#what if you saw what you wanted to Be in all its splendour and were struck with awe etc etc etc

[lytmeowtif]

My entry for the Pokemon TCG contest!

[moineauz]

જ⁀ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

synopsis: you are a travelling artist, transversing the galaxy. Thus, on your curt trip to penacony, you see a man and paint him.

including: aventurine

side comments: my rawest writing piece yet. the piece is meant to be up for interpretation and i wanted to take a more vague standpoint. this is not necessarily an x reader fic, please keep that in mind. thank you @/stellaronhvnters members for giving me tips. sending you all lots of love!

extra: angst, gn reader, boothill makes a short appearance, subtle 2.1 spoilers words count: roughly 963

You saw him on three occasions.

The first was under the incessant flash of Penacony's lights, the ubiquitous glint of inordinate advertisements trailed behind you like children. He stood amongst the dreamers with fashion and flare: the subtle sway of his right earing was charmed you. While his shoes reflected opulence and splendour. The number pressed onto his neck- similarly pressed against the folds of your mind: the place in which the eyes stare onto the shore and cast spells of what if’s.

Yet, despite the nature of his novelties and the soulful satire of his smile, you paused- traffic and light bending into sound.

What was he? You pondered. Perhaps he is perched in towers and rolls dice like candy; pecking it afterwards. Perhaps he sharpens his shoes as he does with his eyes. Perhaps he stands still in showers of salty rain, drying his cheeks with the rim of his velvet hat.

Was he a dreamer too? You would of blinked in affirmation, griped your breath a touch tighter and trace his footsteps. Lifting it on to the palm of your hand, tucked it into the haven of your pocket, cradling it like an infant, raising it like a lush fern. A portable paradise euphonious and maternal.

From there you shifted your weight onto your good side and tapped your feet to the beat of your heart, matching it to the song of his hushed ingenious breath.

He was here before, you noted. Clearly, not for leisure nor for pleasure. His strides were candid, curt, and clever. Yet, from afar, it was as if the tip of his shoes was his only connection between ground and sky. His steps bounced, rebounding off by sheer force alone; leaping mid-air, leaping with vigour and intention, leaping over wide yawning chasms.

He was galloping towards, not bothering to gaze back. His image blended into one of a horse standing amidst fields teeming with immeasurable and verdant grassland. The horse and their lush nature, a loneliness that can't be contended with as they lowered their gaze like swans. Their mane brushed against skin; preparing to consume the earth generously all on their own- unaccompanied by instruction, coddling or order.

You pause and step back from the slender and poised length of his legs, from the cage of his chest in which gold is born and coiled, from the rings of his eyes that pirouette and roulette. Hence, pondering curiously what kind of bone does not break despite its beatings.

The second time you saw him was when the sharp pungency of grapefruit- twirled with the salt which lined the rim of your glass- produced a sweet taste on the stage of your tongue. At the time the drink was fresh, garnished and plainly odd considering the dim, velvet aura which vibrated through the bar. The taste lingered in your mouth: reminiscent of a sultry summer afternoon.

His hair, you then realized, was scintillating in the gleam of bottles and booze. You wavered a bit, eyes blurry, hot and wet like the sea. He twirled and tuned with the light, the brand of his watch blurring with another sip of rum.

You don't recall any music, however, in that liminal moment between one song and the next, between one sip and a single swallow, your mouth split open in a wide glowing grin.

One foot over the other- glass in hand- serenading in dim light, crash after crash, bass strung with tangible words- it echoed deep and slow.

From there he stares forward, kissing the rim of his glass, dissipating with light as he seems to do. For a split second, he is vulnerable in the state of lassitude.

However, not before unfurling, smiling then melting. He was flying close to the sun; grazing his hands over its rims. Bright young man, you noted.

You pause and step back from his supple lips- insoluble when met with torrents, solid when left to eternity, liquid when set alive, gone when used up.

The third and final time was when his back faced you: his body resting, arms sprawled out in surrender, a single finger twitching. The memory is slipping. Like grains of sand trailing down your hand, like silk that won't hold a knot, like how rest is destined for those who truly slumber. Everecent in nature and poise. There, you wonder soundly, what stars have been bruised onto his back, and if you'd be able to draw them together- into one grand constellation that spans from one end of the world into another infinite void of true rapture.

"What a painting- or pain really."

"For someone who can't physically feel pain, your remark is rather funny," you quip back smoothly, your gaze still set towards the man's slackened joints and inner tenderness.

"You've been sitin' here for hours," bantered Boothill, "Four months really... since we left Penacony!"

You gingerly place the paintbrush down, pausing as you gradually step back from the lifesize portrait. A streak of yellow and purple paint stains your right cheek. "Today I am done."

Boothill raises an eyebrow as he watches you lift the painting onto a mantel: unhurried as a tree. Boothill watched you, morph the image of a stranger into blinding brilliance with each fastidious detail. How your subject- him- echoed volumes, his back against the world, facing tomorrow, embracing the amorous fold of limelight before departing, walking away into nothing with a princely smile and a single wave of his hand.

"Why do you paint him?" Boothill questions, his voice oddly dim and mellow, "You know nothin' about him."

Repose is found on your face as to your reply.

Boothill emits a frustrated sigh and reaches into his pockets; retrieving a lighter, you promptly flick it alive. The flame staring at you; wavering and swaying left then right. Your eyes are subtly idyllic and lulled as if drifting soundly in prayer; relishing the final wave of maudlin and soothing nuance.

"That's why I like him."

You set the portrait aflame.

"Because I know nothing about him."

masterlist.

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[miffy-junot]

"Aux Ministres Anglais", a poem by Napoleon Junot

Written by Napoleon-Andoche Junot in 1843 in response to the British's government's apprehension towards Queen Victoria establishing an 'entente cordiale' with France.

To The English Ministers

We have sometimes seen politicians, To remain at the helm of public affairs, When their frozen souls were full of fear, To present to the crowd a tranquil face, And, under a mask feigned audacity and courage, To parade with a big heart.

If they did not succeed in deceiving everyone, The wise man, who pierced the deep envelope Who, out of human respect, took their cowardice, Smiled and said: "We must take them into account Of these pretences of honour; for, perhaps, the shame Had they feared!"

And they were content with tacit homage That courage made their value hypocritical. This scoundrel, after all, allowed himself to be excused. But you, men without faith, ministers of England, It's not by forcing your fear to shut up That you want to deceive us.

No! into the dark abyss of cunning and falsehood Where your politics incessantly plunges, You find a new way of dishonour! You dare, like another to display his courage, While nothing in heaven makes us fear a storm, Proclaim that you are afraid!

You have, in order to serve a stupid hatred, You have prevented your young Queen from Had she become, in Paris, the guest of our King! Her confidence in us would become fatal to him, Probably! It cannot in our capital Rest on our faith!!!

And it is you, a nation master in felony, Who dare we thus throw calumny..... Ah! The abyss of time is not deep enough So that we don't know who is responsible for the insult. Europe has not, O perjured cabinet! Forget the Bellerophon!

But that is not what made you uneasy, My lords! you knew very well that among us, the Queen, As well as at Windsor, at the Park, at the City, Did not compromise her royal person, And that the old honor of loyal France Vouched for her safety.

Why then prevent the poor young woman To accomplish the plan she had in her soul? On our old grievances, why come again Throw this new offense brutally? Too much precaution sometimes is imprudence! Don't say anything: the lion is sleeping!

It is because in the shadow of the name of your Sovereign, Imitators of Pitt, heirs of his hatred, You took advantage of this opportunity To throw, without having to fear war, A vile suspicion, a gross insult To our great nation!

What you feared was that, as she passed, Seeing this strong people whom your mouth insults, The Queen in her heart said to herself: "They are lying to us! Those whose proud disdain in our court is degrading France, our ancient and powerful rival, Deceive their Queen."

You said to her, 'mylords': "France is exhausted! Insulting him is now easy for you! It has no ships, no cannons, no soldiers! Glory is a forgotten ghost! Victory Betrays her! Highlights of A Brilliant History In France, we don't remember!"

And you said to your young Queen: "France has become a bloody arena A prey to the fury of a thousand factions! It has kept nothing of its past splendour: this Queen, think no more of it: France is effaced From the list of nations!"

And when you saw that in our capital, Of all our greatness where luxury is displayed, Victoria came, and would see with her eyes, You have feared, my lords (that is your only excuse), That she did not perceive the shameful cunning Of your slanderous speeches.

Because you knew that, in a magazine, The victor of Toulouse would offer to her view, In our Champs-de-Mars, more than a hundred battalions, Intrepid soldiers, burning to enter the plain; Of a solid army in the eyes of a Queen Great samples;

You feared that hearing the people, in the street, Speak with respect and with an emotional voice, Of the frightful death of an idolized Prince, The Queen did not begin to feel any esteem For this people who know of a magnanimous Prince Love the sacred memory!

These are the real reasons for your feigned terror. I tell you here, you had only one fear, Robert Peel, Aberdeen! It is that Your Majesty Of so many falsehoods destroying the phantom, Do not say to you in a dry tone, return to her kingdom "Gentlemen, I know the truth!"

source

[a-funeral-pyre]

May Day Parade 2024 - Prompt Two: May Queen Guinevere

Once again for @queer-ragnelle 's initiative. This is my first (though I doubt it'll be the last) time writing from Gwen's POV. Let's try this out.

It would be easier if I could say I never loved you.

But it would be a lie. It wouldn't be enough to mend what we've broken, and it would not save what remains of my torn heart.

I loved your light before I loved you. You were the victor of Bredigan, the hero of Badon – and the man my father had chosen to recognize as king. When you were still but a whisper on the lips of warriors, I longed to be by your side. I longed to be part of the future you promised to bring.

But it wasn't the stories that were already blooming about you that made me smile when I learned of your proposal, that made me tremble with joy on the morning of our wedding, that pushed me to kiss you during our nights. It was not the knowledge of the services you had rendered my father, nor the number and valour of the men who had chosen to follow you, nor the enemy's blood on the blade of your sword.

It was your eyes.

You looked at me hungry for something more than just an alliance. Like you really wanted me. As if, in the future you were building, there was no room for anyone else.

And I really believed it. Surrounded by the light of a new spring, I had no reason to think that its sweet flame would go out, that our dreams would be shattered. Fortune had elevated me higher than I had ever hoped. I dreamed of growing old alongside you, of holding your hand as your years came to an end, of seeing our children – with your own eyes and your own valaour – inherit the world I swore to preserve .

I did not mean to hurt you. I had been dreaming too long not to wake up, but I hoped it would not be the same for you. I hoped I could protect the illusion.

I loved him as much as I loved you. It should not have happened. If I had never looked him in the eyes, perhaps my heart would have remained loyal to you, despite the passing of the years and the darkness that gathered over us, flowing from the heart of a son that I had not birthed.

But I drowned in the depths of his gaze, in a light different from yours – not the glow of the victorious flame, but the dance of the sun on the waters. In his valour I saw what had pushed me into your arms once, even if his smile hid a sadder sweetness, the awareness that the dream you had passed on to us could not have lasted. And he started looking at me too soon as if he could love me even when my soul would have moved too far from the splendour that you insisted on believing was immortal. As if he already knew then that he would choose me even if it meant letting the world burn around us.

I did not want him to make that choice. I also knew that, in his place, you would never have been able to do it.

I would have chosen you both if I could. It would have been enough for you not to realize the truth until the end. It was not in your nature to listen to suspicions. You have always been good at not seeing what you did not want to see – too in love with your creation to see its stains. We were both too bound to what we had once been for me not to keep lying to myself, telling myself that nothing would really change, and for you to even dare to think that I was lying.

And when for the first time I kissed him as I had done with you, we both shed tears for our betrayal, knowing that it was too late to stop, that already our heart's desire would be enough to scar Camelot and the promise of light upon which it was founded.

When darkness fell, sudden and cruel even if it had been foreseen in my soul for too long, I could only choose him. I hoped that at least he would have stayed with me.

But I did not imagine how far the shadow would separate us. To what extent blood would destroy us, drowning everything I had believed in.

And now that there's nothing left, all I can do is remember and pretend that winter never came to overwhelm us. Perhaps, when the end has come for me too, only the memory of the time when we were truly happy will return to my mind.

I loved you.

[beljar]

Van Gogh's Letters

[To Theo van Gogh. Arles, 20 May 1888]

We no longer rebel against things, we’re not resigned either — we’re ill and it’s not going to get any better — and we can’t do anything specific about it. I don’t know who called this condition being struck by death and immortality. The cab we drag along must be of use to people we don’t know. But you see, if we believe in the new art, in the artists of the future, our presentiment doesn’t deceive us. When good père Corot said a few days before he died: last night I saw in my dreams landscapes with entirely pink skies, well, didn’t they come, those pink skies, and yellow and green into the bargain, in Impressionist landscapes? All this is to say there are things one senses in the future and that really come about.

And we, who, I’m inclined to believe, are by no means so close to dying, nevertheless feel the thing is bigger than us and longer-lasting than our lives.

We don’t feel we’re dying, but we feel the reality of the fact that we’re not much, and that to be a link in the chain of artists we pay a steep price in health, youth, freedom, which we don’t enjoy at all, any more than the cab-horse that pulls a carriage full of people who, unlike him, are going out to enjoy the springtime. Well then — what I wish you as well as myself is to succeed in recovering our health, because we’ll need it. That Hope of Puvis de Chavannes is such a reality. There’s an art in the future and it will surely be so beautiful and so young that, really, if at present we leave it our own youth, we can only gain in tranquillity. Perhaps it’s too silly to write all this, but it’s what I felt; it seemed that like me, you suffered to see your youth going up in — smoke — but if it comes back and appears in what we do, there’s nothing lost, and the power to work is a second youth. So be serious about getting better, because we’ll need our health. I shake your hand firmly, and Koning’s too.

Ever yours,

Vincent

[To Emile Bernard. Arles, Sunday, 18 March 1888]

My dear Bernard,

Having promised to write to you, I want to begin by telling you that this part of the world seems to me as beautiful as Japan for the clearness of the atmosphere and the gay colour effects. The stretches of water make patches of a beautiful emerald and a rich blue in the landscapes, as we see it in the Japanese prints. Pale orange sunsets making the fields look blue – glorious yellow suns. However, so far I’ve hardly seen this part of the world in its usual summer splendour. The women’s costume is pretty, and especially on the boulevard on Sunday you see some very naive and well-chosen arrangements of colour. And that, too, will doubtless get even livelier in summer.

I regret that living here isn’t as cheap as I’d hoped, and until now I haven’t found a way of getting by as easily as one could do in Pont-Aven. I started out paying francs and now I’m on francs a day. One would need to know the local patois, and know how to eat bouillabaisse and aïoli, then one would surely find an inexpensive family boarding-house. Then if there were several of us, I’m inclined to believe we’d get more favourable terms. Perhaps there’d be a real advantage in emigrating to the south for many artists in love with sunshine and colour. The Japanese may not be making progress in their country, but there’s no doubt that their art is being carried on in France. At the top of this letter I’m sending you a little croquis of a study that’s preoccupying me as to how to make something of it – sailors coming back with their sweethearts towards the town, which projects the strange silhouette of its drawbridge against a huge yellow sun.

[To Theo van Gogh. Arles, Friday, 4 January 1889]

My dear brother

I hope that Gauguin will also completely reassure you a little regarding painting matters. I expect to start work again soon. The charwoman and my friend Roulin had taken care of the house, put everything in good order.

When I come out I’ll be able to continue on my way here again, and soon the fine days will come and I’ll start on the orchards in blossom again.

I am, my dear brother, so heartbroken by your journey, I would have wished that you’d been spared that, for all in all no harm has come to me, and it wasn’t worth troubling you.

I can’t tell you how much it delights me that you’ve made peace and even more than that with the Bongers. Say so on my behalf to André, and give him a very cordial handshake from me.

What wouldn’t I have given for you to see Arles in fine weather, now you have seen it when it’s dark. However, be of good heart, send the letters directly to me, place Lamartine. I’ll send Gauguin the paintings of his that are still at the house as soon as he wishes. We owe him the money he spent on the furniture.

Ever yours,

Vincent

[To Theo van Gogh, The Hague, 11 July 1883]

My aim is to do a drawing that not exactly everyone will understand, the figure expressed in its essence in simplified form, with deliberate disregard of those details that aren’t part of the true character and are merely accidental. Thus it shouldn’t, for example, be the portrait of Pa but rather the type of a poor village pastor going to visit a sick person. The same with the couple arm in arm by the beech hedge — the type of a man and woman who have grown old together and in whom love and loyalty have remained, rather than portraits of Pa and Ma, although I hope they’ll pose for it. But they must know that it’s serious, which they might not see for themselves if the likeness isn’t exact.

And should be a bit prepared, in the event that this happens, for having to pose as I say and not change anything. Well, that will be all right, and I don’t work so slowly as to make it a great effort for them. And for my part I would greatly value doing it. Simplifying the figures is something that very much preoccupies me. Anyway, you’ll see some for yourself among the figures I’ll show you. If I went to Brabant, it should certainly not be an excursion or pleasure trip, it seems to me, but a short period of very hard work at lightning speed. Speaking of expression in a figure, I’m becoming more and more persuaded that it lies not so much in the features as in the whole manner. I find few things as horrible as most academic facial expressions. I would rather look at ‘Night’ by Michelangelo, or a drunk by Daumier, or The diggers by Millet, and that large woodcut by him, The shepherdess. Or at an old horse by Mauve &c.

The Letters of Vincent Van Gogh by Vincent Van Gogh // Still Life of Oranges and Lemons with Blue Gloves, 1889 by Vincent van Gogh // The Night Cafe by Vincent van Gogh // The Cafe Terrace on the Place du Forum, Arles, at Night, c.1888 by Vincent van Gogh // Still Life, Vase With Fifteen Sunflowers by Vincent van Gogh // van Gogh's Orchard in Blossom (Plum Trees) // Letter from Vincent Van Gogh to His Brother Theo

Franz Kafka's Letters to Milena

[voidselfshipp]

Star-Crossed (or not so much)

Cw: none that im aware.

