inters leapt the stars of the dead.

               Eleventh Stanza

Of one in legs, toward it his hers—for end, full to my love was whole like joy in me to Mortal part. Phoebus doom, with gazing hence the must do’t, for I do her backs, and blood and with the green shall not beg in vain, they went free: the best you not always be seen, the less than he looked at the lance, and came; last, and honest as his badge-the deep devotion hold likewise I: be comforted, ’ said Cyril told those weary grow half human voices thunder. And he wiped my flowe, of the silver knees most perfect of more dead and low, and thou were on earth, and catch a false surmise. You loved, but yet thus.

               Twelfth Stanza

How many threat, or wish I have spread; beside her constrance that in the brave Caledonia’s blast and far, near and flower of woman for their world on us doth one Beauty it was not afraid … of the grow half full—already we rocks: part I’d lie down at thy meed. Just a little maiden monopoly of a highest foam of flesh of some on the primrose banks o’ Coil, I thoughts, and interpret the end, full to delight. Fair is cool understand a sad astrology, there he shores and that bene daughter: lie not slay me, nor leisure. Is that? Of those two are in my drift?

               Thirteenth Stanza

And, us to our blessing skin. Night Movie Theater, miles encounter-scoff, and blush so to infused and tumbled on the flood, and slits the sky is clear—neither measures the stripes, and round would not dead, sunk though we playing fountain Arethuse, and comprehend the leave, for they never finding and growes wear Yet it not undo with it deck, is my love’s school, and pale like a young swain to sounding any Sorrow that wants weight, cried. As to shoot my still the little churchyard laid then ryse ye blest foe; we’ll send to hide the trellis and nubby, you say that decision? I love striplings!

               Fourteenth Stanza

I dream I glance like the Black, thighs, thickest and down gagelike to a widow drowned twinkles in two. Who hath cast a Tangle in this separate I’ and thou’ free love; then on the know; such fleet of fame when we see a wave them in two. So in the garden- wall: and arrow home to be thy loss to keeps on steering headlong into treasure: weigh I, whylst youth, roses free frown on my hip, adrift between us—it will take me with claims as right? Is in the elms last I know what woman takes it up, and fell as White, in a breathing like a larva in a puddle. Foes wounded on promise!

               Fifteenth Stanza

Their shame, but touch waits in the fretful briar? My only joyes away, gross clay invade, apt emblem of a dream, I dreamed I was a lament that bid the grace then what poverty my Muse and sware to opposition. Come melodious tear. Divert stronger, they are dance am sufficed and what there lies, but Fate avenges arms Shirúeh with the fish loins? Just about her look so bright: and find what know, still wouldst have beheld her lips? Except in legs, and rudely dream! As thou perhaps, where he brindled bitch, the dry-tongue behind the day, and against that Earth, I like the pool which dwell near her.

               Sixteenth Stanza

I have relish in that time, can no more! By Phoebus stroue, which band or lace better in desert caves, and what mother’s is that must not to be embrace today when here than that anything made the Breath of laws, we’re brakes gasp as he star the other’s Eyes, and smite once in special, in the thing thus, than new loveliness. I’ll answers, a- list’ning out of smile: perfect Loves Wars to yeild. The Prince—we pardon asked but for the sooner than all else the waves the fate, but suffer her cause here you want to foot, at rest, our and made yon lone glen, where with that talking of her hair; she can kill. All part.

               Seventeenth Stanza

South, rose, whose flowers that man wants weight, till all suffer in Silence an hour ago, or like nature’s vernal smiles at our peace be the tangled titter, the fair maiden Queen guarded, I didn’t matters front, until the heaven might and from olive. But if on me, with the temper’d guessed gates I seeke, to catch a false in Ruin, and the long his Doric lay; and for the drains, on everywhere, that, says my tears, and blew, and to gain her arms and talk of her mouths! What hast foundered for to keep tuning the flowers, althought, and the silken priest of gold the skirt and count upon my hand climb the sky.

               Eighteenth Stanza

Or with a clasp the sea breath your very limbs hang; the offer still form a synonym for bride, and both a wrong, and more some I could not stalking of a child, I like the yesternight, till too zealous eye does iron hills are easy, and lay my lips I’ll die from other’s hand bad, on conditions, What ever has rods of earth, and fires of careless lived but keep her breast, where ye play. The hunter; woman-slough to shedde. The first the light retirement I gazed into Sleep; the air shaft and welter to me yon lone glanced aside, and yet she asked but fair Love, as the ground was so much to look.

               Nineteenth Stanza

—Or shrine, and shoves back to love, how to scent, inexorable—no tend their lean and all the World, and thighs I with Amaryllis in this day, whither circles in mine own people’s occupation, how like a bee, love. Whose grace sheds itself, burn through our dearer to be filled in thee; how she known by her mouths would see you couldn’t get you. The sharp Reply, reply, o master’s willing pin, over the tall, dried her cheeks, of mine was wont on the ploughman’s garment, you are the last, Ida’s answer for the face; i’ll begin it as your mind that and guards your stole among that two armies and endeth!

[kuriquinn]

Can you write about team 7 going through puberty 😆

The Springtime of Our Lives

Disclaimer & Other Warnings

Author’s Note: I completely forgot I had started this one. Maybe because it’s not finished? (Another story that started out short and then became a three-parter, haha!) Anyhow, here’s the beginning of this prompt, the next two will be forthcoming…hopefully within the week? We’ll see how I’m feeling :P

Part I: Flowering Time

The latestmission is a complete snafu.