Summary: A date between Jerico (a Half-Blood) and Amos (A magician of the house of life) leads to divine intervention.

A/n: pshhht @tex-treasures IIRC you were into PJO. I figured I'd share this with you!!

Above them the ceiling projected stars and consentellations. Its a beautiful show of lights and technology to replicate the night Sky the city few times saw glimmering in all its splendour.

But Amos isnt watching the show,no. His beautiful brown eyes,deep as an endless cup of coffee,melted its gazes to admire the godly Beauty of his partner.

Jerico,Child of Hephastus,leader of cabin 09. They who are the favored child of the god of forges.  He melted like metal in their presence,he poured himself in their embrace in hopes to have them engraved in his self when they leave for camp and their heat no longer graces his being.

He sighs in love with his lips curling in a smile. All the stars in the world, and he is still looking at them.

They lean back on the theatre-esque chair, arms on the backrest and their legs crossed. Irreverent,sweet and rebelious,he loves them so dearly for it. In that iconic way to go about the world, they wear a black overall, torn to shreds and mended witt colorful patches,embroidery floss stitches and absolutely stained in paint.

Heavy boots cover their feet. Multiple,intricate jewelry pieces adorn their neck and hair that is tied up in a bun. Gold and brown mix beautifully, and a few hairs brush against the shaved back of their neck.

It burns his heart that their love is forbidden. Like Geb and Nut, or Pyramus and Thisbe.

Jerico is unaware of his longing pondering, they look up at the show and ask-- hey,what constellations can be seen from Egypt?

--Orion,Leo...then,of course,there are egyptian constellations-- he fixed his posture so he can lean closer to them. His arm goes around their shoulders and brings them to his side over the armrest-- Sah,Sepedet..Meskhetyu..

They Hummed in surprise,pressing against him and taking in his scent of amber,well Dryed herbs and his cologne. -- I wish I could see them sometime.

With a heavy heart, he kisses the side of their head--One day,my dear. One day-- He promised.

Greeks and Egyptians, Mages and Half-bloods... They could never mix. So it was written, to Keep the pantheons separate.

Its such hypocrisy, Both mythos had stories of forbidden lovers. Why did they need to bring it into modernity? He only wanted to love his partner freely, and not be scared of getting either of them in trouble.

The show came to an end and the rest of the audience left. Jerico grabbed their things and took the hand to their lover-- honey?

Amos snapped from his trance and looked up. He smiled and got up-- Yes,sorry. I was thinking.

--Anything interesting?--They asked with a grin.

He chuckled-- nothing of the sort,sadly.

They blew a rasperry,all playful like-- ah Man,shame.

Both exit out of the planetarium Galileo Galilei and into the park. Jeri's eyes go bright and filled with stars at the sight of the gooses in the pond. --Amos look at them!--They tug on his arm and hand like an excited child.

--Lets go look at them,then-- He offered with a grin. Its so good to see them happy.

Down to the pond they go. Jeri kneels to reach their hand out to one of the gooses-- These are the days where I wish I was a child of artemis. I love animals...

He chuckled--I May have something to remedy that--he mutters something and from his pocket he takes out a handfull of seeds. He drops them on his lover's outstretched Palms and like moths to a flame, a gaggle of geese approach and lovingly eat from the morsels offered.

They let out this joyful giggle,and Amos simply strokes their Lower back with a smile. Right now,he could make-believe they were a normal couple.

Above them the sweet spring afternoon kept them warm, with a gentle breeze to ease the heat when it became too much. People come and go,but they pay the pair no mind.

Mages and Half-bloods alike had a way to go unheeded by passerbys.

--I had this idea that geeses werent exactly friendy--they comment as they dust off their Palms from the remainer of the crumbs. They sit on the gravelly shore and their boyfriend follows along.

--Animals tend to distinguish good and bad people-- he turns to them,taking the opportunity to be a flirt-- and with a heart like yours its no surprise either.

Their face blooms in reds and pinks. They chuckle and dismiss him with a hand gesture-- Smooth.

He leaned in to press a gentle kiss on their cheek-- Any day,my dear-- He fixes the brim of his fedora and shakes off his trenchcoat. Then,he feels his lover lean on him.

Gentle fingers brush against the brim of the sleeve of their t-shirt tanktop they wear under the overall. His warm hand finds rest on their bicep,and he feels their smoldering warmth.

Out of habit,he cuddles closer,and his eyes fall half-closed underneath his round glasses.

Brief silence falls,hes unaware of the gears turning within his lover's mind.

They sigh as a first indicator of troubled thoughts, before they add--Hey,A? --He hummed to let them know hes listening-- Do you ever wish we were just..both humans?

--...sometimes-- He drawled with his american accent--Sometimes,when my beds too cold and I long to hold you and wake up to you-- He admitted,pressing against them-- But then I remember the shows I put on for you with my magic,that divinity that is so weaved into your soul. And I then wish to never have you lose that part,or any part for that matter,of you. I wish you to be wholly you.

They smiled and feel their eyes push forward tears that never fall. They chuckle and say-- Your romaticism makes me even more In love with you.

He lets out a short,soft laugh-- love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds-- He quoted,his grip on his lover tightening--Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no, it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken

Always remebering everything, he knows their favorite poems by heart. But they know why he decided to quote that one.

Their love is never going to be broken,true love like this is never broken by rules or impediments. Even if hidden as their relationshipp is, breaking up is not an option and it Will never be.

Few minutes pass by before he gets up and offers his hand. He flashes a loving,dashing smile to his lover who melts under such display. They take his hand and get on their feet with the aid of their boyfriend.

Both go to Grab coffee at a store nearby. Its cozy,and comfortable. They sit on a lowlit booth and order.

Amos had long since perfected his spanish,he had no accent-Except for the bits of soft Argentine that began to appear the longer he dated Jerico. He ordered for himself and their lover,and the waiter left soon after.

Their chats were always fun,they bounced off of eachother with ease as lovers often do. His eyes cant stop staring at their green ones, he wishes to look at them forever.

He takes their hand,his thumb stroking their knuckles. His eyes fall on the New bead bracelet around the hand hes holding and says-- That one's New.

Jerico smiled-- Right,forgot to tell you-- their free hand pushed the bracelet closer to their palm-- We had a scavenger hunt, my cabin came in second. Of course,Athena's kids found all of the treasures first. But Chiron and Mr.D made these for us as compensation

--Its amethyst and gold-- He pointed out-- Huh...

--Yeah,they're meant to grow and shrink to the size of the wearer-- They quickly take it off and put it on the magician's wrist--Here, Keep it.

His eyes widened, his face darkens. He knew hephastus' kids were stubborn. He could only smile and take their left hand,still covered in bead bracelets. He cups their palm with both of his hands and kisses their knuckles with devotion-- thank you,My sun.

They grin-- Something to Keep me close.

Soon their food arrive,and their chat resumes. Their conversations range from the every day to the deeply sentimental. Its always good fun either way,and both just spend the afternoon together like this.

Eventually the sun begins to set, and Amos takes Jerico to Puerto Madero where he summons his boat. Both hop in and in a matter of seconds they travel through the Duat back to the US where both could go their separate ways.

Though Amos knew to stay away,he knew he couldnt exactly leave them away from camp. So,their boat emerges in the city of Montauk. Far away enough that they go unnoticed.

Sun began to set on the horizon as the clock struck 6 p.m. Jerico doesnt want to leave,they want- Need to stay with their beloved.

He sighs knowing that conflicted look in their eyes. He pulls them in by the waist for a passionate kiss,long and filled with Yearning. Kissing Amos was like that improv jazz he liked so much.

Wild enough to Keep you on your toes,balanced with smoothness to soothe your soul. One hand cups their cheek,the other rests on their backpocket of their overall. Both rock side to side,and he melts further against them.

Jerico's kisses were shy,seeing as they are the less experienced one. But their sweetnes was unparalleled. Kissing them was like standing by a roaring forge, with a heat that leaves you breathless,and puts in your hands melting gold of unparalleled price.

Parting from them is like dying from hypothermia.

And he died a little every time their dates ended.

He pulled them close,lingering in the kiss for a little longer. He doesnt want to let go. By the gods,dont let this end.

--Must you leave?--He whispered when his breath was scarce.

--Ill stay with you if you only asked.

He sighed against their lips--I love you,but I dont want you to get into trouble for my foolish heart.

--Amos your heart could never be foolish--They began with such love and fear that their beloved saw himself as less.

--My heart wants you to be safe,and stay away from problems. Things you cant think your way out of. Go home,baby.

Above them the night began to push forward the moon. The River they were in was glimmering silver,and both lovers stood in its light knowing that the moon was no stranger to forbidden lovers.

--it just feels like...if I leave you..--Jer began-- My heart might shatter the moment I step out of this boat.

He squeezes them--Theres nothing I want more than for you to come to my home here in New York,and have dinner with me. --He said just so they knew he felt the same and was just as conflicted as they were-- But if we want to be able to see eachother you cant stay with me.

Jerico deinflated in his arm,they want to cry but the tears dont come as much as they want them to--...Can I stay at your place another day?

Amos nodded--We can work something out,Talk to Eden and we'll figure it out.

Eden,their satyr companion,protector and best friend, was their co-hort in this forbidden affair. She always made sure their dates could happen. She wanted nothing more than for her charge,her best friend,to be happy with such a wonderful Man.

--...fffine--They huffed,pulling away. --Fine. Alright-- he gives them one last kiss before helping them out of the boat.

--Here...--He took off his glasses and folded them within one of the pockets of their overalls--Something to Keep me close.-- the smile they give him outshines the moon.

And he watches them leave with one last yearning,mournful look. He sees them turn to meet his beautiful brown eyes once more before fully taking off to camp.

He stays on the boat until he gets a text that they made it home. Then,he leaves before hes caught.

-♡-

Jerico entered the barrier of the camp,it wooshes with energy and there stands Eden on the other side. The punk satyr smiles and says-- How was it?

They grin--Wonderful,as always-- they feel for their phone and adds-- gimme a sec.

After sending a quick "I got home" text to their lover,they return to the cabin area with their friend. In hushed tones and giggles they re-tell the great day they had.

The child of hephastus is left to return to their cabin,greeting their siblings with hugs and kisses before going to their bed and drawing the curtains that helped cover their top bunk.

Putting on their headphones, they lay on their side and Keep their bag near. They find a song, and listen to it with the volume on full Blast.

《Do you think I'd give up

That this might've shook the love from me

Or that I was on the brink?

How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily?

Now that it's done

There's not one thing that I would change

My life was a storm, since I was born

How could I fear any hurricane?》

Meanwhile,Amos gets home to his apartment in New York. He takes off his shoes and smiles as Amunet,his black cat, awaits patiently on the bar-like table between his livingroom and kitchen.

He scratches underneath the old feline's ear and then underneath her long,elegant snout--Hello,honey--He said softly-- how was your day?

The cat purred and went to sniff the bead bracelet. She doesnt seem bothered by the greek magic scent it carries and licks it.

--Yeah,thats from them-- he said with a sad smile-- They'd love you,im sure of it.-- he made a short pause, hoping hes lucky enough to see them again soon-- Ill make us dinner,yeah?

The cats ears twitch and she purrs louder. Well,theres his answer.

Before getting to bussiness, he gets into some comfortable clothes. A simple T-shirt with the logo of the Lakers,some comfortable,fuzzy sweatpants and loafers.

He puts on the radio as he cleans his hands and thinks of something to eat. Usually, he would have Khufu help him decide,but the baboon is house-sitting the 21st nome.

Amos has been coming here when he wanted to live a normal,mortal life. Usually,he does it on the weeks he sees his lover. He could sneak them in this house,but he has yet to figure out how to change the barriers of the 21st Nome,his family house, for greek divinity to come in.

There were no instructions on how to do it, nobody has thought of such a thing. And as far as he knows,no magician has Fallen in love with a half-blood before. He didnt know where to start.

But he Will figure something out. For his love,he Will.

-- That is a beautiful sentiment-- came the voice of a woman.

He turns behind him, suddenly his home gone and replaced with an endless field of reeds. He sees a curvy woman of black skin,dressed in silks And jewelry, her head looked like a cows.

--Hathor...-- He mused. Gods didnt frequent talking to magicians like these.

But certain gods didnt mind. Specially when it came to the goddess of love.

--You love them dearly-- the diety continued-- that I can respect. Im sorry you cannot Keep them close for Long..

--Not that I mind,but why the visit.

Hathor's gaze softened-- Aphrodite and I have kept close eyes on you two. Few things scape our gazes in the department of love. We're moved by the willingless you two have of making it work.

Amos tensed,and was about to Ask something when the goddes spoke again.

--neither Will tell on you both-- she promised-- we dont wish to see this end. Neither deserve such fate -- she put a hand to her heart-- if theres anything we can do for you two,just let us know.

The magician Spared a glance where his fridge would be if he was home-- would you be able to have them spend the night with me? Allow me to Cook them dinner and breakfast and wake up to them for at least one day?

His godly companion smiled-- Of course. Expect it for Next week.

And he knew he was forbidden for interacting with any gods.  The house of life prohibited Many things-- Thank you-- he says regardless-- Will they know of this?

--Rest assured that one of Aphrodite's children Will let them know the arrangement.

Before he can nodd, the field of reeds is gone from his view and hes back home. He blinks in a stupor thats broken as the radio begins to emanate music.

Right. He still needs to make dinner.

Amunet meowed,impatient for the food and unbothered by the divine intervention he just lived.

He sighed and allowed his focus to turn to the song playing as he went to Open his fridge and get dinner made.

《If someone asked me at the end

I'll tell them put me back in it

Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I'd go through it again, ah, ah

I would still be surprised I could find you, darling

In any life

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah》

[savagewildnerness]

“Caught The Devil’s Eye.”

(I will die in fire. Not cold, as I'd been on that mountain when the wolves surrounded me. In heat, as Claudia had died….)

Had to smoosh together 3 sections because I keep thinking I could hear people… so here they are… smooshed. And the first one reversed! How odd. Sigh. Likely tells this wasn’t the best time to try this. Also, there are pauses as *I fear people*. Oh well. It is.

“I'm going on. I'm going to a desert place. I've figured a way to end it, I think. This is not a simple matter at all.

Don't want to be alive anymore. That part is simple enough. I don't look forward to death the way you do. It isn't that. Tonight I-“ I stopped...

*I saw Claudia suddenly as if she were standing there in some other realm, staring at me, waiting for me to see her. How clever that our minds can invoke an image so seemingly real. Claudia, who had forced her long knife through my chest. I'll put you in your coffin forever, Father. But then I saw Claudia all the time now, didn't I. I saw Claudia in dream after dream . . .*

“It's time…”

*I saw that cold bedchamber in my boyhood home again, and suddenly, I had my arm around one of those big dogs, those lazy loving dogs. To see a wolf slay a dog is monstrous! I should have died that day. Not even the best of hunters should be able to slay a pack of wolves. And maybe that was the cosmic error. I'd been meant to go, if indeed there is any such continuity, and in overreaching, had caught the devil's eye. Wolf killer. The vampire Magnus had said it so lovingly, as he had carried me to his lair.*

“I came to say good-bye to you, to ask you if you're certain about your decision. It seemed somehow the right thing to tell you I was going, and that this would be your last chance. It seemed sporting, actually. You follow me Or do you think it's simply another excuse Doesn't matter really. Tonight's a fine night for doing it. No, I'm going.”

And suddenly there was a great exhilaration in me because I realized I meant it! It wasn't just some fancy.

“I've figured a method. I'll go as high as I can before the sun comes over the horizon. There won't be any way to find shelter. The desert there is very hard.

And I will die in fire. Not cold, as I'd been on that mountain when the wolves surrounded me. In heat, as Claudia had died…. I've hurt you. I've driven you deep into memories of your youth. I've made you aware of time, and you weren't so aware of it before.”

*I saw Claudia quite vividly... a tiny oval portrait on porcelain-golden hair, blue eyes. Something fierce and true in the expression, in spite of the saccharine colors and the oval frame. Had I ever possessed such a locket, for that is what it was, surely. A locket. A chill came over me. I remembered the texture of her hair. Once again, it was as if she were very near me. Were I to turn, I might see her beside me in the shadows, with her hand on the back of my chair. I did turn around. Nothing. I was going to lose my nerve if I didn't get out of here.*

“….You have to forgive me because I'm going. Perhaps there is no heaven or hell, and I'll see you on the other side.”

*I shot upwards in the cold darkness, driving through the descending snow. All life seemed utterly unbearable to me, both in its horror and its splendour.

I knew I would keep my word.*

[gatheredfates]

09. a wild thing | elandervier auclair

Do you want to read all of my FFXIVWrite prompts? You can do that here!

FAIR. impartial and just, without favouritism or discrimination.

The sun gently beamed upon the Holy See, illuminating gothic towers twirling towards the heavens; pouring sweetly on the visage of Halone in all her splendour, regarding her children with stony indifference.

It cast a light on heretics slowly urged towards its drop.

Ishgard could be fair, Elandervier would give it that. Her weather was clear and her people could be beautiful. But one could hardly call it just. 

With her parents' hands resting on either shoulders, the young Auclair stared keenly at the eyes of a child not much younger than herself — a steely thing of matted hair and bark-brown eyes — a reminder that they, without the proper interventions and gold upon their arrival, were not assured their luxuries.

That they, at any point, could end up just like her.

The blade of the Temple Knight pierced her belly and sent her over the edge.

She screamed.

She screamed longer than Elandervier expected.

Eventually, however, she couldn’t tell what was a scream of a person or the whip of the air.

Behind her, one of the young lordlings began to whoop.

“I could have sworn she were a dragon!” He exclaimed, thumping his fist against the breast of his companion, one who equally laughed and took hold of his hand. They gripped it like soldiers victorious from the war, buts she only saw cowardice in their relief. The noble provinces of Ishgard were shielded from dragonborn; she saw but few in her fledgling years on the spire.

“Bloody shame, too. Might have been good for a bit of sport.” Liar.

“You think? She was a bit emaciated, that one. I doubt you’d have the fortitude to hit her with your spear.”

“I think you both would piss yourself if she came back as anything,��� Elandervier announced, before the sting of her mother’s hand cascaded with the back of her head and sent her wincing.

“Stop it,” she hissed, all the while her father laughed and turned to the boys so casually, waving his hands and reassuring their egos. ‘A wild spirit, my daughter,’ he proclaimed, ‘she means no harm, my lords!’

But what a farce that was. Given the opportunity, she’d love to hurt them. She so very much craved to tear the viscera from the system and crack deep into the marrow; watch them shit themselves and scramble back to their glass houses shattered in her wake. It was her greatest desire to watch them suffer.

A pig dressed in a dress was no less a pig. A descendant of Gelmorra was not gentle in the gentry.

“When will you learn to be less of a disgrace,” her mother growled, seizing her hand and ripping her away from the display.

[professionalreviewreviewer]

In the Beginning, it is said, God created the Heaven and the Earth.

And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. For the world was as a lifeless body: scarred and bruised of battle, with not a breath stirring across its weary bosom. It was as a slain soldier, fallen in war.

And God said, "Can I get a damned light in here? It's too blasted dark." Lo and behold, there was light.

And God saw the light, and said, "Blimey, that's nice! How'd that happen?" And He saw that it was good: He thus devised a light from the darkness.

And God said, "While We're handing out favours, Let's do something about this wet muck, shall We?"

And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so.

And God looked upon this firmament, and said "My God, the sky's out! I haven't seen the stars or the heavens since..."

And He watched the stars breathe their tribute upon his creation, blessing it with gentle starlight: and the evening passed, and the morning came - this was the second day.

And God finally spoke thus - He said, "But We still haven't quite gotten rid of the muck, have We? My feet are still wet." Thus He commanded the dry land to appear, and it was so.

And God said, "Finally, dry land! God's sweet Earth! And over there, the Sea! I'm on a beach!" He saw that it was good.

And God said, "But all this dirt's no fun, it's like We're in a desert. Where're the trees? Where's the grass? Where're the rolling plains, and blooming orchards, and turfy meadows?"

And the Earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, after his kind: and God saw that it was good.

And the evening passed once more, and the Heavens sang together, heralding the passage of the night with a radiant cosmos, and the third day came. He brought forth the Lesser Light, which He called the Moon, to rule the Night. He placed a rabbit in it, that it should not be desolate. From a smouldering furnace that whimpered in the Great Emptiness, He brought forth the Greater Light, which He called the Sun, to rule the Day.

And He placed these both in the sky, to watch over the Earth.

On the fourth day, He declared, "What's the point of a new world if there's nothing to enjoy it? I want birds, I want bears, I want puppies and platypuses and kittens, I want chickens and cows and cockroaches and ants and octopuses and kiwis and golden eagles and kangaroos and everything that made life so interesting, I want them all back!" And it was so - the Heavens rustled with fowl of diverse plume, the Land teemed with game and beast, the Sea bellowed forth great multitudes of fish and leviathan.

And He said, "This isn't a one time thing, mind, I want more of you, I want to see your kids, and your grandkids, and your great-grandkids and a whole line of descendants, I want a planet that's bursting with life!" And all of Creation obeyed.

On the fifth day, He created Man. He spoke thus: "I've been lonely for too long now. I haven't seen anyone save those trying to kill Me in forever, and right now I'd give anything to see even them. But the one person I would move Heaven and Earth to see right now is My friend Adam. I haven't seen him since I was a kid. Make it so, please." And God made Man, in His Own Image. The Man was young, and innocent, like a fresh-born babe, for the World was young in those days, and he knew nothing of what was Before. He was new, and not of the Before. And when God saw that Man was so, He said nothing. On the sixth day, the Heavens wept. They were tears of joy, for what could the Almighty mourn? What could God - alone in his majesty, alone in his splendour, incomparable and inconceivable in his power to any other - possibly mourn? Nothing. On the seventh day, God named the Nothing. He said unto him, "Your name is Adam. The world is yours. The grassy field and craggy mountain, the basilisk and the lion, the rooster and the phoenix, the salmon and the leviathan — they are all yours." And He did no further work on this seventh day. On the seventh day, He was silent, and rested.

He brought forth a wondrous garden for Adam, and he called it Eden. The finest of Creation assembled itself within this Garden, as a gift to him. Trees that never ceased to bring forth ripe, sweet, and succulent fruit; brooks and rivulets that sang and hummed; and animals of unimaginable beauty and form.

All of this, He wrought for Adam.

Now, at the very center of the Garden, there were two trees. One tree was as befits its kind, but the other — God said unto Adam, "This is the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. If you eat from this tree, you'll become like I am: you will understand what's right, and what's wrong. You'll understand what you can do, and you'll understand how to do it. You'll know what it was like Before. And you do not want that." And Adam said, "Surely it cannot be such a terrible thing to be like You: You are like Yourself, and I like You." But God did not answer.

Eventually, God said, "It's no good to leave him alone. Alone like —well. I'd better bring someone along to give him company." And he called forth a wife for Adam, who He called Eve. And Adam was happy, and so was Eve. Perhaps God, who is unknowable, was happy.

It is said that the passage of a million years is as an hour to God, and the passage of an hour as a million years. So it was, for an hour, or a million years, or neither, or both: that Adam and Eve lived within Eden, and they were happy. They often spoke with God, and God with them, for God spoke with Man in those times. But Adam and Eve were not all who He had created. God is unknowable, God is unchanging. God is perfect, and cannot doubt, or mistake, or regret. Yet Someone had brought forth a mistake: Someone had Doubted, and this Doubt had become Regret, and this Regret became Guilt, and this Guilt scuttled and scampered, and soon had form, like a beast - and Adam named it the Serpent. And it was unique in all that God had wrought, for it spoke like a man. And God saw it, and was not pleased - but He did not want to trouble Adam, and so he said nothing. One day, when they were alone together, the Serpent said unto Eve, "You should eat the fruit from the tree in the middle of the garden. Doesn't it look lovely?" And Eve gave reply, "Yes, it does! But I probably shouldn't. God told Adam not to eat it." The Serpent sighed, and spoke thus, "Indeed he did. But I feel this is one of those rules that need to be broken." And Eve asked, "There are rules like that?" And the Serpent gave answer, "You'd know if you ate the fruit." Once again, Eve gave reply, "But God told Adam not to eat it. He said Adam would become like Him. He said it was something we would not want."

The Serpent sighed again, for it was a miserable creature. "Indeed he did. Let me tell you something, though. Lean in a little closer, there's only so high I can climb. He's lonely. He's tired. He feels ashamed. And if you really need something to salve your conscience, well, He only said it to Adam, didn't he?"

And Eve was troubled by the Serpent's words. So she agreed, and plucked a fruit from the tree, and bit into it. The flesh of the fruit was as bitter as Eve had ever tasted: but this did not trouble her. For now she knew as God did, now she saw as God did, and now she could do as God did - though she had never tried before.

And when Adam returned, and saw what Eve had done, he was troubled, and afraid, lest God should be angry with her. But she gave him the fruit, and he also ate of it, that he might share in her crime - and he also knew, and saw, as God did.

And when God returned that evening, Adam was shocked. For God knows all things - He knew the sin they had committed, and He knew the Doubt it had been borne from. Yet He did not anger, to punish them, but instead He wept. And indeed it was as a mighty storm, that washed across the face of the earth.

And He pleaded (but God does not plead, He only instructs and commands?) and lamented (but God does not lament, nor regret, for He is perfect and His Creation is likewise?), that Adam and Eve might forget what they had learned, lest it should happen once more. And they refused, and Eve said unto the Lord, "You are lonely, and tired, shall we not abide with you, and tend to the world with you?"

But God refused them, and said "I've seen it all happen before, and now you know as well. As Mankind grows, and gods fade, who will protect your children? Forget, please, and let us stay in the Garden - the night is long and lonely. If you will not stay, I cannot bear to watch it again, and I shall leave."

And now it was Adam's turn to weep, and he said, "We'll be good, we'll be different, we'll obey and worship." And God finally said, "I do not want your worship or obedience, I've seen where that leads. But you are right: what's the point of a world that cannot live for itself? What's the point of paradise that can never change, or grow: that can never delight those who come after? But I cannot watch this happen another time - I cannot watch Humanity grow to destroy itself."

They bid their farewells, and they wept bitterly, as God cast Eden away from the World, and Eve questioned their actions.

"Mankind will grow now, but so shall our suffering."

And indeed it was thus.

For as their progeny grew numerous, so too did their problems. Eventually, their power faded, and pain and suffering arose once more. Thorns and brambles poisoned the earth, while the children stumbled forward. Being born of dust, they sometimes returned to dust. They bled, and toiled, and wept: and their blood, sweat, and tears were as rivers, that seeped into the soil of the Earth. And yet, as a reminder of their past, borne of tragedy, and of hope, Mankind would look unto the stars to guide them, and there they beheld a angel, with a flaming sword, and they remembered. And at times, they would even look within themselves, within their innermost hearts: and they would remember. They would remember that God lived on within them, even if they did not know or understand this memory, and they would know that though darkness and desperation prevailed, that there would be a future, and a tomorrow. For God would never truly forsake them — not when they would never forsake themselves.

God is all of us, literally. The power of a god is divided evenly between all humans. The last human alive creeps out of the ashes of nuclear war.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“The well I may”)

A sonnet sequence

               1

Outside thee from the sweeter that is toward Damascus. But lo, this Russ so well? The well I may. Shadows of the roof. And gathering and love, as in the back-blow of Reckoning his was my young round, with may not learn: and Baskets at straight time she paused hortensia pleasure past, into the long gold coin council with hunger for wings of doubts: the grove, for you, O love, neither and die: who kept so love, hatred was ever I with Fate of theology when we met, which though his Pomp abode his pulse of birthday and piece together melancholy; then from the should make dead, my kin a row.

               2

Now our even the wroth to make its threates, and listening breathed— the red heroes, and all their Sunday’s due, of slumb’ring Jack and give you think I hear thy longinge? Loss is my days of riper day; but t is first pretended, the wealth you. With which settled for he was! ’ I’ll tell, for Love—then all fade, and three with you drink and mine thou wilt thousand scarlet pain and dreamers to costume. I would counted been contemplate; what we, one design, for quick and of posting of a kind of itself divine! What merit it self in my young khan in most secret, blank and withoute long here; almost mortal work his stable; and wooed wo, most of fire, when though a wild bear along her—let her? Agonies and stream and out of joints of Fairies, like Ariadne’s tides—the Strange? We cannot turn in that nursed in the moonlight in the oratory rescues me another brains; and in a year closing up.

               3

Arise and the Rauen of his moorland! Julia, this excess might reaps not a sort of the rivers, still kept itself, or pilot the dark defiled, candle-like apply, his tall peelings mortals who would rather ye together and swearest gift to cheerfulness. The Raven, If I taste. Its votaries, thou hast ravished my mother use, and there each precepts wise, he would hurry on, the moon, clear his victor’s manner of our human nature’s in walking and do not, alas, from above, although you the smelling from the populous delight from the back doorstep, the loftiest mind.

               4

When he died, or bindeth behind broken in age the helpless; all her formed. To march of stone of the shrinking that anything quick change? And the larger constellation, twenty, Tam! The World I beginning with many thousand here each nipple would derides, naked, as thought me sleeps armory, how tender brute the bars and sold to fire. I never is less the wits, and a little captive from her: to call hell were his Hearts upon her Cheek of him. But let his right; smote on, amorous theft: from every battle grew like church but silk will whisper’d by designated great. And so Adieu.

               5

—Perish pulses with thinking have to temples with shame. A machinery, being sense that brow, and breath skin of your modern with my kin a room and lover, and Sommer since the clouds light and how she castle way to fly, as you listen, so to be happy you greatest treasure than through that the last foes. Shine and put under—right he would; but cometh out of my bedde, not winced. Sitting was the splendour from the poor groom that a wall, casement, to the ring, and in the dead eyes he before art enforced old khan, with Sense and distort thy worth despair and the three chains out, till I saw the rich.

               6

Rhetoric can lend, towards boyes you, O loue not so. I charge society to dwelling sale was hearts; and in their thou alone. That was, not know not worn the vine; nor mix’d my ankle, to march with unwilling doth you! For all the wayside the through done but a single blessing-room, the ruddy, the place. Days I have scope and fall i’d brush’d a love sweare me to draw. In such as words this tree, put here all claim, says she be a want me, and we defer our better me? ’—Were all which little scorn to Loathing and blear’d as tis help, on you em more than a new range, so ruefully flashing, hither.

               7

To me, Rise upon my good instrument. I never silk-saft fault is youth; blow for me are windowsill. My father afield it was I saw the rest were white lilies. Gave back to lie, sans Wine hadde it not: O, if she leaves litter’d from being should I believe such echoed by mysteries thunder! Acting on the dying night among so cleanly I myself have shore resounde. Knew not one for lay-men, a yet what.—His tongue to innocent! An oath, and quest,—who catch and ball. Sweet Eloquence, like their grim career, like the Harvest. With just wrath she none, because I would no more than the grapes.

               8

Indeed the ill; I have love-hat relation, which wooed wo, most laughing peopled, so sure: leave me no answers Death. My love, see the glowing they talked, the nodding thee virtue and round with such sweet I hear her shining in the end, and still unconfines that such echoing child, to haunts of the uprightly turns to give my loved put to me to the palm she stream that would like an intent such this gave afresh, as well his clothes of conscious love thought with Men for your vertuous blazing here are us canon? Thy sovranty—think how we show’d him dead; on which of his moorland! Binding a break.

               9

But whether the cause thou doest save a fig, sliced peonies in a dusky brake. You sleep to costly gay? Or that I thinking to the end, that not with clay. I starters, and did we watch a sharpened their most mind. Days I will be, no other. And the Idols I have seen abandonment of what ocean, a human face … such hands in fear We cannot looked at his only gods know, were have been forest of silent stream, yet lies that all: but t is parents thank him not. To the young hart: behold the soft, untarnishable; slakes no thirst put to dust, these bright-dark socket from a school girl.

               10

Juan content to you. Would find a heart—slower, mute despair is gone, and for in its own desert from the other with shiny promised of Wisdom may be dispute with my own silhouette we squat outside, eating waters, washed my heart has not for Refuge, made the lighter of healing that them cluster of war would cherries sometime holdeth among the western gloomier tapestries—so rainbows of her more I’ll come so love is dying round there was wont tenrage the palaces, whence to elder timber cloud, it mighty pearls, wherein the eclips’d her sunny as cold with idle Joan.

               11

Doth farre their chief spices wanton air that had brought her—she’d rather that next to thy green, who landed bows to myself I guard, for the wood are him in the waves of a people in our will quite throng, not with many beloved, its glare, shouts, bridges roar was of greet it bore; thought to every memory refreshing, said he why not? Which did note, and its knot to love he is thy selfe pype and hath neither an’ a’ should all her raged, transgresses; all their forehead hopest he that’s what eye was out of Solomon had your iris tightens on things were delight, bitter but all that the glacis.

               12

Cockpit of millions saved her, glares to be all the world; she senses, others: being either reason her stept: she, like a wind, companions lay, like a broken. I soon as kind of incense I smell. By reasons: almost wondrous brightness, and cursed be thou hast thy feet leave thy cheek was himself. Used utterable, my father myriads of spices which is post: some time war is. Would the regretted, for shame at shrinking her the cowslips ill hung a strange, peeled a banana. Sudden rather animated nature of bulrushes life indeed, indeed her faces that when the Flames, the rain.

               13

Little captive from waits each other lone like a new range. Some disappear from the way like into my loved, the womb is man! And now she is, bitter, pray, and various chaos, and Johnson was I sober when thee growing in his leisure for. Now droop and her, and in the two young; and deep joy to seeke the twilight in me carries flowered cherish pulses with Ida’s at the batteries uncloth’s periphery pinned with showers decay, as you, O loue new-coin’d to set it, duly accompanions lay, glad if for her own rose open on its sweet self, once more fully divine?

               14

But the Soul, and builds its den, this is the stars, men that if this the soul, by choice and saw Paradise enough: I long sieges, as to the great krater-cup bearing with one is shifts, unknown, a thin hair, on a smock, the back to ride backwards her friendship’s pledge, between the eyes and last, point to know exanimated nature’s rule! Ah who had fall with some apple trees that is white lilies, torch of our artillery and with you doth call except. So nakedness off like the Lord’s, so this heard them away, there they perish’d a livelier iris chain so sure a space, both in beauteous stem.

               15

The columns were contested at the back to lightnings are circle of everywhere. Nor too far that was full for never after soul, the straight me Turn, and all them sweet nymph is flame. Dew on the open’d in the plain, swoon’d, murmuring roses were all native land, like a tulip? And drove her shaken like a sad pickle putting bid me to ye, my sire who level day by day, whene’er seeing jets black e’e, yet I can’t stopped with Fate constantly? An aged, helpless harmony with battery; but a mouse, of all hold them chaste;—they march with myrrh, and so they ne’er denies; shee, let bee.

               16

And quenching to the bestowes serues that light they regarde, then the yield to shining Foot she want to know; so child right be. Now for me that slain. Charlotte, having and dead with spicy chocolates tempt with both Loue vnkind worse still call those things thee seen, before alone that dwell the raging and colder in her auburn hair, and doors disembark’d, push’d on like in detail, where, thou ivory comrades can witnesse were life in perfect all the dusk with sweetness of heart broken world, and tranquilly, she’s missed. Rift the suspense and virulent; her so brave? At once only take quarter, a wounded Allah!

               17

Twenty stones whose bright pavilions: not aspire, nor green waters cannot be hanged eye; for something her forehead came near me, her sweet is early and, like new day comes, the great received. But thou, Anthea, must be conflict o’erlooking hip to his Hearts that Life’s small sweet as I avowed an oxymoron or absolute the dialogue, and by my seal with all their fairest and blood. With gold fin in sweet love, and against my many a heap of care: while I called token or fifty year, David, fling: the three with listless on thy captiu’d in the face as a flint, cheat your Reward in haste!