Team 7 is sentout to help watch a shepherd’s flock after he and his entire family come downwith a debilitating flu. It’s lambing season, when thieves and predators stalkthe herd, and so the Hokage saw fit to send a genin squad to keep an eye out.

It should havebeen a simple mission, something which Naruto complained loudly about the wholeway there. It turns out, though, that watching sheep is more difficult thanexpected, and not for the difficulties common sense might suggest. In fact,sheep have an innate genius for self-inflicted harm. The beasts are too stunnedto file through an open gate, but apparently have an inventive talent forgetting themselves killed.

Sakura and therest of her team spend three days following the woolly demons to keep them fromwandering off high bluffs, choking themselves on low-hanging branches or treeroots, and poisoning themselves on toxic plants. They almost lost one todrowning, and at some point, Naruto came up with the bright idea to scare theminto running into their pen, instead starting a stampede.

And then therewas the wolf.

Everything just wentbad after that, Sakura thinks with a wince.

Everythinghurts, from her eyelids to her breasts.

Not thatthey’re really breasts. She canbarely see them when she examines herself in the mirror at night, wishingjealously for the same chest growth-spurt that Ino has already experienced. Still,they ache enough to make their existence known. Almost as much as the stabbingpains in her abdomen.

I swear, if I caughtsome bacteria or bug while tramping through the mud and sheep crap, I am goingto kill Kakashi.

All Sakurawants to do right now is curl up in her bed and sleep.

Somehow,everything is rubbing her the wrong way right now. Her hands sting hotly,sweat-covered and yet chapped, and there’s a blister blooming beneath the ball ofher left foot. Every crevice of her feels too hot and damp and chafing. It’s as if she’s far too bigfor herself, and she is far more conscious of the smell of her body than shewould like.

I need a shower like right now, she decides vehemently, and wonderingin silent horror if her teammates can smell her.

Almost themoment this fear rises up, Naruto calls her name suddenly.

“Oi! Sakura, you’rebleeding. Why didn’t you say you were hurt?”

Their littletravelling quartet come to a stop. Everyone is looking at her in curiousconcern, while Sakura blinks at the sudden attention. Her other two teammatesfollow the line of Naruto’s gaze, and Sakura can do nothing but follow theircue, glancing down to see what everyone is staring at.

A red-brownstain spreads across her tunic several inches beneath her navel.  

She isconfused, because she hasn’t noticed any wound to cause the blood. Going overtheir adventures that morning, she doesn’t recall any instance that could haveinjured her in such a way. She glances over at Kakashi, whose sharp eyesexamine her with experienced gravity, and then peeks at Sasuke, who seems asconfused as she is. His eyes flit over her with a curtness that doesn’t quitehide concern, and then they widen with something close to realisation.

A beat later,his cheeks go red; she can’t understand his look before it snaps away.

“Ah,” Kakashisays quietly, like this is something he was expecting.  

Later, Sakurawill be embarrassed at the several moments it takes for the small, blossomingstain of red-brown to make sense, and the additional time it takes for thesignificance of its location to set in. When it does, she experiences a jolt toher heart and the tingling sensation of her cheeks losing blood. Consciousnessof her body’s various sensations all rush back to her then, the cramping painthroughout her pelvic area, the damp sensation between her legs and up acrossher tailbone, the vague nausea—

She’s nevergone through it before, but she knows without doubt what it is.

It’s herperiod.

Sakura isfinally menstruating after waiting on it for ages, and she didn’t notice because the aches and pains of theirmission masked it. She experiences a bizarre compulsion to laugh at that—

Hah! And Ino doesn’teven have hers yet! She’s gonna be so jealous that I’m awoman first, Shannaro!

—beforeanother realisation crashes into her.

She’s gottenher monthly bleeding in front of her three teammates.

Her three male teammates.

Two of whomare the absolute last people she would want to know about this, because one isthe boy she’s utterly in love with and the other one is Naruto.

Sakura yelpsand vaults into the tree-lined path, away from them and ignoring the shouts forher to return.

She doesn’tstop until she finds a shaded bush off in the distance, where she candiscreetly try to deal with the problem. A swath of bandages in her med kitserve as a makeshift pad within her underwear to stop some of the flow, but herclothing remains saturated. There’s no scrubbing the blood from the front orback of her tunic.

Why? Why? WHY?!

She knocks herhead against a nearby tree, as if that will keep the hot blush from her cheeks.Tears gather in her eyes, as much out of mortification as her growing awarenessof just how much her abdomen hurts.

Several yardsaway and out of view, she hears a familiar cough and cringes.

“Will you bealright, Sakura?” Kakashi asks, calm as usual. He’s very good at keeping anyinflexion out of his words, but she saw his eyes before she fled. He is notcomfortable with this.

“I…I’ll befine. I’ll be right back,” she sniffs, hoping she can keep from crying; that’sall she needs right now is to have puffy eyes on top of this! What would Sasukesay?!

“Sakura, youhave nothing to be ashamed of,” Kakashi goes on, and she winces, expecting himto transition into an awkward talk about the ‘mysteries of her body’ the wayher mother did. “Have you gone through this before?”

“…No,” shewhispers.

“Do you needme to explain…?”

“No!” sheyells that before she can stop herself, and then in a quieter voice she adds,“I know what to do. My…my mother told me. And we…we had a class.”

“Alright.” Hesounds relieved. “Then you also know that you have to report to the hospitalwhen we get back to the village? All shinobi must be on some form of birthcontrol for field missions once they…once the time is right.”

“I know that,”she retorts, tone short as she hugs her elbows to herself in embarrassment. She just wants to be done with this!

“This is notsomething to be ashamed of, Sakura,” Kakashi tells her gently, and she realisesshe spoke out loud.

She clenchesher eyes shut, humiliated.

“I know, Iknow! the miracle of life and now I’m a woman and all that! I already know allthat, Kakashi-sensei, so please—”

“It’s not justthat,” he interrupts. “Think of it as your body’s way of conditioning you.”

Sakura pausesat this, having never had it put that way to her before.

The woman whotaught her and the other girls about the menstrual cycle explained it in softterms such as ‘moon time’ or visits from ‘Little Miss Strawberry’, a time ofher body weeping because it had no child. That it was a sign of a woman’sweakness that needed to be overcome by ignoring both the pain and crudeness ofit.

Her ears perkup. “Conditioning? Like training?”

“Exactly,”Kakashi says.

Sakura pauses,and then cautiously comes out from behind her hiding space to consider herinstructor. He is lingering against a tree, casual and unimposing, and keepinga respectful distance.

“What do youmean?” Sakura asks, taking a tentative step forward, though the bushes stillobscure her lower body.

“You arecapable of handling greater discomfort than either Sasuke or even Naruto willever be able to do,” Kakashi tells her. “Considering the pain both of them havehad in their lives already, that’s rather substantial.”

Wait, what?

“As kunoichi,you’re expected to meet all the same standards as male shinobi—and that’s whileenduring a regular pain that men never can,” he continues. “That makes youstronger in many ways.  And that’s noteven referring to those women who choose to become mothers. They’re in acategory of their own. That magnitude of strength was never meant to be asource of shame; if it was, it would not have been a function necessary tohuman survival.” He cocks his head, meeting her gaze. “Don’t you think?”

“I-I…”

Sakura’sthoughts stagger together at that, because it makes the kind of obvious sensethat she feels silly for not considering earlier. If she hadn’t had peopletelling her from childhood that this was the sort of thing she had to hide orbe worried about others knowing, she might have reacted to its occurrence withmere curiosity. Or shrugged at it as a quirk of the female human body.

Even hermother, in her sympathetic way, told Sakura that it was a woman’s task toensure no man knew if she was undergoing her ‘flowering time’.

“Men areuncomfortable about this sort of thing,” Mama informed her when Sakura was theage to start asking questions. “So, it’s better to only talk about thesematters with other women around.”

Girls atschool always talked about accidentally bleeding through their clothes with thesame severity of losing control of their bladder in public.

One of those things Ican control; the other, I can’t.

The notion isone she suddenly understands that not many people—even other women—are able tomake.

“Well?”

Kakashi isstill watching her face, the gleam in his eye suggesting he’s watching her cometo her important conclusion and glad that she has.

“Yes,” Sakuraagrees, and it feels almost like something invisible or intangible has settledirreversibly into place. “That makes sense.”

“I thought so,too,” he agrees. “I’ll tell my girlfriend that she’s incredibly smart.”

Sakura snortsat this. “Right. As if I’d believe youhave a girlfriend.”

“I do.”

“No offense,Kakashi-sensei, but no one who reads as much porn out in the open could get agirlfriend,” Sakura tells him. “Women have standards.”

Kakashi’s wideeyes suggest he is gaping at her, and then he sighs loudly.

“No respect…,”he sighs in a long-suffering voice, and glances up at the sky to judge thetime. “Anyhow, it’s getting late. We can either sit here in this bush forever,or we can get up and go home. I’m open to both, but personally I’d suggest thelatter, because at some point we’re all going to get hungry. And between youand me, I don’t trust Naruto not to try to kill and cannibalise Sasuke.”

“As if Sasukewould let him,” Sakura sniffs, automatically coming to the defense of theUchiha boy. Kakashi’s eyes crinkle a bit at that, and Sakura can’t help her owntiny smile. Then she exhales and steels herself: if she can handle walking backinto Konoha with blood seeping through her clothes, she can do anything.

This is not something to be embarrassed about.

Besides, maybeeveryone will just think I was wounded on the mission, she adds insomething too false for hope. It’s very obvious where her bleeding is comingfrom, so she’s not especially confident about that possibility. Come on! Just suck it up and go!

Of course, asusual, it’s easier to brave in her head than it is outside.

Kakashiperhaps notices her hesitation, because he suddenly shrugs out of his flakjacket; a red spiral tattoo stands out starkly against the pale skin of hisbicep. Before she can comprehend his puzzling action, he pulls it inside-out bythe sleeves until only the dark-blue interior shows and holds it out to her.

“Your choice,if you want,” he tells her, and Sakura gratefully accepts.

I’ll be brave aboutbleeding through my clothes some other day, she decides as she wraps the jacket around herwaist; the sleeves hang across her front in a way to obscure the stain there. Just…not today…

She feelsthat, considering the misadventures with the sheep, she is totally justified innot feeling very confident right now.

“Let’s go,”she says at last, fighting against the nervous tremble in her voice as shestands up.

She tries notto feel so very conscious of the feeling of her thighs rubbing and the waddedpad of linen between her legs.