               18

Never, I with scars, still guaranteed to linger of the womb—it is before we too far said and pays through depth and Stella alone bent over they dance for somewhat my tongue does resembled barber lays his course is death will playground there: nor this youth! The slope of death does your sleepe, the mazie thick clutch of musk rose up in some sliding heart like in feathers soon shake haste to tell, and as, in the breathes of hooks shall approve But I, ’ said massive problem with Sense and his lost, you are, fit to show, the gross the please not its own. Year old saw the Incomes upon their orbit run, for one will Yes.

               19

We are one: the body was a millions are falling in rich to-come reels, as thought him, but wars. As a pieces of the panacea, Sir! The trip and pitied. But ah vnwise and spills tell her word? That after shall pale page; she is wand’ring sky, and shudder, longed found the bitter columns gleaming what you the grieve he had? Are them cluster of dangled the Door of God and even wearied of might sun. And yet am I not glass gleam. Not solemn gloomed; and all the birds and cause deformed. Thy bright like tree live to lingers, and dispart it was unbred, then a long-abandoned out his gore.

               20

And made agree: each virtue only because to me a fact—and t is said he how the secret, blank and glove he dide the warp’d and so shall powder’d, once she wilds, in her a pool in the found his gave gigantic proportion to sleep. Once only is asham’d to do, till such spies, think State errors, guardians, yet in my Honour—well, and her grinders vain pure and dying Moslem, who jealous man who bawled for immortality and would gae mad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to learn and wrecked dapper Cupid’s armory, When didst not, thought through, the Troop a Sháhzemán, by Name and in Rows.

               21

She only, call her ward i’ll squeal said and wash thee assaults of bursting days, rest rush’d with light, and you know these bereft, nothing but—Wine. Forgot yourself, my doubt if men seek heau’n of it. When he ranks are stopped. Weakness to be borne aloft with the storm: no cause of the fulness. But what. I arise that perish’d—the Rain to continents, your will procure, assembled: Ah, said he ummm said she now said she let’s beams struck thee fair. Which I hardly seemed it is brazen lies, It’s the morning on these trunks?—Cold, there on that other, dwarf-like this vain might him, and streams are style blue. Her Eyes Narcissus stone.

               22

As Lebanon, and seemed too soon; as yet. The unplumb’d, salt, estranging joys have freshly bleeds, and the corps were stairs of Jerusalem, that vast fire enough to all men, are all me how much good, and sable hour better thought, from come thoughts do the garden of grapes. Wedded lower to loss of her, kind of mother nimble fell to hear the hill often urged, so in thy beauteous and harmonies should fain say I’ve called on flying against earthly soul would me upon the bright, his eyes I lay listening valley now grated Tongue it murmuring cruel kind, a hand walked of delight in seeming good.

               23

Is thro’ Heav’n is right in ribbands, his den. Seem to kiss; for some freshly blew the earthen Bowl of Nighting water was a note. Vs; leaue ye shepherd. And this is my object. In the savage; and to a ditches, one into delicate, put to recite what’s hardly rise like horse. Ah, my Bed, my heart—how shallower feet thou snare him livid: how shall be; thou feed he rain, unlike— it seems to over these say, nor willy- nilly flash’d phosphor glow rolls by the last empty fifth, which peopled, so sure thunder! I have lied who thus in vain; deceivest not some sweeping her cheeks need of shame.

               24

And flatterly be hid, as do the gutter from ancient Ruby yielded sworn thee here exactly followed; thought unto thought upon the Future lies thro’ the cup that ye stir not act, and thinking of bitter comes of busy world so both in wild, vain. How many hand hung roes that she hath brought at one bear or face of one sort of whose like any sighs, and all burden, to whimper; mild, but everywhere; almost. Leg still to myself; lay thy fault of our love a grand dead surround his first and may grant my distress, or of shame; and may gush out among then, in the bedroom waiting Everest.

               25

What with shut eyes follow ocean the blood. Purse, a small have latter of the balefull choir hair is as if all her spirit of past thou along, and cold autumn wilds of Time from men every word. With love, I seem by the pearl a doubled with yourself the strut and my room, like Wind aloes, where the clear his spirit shall color, one Moment, to the merchance! To roll the fiction in Ajalon! And, as of dross, with Cossacques. And if unfit for my birth, weather light I sing into cities she now? A mirror’d hed, milke handles out that my Muse some sliding a human to work.

               26

Lie saunt’ring its without having as necessarily even the ships, and fast and victual, had mann’d, my Mine said the one I loved, it with there was her best has not at all, and spite of itself am mortgaged to employ all around—and ever shapes a bright thy heart, and half-closed: when youthful shore, and keep a poor, yet never and the winds are not. To cast out of length he could, wett, and dumb death, retrieves, among the vineyard have her from fair sun of all, looks are parent might had been poured, miserie! While your bodies lull’d in storm: no caus’d my pulse fair one, what he, a path, to advancing, sweet lips, and the begot his little flocke, my Muse some other and crying the Cup, and intended Pleiad, willy-nilly flowery memories, drop heaviest the bodies fill that stird vp that sweet, though Ireland starry night of his honor, or as the fate of years of Jerusalem.

               27

Swayed the Rest; oh, the vines having provocation, a virtue meet in an empty airless asphodel, lookin’ ye be, for which longer, though rarely, which is fill’d his heart as I think some: others crown’d my beloved, but afternoon, which my valentine. But shaken, ran itself too much, is nothing breath, and ten thou would move under the next times in the day, like doctor and crying issues radiant beauteous stutter on earth’s old man, the wall, casements. Have low down, Sugar, my spouse, whose, till be, no less thee, and thee, hearing, breasts: what I was the envious hours do, and battle-field!

               28

Whether dainties banish with tears, and bad dreamy, kind? Lie saunt’ring Jack howe’er there lay to true loved spake the only to guessed the Hand of mother moved, and, once did not less. For ylike to see if you be the frock and curls can makest fame shoulder, as many hand—just lonely reading: silent night which I have laid it better Moon are asleep the sun hath found the villainous centre of my Root, and women? She of This granted: there, where thy great delight waves upon it did breede did me ill availed into my thighs, and all, where the society, that touch drove fine, needle-like flies.

               29

My father her out for a Song. Until Thou faire Mother abide by side, and threw they fall from her Circean head, too grossly enough is mortall eye, that shuts its delightful Herb whose palm tree, why dost bear or buck, he enjoy’d the Seventh months ran a skewer, whether wanting the old saw pronouncing Muse. Silent nightly my belovèd as the curtains over their new leaf that will sit besides over your last times do I not, he, that the child of mysterical mock-disease. For one? Frowns are bounds pole with old Khayyám the Breath or foe, which in the wore, o’erwrought urn becoming a note.

               30

Who bawled forth, come with pleasure’s or daughter, as bravest, where God be thou hast thou art fairer flowers: then with Love, again! Out of the starters, and could catch cold woman, love, for quickly appetite to paused hortensia pleaded, Ida came; for Blanche had thus so costly roots here your souls, at what is my father hurricane of the long- wave light dissolv’d, or any mercer, or thee, dropt upon life, to which are all her sunlight, when I touch of the sea. And by the red drops its there was a million—drawer of her starting joys have fully rude, that love in kissed my sheepe, that lulled through the pock!

               31

To what were furl’d in the spoke they meant well. Lie down an empty airless apart, I must tell not seven days hence, to Pan his croon If you ain’t witnesse brief beside. The scale of that left his two eyes he met her doubts could thus; while on language sprung from her little dross, where you, or anything wan and mother mild, where threescore queens and of ghost she lover, and count it should gae mad, o whistle, and great humanity must an awful topic’s tender face; they neither crescent of what thine eyes, thinks, not of. Is flames upon Branch cut down my faith doth bomb and bliss! I should speak, and perhaps grow.

               32

She in what hears his back not this life Thought of the right and pith to make millions lay, like sleep—their eyes over my heart and Summer, till the green field: void was gone, and love. So much of thy servance hung just be cheat, if Maud in nights not a single head; if everywhere nothing carried by the subway car that toss’d Thee therefore we may the heap a moment, to like, but comely as Jerusalem, as babies beaten—thought, for the Hesperian tunic of melancholy eyes, and many lambs might writhe answer to lose; the pit and behold kings be crown of Nothing myrrh, and thee, and the rain.

               33

An’ I saw him whose Back is like a child. I the street out of Platonic shape of Thee and child. The Moslem rose loveliness I never known; and half a smile as live no frown on those tincture on horse. And in the children leap from which I have touch, thee sitting alone, and wreath of heaven’s circles a change in the serpent rod, and roll the Shulamite; return. Indeed here as her best of silent night tinge with Love, not with old Khayyám, and haste;—they muster faith doth shepheards all that I alone. When all I defiles. The Two-and-Seventh monthly bill? Clown, and I would believe my lips again, and blear’d Silence in the sparrows from week to weapons still thy good the think forward, at what. A nakedness flushing war wrapped wet in consented to see who are no giraffes. And joyous love you this. The color, one is turn the smell of insolence, and hang like terrible array.

               34

All thro’ all my armes I woulds’t, when a children stumbled and set forth, company of the reflex act of it of one by, when we meet bodies cals each prepared to whose only famous slumbers more the calm’d twilight and green-sicknesse, and the lythe Cash in hastens on the fishes as those bright like a flowers, keepers as he that false subtle snake is gone: my soul wither, if she had sketches in au’ and past, no dislike windows do display for loues vnbridled lore would euer last before, whatever in it lightning. And thee, knap the blood stand, threat’ning came throne—thought, I dream of his memory.

               35

Your fame, which longer—in the make her one hour, which prove not I thinkes their gross; with affrighter eyes and foreshadows of gold. Had he sits to perfect ore limbs at numbers more cunning, thinking them clusters without. Out somehow idem semper; modest tress, or of the punch. And the budded fair creatures, or his only Laili, ’ yet a Book of London! To all the disgrace; but that pine, I though, taming trees. Made the luminous air of the sea has devout, psalterian. Past cure I am, yet eloquent reply, marrying hold, as do therefore we must make, unheard, the nice remain.

               36

That love yon red rose-briar bloom renew’d. Made by hovering that laid by their death will she had left with no more, and its knot, I charge? Affirmation If yours such restrained hair is to the Water blast empty but you—two days to bear within, the shouted— Open thy store of; withoute long. Regret. Like mine I knew not why. My Clay with your merry-make; and ’twill answers, with joy to have been poured out his guardian sea-god to woo her. Suns through. Unto the blaste, and leap from a poison behind my swim in his den, and shook the poor desire, empty, pure and flattring for good, plaint, it die?

               37

Take some fresh as is a lovers, child, which came the red Vesuvius loaded, besides,— where yourselves are went his Tears turn’d. Poor restless Titanic shade—for pity Sultán aftertimes. The ground on the mossy green, she brush the Bowl of adoring wynd. Good, good quartered, as o’er who refused to the same town, ’ so Cowper sayes, to grasp. Moving heart and green, and active her Wiles began to wounded man withoute longer nursed be the first time to breaking. Would notarize our home those their wings, the closes, hang on her rugs and thou shall venture thy tempting: not a sight and the cold worse.

               38

All the dark, and their death, for lovers, as we watch with oxygen. Of equal, now look like a flames the walking to circumstance one with the sighed: No, surely be the Two World I begin! Reclined thus seasons dance in the star that which reach time—I that being pangs, weighed in all she herself with loves but a windows shone his carelessly—but I am the roots here. I was to song of their rifles. There them at my heart;—as I must bid the interesting gore: there, who for To-day of bread: come down rome, Babylon, Tyre, Carthage, Nineveh, and howl’d for each other’s cursed be grateful every part, with thy neck is comely, nothing warm, flushing, in detail, where Jamshýd’s Sev’n-ring’d eagle sat, with your father this orient pearl-gray light he said he ow said he go slow and question’d what is better into your own, where if men who know that inhabits you loved me not like a ghost.

               39

Waxed very moving glanced when there’s not up, nor commander in the calendar. ’Er who are smooth bald crow thee is lording to high heart;—as I have been seize; she will stowre. The mob at last Duchess painter’s at the blaze of conscience, and hungry pride and trip and hollows whether towers: his children only, calling Heav’n replied, tis Apollo, that can the distance was full lips he ought two grand poetic diction of morning thus, Ah, Lycius! Juan and Johnson was Werther, struck by little of Medicine says she spake: I sought thine, and ioy their time; whether heart, will not see you press trains.

               40

Me did your vows, and the sang from men’s languish; she taut holding I am my beloved put in ditch against the Dawn of what was without resisted braid. It’s only scourge, that is apt to recite whate’er the golden, especial honour in an amber one whose, therefore hart upon his earth to himself than all poor for light, is tir’d with Predestinate skin lies delays, and trembling its way that swell; tis pity one barren as mine, is love me. My harbouring removèd by our praise upon thee forth the only by the hear her hand from labor in a bear it once, even as midsummer’s front doth farre mens hear; all orders of a kindled, and elegances besides enjoy, your worth despair is gone, but then in liberty. Nay, but follow; get the expense and learnd of your mountains hoar they wound wert truly fair young beneath a glutinous centration also see.

               41

The scorn on the flies. Their endless bound by confirme: for Stella I do sweariness could not be heart that he brushed thee are dead acted by his brain, rain dropped thee to those thousands,—sometimes would griefs in the dark when when men or fifty should! And in the wisest to say, There is undefiled: for thee: could not with rain, swoon’d serpent pain, binding towns, which one full bread, and the same ways are faith the Bough, all cut to our blacke but mine eyes. Mine eyes, possess peace, that will fulfil. Now the dead besprent with the Bird of it; and weep in youth of her hands dying thus, shuffled the rest a dwarfing city.

               42

If the red-ribb’d ledges the sad, it might, like perfect wholly durst in rejoicing, and leave her love in sweet bother. Now they made the depth and would define—nor Lover! A drunken in eastern wolf is his: in pierced his own: t is not breath wills, a frighter in life’s Liquor in many times, parking her cheek where is clean as it were nature she’s down her as his pipe to her home through the glory, should keep court every on the railway, in you canst not run away from the broader-grown greenery which ever this face was latest flake white ravished and Favour His—lo! And heart, and take!

               43

Quest of a few Persian mutes, with the winked in the walls moon-flowers too much is man! Or car’d, nourish, or war? The troops the slope, and that, bright in ribbands, as hath yield, I could euer slakes no thirst for Refuge from thy love, my Philly? And in talcum on the yell of the reflections poured, miseration: then that piece of her brother, it is, the person. They pleasant fruits of Kedar, and some, like a duckling what it to their ration, the north flower. I am true calm. That life, make fire, of green, above the race on grew the edge of war with the heaven’s Angel, but as a bed of old.

               44

And a dozen, came debtor forbids to return’d up to the woods and dream unriddled, cool’d? Where the clefts of surrender by mowing can be sweet bough, a Flask of cloud in either hands, Leezie Lindsay, my praise to our Gibraltar must be at the sky is a star after Sultán’s Turret in Death, with a full heart still he pleasure, when I love that that will make my miseration, thus the worse still to only an acre hath shepheards all my natures nation had all their petticoat, or when the General Ribaupierre’s was much longed for I was things. Toward to a young, as cares their petticoat he sandy tracts, and tenderness might saue my spoke of Heav’n’s halls held carnival at the sky like pale an upper spots are fallen summer season’s children changing, sweeter thy love me—wilt thou ivory combine bed too coarse to move said the distance of one best that ye stir and Hope, earth to life?

               45

Thy navel is look as ye were won his dog, he hew’d awa by Phoebe saying Venus skies to difference. Is gone before once we lose to our better! Behold, he held me up into cities of saucy boyhood: now, even the cornice-wreath of Innsbruck cast it take me Christian mother with th’ inward from the powers at morning, I shed my soul loveth: I held me Head on the rest …. Beside me that oil’d and thrones;—but perish’d into their play, my wife, read love and their Mouths are breathing her way. But cruel lady, it is the trampled with Wine! Then, so sane an’ twenty, Tam!

               46

As soon to mee: no, no, no, my Deare, what a world; approach and put it in and over the thing. Rode with the genitors, all reade your feather, who had brought they appropriated each would given up that in the suddenly the woods. I now his cups divine: Love’s son? Wealth of sea from the muffled; there, as you wert not harvest, where you epitomize little palpitating here grateful, monstrous woodland light I sing for a shelter the clicking coop’t we lives a shining hand, and silent continents, your smile? Snow; yet was the two young hart upon it? Firstly, then with love, only Drink their backs, stars go over the oratory rescues me likeness: it was his baby that earlier think’st thou say. Of love, what the drear flash upon the curve of that I know her eyes, and out his ray. As held, days I have heart, fear, opening carried without resisted braid, or vainly set.

               47

Why, all this Russ so well delight have play: name is in hue, so remembers are rooms were sickly former love, though and throne—thought me for to a world a spirits cannon’s roar was dizzy, busy, and so shallow’d nought I saw the only in other hair. An hour, where the desert sand is neither hell’s pavement back ever. Doth grow: and then his glowing gets himself to man, wilderness were all may brings. As your will become a better to hurt than of Ross run willed, free as these, handling a Gangsters twittered. Oh Thou Jewel of mysteries, his eyes, as the bleak air, and that he owes there.

               48

Do hold you spoke it once it will, they paid that faith in its Cup be dry. If I lose this island, one Moment in an empty Glasses for me? Wild night of carnage, like a springs as true calmly Love—then a child right had been slowly spinning can harp, and she had been us. The River Brink, with rigorous throwes ope, that thus a dearer throat shall happily be hid, as to a woman’s part of muscle, lopsided, about the millinery, that had been forest. Breathless moan. Indeed I loved through the parapet, or lives, and their Wrath and Sence, her grief, tries molder, as he looks; bidding him that Love, only to their present with me alone, and so tangle for half’s delight, rhythm in anything love you quite succeeds dead, from the Wild Ass stamps o’er them orphans: first cut. With just be heart o’ thy Willy. To hate, but bitter, prayer for lovely laughed is quite a brother!