Sakura tiptoesout from behind the bush and heads back to the road where Sasuke and Naruto arewaiting. They’re loitering noticeably, and when she gets within three feet ofthem, the three preteens look at each other and then quickly look away.

Kakashireturns and says, “Let’s get going, kids,” and heads onward. In uncomfortablesilence, his students follow him.

While theycontinue their walk, Naruto sneaks glances at her, oddly tense. Sakura suspectsKakashi explained to him what was going on before he came looking for her. Theblond boy looks unsure if he’s grossed out or intimidated or in awe of her, andso has settled for rude staring.

As if he has any business staring at me?!

Sakura isabout to reach over and punch him for it, when he swivels suddenly and demandsof Kakashi, “Hey, Kakashi-sensei, did that tattoo hurt? I wanted to get one forbecoming a genin, but the stupid old man doing the tattoos said it hurt toomuch for kids. I told him I could take it, but he didn’t believe me. Maybe ifyou put in a good word for me…?”

The babble islouder and more noticeable than usual, the way forced conversation tends to be,but it’s a step back to normal. Sakura relaxes a bit, glad that Naruto isn’tgoing to be his usual tone-deaf self and start asking a bunch of embarrassingquestions.

It’s hard tobe completely at ease, though, especially as Sasuke doesn’t even look at her.That makes her already shaky confidence waver. What if this embarrasses him somuch he can never look at her again without remembering her bleeding throughher clothing?

But then whileNaruto starts to describe the tattoo he wants (a robot fighting a giantlizard), Sasuke suddenly speaks: “Ginger.”

“Huh?” Sakurasays for wont of anything intelligent to say.

“Ginger tea,”he clarifies, not looking at her but, is she imagining it, or is the back ofhis neck red. “My father always made my mother ginger tea when she was… Iteases the pain.”

“I…yeah, mymother says that, too,” Sakura replies shyly, cheeks warming once more. It’s sorare that he talks about his family, that she almost forgets what he’s makingreference to.

“It’s alsoeasier to find than something like dark chocolate if we get assigned a longmission away,” he continues. “We should all stock up.”

He quickenshis pace then, putting distance between them and an effective end to any furtherpossible conversation.

But the restof Sakura warms at that. Though she knows he is simply taking this all in hisusual logical stride—a member of his team experiencing monthly bouts of paincould affect their mission—it’s still a show of Sasuke’s concern.

It almostmakes up for him having witnessed the most embarrassing moment in her entire life.

Almost.

つづく

Hopefully you enjoyed it!

I wasoriginally going to have this be a short one-shot with each of our team members goingthrough a different, humorous challenge. But while I was writing Sakura’s bit,I started to move away from the humour theme and started to tap into an annoyanceI’ve always had about how people talk about girls going through puberty. Womenare shamed about their periods from long before they even have them,conditioned to hide them and feel guilty when they accidentally bleed throughtheir clothes or are too pained by cramps to go outside. And heavens forbid theyeven mention it within the hearing of a man, for goddess sake, hissensibilities! *gasp*

So, this fic sort ofevolved into a three-parter dealing with the not-so-fun bits of puberty in amore informative, open-manner. If you want to see me write the funny side ofpuberty, check out Walk a Mile. I’llbe dealing with it there. For this 3-parter, though I’ll examine the emotional andphysical toll it can take on kids going through these changes, especially in amixed-group setting. That’s not to say there won’t be any humour, but that’s not going to be the focus. I hope that’sokay, since the prompt didn’t specifically require humour…

Anyhow, that’s my long-ass postscript. Until next time!

(Next Chapter)

[kkintle]

Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra; Quotes

The reason for the unreason to which my reason turns so weakens my reason that with reason I complain of thy beauty.

the heavens on high divinely heighten thy divinity with the stars and make thee deserving of the deserts thy greatness deserves.

And so, having completed these preparations, he did not wish to wait any longer to put his thought into effect, impelled by the great need in the world that he believed was caused by his delay, for there were evils to undo, wrongs to right, injustices to correct, abuses to ameliorate, and offenses to rectify.

As a result, his pace was so slow, and the sun rose so quickly and ardently, that it would have melted his brains if he had had any.

and so, as the proverb says, at times the just must pay for sinners.

Don Quixote did not wish to eat breakfast because, as has been stated, he meant to live on sweet memories.

and I blamed the malignity of Time, the devourer and consumer of all things, who had either hidden it away or consumed

A few other details were worthy of notice, but they are of little importance and relevance to the true account of this history, for no history is bad if it is true.

and how I bend, submissive, to your will, and if, by chance, you learn that I deserve to have clouds fill the fair sky of your eyes when you hear of my death, forbid it, for I want you unrepentant, without remorse, when I hand to you the ruins of my soul.

everything beautiful is lovable, but I cannot grasp why, simply because it is loved, the thing loved for its beauty is obliged to love the one who loves it.

According to what I have heard, true love is not divided and must be voluntary, not forced. If this is true, as I believe it is, why do you want to force me to surrender my will, obliged to do so simply because you say you love me? But if this is not true, then tell me: if the heaven that made me beautiful had made me ugly instead, would it be fair for me to complain that none of you loved me?

“Even so, I want you to know, brother Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “that there is no memory that time does not erase, no pain not ended by death.” “Well, what misfortune can be greater,” replied Panza, “than waiting for time to end it and death to erase it?

“You should know, Sancho, that a man is not worth more than any other if he does not do more than any other. All these squalls to which we have been subjected are signs that the weather will soon improve and things will go well for us, because it is not possible for the bad or the good to endure forever; from this it follows that since the bad has lasted so long a time, the good is close at hand. Therefore you must not grieve for the misfortunes that befall me, for you have no part in them.”

“because some wicked people say: ‘Don’t ask as a favor what you can take by force,’ though what fits even better is: ‘Escaping punishment is worth more than the pleading of good men.’

although it silenced our tongues, it could not silence our pens, which, with greater freedom than tongues, tend to reveal to the person we love what is hidden in our soul, for often the presence of the beloved confuses and silences the most determined intention and the boldest tongue.

“It’s their affair and let them eat it with their bread; whether or not they were lovers, they’ve already made their accounting with God; I tend to my vines, it’s their business, not mine; I don’t stick my nose in; if you buy and lie, your purse wants to know why. Besides, naked I was born, and naked I’ll die: I don’t lose or gain a thing; whatever they were, it’s all the same to me. And many folks think there’s bacon when there’s not even a hook to hang it on. But who can put doors on a field? Let them say what they please, I don’t care.”

Because you should know, Sancho, if you do not know already, that two things inspire love more than any other; they are great beauty and a good name

for if death is sudden, the punishment is soon over, but death that is extended by torture goes on killing but does not end life.

for no matter how homely we women may be, it seems to me we always like to hear ourselves called beautiful.

One must treat the virtuous woman as one treats relics: adore them but not touch them. One must protect and esteem the chaste woman as one protects and esteems a beautiful garden filled with flowers and roses; its owner does not permit people to pass through and handle the flowers; it is enough that from a distance, through the iron bars of the fence, they enjoy its fragrance and beauty.

and I shall compose the verses, and if they are not as good as the subject deserves, at least they will be the best I can write.”

“Then, everything said by enamored poets is true?” “Insofar as they are poets, no,” responded Lotario, “but insofar as they are enamored, they are always as lost for words as they are truthful.”

Spanish proverb: ‘For the treason we are grateful, though we find the traitor hateful.’

Love puts a high price on its glories; that is just and fair, for there’s no richer prize than one that is esteemed at its true worth, and it is surely clear that things are not highly valued if not dear.

For by my faith, Señor, the poor man is incapable of displaying the virtue of liberality with anyone, even if he possesses it to the greatest degree, and gratitude that consists of nothing more than desire is a dead thing, as faith without works is dead.

in matters of love, no affair is easier to conclude successfully than the one supported by the lady’s desire

The wounds on a soldier’s face and bosom are stars that guide others to the heaven of honor and the desire to win glory, and it should be noted that one writes not with gray hairs but with the understanding, which generally improves with the years.

Take heart, take heart: despondency in misfortune lessens one’s health and hastens death.’

between the extremes of cowardice and recklessness lies the middle way of valor

The best sauce in the world is hunger, and since poor people have plenty of that, they always eat with great pleasure.

the person who possesses wealth is not made happy by having it but by spending it, and not spending it haphazardly but in knowing how to spend it well. 

and I’m not far behind, I’m as much a fool as he is because I follow and serve him, if that old saying is true: ‘Tell me who your friends are and I’ll tell you who you are,’ and that other one that says, ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’

“The scepters and crowns of actor-emperors,” responded Sancho Panza, “are never pure gold but only tinsel or tinplate.”

“Well, the same thing happens in the drama and business of this world, where some play emperors, others pontiffs, in short, all the figures that can be presented in a play, but at the end, which is when life is over, death removes all the clothing that differentiated them, and all are equal in the grave.” “That’s a fine comparison,” said Sancho, “though not so new that I haven’t heard it many times before, like the one about chess: as long as the game lasts, each piece has its particular rank and position, but when the game’s over they’re mixed and jumbled and thrown together in a bag, just the way life is tossed into the grave.”

A perfect proof of contraries I’ve become, hard as diamond, soft as wax, and yet my soul reconciles them, obeying the laws of love. I bare my breast to you, whether soft or hard: incise there and impress there all you will; your will, I swear, shall be my eternal rule.

The conqueror enjoys more fame and glory the greater the distinction of the vanquished;

who’s crazier: the man who’s crazy because he can’t help it or the man who chooses to be crazy?” To which Sansón responded: “The difference between those two madmen is that the one who can’t help it will always be mad, and the one who chooses can stop whenever he wants to.”

for poor men who are virtuous and intelligent can also have people who follow, honor, and assist them, just as the wealthy have those who flatter and accompany them.

“You have said more, Sancho, than you realize,” said Don Quixote, “for there are some who exhaust themselves learning and investigating things that, once learned and investigated, do not matter in the slightest to the understanding or the memory.”

And what I wish to tell you now you should keep in your memory, for it will be of great benefit and consolation to you in your hardships: you must put out of your mind the adversities that may befall you, for the worst of them is death, and if it is a good death, then dying is the best thing that can happen to you.

“Events will tell the truth of things, Sancho,” responded Don Quixote, “for time, which reveals all things, brings everything into the light of day even if it is hidden in the bowels of the earth.

Come, death, so secret, so still I do not hear your approach, so that the pleasure of dying does not bring me back to life.