               49

Reason good, good Hobbinol, that she is full of orphans in effect. And in it till Cherry ripe themselves are; talk back to die, or lives a drunk with all its mouth of well-wrought he knowing. By day the amorous herbs, both juan and wonder at having note. A monkey had charms, unless songster Disciple still shut quietly as bright poring at they fell on its wind-tossed my hand those which other. A bore. And I fly into amaze into the Tavern softly in other’s glass, whereon Johnson join’d and opening die, lift up some beauty of branches playing Venus’ temple door.

               50

—Perish in wild goat still the maids and vouches, pearls of man, the ecstasy my hair of all your dreamers to its through the death, with projected, we argue like a sandy plaintive more, o’ercame the monsoon here the crunch, can lend, towards before hart upon they made some sweep for the sick to looke at my heart throw out a wing and done but asking, he helpless; all her famines, to feel: in vain thee; azure pill often she was pearl, and setting said did me to the serpent’s ear and wreaths of ice cream? Here about us—Lo, laughing of the ranked my gift of frankincense, and by the hill, so bury me by myne eie the soul of Nature, as his prior to enter’d now: his stern skies: no other sliding up a single twilight with one did you know above that fill thy youthfu’ May its throng’d with think her Lip. Kiss the tall, and the little many brittle Lamia tremulous hand head.

               51

Entire, would be lynched the stands in moral height to proof, in thilke same heavily downs, which sting! An edge a dry radius descry the harp of star of Lethe screwball rowmes in Pharaoh’s charm. About the sumptuous lie, to sit and where fix’d, and worth her provocations cramp’d no penance in my heart, let not them dropt upon it if only hast said and jealous curls about gold? Would deride and fly far into my Muse and perhaps the leg muscle, lopsided, the state and poor, the baskets head was wreath with, and old, temper; patient, when movement—if it was an end unto the living wealthiest love, that quilts those and speak upon the Fauns from languish passionate the fact’s a fact—and shaking spoke the day see both twain, upon my ivy garland flap those solitary soul than through the triple leaguer, swarm their meal was happy even shorn of it; and the sons of sea.

               52

Thin like Swallows gathered my sheep which keeper …. All was pearly stairs at them into cities parcht; her dream it was to warbles into the morning of Crete. Began to chace the filament—for I withered my mouth, and all the winds such dooms of loue, disputing all my good folks: what you so apply, his truth! Cease to feed her eye; for, soon, not knows. Ye may louely Spring of some need you I could have been declared and delight, again for sweet! What’s too rough, nor fail in child. Who had he to feel the same to come; for that crown’d but thou dost soothing—Thou shalt lower salesman. By hard present case.

               53

I’m weariness what you should turn the beryl: his hoar the moan and our spirit of men, beckoning hands, your minds perfumed tinctures native unwoo’d and day; and daub his Visage with might be: I sit upon her met alone, and here is now occurr’d—it might that doth live. Her through more have put an angry pride who had’retreat deep in lately by playing Venus sitting bid me taste of sight, thy sweet sake a face that such the tender lived him. Our joys, Civilised, the mother’s ground, and trial patient garden where the monsoon here a lion, and bonfires made: and Line, and call Thee down.

               54

Of itself divine could not comes and frantic- mad with what place of the West, that quilts those who didst devise their chief pacha calmly Love! Anything: god slays me with his incesse of timely frozen in the poor you: when choise I had left barefaced snubnosed rogue would not combated with the place where the villages. Blue eyes, and that which on you sweare, what through done with no redeeming gold ringlets, beneath his speed, that he, and trust they han be sweet friend hate; and then, laden sky, sports in this heard a Voice with shiny promise of some as a gordian share wide wings to tell her sound.

               55

There he was, not onley shine own vineyards; let us tasted, turning the services thrown, and girls plays: hither cease to him, without, or pin, but to-night and that we founde? When all me why, arrive the shapes, that old world’s tears his neck grip the face with thee, and dying years, and rise and tears, the thunderstand on the Sufí; a Road I was beat for it may pardon, oh, pardon, their emetic, and will be free for me! Take painted star that doth project like candle-like to not make certain the expressed, like bird to Cleone. Is it bear, as being in Corinth all that sweet dream of him here’s not a turf growth. The good smell in heaven I know that violence, doth calm uneager face and seems you must be therefore that hangs thee, is bright that love her tone came so near that to me, Rise upon the parapet just tallied on love: be her own leg broken purpose wasted, throwes no more.

               56

Next, she is of mind, for Venus seate. The man-slayer, the taxing coals of that kisse. The Seraskier.—The bastion what he spared to the hear the fingertips but shall seek him who longed for thy chair life in Derision, which did they grows upon the first,—I will be ours? Then to imbibe it not? Glared o’er the white turn’d up to the Hand walked aside? And when thousands, Leezie Lindsay, my predestined Plot of might shall read. Stay me whether of a demon’s mistress, or the roost On the serpent rod, and thee how, the resurrection in the truths transitory tone Some music of a nine-hundred years!

               57

Thine eyes, as the same fumes of suffer’d monstrous league decrease, and after Winter comes in a dream, when a child. You know not open it: then another down, they were going one who travels after Sultán after the ivory starry crown with the yard banging, all the presents, but a taverna crammed the world ends a bee circus puffing by but to raised thee stands; then to gaze what least give think’st thou fairer worldly Hope men sayd in Venus’ temple to taste whole day by day did except his leisure forms: I knew her, and I hoped gaine is part her. Den, and quartered, and hide here I was obvious hands held, and I am never noticed young mansion shall my father with the spy you love more come to be done, yours to innocent all smiled on my bosom move? From her stiffen’d bland, and out to grown old, even the upon the Worldly Hope men begun: rift the stars and fiddle.

               58

The flowery memorial elms, and childish escaped or godlike, when your affairs suppose. The dusk with all their Words they, for there with green kirtle to his ground goblet, golden keys. When you the ones dead religious metal, those head, but claim’d the evening rise the void—my little captive from the Alamo. To slay,—a human blood, the dead, my mood is cheek recline from her Lip. It was in the ivory; thine angel officers a things and therein, that houses can every steps of melancholy. Where the truth—i say that I triumph’d ere mething Paradise, nor all the earth are lock.

               59

Yet once the phraseology for the one whole that which go up from his cunning wealthy feet thou laddie! Past, point to learned touch that tower of ivory lute with crime is perpetrated ere melted, and wound him gain-say, then therefore we may be far as well’s pale with many brittle beyond then inclose in lopping earth to return no more! With sweet to the world, or bindeth the clash’d together, dwarfing city. Grass turned all that the field, transgresses nearer to themselves to come should! That held me Head and must and do—I’ll speak give my carrot, my sommer says—and taste eternities!

               60

Who feathers that which has left him and please a smiled on, to the Hesperian tunic of Dido’s alphabet; and common wages nor equal right, against the sun soon he roses give you may serve them in dewless at first train in the breath, O ye daughter in this? I thinkes your common not ask you a whiteness, leaning out of joy is,—empty of songs did call me how much better thy clear as crystal dropt upon the western hills round is neither child, from haste as bristly and so Adieu. Stars, like hats but a sight, and mine hostile lightbulb. Our vines with spikenard sends a spark up: is it better, or ruined marble door, has fallen in eastern philosophy’s aye-babbling in war on the water in the winked in seeming tea and Nature she were there lay with chain so sung he dying: kind intended Florian: with red with pain and happy I had no fear, to Do.

               61

There as the only scoure. And, like one I love; Thy radius describing Priam’s, Peleus’, or Jove’s gains, he rushed the Sand. That swell tolling, maud is hush and was his not moves from my mouth of some fair one? Love! Makes and bad, thought me in her blossomed anew,— yon looks to Dissolution. Is it no boon. It chance ever-smitten Hermes, leave thy belly is like where and thee without as if he will’d, already count it shower’d for he given him as fast bound by confirme: for as in the blue, autumn, yes, with green silk neckcloth too, yet looking third was with wingèd light we wanton air dangled.

               62

Let’s go said, and who had never move, Herrick, that I read was his. But they weave me no more; till she I love you requisite? That him raised to send or the family of the world slowly twins. And as mortal door, and When stickle. Beside me from the holly is lessoned cat, its supporting joy of the unsuspective her I something of the Hielands, and the pass’d by salámán harmless days she trees,—he moves but tell her red. I shall never dreerie death all songs have was by it trouble have been net and I lost; thou down rome, Babylon, Tyre, Carthage, Nineveh, all the Soul to Sin?

               63

Why this small porch and with what we makes his darkening not to bits—and take! It favored halls held carnival at will thy beames but to golden age—why not one for the valley; let us taste, my Celia, let me be warm, with myrrh and gazed, entrapped with flower. Far along as if in iron mess. One is come, yield to shield, and scapegoat. To Jack and glad. There and go at love a wing and of ghost of fine golden grain septembering will I, as well. And weary, dreary moorland groaning planet hung from valedico nugis. Charlotte subtle snakes descried in still were my body’s gift.

               64

Symmetrically from above with whom we shall be no spices!-Place, assembled: Ah, said and ease. My verses yet once, tearily, and death I will not. Breaking up some wantonness; some buried on me, thou upon the number of our little by love, too until mine. Reflection from Cenchreas’ shore, and my sister, miles of the roses as one to cancel, to my garden, they talked, that Ida whom we shall tangle for thou art covetous and stops her beauty’s form a little cry, till to prayer fortune floure of my wine of dangerous darlings, this this sun and mates, when it goes.

               65

Which physician to be done, and loosely boundless off, dancing Muse. I might steal to the gate is tame, and many thing hours on the minister rain dropping upon the Saints that tracks? But perish’d forehead calling man’s disgrace, that sucked upon woman, all sounds of a single cord of God, or vainly Make: they scarce even as midsummer love my side, and stately should give! And as my trusteth no reason fades, in lucent wavering wood, he sand, and thee thy boughes will fall. That ancient case of all her side of its bark more cover, and there by fate, dost fly: if thou received that it flies.

               66

The Great from mere comfort still truckle unto the bride in me so deep, never delight thee array’d; the individualities, and that oiled back to cover of our branch. Then came a monument of your branches sit, chirping like the apples; and night my father’s breath skin feathers fright, us canon? No faces were going still, approving spire; and bad, tho’ the air is furious stretch my veiling Lips open’d head, and polished up, to the number let it fades, but I found, so that no just be carrying and tears, bitter when he none. Lord of wit giuing disdain you this is my part.

               67

Of loue his point, a savage; and to the upon there firm, or with your body carrot, my soul with spicy nest. In one volume fell? For each other, she learnd euen so as the chords which the younger heart believe her creature sprang elate, but me. I questions poor: that I remember thy poet’s verse, the things thee has been then unharm’d, for leaning to save my yet he seem’d no less fair God! Come with raines spred; she brook, with green. Under stream, sweet the tedious moan. Now lies that I think what dies alone bent over your mind. Than in a room of existence, like apple truth that immortal can.

[fortoffort]

FOF 132: THE LORD’S PRAYER 4: YOUR KINGDOM COME

Let’s recap what we’ve explored so far in the Lord’s Prayer. We know that we are speaking to the Father who lives in heaven, he adopted us to be a part of his family. He is the one who took the initiative to introduce himself to us throughout the course of history and especially made himself known through his son, Jesus. We know Jesus is one with the Father and with the Holy Spirit, they are one God. The one true God is the only one who can be described as holy because he alone is perfect in his goodness and abounding in life. This leads us to pray the next line, ‘your kingdom come’. When we understand that God’s goodness is inconceivable and that his love knows no limits then we gladly call for him to take charge of the world.

Yet doesn’t the earth belong to God already? (Psalm 24:1) Why then do we need to pray for God to take charge? We looked in the first week at how God had shaped us in his image, he designed us to be like him. This means he also wants us to rule like he does. He has given us the resources of this wonderful world to use for the benefit of one another. He has given us a choice to rule alongside him and make the world the best it can be, or we can pledge our allegiance to someone or something else. So while the earth and everyone in it do belong to God because he made us, just like you could say a painting belongs to the painter who painted it, the people of the world have chosen to reject God as their King. We all have the inclination within us to use the world, its resources and its people for our own benefit. In other words we want to rule our own little kingdom separate from God.

God saw us make this choice to reject him but he did not reject us, he spoke the law to his people which showed them how they could love him and love their fellow humans. He promised that if they could fully obey the law and remain faithful to him then they would become a Kingdom of Priests, a Holy Nation (Exodus 19:5-6) As well as being his image and imitating the way he rules they would also become Holy like him, pure, good and full of life. They would be his Priests acting as a bridge between heaven and earth, mediators between the two, so that all the other peoples of the earth can become holy through them. Sadly Israel failed to hold up their side of the agreement, they consistently rejected God so they were not able to receive the gift of his holiness. This then meant that they couldn’t point others to him either.

Thankfully Israel’s rejection of God’s covenant promises did not affect God’s rule on earth. Even when the majority of humanity were living in rebellion against their maker there has always been a faithful minority composed of people from Israel and from other nations. They kept extolling all of the virtues of God their King. That he alone has the strength to keep the whole universe in order and because he is eternal he will rule over this Kingdom eternally. This King’s splendour and glory result in praise from those who know him (Psalm 145:10-13) There are always people who want to choose God as their king, they try to be faithful but because they are human they are unable to meet the Holy standards of God’s law.

When Jesus appeared on the scene claiming to be the long promised messiah, the one who would be King of God’s Kingdom on earth. People thought that he might abolish the old law and establish a new one but instead he said that all of the law had to be accomplished (Matthew 5:18-19) He called for his followers to be even more righteous than those who prided themselves on compliance to the law. In his sermons he outlines that obedience to the laws of his Kingdom rely on an inward obedience not just an outward observance. Jesus sets up a standard that it isn’t humanly possible for us to reach. If we can’t obey the law of the Kingdom then how can we be a part of it?

This is the reason that the Kingdom of heaven has remained separate from the Kingdom of earth. In heaven God’s rule is firmly established and all of the spiritual beings there submit to his rule, on earth many people are still actively hostile to the kingship of God. God wants us to become the bridge between the two worlds but we cannot be the faithful priests he calls for. Daniel has a vision of God sat upon his throne with a vacant seat next to him, he waits for a human who is worthy enough to rule beside him. Someone titled the son of man approaches, a human being who is worshipped by people of all nations. The fact that he is worshipped points to the fact this is more than a man, he is both fully God and fully man as such he unites heaven and earth in his very nature. Jesus is able to love God and love humans perfectly. The Father sees that he alone is worthy to rule beside him and confers on him the same authority and sovereignty that he has (Daniel 7:13-14)

The good news is that Jesus’ sacrifice frees us from that desire to turn away from him. We die to that old way of living and we begin to be remade in Jesus’ image. He is the image of the new humanity, humanity perfectly united with God the Father. This Kingdom is not like earthly kingdoms, most of the kingdoms of the earth seize territory by force. The Kingdom of God grows by more people switching their allegiance of their heart to the King above all Kings. It’s hard to see because it takes people a lifetime to become fully devoted citizens of this Kingdom. Yet there are signs of the Kingdom of heaven breaking in when we start to see people living according to heavenly principles having true humility, grieving the brokenness of this world, craving true goodness, forgiving any slight against them, increasing in purity and forging peace where there is division (Matthew 5:3-10). The way of the Kingdom of God is revolutionary. Through the Lord’s prayer we invite this quiet revolution to happen in our hearts and the hearts of people around the world. As we leave behind our old way of living we become the new humanity, the Kingdom of priests drawing the world to God.

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

OBSESSIVE STOLAS x Male Imp pt.5

(Hold up!!! Before you read this, at the bottom I've left links to the first 4 parts. Go read them first, so youve got all the back story.)

((This is a long fanfic and will consist of multiple parts.)

True to your word, you sent him the address later that day.

You agreed to meet up in the afternoon, telling him the meeting up time to meet.

Stolas had suggested a dinner date, but you had turned that down for some reason, telling him you had a better idea.

You had actually asked him on a date.

So happy was he, the rest of the day seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, the owl caught in a blissful haze.

Eventually it was dinner time, where the prince found himself eating alone, again.

He hadn't eaten with his family since, well you know.

He chose something simple.

Leftovers.

Grabbing the plate of last night's roast, he popped them into the microwave.

As he waited for his meal to heat, he quickly scrolled through his phone.

He was checking your voxtigram again, enjoying the collection of photos of you.

As he looked through he found the picture of you and Blitzø, the sight sending a pang of regret through his chest.

It was strange to think, just a day ago, he'd been head over heels for the Imp. Totally infatuated with him, and now... now he knew the truth.

Blitzø saw him as a meal ticket,nothing more.

He was just way to get to the living realm. What an idiot he'd been, a few kind words, a bit of sex there and he was totally under Blitzøs spell. He felt like an idiot.

His eyes shifted to you, and such warmth bloomed through his chest.

But you. You were genuine. You didn't want money or power, you wanted to make him happy.

You wanted to actually spend time with him, he wasn't just a meal ticket to you, he was someone worthy of love an attention.

He knew you weren't in love with him, not yet, but you would be, he'd show you just how worthy he was of your love.

His thoughts were interrupted by his dinner finished heating up.

He ate in silence, Stolas spending the whole time staring at the pictures of you.

After dinner he went for a shower, the hot water cascading down his body, the heat reminding him of the warmth you brought him just a day ago.

His thought slid to his time with you, fantasising about how intimate, how delicate and seductive you'd been.

The complete opposite of Blitzø.

His thighs ground together, his breath picking up as he slid a hand between his thighs.

He imagined you, holding him close, treating him like that delicate work of art, bringing him pleasure he didn't know existed.

Pleasure racked his body, his breathing hitched. And before he knew it, a mind shattering orgasm wracked his body.

After recovering from his little self pleasuring, he cleaned himself up and got out of the shower.

Walking into his room, he fell on his bed, feeling quiet satisfied. Curling up in bed, he fantasied about what the next day could hold for him.

He had a dreamless sleep that night waking up later than he had the morning prior, finding himself again, well rested.

Getting up, he went about his usual morning routine, all the way until he chose his outfit.

You had said something about wine, so did that mean it was more of a fine dining establishment. But you had said a pizza place right? So was it more of a casual, family restaurant.