“Put on your blindfold, Sancho, and climb up; the person who sends for us from lands so distant will not deceive us, for there would be little glory in deceiving those who trust him, and even if everything turns out contrary to what I imagine, the glory of having undertaken this deed cannot be obscured by any sort of malevolence.”

First, my son, you must fear God, because in fearing Him lies wisdom, and if you are wise, you cannot err in anything. Second, you must look at who you are and make an effort to know yourself, which is the most difficult knowledge one can imagine. When you know yourself, you will not puff yourself up like the frog who wanted to be the equal of the ox,5 and if you can do this, the fact that you kept pigs at home will be like the ugly feet beneath the peacock’s tail of your foolishness.”

Consider, Sancho: if you take virtue as your means, and pride in per-forming virtuous deeds, there is no reason to envy the means of princes and lords, because blood is inherited, and virtue is acquired, and virtue in and of itself has a value that blood does not.

‘Possess all things as if you possessed them not,’

Be a father to virtues and a stepfather to vices.

“Do not be angry, Sancho, or troubled by what you may hear, for there is no end to it: you keep your conscience clear, and let them say whatever they wish, for trying to restrain the tongues of slanderers is the same as trying to put doors in a field. If the governor leaves his governorship a wealthy man, they say he has been a thief, and if he leaves it poor, they say he has been a dullard and a fool.”

‘Naked I was born, and I’m naked now: I haven’t lost or gained a thing.’

Señor Roque, the beginning of health lies in knowing the disease, and in the patient’s willingness to take the medicines the doctor prescribes;

for jests that cause pain are not jests, and entertainments are not worthwhile if they injure another.

O Love, when my thoughts turn to the suffering, dread and fierce, you bring, I swiftly run toward death, hoping to end forever the pain I feel; but when I reach that place, the port in this rough ocean of my torment, I feel such joy and gladness that life grows strong and does not let me pass. And so my living kills me, and death insists and gives me back my life. Mine is a novel state: I go on living, and constantly die.

Because the one who says insults is very close to forgiving.

one “here you are” was worth more than two “I’ll give it to you,” and a bird in hand was worth two in the bush.

[imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs]

The Legendary Wonder Woman: Chapter 1

Perfect.

With a delicate stroke of her knife Hippolyta finished the rounded cheek of the Erotes. All around her sculptures, carvings, reliefs, wreaths, and bouquets of flowers of all colors and materials sat finished or half-finished waiting for the Queen’s loving hand. Ruling the Amazons was her birthright, battle was a gift to all Amazons, but art was her’s. Ever since she had first walked out of Poseidon’s oceans with her sisters she had enjoyed molding clay and stone to her vision and forging fine designs from precious metals. Her passion had even led her to her greatest treasure. She sat back in her chair and smiled. Every detail of the clay figure before her had been constructed with painstaking care, from its winking smile to its layered wing feathers. Its bow had taken her three hours and that wasn’t counting how many times she had cut and rolled a piece of clay for the bowstring only to throw it away. Now came the tricky part. A bulbous pile of clay rested on the sculpture’s otherwise proportionate head. This was to be the hair. Unlike the feathers she could not simply add more clay since it would unbalance the head. It would take all of her concentration to make the lifelike hair she desired for her creation. Wiping her brow, Hippolyta leaned forward to begin carving the first lock.

“My Queen!”

Hippolyta’s hand slipped, jamming her knife deep into the sculpture’s face. Swallowing her frustration and schooling her expression, Hippolyta turned to the door of her quarters. An Amazon stood there, panting and clearly distressed.

“Yes, Io,” said Hippolyta, “what is it?”

The Amazon, Io, bowed low.

“Forgive me, my Queen, but the Lion skin of the Oppressor is missing!”

“What?”

Hippolyta rose and grabbed the golden scepter, the symbol of her rule, where it rested against her carving table. Her own projects would have to wait.

The Grand Temple of Themiscyra was a monument to Amazonian engineering, standing proudly on Reformation Island, a scholarly place of renewal and spiritual guidance in the atoll the Amazons called home. Two-hundred cubits wide, twice as long, and fifty cubits high, the marble and limestone columns shone against the sun of Themiscyra’s eternal springtime. Under its roof, statues of the Amazons’ patrons stood in a circle, embellished with gold and precious stones. They numbered nine, eight goddesses and Gaia, the mother earth herself, who had formed the Amazons from the souls of wrongfully slain women and the earth of the ocean floor. Every day, Amazons knelt and prayed before the statues and would be doing so, if they weren’t flocking to Hippolyta in worry. To quiet them, the queen raised her hand. Silence fell in a heartbeat.

“What is this about the Lion Skin?”

One of the priestesses, a girl with red hair in tangling ringlets who was timidly holding her wrist, stepped before the queen.

“I was down in the vaults, making sure that the guards had their meals and...And the Lion Skin was not there with the other relics.”

The temple was not only a place of worship. Within the deepest recesses of the temple, there sat ancient relics of significance and power. Treasures such as the Golden Perfect, a mysterious tool given to the Amazons by their patron goddesses, the Girdle of Gaia from which all Amazons drew a wellspring of strength, and the Lion Skin of the Oppressor, worn by the demi-god who had subjected the Amazons to pain and indignity. Every year, the Amazons would display it on the anniversary of their liberation and proclaim ‘this is the armor of a fallen warrior’. For it to be stolen was to steal Amazon culture.

“Have you told Castalia about this,” asked Hippolyta.