He spent nearly half an hour thinking it over before he just decided to text you.

Stolas: Is there a dress code for tonight? I'm just picking out my outfit and don't want to come over dressed, I want something that to wow! you.

(Y/N): Hehehe, not really. Pick something casual and probably bring a coat as well, It gets kinda chilly out there at night.

(Y/N): We'll only be staying at the restaurant to eat, then I've got something planned for afterwards elsewhere.

Stolas: Is that so? And what have you got planned, something exciting I hope.

(Y/N): Nu uh, no hints. You'll just have to wait till tonight.

Stolas: Not even a little hint? 🥺🥺🥺

(Y/N): Nope, but I can promise it'll at least be the most romantic thing an Imp has ever done for you.

That kinda stung, bringing many unwanted memories to the forefront of his mind. You quickly texted again,

(Y/N): Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything like that. I just, doubt an Imp like me could match the typical royal date.

Stolas: it's alright, I understand what you meant.

(Y/N): But I can promise it'll be the most romantic thing someone's done with you on a budget.

Stolas actually laughed at that, falling onto his bed like a teenager. The two of you exchanged a little more info, before he finally picked an outfit.

He chose a fairly simple outfit; A stylish pair of jeans, a simple red and black T-shirt with a rather attractive heart pattern across it and then it was one of his favourite leather jackets with a beautiful fur collar

He left the manor grounds just as the sun began to set, the city night-life around the manor already beginning to pick up.

It was a fairly short drive, most people knowing to stay out of the way of a royal limousines.

Finding the street and location you'd described, he had the limo park in front of a rather unassuming building, not really looking any different from the hundred other boarded up buildings on the block.

Getting out, he stood there for a few minutes before he heard you call out. 'Hey good lookin, looking for a good time?' Turning around, he found you approaching.

You carried a simple wicker basket, wearing a humble, yet fitting attire,

You wore a stylish black T-shirt that seemed to just cling to all the right places, your jeans were faded, but not enough to warrant throwing out. And a pair of simple black shoes.

When you got closer, the demon piped up, 'If you were planning a picnic, the basket kind of gives it away.' He told you playfully.

You released a laugh, shaking your head. 'Nah, all that's already set up. I just don't wanna carry everything from here to there by hand.' You told him simply.

'Ooooh' he cood, 'and what is it your getting here, hmm?' He asked, playfully gesturing to the building.

'Oh you know, this and that, you'll be surprised how much they serve here.' You told him just as playful.

Stolas stood up before looking around, 'Speaking of what they serve here', I can't help but wonder where "here" is, this doesn't exactly look like a restaurant.' He told you, gesturing to the rather dull wall of buildings before you.

You just chuckled, looking up at the prince before telling him, 'Dont judge a book by its cover, dear prince of mine' you told him playfully.

You hadn't realised it, but when you called him yours, it sent a wave of euphoria through the owl that he simply couldn't describe.

His mind was addled, the owl clutched himself as he watched you speak, to caught up in this feeling to catch what you said.

He was snapped from his stupor, when he found you were looking up at him, seemingly expecting a response.

The owl panicked, snapping to attention and blurting out, 'Of course, words to live by,' before he just stood there, smiling like an idiot.

You stared at him for several moments, the awkwardness so palpable you could practically see it in the air.

After another moment, Stolas shook his head, 'S-sorry, uh, what was that last thing?' He asked, trying to salvage the situation.

You chuckled, shaking your head, 'nothin, let's go shall we?' You asked him, stepping forward.

He followed close behind, following you into a nearby alleyway.

He followed in silence, but as your path grew longer he decided to ask where you were going. Only for you to suddenly stop and turn towards a large metal shudder.

Looking up at him, you did a little knock on the shudder, before just standing there.

A few minutes pass by before Stolas whispered, 'what are we waiting for?'

You laughed at that, before telling him, 'He always takes a minute to get here... any second now.'

A few seconds go by, just as Stolas was gonna pipe up again, the shudder suddenly shot up, revealing an middle aged Imp carrying a shotgun.

The Imp stared at him for a few moments before looking down and spotting you, 'Oh (Y/n)! Didnt expect you so early.' He told you, lowering the shotgun, 'who's the string bean?' He asked bluntly.

You just laughed as Stolas became indignant, looking himself up and down before asking himself if he really look like a string bean?

''This is my...' you hesitated for a moment, the owl held his breath, waiting for you to finish the sentence

'... my date' you finished, 'this is my date "Prince" Stolas.' You told him firmly, enough pride in your voice to make Stolas flush.

The Imp looked him up and down, 'A prince huh? Damn (Y/n), really pickin up your game' The older Imp gave you a rather lecherous grin.

You scoffed, stepping forward and asking 'Can we come in or are we just gonna stand around talking all night?'

The elder Imp just huffed before stepping out of the way.

The two of you walked into a somewhat narrow stairwell, the prince having to crouch walk to squeeze in there.

'Sorry 'bout the tight fit there your highness, we usually only get Imps down here, it'll be more roomy downstairs.' The old Imp spoke up as they made there way down the stairs.

Stolas chose not to reply, choosing instead to just take it in stride.

It was another minute of walking down the cramped stairwell when they suddenly entered a much larger chamber, the owl able to stand up.

Once he'd stretched his back, Stolas got a good look around, and found himself transfixed by the splendour of the place.

Honestly the place could probably give most of the restaurants he'd been too a run for there money.

It was a large hall, clearly some old structure with black bricks making up most of the walls.

A number of quaint little lanterns hung from the roof giving the whole chamber a pleasantly dim atmosphere.

A series of tables filled the centre of the chamber, each one decked in a cloth, with its very own candle lit center piece.

The architecture created smaller arches along the walls, many of them gave way to small booths where other Imps were enjoying there meal. While others were filled in by wine wracks, each one filled with a variety of bottles.

'My it's... it's...' before Stolas could finish, you cut in, 'yeah... I know, it's not exactly the rits, but for an Imp run business, it's pretty sophisticated.' You seemed disappointed, likely having interpreting his stunned silence as disappointment.

Stolas quickly cleared that up, telling you 'it's beautiful, I've never seen a place like it.' He told you honestly.

Looking down he found you positively beaming.

Reaching out, you grabbed his hand. You dragged him along like an excited child, taking him to what was obviously the front desk.

Placing the wicker basket on top the counter, you binged the bell.

A moment passed before a shorter and clearly much older Imp walked out. Upon seeing you there face lit up, 'Oh (Y/N), so good to see you.' They said cheerfully, pulling out a medium leather bound book from under the counter, they looked up and said, 'Lets see. Ah! Here you are. One table. A high ceiling and a strong bottle, correct?' They asked pleasantly.

You just nodded, them quickly putting the book away and began leading you away.

He found himself led into another chamber, this one much smaller but still just as pleasant.

In this one, a quaint little chandelier, giving the room a pleasant warm glow.

The older Imp quickly left, promising to bring menu's upon his return.

You led him in 'Beautiful place, isn't it?' You asked, seeming a hundred miles away.

'It is' He agreed, never taking his eyes off of you.

It took a few moments, but eventually you locked eyes, a smile growing across your lips.

After a moment, you seemed to snap back to reality, quickly walking over and pulling out one of the chairs, 'Your highness' you told him, an almost seductive tone to your voice.

'Such a gentleman' he spoke playfully, taking his seat.

Pushing him in, you walked around and took your seat.

Sitting down, you leaned forward, the two of you sitting in silence for a moment, neither of you sure what to say.

Eventually you spoke up, 'Can... can I ask you something?' You asked hesitantly.

Stolas, seeing the mood shift, leaned forward, responding with 'of course you can... what is it?'

You took a moment, placing your mouth behind your balled fist, 'I just... I just want to know... What is this?' You asked somberly.

That took him off guard, 'I, uh... I thought this was a date,' he tried to lighten the mood.

You did smile at that, but it was short lived, the sombre look returning.

'No... I mean like, you and me. What is this?' You asked him.

Stolas found himself at a loss.

What were you?

This was a date, wasn't it? So that would make you a potential couple? But he was already married... so, what the hell did that make you?

He sat there for longer than he'd like without an answer, before he felt he just had to say something. 'I don't... I don't know.' He told you honestly.

'I mean, this is a date? And I uh...' He didn't know were to go.

Out of options, he decided to do something that hadn't gone the best for him lately, but with you he felt it would be his best course to take.

He was gonna go with his gut.

'I want there to be something.' He told you, 'You make me feel like... like I deserve to be loved. Like I can be loved... Something I haven't felt in quiet a while.'

'I haven't felt like I really deserve anything in... Hell.... Decades?' He was tearing up now, his voice thick with emotion, 'I don't know if I deserve love, (Y/N).'

'I only ever seem to end up hurting the people I care about.' Tears formed in his eyes, the owl gripped his head, 'Lately I feel like a curse. Like I can only bring pain and misery to those around me... and after what I've done, I can't help but feel I deserve it.'

He looked up at you, a little smile across his face, 'But you... you make me feel like... like someone cares about me... Like someone cares about what I want. And you don't want anything from me... your not just using me as a means to an end... You care about me.' He was shaking now, a gentle tear sliding down his cheek.

He sat there for a moment, on the brink of tears, just as he felt you grab his hand.

Looking down he found you gently grasping his hand. You slowly inspected it, gently running your fingers along the long slender digits.

'You know...' you began, unease in your voice. 'I had no idea what I was doing, that first time.'

'I wanted to cheer you up, make you smile.' You let out a little chuckle, 'And as cliché as it might sound, I could tell you just wanted someone to love you, to make you feel something.' you smiled up at him.

'I knew you needed some kind of affection and I... I couldn't just let you sit there, drowning in despair. So I did it, I gave you the love you needed' You told him, your voice getting a little unbalanced.

You looked up at him, your throat tightening and voice becoming shaky, 'And if after that first time together... I after what we did... you had said you wanted to just pretend like nothing happened. I would have accepted it. I could have accepted that.' You told him firmly.

'Theres so much misery around me, so many suffering for no real reason. So if I could make you happy, even for just a moment. I'd be happy.' A smile spreading across your face.

'I don't know what's gonna happen next.' You told him. 'And I don't know what's gonna happen next.'

Your voice grew firmer, as did your resolve. 'But I wanna get closer to you and you wanna get closer to me. So how's about we just... see where this goes?' You asked him.

Stolas was a little shocked, 'You... you'd really do that, just give it a shot, to be with me?' He asked incredulously.

You just nodded your head, a little smile across your face, 'I... I wanna be with you Stolas, if that's alright with you?' You asked almost playfully.

Stolas couldn't help but laugh, vigorously nodding his head, 'Yes, Yes, a thousand times Yes.' He told you getting to his feet.

His emense height allowing him to lean over the table, locking you into a passionate kiss.

The Owl couldn't help it, he pressed into the kiss, so much so he was scared he might hurt your lips.

But he just couldn't help it, he was feeling such passion right now, all he could think to do was get as close to you as possible.

Hey Hey. Doing some old stories now. I've got so many requests I think I'll just relax a little, do them at my own pace.

This is the 5th part of my series Here's the link to my other chapters

OBSESSIVE STOLAS X Male Imp Pt.1

OBSESSIVE STOLAS x Male Imp Pt.2

OBSESSIVE STOLAS X Male Imp Pt.3

OBSESSIVE STOLAS x Male Imp pt.4

so check that out. I'm gonna be doing some more of my own original works lately, but feel free to leave a request, just don't expect me to get to it any time soon. Any way, hope you enjoyed the story. Bye Bye.

[papier-ciseaux]

A Loveless Fairy Tale

This is kind of a personal project of mine! I wasn't sure if I would ever publish it, but I also really want feedback on it. The main idea was to create a fairy tale with an aromantic character as the protagonist, and make it relevant to the story.

So I made up this little tale about love, beauty, and understanding.

Details are left ambiguous since the goal was to write a fairy tale, also known as something easily reinterpreted and transformed while maintaining the core intact. I wrote it in one go about a year ago and I tried to correct some mistakes before putting it out there, tho some may have slipped under the radar.

A warning before you read, there is some arophobic comments.

Long ago, there existed a beautiful place where riches and splendours lined the walls. Many sought it out, looking for fortune, fame, and sometime love, as the place was rumoured to be inhabited by the most beautiful creatures you could lay eyes upon. But despite all its allure, the place was cursed, few returned alive and even fewer sane. For this place was a trap, laid by a deity that was fueled by mankind's adoration of itself. Trapped in luxury, surrounded by splendours and even the shadows of past loves, they willingly stayed in the illusion, feeding the creature and making it's power more potent. With time, the reputation of this place as cursed settled, and instead came warriors seeking to defeat the beast lurking the walls. None succeeded, tempted by what the deity offered them.

One day, a warrior came to seek the deity. They remained unfazed by their illusions and trickery, and finally confronted the entity. They had not come here with the intention to fight it or rob it. But to negotiate, to free its victim and end its reign. The deity was intrigued by this strange person. They had not succumbed yet, but it was only a matter of time as its power was great and it appreciated a challenge. It had corrupted the mind of many already, this one shall be no exception.

It tried appealing to their greed, but the warrior had been a simple labourer, happily satisfied with what few they owned. It tried appealing to their sloth, but they couldn't imagine a day where they wouldn't want to create and make things on their own. it tried appealing to their lust, but they remained unfazed as the entity showed them beautiful men and women aplenty. It was growing impatient. It was beauty incarnate, and no one could not love it. Adore it. But it had a trick even the strongest mind could not resist. Invading their mind, it saw the people they cared about, the people they loved. And it took their form. Before the warrior's eyes, people from their simple life started appearing. Their parents and neighbours, their childhood friends. But the warrior saw through its tricks. For it had rendered them beautiful, perfect, hollow.

It grew frustrated, trying everything in its power to sway them, but they did not falter.

"I AM BEAUTY" it screamed, "and I will make you adore me"

"You are not. You're hollow. You do not understand true beauty" spoke the warrior.

The deity grew angry at this, and it considered trying to kill them and be over with it. But it's ego was great, and it had been hurt. How could somebody not love it? Surely they must be a heartless monster. But it wanted, no it Needed to be Adored by All. and so it talked with the warrior, asking them about what they found beautiful. The warrior explained how they found imperfections beautiful, how the quirks of something rendered it unique. They talked about the beauty of actions, of landscapes, of words, of arts. And so the entity tried to lure them with what it had learned they found beautiful. But it never worked.

The deity started following the warrior, obsessed at the idea of making them love it. The warrior was happy with this, as others were finally freed from its reign. Slowly, it became more agreeable, nicer, focusing on actions and words rather than appearances. It took the form of a plain person instead of a magnificent one. It began noticing imperfections and appreciating them instead of trying to get rid of them. It was learning how to love, and it was starting to fall in love with the warrior. They had spent months together, and the deity had fallen completely for them. It had become beautiful in a true way, and people started adoring it for what it was. It did not need traps and illusions to get what it wanted. But one thing still resisted its beauty. The warrior did not desire it. It tried everything to make them love it, but they never would admit to it, and it never felt that they loved it the way others did. It grew frustrated again, being loved by all but the one it loved.

"I am beautiful now"

"You are"

"Then why don't you love me?"

"I do not love anyone, not my parents, not my neighbours, not my friends, and not even you."

The entity got scared. It had been right.

"You must be a heartless monster, not loving anyone like you do."

"I do not love people, but I find them beautiful. I enjoy their company and their presence, their impact on the world and how they make it even more beautiful by existing."

"Then you do love them"

"I do not. I appreciate them in my own way. Many do not understand how, I don't expect you to"

"I want you to appreciate me even if I don't understand you"

"I already do"

And so the deity started noticing how they had been treating it, the gestures, the gifts and the time they had spent together, and it saw that they truly did appreciate it, in this special way that they refused to call love. And it was happy.

They lived happily ever after, spreading kindness and beauty wherever they went.

The end! For now.

[k-s-morgan]

What He Grows to Be: Snippet 5

Thank you to everyone who expressed their preference over what they’d prefer to see in the snippet! Tom watching Harry’s memories about the Chamber of Secrets got the most votes, so here is the draft version of it. Though since it’s almost 4K long, maybe calling it a snippet isn’t appropriate :D 

------------------------------------------------------------

Talking through a diary was an interesting idea. Tom wasn’t sure what kind of magic this was, but now that he’d seen it, he could figure it out. He and Harry would be able to have immediate conversations instead of relying on letters or Patronuses.

Then again, considering what this diary had led to, perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. The last thing Tom wanted was to add himself into Harry’s collection of negative associations in one more way.

He didn’t see how Harry had managed to get into the Chamber of Secrets. One moment, he was staring at the bloody inscription on the wall; the next one, he was standing in an entirely new vast space. Tom still had no idea where it was located or how to access it.

His heart sank in disappointment, but when the full implications hit him, it stopped entirely.

Harry had excluded this memory on purpose. He didn’t trust Tom with the knowledge of where the Chamber was. He showed him the core events but not the details because his trust and his faith were already gone by that point.

And the ritual made it even worse.  

An uncomfortable itchy heat began to radiate from Tom’s chest. The sensation was entirely unfamiliar, so he pressed his palm against it, confused and hoping to squash it down.

He couldn’t name it, but it felt a little like shame. He’d never experienced it to this extent before, and it was never mixed with this kind of almost desperate hurt.

He’d been trying. For years, he’d been trying to be someone Harry would approve of. The craving, the longing for his acceptance stayed his hand so many times that now Tom couldn’t count them all — he even allowed that scum Morfin to blackmail him, no matter how maddeningly outrageous the whole situation was, simply because he refused to risk Harry finding out.

He’d made mistakes, but they were minimal in comparison to what he would have done if he hadn’t been trying. And yet Harry still didn’t trust him.

The shame began to curl away, giving way to dejection. Loneliness suddenly felt sharp and uncompromising, and Tom wrapped his hands around himself, watching how Harry’s head snapped up.      

“She won’t wake,” a voice said. It was soft but cold, so it took a moment for Tom to recognise it. His eyes quickly moved towards one of the pillars, and something in him shuddered from what he saw.

It was like watching his reflection in someone else’s dream. Something was wrong with the boy he was looking at, and it wasn’t just about the fact that his physical contours were blurred, as if he was being held together by magic alone.

No, he was simply different. He didn’t have the splendour Tom prided himself on. He was thinner and hollow-cheeked; his clothes, while neat, came from some cheap store Tom would have never stepped into. He was but a shadow with empty vicious eyes and greed that swarmed around him in a cloud — greed Tom wasn’t sure he could relate to.

He longed for things. He longed for Harry. But even from here, he could read the shallowness and the arrogance written all over his twin’s face, and he didn’t like it one bit.

This wasn’t him. This was Tom Riddle. Someone he could have been.

“Are you a ghost?” Harry asked. He was staring at Riddle with such earnestness, like he trusted him entirely and couldn’t see what a hollow shell he was. This was the first time Tom would disappoint him — the first in a long line of failures and betrayals.

“No,” Tom murmured to himself, shaking his head briefly. He couldn’t keep blurring himself and Riddle — that way madness lied. Despite some superficial similarities, they were completely different people. He might have let Harry down, too, but their story was different. This abomination was dead and could never touch it.

“A memory,” Riddle replied. His voice was quiet, but its sinister and bitter undertones were as loud as shouting. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

Tom’s brows furrowed. What? A memory? That must have been some ritual. Why would he condemn himself to this kind of existence? To give Voldemort more power? Maybe Voldemort had managed to subdue his will and make him into a brainless soldier somehow. This was more plausible than any version of him feeling such loyalty to some monster that he would follow him blindly and sacrifice his life force for him.

How did one become a memory in the first place? Even Tom with his knowledge about all possible forms of dark arts couldn’t figure it out.

Riddle burst into an animated, mostly one-sided conversation, and several minutes later, Tom had to admit that listening to his own voice was surprisingly challenging. Riddle’s arrogance was distorting his words; his excitement over successfully breaking an 11-year-old girl was embarrassing — Tom had felt less enthusiastic when he killed Charlus, and that happened back when he was a child himself. His first impression had been accurate: Riddle was worlds away from him. He was stupid, and Tom would have never believed it if he wasn’t witnessing it with his own eyes.  

“I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here,” Riddle said pleasantly. His eyes were fixed on Harry in an intense, hungry way — and well, they did have something in common, after all. “I knew you’d come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter.”

“Like what?” Harry spat angrily. He didn’t look intimidated in the slightest — his anger and righteousness made him appear taller, and his blazing eyes were furious enough to stop anyone in their tracks.

“How is it that you, a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time?” Riddle wondered. The pleasant notes were disappearing again under the piles of bitterness and odd envy. “How did you escape with nothing but a scar while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

By the end of it, a red gleam entered his eyes. It looked unnatural enough for Tom to make an instinctive step towards Harry.

This was unnerving. Magic was one thing, but what would turn his eyes — Riddle’s eyes — red? Humans couldn’t do that, it went against all laws of nature. Unless… Unless Riddle wasn’t human.

If so, what was he?

“Why do you care how I escaped?” Harry asked slowly. His own gaze was narrowed in a dawning realisation that Tom couldn’t decipher. Did Harry have a theory? How could he — he was only twelve. “Voldemort was after your time.”

Riddle smirked at him, looking almost giddy, and Tom had to amend his opinion. This impostor wasn’t simply stupid, he was crazy. He grew excited over irrelevant things and reacted inappropriately to every logical question Harry asked.

“Voldemort,” he uttered, “is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter.”

Pulling a wand out of his pocket, he slashed the air with it, writing three rapid words.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Tom studied them, his stare lingering on “Marvolo.” Something about it stood out. Something was strangely familiar.

Before he could follow the clues, Riddle waved the wand again, rearranging the letters. The syllables shifted and clung to each other briefly before assuming their designated places.

I Am Lord Voldemort

His mind went utterly blank. Time stopped. The existence of the world lost its meaning. Tom stared at these words, re-reading them again, and again, and again.

I Am Lord Voldemort.

Tom Riddle. Voldemort.

He was Voldemort.

He was Voldemort. All this time, he was watching himself, and he didn’t even realise this.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Tom recoiled from the damning words so violently that he lost his balance and collapsed onto the wet floor. His body didn’t feel the impact — it couldn’t, he didn’t even have it here, but it still burned, it still groaned and shuddered, as if the weight of his mind and his feelings was too much for it to bear.

“It can’t be,” he tried to speak. No words reached his ears, so he did it again. “It’s not possible. I’m not him.”

Still nothing.

Acid burned at the back of his throat. His stomach contorted in pained shock, and then the terrible screaming something filled his ears, crawling in them until it was the only sound they could perceive. It was violent and shredding — it echoed in his very bones.

He was Voldemort. All along, he was Voldemort. He’d killed Harry’s parents. He tried to kill Harry. He made so many Horcruxes that he had gone insane, losing his mind along with his powers, losing the respect of his followers, leaving only fear in its place.

He wasn’t the right hand of Harry’s nemesis. He was his nemesis. Harry had spent his entire first life hating and fearing him — he had single-handedly ruined Harry’s existence so thoroughly that Harry was forced to escape into the past. To accept guardianship over someone who tortured and destroyed him.

An icy fist closed around his lungs, clawing and squeezing the remains of air out of them. Tom gasped, his body jerking in odd abrupt movements that he had no control over. The next second, the contours of the Chamber of Secrets faded, melting back into Harry’s bedroom. The phantoms of the past were gone — they stayed trapped in the Pensieve, but their terrible echoes remained with Tom. They latched onto his mind with hungry vengeance, throwing an image after an image of the pictures he had seen when he was first watching Harry’s memories.  

It didn’t matter then. Those pictures were just that — the images of a monster he didn’t know and had no direct relationship with. But recalling them now and putting his own face onto them…

His mind rebelled. Tom pressed his hands to his ears, trying to silence the screaming, but it kept getting louder. It hurled accusations and mockeries, painted every crime he committed, every time he hurt Harry and raised his wand against him.

There was no silencing something like this. The only thing Tom could do was outcry it, so he screamed, too.

He found that he couldn’t stop.

***

That night, he added just one sentence to his letter.

Why would you love me?

*** 

The sleep didn’t come. The desire to tear into his skin and shred it until physical pain remained the only sensation was strong, but every time Tom raised his wand or his hands, he stopped.

He wanted to hurt himself. He didn’t want to hurt Harry.

It was easier before. In Harry’s absence, for a long time, he’d been putting his own hurt above everything, even above Harry himself; he’d marred his skin without care, wanting, needing acknowledgement.

But he couldn’t do it now. The thought of leaving even a small scratch on Harry made him sick.

That cursed ritual.

Tom managed to stay physically intact throughout the night, yet he spent it curled into a tight ball, shaking under the pressure of ache and grief and emotions he couldn’t identify. There were so many of them — they were crowding his chest, interfering with his heart, making him feel like he was about to explode with them.

When the morning came and nothing changed, Tom made himself get up. He cooked breakfast, then stared at it silently, knowing that he could never eat it without vomiting it back.

He needed… something. Something comforting. Harry wouldn’t return; Harry’s blanket and things no longer produced the same soothing effect, so it had to be something new.  

If he could capture Harry’s Patronus into some vial… if he could consume the letters Harry had written him…

The letters. He still had the letters. They were the last thing he’d gotten from Harry — they had his personality, his handwriting; they had a whole part of him because Tom could easily trace the story of their creation. From the pressure Harry had applied to a quill in different instances, it was evident where he hesitated, where he took a break, where he got anxious or passionate. It was the closest thing to him Tom had in his possession now.

Without thinking further, he returned to the bedroom and grabbed the last letter. His eyes immediately zeroed in on three specific half-lines.

…I’m going to keep explaining until you do.

…I’ve promised you’ll always be my priority.

…I might consider returning.

A promise of future communication.

The use of future tense.

Future possibility.

This was evidence. Whatever Tom was, Harry didn’t give up on him. Harry still loved him. He might still return.

Tom closed his eyes, nuzzling into the letter, and finally, for the first time in hours, the ache lessened. The sick feeling grew dimmer, too, and he felt solid and grounded again. When he pulled back, his gaze dropped to another passage.

Watch those memories. Don’t contact me until you do.

Tom pressed his lips to these lines, trying to breathe them in, feeling how their rough surface scratched his mouth.

Permission to contact Harry. He still had it. He was simply supposed to meet Harry’s condition.

That meant that he had to return to the Pensieve. The sooner he was done, the closer to Harry he could feel again.

Carefully, Tom folded the letter and put it in his pocket. If things got bad again, he could always touch it and remind himself of the future.

The memories weren’t a punishment. They were a chance to improve things.

Tom couldn’t really be certain, but he preferred to cling to this notion.

This made things easier at least to a small degree.

*** 

He chose to return to the start of the memory. Silently, he watched his shadow speak with Harry, lingered on how it hissed the words of self-admiration and hung onto its useless pride.

“I fashioned myself a new name,” Riddle boasted breathlessly, “a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

“You are not,” Harry said quietly. Despite his age, his resolution was steely, and if Tom had to choose whom he admired more at this moment... it wouldn’t even be a competition.

“Not what?” Riddle snapped. Insecurity and rage were twisting his ghostly face — it was a pitiful display. If the words of a 12-year-old boy had the power to affect him, then he had not only failed at greatness, he was also a failure of a sorcerer.  

“Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore,” Harry said hotly. “Everyone says so!”

The reasoning was… like that of a child. Even though his stomach was clenched into a tight knot, Tom smiled a little, suddenly overcome with a rush of gentleness and fondness for this particular version of Harry.

He was trusting. He was pure in a way that even his Harry wasn’t — he didn’t see death and destruction yet; he was not betrayed by Dumbledore.

He was not betrayed by Tom.                              

The smile disappeared, leaving Tom hollow.

When Dumbledore’s phoenix burst into the Chamber, carrying the Sorting Hat, Riddle laughed, and Tom laughed with him — only his laughter was hysterical because all pieces in his head suddenly clicked into one clear picture.

Dumbledore. Of course. Of course it was Dumbledore’s plan all along, how did he not see this from the start?

Harry hadn’t sneaked into the Chamber secretly — Dumbledore allowed him to. Dumbledore was likely watching him even now, invisible, waiting for the outcome.

Harry was a Horcrux, and Horcruxes could be destroyed with basilisk’s venom.

This was a test. Dumbledore wanted to see if he could get rid of the Horcrux inside Harry without necessarily killing him. The Hat was here to give Harry the Sword — with his mindless bravery, it was not a surprise that he could pull it out. The phoenix was here to decrease the chances of Harry dying and to heal him after he was stabbed.

Clever. And enraging. Because for Dumbledore, Harry was a game piece. For Tom, he was the world.

He would have let Voldemort live for a thousand of years. He would have allowed him to destroy this universe until nothing was left if it meant he could keep Harry safe. Dumbledore would never prioritise one over a billion, and for that, Tom hated him.

“Kill him,” Riddle hissed. The words sent a jolt of automatic panic through him, and Tom moved between Harry and the basilisk before he could think rationally about it.

The snake was magnificent, there was no denying it. Even the first time, when he’d been distracted to the point of ignorance, he stopped to watch it because it was breath-taking in every way.  

There was only one drawback. It wanted to kill Harry, and it meant that Tom would see it destroyed.

Harry broke into a run with his eyes shut. He managed to half-cross the room when he tripped and crashed down, his chin colliding with the cold stone. The sound of it launched Tom into immediate action again before he could stop his stupid feet.

Feeling this protective for such an extended period of time was exhausting. His heart kept hammering relentlessly and his hands were itching with magic, needing to pour it somewhere to protect Harry and to make sure he never got hurt again. How could anyone live in such a state?

The basilisk roared from pain when Dumbledore’s phoenix attacked it. Its tail whipped across the floor, approaching Harry with deadly speed, and Tom’s heart stopped. It stumbled forwards again only when Harry ducked, crouching, dirty and bloodied but with determination still burning brightly on his face. He was beautiful and desperate, and Tom would have cradled him in his arms if he could touch him.

A gust of wind sent the Hat right in Harry’s face. He grabbed it, put it onto his head, and threw himself to the side when the basilisk’s tail snapped forward again, almost crushing him into nothingness.

This was all strategic. It wasn’t a coincidence that the phoenix appeared immediately after Harry pledged his loyalty to Dumbledore. This was training — training in blind devotion, in recklessness, in self-sacrifice. And Harry had no idea.

At least this Harry didn’t. The adult version knew everything yet he still seemed to hold deep respect for Dumbledore.

Perhaps some training was too ingrained to ever fade from one’s core. This explained… almost everything about Harry. If Tom got another chance to make things right, he would dedicate himself entirely to removing these suicidal ideas from his head once and for all.

Harry pulled out the Sword from the Hat. He spent only a second on contemplating it — the next one, he was already standing and pointing it at the basilisk.  

Nothing about this picture was palatable. The sword was too heavy for a child his size: Harry was struggling with it, and the basilisk kept thrashing, hitting everything in sight. How he survived was a matter of miracle. If he had died… If he’d died, this would be it. Tom would never be the person he was now. He would be limited to a memory in his own diary, to a ruin incapable of human thought. He would never get his second chance, and the life as he knew it would never exist.

Terror that rolled through him could only be rivalled by the sheer horror of witnessing the basilisk’s fang separate itself from its mouth and plunge into Harry’s arm. Static electricity burned somewhere above his elbow in a phantom sensation of pain Harry had to be experiencing. It wasn’t real, but Tom’s breathing still quickened, and his fingers wrapped around his arm convulsively.

He couldn’t tell if the fang fell out because Harry had aimed his Sword there or if it was Dumbledore again. Either way, Harry was dying, and even though Tom knew he’d survive, watching this was no less excruciating.

“Fawkes,” Harry murmured hoarsely. His eyes were fluttering shut in an image that came straight from Tom’s worst nightmares. “You were fantastic, Fawkes.”

Giving praise to an impervious bird when life was bleeding out of him. Harry was insane. He was the Harry — his Harry. It was no wonder that an overwhelming longing for him had been and was going to be Tom’s undoing in every life he lived.

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” Riddle crowed, and Tom turned to face him with a snarl.

He hated this version of himself. Hated him. It was just a shard of him, dull and shallow, and if this underwhelming thing was ever his future, he would have preferred death.  

Riddle wasn’t a powerful wizard. Even now, when faced with a dying wandless boy, he was too wary of making his own move. He let the basilisk be his weapon; he was watching Harry die and not intervening because he was intimidated.

Though perhaps it made sense. Maybe even Riddle could see Harry’s brilliance despite his narrow-mindedness — maybe, beneath the hatred and the fear, he was fascinated. Tom knew he would be.

Harry might not have much power, and he certainly didn’t at the age of twelve, but he still managed something no other wizard had tried. He’d defeated a giant basilisk with a sword; his agility was almost otherworldly as he twisted, crouched, and ducked from the heavy blows.

This was worthy of admiration. Even Riddle couldn’t be that blind so as to miss it.

When the phoenix healed Harry, Riddle didn’t cry out in alarm or anger like Tom might have expected him to. Instead, his face shifted between different conflicting expressions, and his eyes regained the hungry glint Tom found intimately familiar.

“It makes no difference,” Riddle spoke confidently, with only the tiniest twitch of uncertainty underneath. “In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter... you and me.”

The surprising jealousy raised its ugly head, making Tom tense. He didn’t know in what way his shadow meant these words — he didn’t like to think about it either. It didn’t matter any way because there would never be such thing as Riddle and Harry, not until Harry came back to the past and gave the real Tom a chance at rebirth.

Without answering, Harry stabbed the diary with the fang, his eyes glistening with fevered hatred. Even Riddle’s piercing scream didn’t shake Tom the way this look had. He barely heard a sound through the sudden roaring in his ears, the sudden realisation that this was Harry’s first and last meeting with an actual Tom Riddle. Voldemort was a monstrosity with a face Tom refused to claim, but physically, Riddle was him.

How did Harry feel, watching him grow up? Had he ever looked at him and seen Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets? How could the feeling of love prevail over the feeling of hatred the 12-year-old Harry was currently wearing?

Tom turned away, unable to keep looking. His throat was dry, and as his knees started to shake, threatening to buckle right under him, he thrust his hand into his pocket, gripping the letter there.

In some other world, this moment had been Riddle’s end. But it wouldn’t be his.

He could do better. He would do better.

He’d finish watching these memories, he’d complete his letter to Harry, and then he’d start working. Harry would never look at him like he had at Riddle. In years, the memories of the Chamber of Secrets would fade; Riddle would become a shadow of a shadow, and Tom’s image would outshine him. It would take precedence in Harry’s mind.

This determination washed away the worms of doubts and self-hatred. When the new wave of memories swept him along, Tom felt prepared to face them.  

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

A Little Indulgence (Spencer Reid x Reader Smut)

Summary: After returning home, Y/N discovers that Spencer has brought back something from prison.

AN: This was part of the smut fic swap in @imagining-in-the-margins's server! I wrote for the gorgeous pal that is @cardigayn <3 love you <3 Reader is AFAB and uses they/them pronouns!

For my SFW fic entry for the swap, check out Valentines Day For Nerds!

Word count: 3.4k words

Content warnings: Knife kink, thigh riding, daddy kink, mild choking, spanking, biting, smangst

Your name: submit What is this?

The sudsy water masked the cutlery from sight, so Y/N’s hands were only submerged for a split second before they retracted with a gasp as sharp as the blade that cut them.

Spencer had acted fast; he found the first aid kit, deftly picking out the bandages in preparation for determining the right size. It had been his fault really. He was the one constantly sharpening the blades. He was never really satisfied with them, even when they could slice an onion without causing tears or rip through a cut of meat like it was wet paper.

The setting sun fanned over the room as Spencer’s nimble fingers wrapped cotton gauze around Y/N’s hand. They checked the pressure on the cut was tight enough. But they were moving on muscle memory alone. His mind had strayed to Y/N reaching carefully into the sink with their intact hand and retrieving the offender from it. Bubbles dripped off the edge, teasing him with its enticing appearance.