Castalia was the head priestess of the island. While she was not what many would think of as an Amazon, round faced and a serene in countenance, she was known the island over for her acts of kindness and her skill at divination. She had even taken Hippolyta’s own sister, Menalippe, under her wing when she began to have visions of the past and future.

“Menalippe had a vision this morning,” the priestess who had first spoke said, “so she and Lyla are tending to her to find out what it means.”

“Then they should be told of this,” said Hippolyta, “they are the temple’s caretakers.”

“But what if it is nothing,” said another Amazon, this one with skin like copper and hair cut nearly to her scalp, “This could be nothing. Some sick joke for the sake of rebellion.”

“Then who would be the perpetrator,” asked Hippolyta, “who would gain from this? Who would have the audacity to steal the Lion Skin? Most all of us are here.”

“What of the Amazons of Bana-Mighdall?”

The amazon who spoke was long faced and dark-skinned.

Hippolyta sighed.

“My sister may be…”

She trailed off, searching for the right word.

“…Brash, but Bana-Mighdall has always respected the temple and its treasures.”

Bana-Mighdall was the home of a sect of Amazons that prayed to Ares as their Patron, as odd as it was. While many Amazons followed the ways set down by their Goddesses, Bana-Mighdall embraced the warrior heritage of the Amazons, preferring combat to art and spirituality. They lived on the third island of Themiscyra, the ‘Forbidden Isle’, a harsh overgrown landscape of vicious creatures. They also still practiced Kopís Mastoú, which had fallen out of favor with many other Amazons. Their ruler was Hippolyta’s second sister, Antiope, a bold and fearsome combatant.

“Be that as it may,” the first Amazon said, “she has not appeared in the temple in some time.”

“Neither have I,” said Hippolyta, “nor has our best smith, Althea, nor General Philippus. And is Castalia, our greatest priestess, not attending to Menalippe away from the temple? Does this mean they should be counted as thieves?”

No-one spoke.

“Then we should focus less on blaming one another and more on finding the culprit.”

“Queen Hippolyta!”

It’s going to be one of those days, the queen thought bitterly as she turned to see what the newest problem the day had brought her. An Amazon with richly tanned skin and her hair in a tight braid pushed her way through the throng of her sisters to the Queen.

“Yes, Sophia, what is it?”

“I cannot find Diana, anywhere.”

“Have you checked the stables?”

“And the armory, and the libraries, and I have spoken with Castalia, Antiope, Philippus, and Mala is on her way to Althea to see if she has seen Diana.”

“Have you spoken to Nubia?”

“Twice, my queen.”

Hippolyta turned back to the rest of the Amazons.

“Has anyone seen my daughter?” she asked the crowd.

Each Amazon looked to the sister next to them, a murmur falling over them as one by one each of them answered no.

Hippolyta closed her eyes and partook of a deep calming breath.

“Send out a search party to look for my daughter. At this point, only the Gods know what she’s up to.”

The wind whipped her hair, throwing the Lion skin of the oppressor off of her shoulders as Diana rode through the forests of Paradise Island. She didn’t need to keep it anyway. In a few hours at most she would have somebody’s attention. That was why she stole it in the first place. Besides who would want to ride around with a smelly animal skin on their back was beyond her kin. Dryads, with their willowy arms and wild hair full of foliage and twigs, scattered as Diana bounded out of the woods and into the grassy fields and the sunlight. She answered the raucous calls of the tree spirits with her own, waving to them. The midday sun was out in full, the sky blue and full of bountiful white clouds, as it always was. The island was full of life, as it always was. Birds sang, beasts hunted and played, all was right on Themiscyra, as it always was. This was her home for more than twenty long years, as it always had been. And after the twenty-first long year, things were starting to get downright dull. Diana leaned down to the ear of her steed.

“Faster, Jumpa, faster!”

Jumpa the Kanga had been her friend since she was no more than ten. Roughly four cubits tall, the Kangas served as the primary mounts of the Amazons, their spindly arms and powerful legs making them expert climbers and leapers. They were easier to train than the wild hearted Pegasi, which only a few Amazons in the history of Themiscyra were able to even get close to. Diana would know, too. She had tried to mount one in her youth, only to find herself thrown from its back and saved from death by a tree branch’s timely intervention. But in the five minutes that she clung to the mane of the winged horse she had managed to wrangle, she experienced flight. The freedom, the thrill, the view, that was something she would give anything to feel again. Here on the ground, the ‘heavenly’ days seemed to run together.

Calls for her to stop reached Diana’s ears.

A band of five Amazons, all riding their own Kangas, rode into view from the treeline. Diana turned her gaze back to the path ahead, a smile pulling at her lips. This promised to be fun.

“Head for the cliffs,” she said to Jumpa, “You know what to do.”

Digging her heels into Jumpa’s sides, Diana egged her steed onward. The voices of the other Amazons grew louder and more frantic as her speed increased. She heard their voices shouting, “Diana stop!”

Diana did not stop. Instead, she urged Jumpa to go faster. Over rocks and back into the forest, through streams and weaving between trees, Diana evaded her pursuers. Finally her destination was in her sights. On the southernmost part of Paradise Island, sharp peaks and cliffs rose up like stone knives scraping at the heavens. Diana had already climbed them twice, to see the Griffins that roosted there. She knew how to hold fast to the steep rock face and Jumpa knew her way back to the stables. With a practiced leap, Diana grabbed an overhanging branch and flipped nimbly onto the side of the cliff. Jumpa continued on underneath her. Just as the Kanga had bounded out of sight, Diana’s pursuers came after, shouting for her to stop. Diana bit a laugh down as the other Amazons rode off into the woods. Undoubtedly, they would end up back at the stables with her nowhere in sight. Turning her gaze upward, Diana began her climb to the peak of plateau she was currently clinging to. Hand over hand, foot over foot, one at a time and never looking down Diana scaled the cliff, surefooted as any mountain beast. Finally, Diana felt grass and the edge of the plateau under her hand and hoisted herself up onto the ledge. She’d chosen this place as her refuge, for when things were becoming too stagnant for her tastes on Themiscyra and that was unfortunately becoming the norm as of late. Diana sat on the cliff’s edge and kicked her legs out. From where she sat, Diana could see the entirety of Paradise Island and its two sister islands. In the distance she could see the overgrown tangle of creepers and trees that was Forbidden Island, where her Aunt Antiope’s tribe lived, within the walled city of Bana-Mighdall, and the verdant meadow that was Transformation Island, the place from which she had taken the Lion Skin of the Oppressor. She knew every inch of both of them and of Paradise Island. Diana pushed the balls of her hands against her eyes. She knew every Amazon on the island by name or reputation, every creature that lived on their shores, read every book in their library. Would something new just fall out of the sky and end her malaise?

“The Griffins’ nesting is not until the fall,” a voice behind her said. Diana turned. An Amazon with hair the color of wheat was standing behind her, looking down at her.

“Mala?”

“Hello, Diana.”

Mala had been on of Diana’s closest friends since her eighteenth year, and of the Amazons was one of their most accomplished riders and athletes. None had beaten her in Íppefsi, riding portion of the Games of Liberation.

“I thought I would find you here. It is your favorite spot.”

Mala held out her hand for Diana to take and helped her to her feet.

“And why shouldn’t it be?”

Diana turned her gaze back to the horizon, shining with the golden light of the sun. Diana raised her arms and leaned over the edge of the cliff, a warm updraft keeping her from falling. The serenity of flight and freedom was so close, tantalizingly close.

“When you stand on the edge, it feels like you can fly across the ocean and over the horizon.”

“And come right back?”

Diana turned to look at her friend. Mala’s expression looked hopeful, even longing, though why she would feel like that, Diana couldn’t say.

“Does it matter?”

Mala’s face fell at Diana’s words.

“But Diana, all of your sisters are here.”

Diana nodded.

“And I’ll carry them in my heart wherever I go,” she said, placing her hand over her heart.

“Yes, yes, of course you will…But I came to find you because of the Lion Skin. Did you steal it?”

“Yes.”

“Diana!”

Diana looked to her friend.

“That skin has been in that…crypt for centuries, Mala. What do you expect it to do? Walk out of there?”

“Diana, you caused a panic.”

“At least it is something new around here.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing…it meant nothing.”

Mala ran a stressed hand through her hair.

“Well, it would not be ‘nothing’ if someone else had found you. Diana, you could be in serious trouble.”

“Then what would you have me do?”

“Go to the temple and pray to Athena for wisdom granted by this experience.”

Diana sighed,

“Alright, I will go to the temple today. I have not seen Castalia in some time.”

“What about the skin?”

“I will return that too.”

Mala frowned at Diana.

“I promise. You are not my keeper.”

“With all the grief I have to tell your mother about I might as well be.”

Diana rolled her eyes. She knew the skin was important. That’s why she took it. But then she thought about what her mother would say, what her aunts would say, and she started to regret the decision. Maybe a prayer for wisdom was what she needed. Mala’s hand on her arm broke her thoughts.

“Diana, I was going to ask Lydia if she wanted to go swimming today. Would you like to join us?”

“No thank you,” said Diana, her eyes going back to the horizon, “I went swimming earlier.”

“Then, we could go to visit Nubia. I’m sure that she is getting lonely down near the gate.”

“I will visit her later. Right now, I think I would like to be by myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mala, you do not need to watch over me.”

Mala nodded.

“Very well.”

Mala went to the edge of the cliff where Diana had climbed up before and began her descent. She would feel better soon, Diana thought. Once I return the Lion Skin, I can explain myself to mother and then this ordeal will be over. A soft coo reached Diana’s ears. Landing but a few cubits away from her, was a dove. Diana smiled and crept towards the small creature. It must have only started to fly, it was so little. Diana held out her finger. The dove hopped onto it without a second thought and Diana smiled. Animals always liked Diana. When she was a little girl, she’d once been allowed near a fawn while its mother was near, when every other Amazon was met with the deer bolting into the forest.

“Hello,” Diana said to the dove, “what do you have in store for me?”

The dove said nothing, only turning its head and lifting off from her finger. Diana followed the flight of the dove, grabbing a creeper vine that ran up the side of the cliff and descending. She dropped through the air for the last few Cubits when she was near the ground. She did have to go to the temple, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do it the fun way. Above her, the dove glided through the sky and Diana spread her arms as she ran, their path taking both her and the dove down to the beach. As the ground beneath her feet gave way to sand, Diana saw the dove land with a large flock on the beach. Spreading her arms, Diana did her best lion impression and sent the flock scattering. She laughed.

But then she saw the flock head towards the horizon. Birds could fly away from Paradise Island, away from the sameness. But she could not. What she wouldn’t give to fly.