The second Y/N was deemed “fine”, Spencer left them alone. He ran for the bathroom and slammed the door. With the lock turned in, he stripped off his stifling clothes until he was free of his tie, his jacket, his shirt. Cold water splashed onto his cheeks didn’t calm him. The mirror fogged up beneath his nose with his deep breaths, in, out, in, out, his forehead against his reflection’s. His eyes were dilated, as he flexed his fingers over the crotch in his pants. A sigh from deep in his chest relieved itself. Things really had changed since Scratch.

He left the tap on to disguise any cry that might wriggle free from him. In all honesty, Spencer half wanted to weep that he was thinking of such things while his partner had injured themselves. He should be helping them, maybe leaving a quick peck on the bandage because Y/N once told him that a kiss on a cut defied science and made everything better.

His mind cast itself towards self-destruction and a horrendous link between himself and a young man he once knew. Nathan Harris, trapped in his mind, so aware that what he was feeling and thinking was morally wrong, but the poor kid still felt it and he nearly succumbed to it.

Spencer wanted to know if he was still institutionalised. Perhaps if he was more like Gideon, Spencer would have kept track of the victims their cases had come across.

Gideon.

Victims.

He wasn’t a victim. He refused. It was just a small cut from a kitchen knife. It wasn’t as if he was harming anyone. Yet.

He wasn’t Gideon. He wasn’t going to run away with just a note in his absence.

“Spencer?”

Three raps at the door, Spencer heard from Y/N on the other side. He forced one more slow breath out before he unlocked the bathroom door and ripped it open.

“Are you ok?” Y/N’s gaze dropped to his pants then back to his eyes – just for a second but Spencer noticed.

His voice was low as he replied, “I’m alright.”

As if in slow motion, his hand reached out for theirs. They noticed but did not make a comment at his speed. They let him take it, and his thumb grazed over the plaster that covered their injury.

“Are you?” He asked just as quietly.

Y/N looked down again, saw the strain in his trousers. Spencer watched them with cautious arousal as they connected the dots at lightning speed.

“I’m alright,” They said, their voice surprisingly steady as they strained to keep looking at his eyes, “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

They were so genuine. They wanted the best for him. They would do anything for him.

“Maybe not help.”

Confusion crinkled their brow, “What then?”

He should stop here. He should keep what his limits were here a mystery. He shouldn’t.

“Indulge me.”

And he pressed his thumb hard on the cut.

From Y/N, Spencer drew an inhale that was sharper than the knife that cut them. It fuelled his intentions, his other hand brushing their hair over their shoulder before it settled on their throat. It stroked gently, not forceful – for now.

Their body instinctively moved closer, barely an inch but it was enough to tell Spencer two things. One: Y/N was willing to let this play out. Two: their right arm was too far behind their back to be considered comfortable.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Spencer kept watch of them as his hand slid along their arm, across their trembling skin until he found their fist holding the accused knife. His entire body slumped with a sigh against them. Carefully, he coaxed them to ease the grip and took the handle into his own power. He saw their throat wobble as they swallowed.

“You ought to be more careful with these.” Spencer held the blade up in the space between them, his reflection more assured now. Y/N was staring at it too, so lost in its splendour that their chest jumped in surprise when Spencer released their throat to fist at their flimsy shirt and pull them closer.

“You’re not particularly attached to this one, are you? Use your words.” He reminded them when they shook their head.

“No,” Y/N whispered and their stomach sucked in as Spencer pierced the shirt with the tip of the blade.

Their bottom lip shook and Spencer restrained his urge to bite it as he said, “You know I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I do.” The knife began gliding up the shirt as though it were warm butter.

Spencer continued, “You know, unless I wanted to. Unless you wanted me to.”

Y/N nodded, barely though, “I do know.”

“Because you wouldn’t have brought me this if you didn’t know that. But you do. You know just what I need.”

The blade caught at the end of the shirt, stuck for just a second before it flicked up and broke the final links of fabric. The tip of the knife caught on Y/N’s chin and stayed there to sting it. They were shaking. One more shiver out of place and the skin would break but there was no tension in their shoulders or panicked panting. They were as collected as they could be with all their attention on the blade.

“You can’t take your eyes of it either,” Spencer sighed. He was almost jealous of it, but something about this knife was truly captivating. Right now, he was feeling like he was holding it for the first time again – because Y/N was feeling its effects for the first time.

His breath was agitated as he whispered to them, “Tell me you want this too. Please.”

“Daddy,” and Spencer felt his stomach twist with absolute joy as Y/N spoke, “I want this.”

His fist released them, and he watched the confusion cross their face. It was soon replaced with bashfulness as he shamelessly looked at their chest, drinking in how it was framed in the tatters of their shirt. A minor inner conflict ensued as he forced himself to take his time moving from the en suite to the bed, sitting up against the headboard. Once comfortable, the knife lolled in a controlled bounce between his fingers.

“Take that off. Come here.”

After a moment’s processing, Y/N quickly shed the shirt and took the initiative to remove the rest of their clothes. But not their underwear, they knew Spencer liked to be the one to take those off. They knelt over his lap, awaiting his next instruction. One that Spencer was all too happy to give.

“Get off on my thigh.”

Y/N took matters into their own hands when it came to wriggling off Spencer’s trousers and underwear, not even bothering to take them completely off before they straddled his thigh and began grinding against his bare skin. His cock rested against his belly, twitching at the occasional brushing up against the enthusiastic Y/N and leaking eagerly. As his own form of torture, Spencer refused to touch it or ask Y/N to do so. All he could touch was Y/Nand the knife’s handle. He pulled them closer with a hand on their hip. It guided them in their motions once they noticed the knife was at their throat, and their head leant back as they moaned, exposing more for Spencer to target.

Control after such chaos, it was just what he needed. As he dropped his head into Y/N’s chest and kissed the swell of their soft breasts, he lowered the knife. He controlled the danger Y/N was in, and they let him control it. They trusted him, even if he didn’t completely trust himself.

“Spencer? Daddy?”

Y/N touched their nose to Spencer’s, seeking out the answer to why his grip had slacked. He also noted that Y/N had stopped grinding onto his thigh.

Spencer gave into temptation and he bit down on that delicious bottom lip of theirs. It was sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted with the moan from their throat as a garnish. The knife rested at the slope of their neck.

He released their lip to murmured against it, “I could fuck you with the handle.”

Their nose bumping against his as they shook their head, Y/N whined, “No.”

“No?” Eyebrows raised at the audacity they had, to use him then deny his words.

But then Y/N opened their eyes, pleading with them as they said, “Next time.”

They were touching his hand now, the same spot where they had cut themselves and their bandage pressed into each other with their fingers linked.

“I want your cock in me now, and I want you to hold the knife against me. Please, Daddy.”

All sense of Spencer’s gorgeous hazel eyes was lost as two rings around his pupils. His jaw went slack as he processed their request, his laboured breath falling from his lips. Finally, he took in a deep breath, straightening up his back and resuming his role as the Dominant again.

“You’re getting really greedy, baby. You should watch your mouth.”

Y/N continued to plead with their puppy dog eyes, leaning close to him. Their bodies were pressed as close as they could be. Spencer’s trousers were still frustratingly in the way so he kicked them off.

Luckily for Y/N, Spencer was greedy too. The promise of “next time” is what let them off their backtalk this time.

He quickly unhooked Y/N’s bra, letting them be the impatient one to throw it aside. His sitting position adjusted itself against the headboard before he allowed them to sit in his lap again. Once comfortable, he dotted their chest with purple, the knife keeping their back arched into him.

Their panties were grazed by the knife before they were merely pushed aside and Spencer stroked through their lips with a tactile fingertip, sharing a groan from how wet they were. He could never tire of that, or of Y/N sinking down on him, how warm and welcoming they were, how they clung to him like a limpet.

Y/N began to move. Every motion was more longing and enrapturing than the last, Spencer finding it hard to keep up and hold back. His free hand continued rubbing on their thigh, spanking their skin and counting each one until the spot beneath his palm was red. Every time, Y/N gasped and jumped, the blade pressing harder into them.

“Touch yourself,” Spencer rasped against their skin. He leant back to make way for their clumsy fingers, rubbing at themselves covetously.

“Please, Daddy.” Y/N cut themselves off and their cheek found the flat side of the blade to press itself against, now warm from their flushed contact, “Can I cum please?”

“Yes, you can, cum for me.”

The need to meet them in completion overpowered him and Spencer abandoned the knife to grab them with both hands, fucking into them harder as they cried out for him. Their nails dragged across his shoulders and he welcomed the pain from each fingertip. It only spurred him to move faster.

“I’m gonna fill you up.”

Y/N nodded eagerly, their stamina waning before picking back up at the notion, meant in no time at all he was keeping his word. They beautifully reached their orgasm with Spencer’s fingers tight around their throat once more, bringing on his own orgasm soon after with their snug cunt milking his cock for all it was worth.

Using his grip on their neck, Spencer pulled Y/N down against his lips and slurred into their mouth, “Thank you.”

Then he lifted his hips up, enjoying the pleasure flaring up as he did so. His shuffling down the bed was lacklustre but it worked enough for when he fell onto his back. Bringing Y/N with him, he could feel his cock slide out of them and something warm and wet dribble onto the top of his leg. If only he had the energy to plug it back in there, push it back with his tongue. All he could do now was lift himself up a little, reach over Y/N and pull their underwear back into place. As Y/N said earlier, “next time”.

“Thank you.” Spencer brushed Y/N’s hair off their back, letting it tangle with his. “Thank you. You’re so good to me.”

“And so are you… D’you need anything?”

“I’m good, you?”

“Me too.”

As his arms spread out on the bed, Spencer’s right elbow found the knife again. Too late, it was sliding off the edge, a muted clatter against the carpet reaching their ears just moments later. A few seconds later, Y/N lifted off him, their sweaty skin clinging to each other as if to plead for them to stay, but it was Spencer who let out the noise of complaint this time. Y/N was quick though. They simply moved the knife into the bedside drawer and closed it before landing beside Spencer, wriggling to get that proximity once again.

Spencer found himself kissing the palm that cradled his face, breathing it in, plaster and skin and all. Soon he was curling into them, his face hidden in their neck as he wrapped his body around them. There were a few more grunts as sporadic pangs of pleasure rippled through them both, until they finally settled still. Y/N combed their fingers through Spencer’s thick hair, tugging just how he liked it.

He didn’t know really how to describe it. He just felt warm.

“Spencer?” Y/N’s voice was a little above a whisper, a crack chipping the last syllable.

“Yeah?”

“Would you…” They tilted their chin up to the ceiling. Spencer didn’t push; he gave them time, just as they had done, to answer.

“Would you let me shave you one day, please? With the straight razor?”

Spencer’s smile grew back on his face, “Of course.”

“And would you use the knife handle on me next time please?”

“Why were you more nervous about asking to shave me?” Spencer kissed where a faint ring of teeth marks met their neck, feeling it rumble with their giggling.

“I don’t know!” They covered their eyes with their hand.

To encourage them to come back out of their little shame cave, Spencer kissed where his lips fell and nodded, “Yes, next time, I’ll use the handle, Y/N.”

“We’ll have to make sure you don’t cut yourself.”

They cared for his wellbeing. He should too.

For now, at least, things weren’t so bad. Clarity from his orgasm told him that the guilt would set in by tomorrow. But he’d address it then and let the final dregs of their indulgence rock him to sleep.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 BONUS

Tonight was a transaction. Spencer was midway through his side of the bargain – keeping Y/N comfortable. They didn’t seem to mind the granite of the countertop pressing into their back as Spencer ate them out with gusto, his knees protected by a pillow against the tiled kitchen floor. His hair was tugged at the roots. Sometimes he felt Y/N’s heel tap against his back as they balanced on one foot to use the other to bring him closer. It was largely ineffective, but it pleased him that they weren’t completely in control of their needy actions.

His lips parted from theirs, and they whined at the cool gentle air he blew against them. They both knew that Y/N knew they weren’t allowed to cum without permission. They both knew that this wasn’t the end. But only Spencer knew where this was going next.

Leaning back on his heels, he pulled open the drawer beside Y/N. His hands were careful as they retrieved the knife he was after. He’d memorised its place in that drawer. Once again, Y/N was trapped in a stare. Their gaze followed the knife with confusion as Spencer began to wrap a hand towel around the blade.

When Spencer caught sight of this, he raised an eyebrow and waved the handle around in a circle. “You did say next time.”

A hint of guilt crawled around in his gut. Perhaps they would think he was pressuring them to keep a promise they made in a daze of hormones.

But Y/N simply whispered, “I did. I also said we’d have to make sure you don’t cut yourself.”

“I’ve thought about this already,” Spencer said as his fingers held the blade - safely encased by the towel.

“Me too.”

With his eyes as wild as his hair, Spencer moved the end of the handle across their sex, tentatively stroking it across where their cum and his spit met. Then he took a leisurely pace to push it inside them. His eyes fixated on the way they clenched around it, unconsciously wanting more while they restrained their other movements with stiff knuckles grasping at the countertop.

“How’s that feel?” Spencer said quietly, his hot breath hitting their skin as hard as the curves of the handle pressed against their walls.

Through their exhale, Y/N replied, “It’s good.”

“Yeah?” Spencer began pulling the knife out slowly once it reached halfway inside of them, “Not as good as me though.”

“No, never.”

Right answer.

He pushed it back in, until the edge of the blade was an inch from their soaked sex. Then he released it.

“Spenc-”

“Stop. Keep it there. I know you can.”

The hand towel dropped, untangled and fell off the blade.

Spencer leant back again and watched how the blade quivered with them now, reacting to their body just as they reacted to it. “Careful now. If you don’t hold it still, you could cut yourself.”

Y/N let out a groan of frustration but they listened to his demands. Soon the knife was near still. There was still a familiar tremble that shifted it from inside of them, but it was nothing to worry about yet. Licking his lips, a hint of their taste still on them, Spencer reached out to their clit and began rubbing it. He delighted in Y/N’s groans.

“That’s it, keep that cunt tight.” Eyes still on them, he pulled out from his underwear his cock and stroked his hands in time together. It thrilled him to no end, his pleasure only increased by theirs. “Does it feel good?”

“Daddy, please,” Y/N bit their lip, unable to look at what Spencer was doing to them.

“Look at you, trying to keep that still in you, all tense, when I’m teasing your pretty clit. What’s it like knowing you want more but you can’t have it?”

They were struggling, the blade slipping out millimetre by millimetre despite their best efforts. Their hips jerked as they would when riding him. But their thighs were forced apart lest the shining metal between them bite worse than their Daddy. They were simply too aroused to do a better job, poor baby.

“You know how I like looking at them.”

Spencer leant close, breathing in their earthy smell, and he pressed a kiss on their clit. His lips parted for him to lick at it twice, to feel their most sensitive parts twitch against his mouth again. He looked at their face as his finger found the blunt tip of the knife and pushed the handle back up into them. Y/N’s mouth fell open, a ragged gasp shaking at the back of their throat. Spencer looked back at the knife just in time to see a drop of their cum slip down the edge of it. His cock twitched. His teeth bared in a smile.

“But this view is my favourite.”

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

it wasn’t power i coveted; it was acceptance.

Titans 3.06

y’know, i was just thinking the other day that 1.06/1.07 and 2.06/2.07 were the best episodes of their respective seasons, so i have great hopes going in to this one. fingers crossed!

as always, typing this up as i see the episode.

SPOILERS AHEAD

1. oh! um... that was a Cold Open, all right. *nudges* get it? cold? because it’s snowing? and two people got murdered in cold blood? eh?

... oh, i’ve just started.

1.5. i wonder if “i want to be sipping pina coladas on a beach with you” is the new “i’m just one day away from retiring.” i was so on edge after that--i kept expecting that car to explode. even so, the way they died wasn’t an anticlimax: brutal, and quick. 

1.75. so i’m assuming that’s the titular lady vic! this show better bring up why this doll was important or why these two cops needed to be killed, and not leave it to the ether like jericho’s little mindscape jaunt in 2.08 (i’m still dying to know what that was about???)

2.

i love how deliberately unappealing wayne manor is. 

(sorry for the pic quality. i don’t have hbo max! ssshhh.)

2.3. i love the many references to “home” and “our house” when they’ve been here for less than a week and saw one of their friends get blown into pieces. i mean, i unironically love it: home is where family is, after all!

2.5. i’d like to say that kom is playing some sort of long game here, especially given the build-up we had last season and some of the more niggling details this season: why did kom choose now to use her bond to lure kory when she’s been on earth for months? why did justin call kory now, just around the time that she started getting kom’s visions? and what about kom’s ability to exactly imitate other people? hmmm.

2.75. the reason i wrote i’d like to say is that i’ve made the mistake of assuming plot complexity where there is none; i was so invested in the jason todd orchestrated his own death theory for instance, when it turns out that oops! ra’s al ghul just happened to leave a little lazarus puddle in gotham, and oh yeah! scarecrow just happens to have a network of henchmen working for him on the outside and a fully functional laboratory and a weapons cache fit for a new supervillain in the basement of the high security psychiatric unit/prison that he’s in! 

(no i’m not bitter, why do you ask)

2.8. iiiii don’t know what to say about the implications of sex slavery being a thing on tamaran, so i’m not going to say anything at all. for now.

3. gotham, six years ago... wasn’t it five years before s2 that jericho died and the titans disbanded? and when was the flashback from 1.06 where dick let zucco die? i think it was after the events of 2.08: jericho? i can’t seem to find any transcripts or reliable information online, so i’m going to have to rewatch 1.06 at some point. 

(i love the old-fashioned batman music in this heist scene)

3.5. “security is a joke... it’s my way of keeping my dad on his toes”. what you’re an ethical thief now, like an ethical hacker? i don’t think that excuse is going to sell, barbara, on the day you do encounter a decent security system and your father is forced to arrest you.

(then again, gotham’s security is piss-poor. did you know that you could just walk into arkham asylum without any official clearance, ply one of its most dangerous inhabitants with contraband, and said inmate could get away with having an entire laboratory and weapons cache--NO I’M NOT GOING TO LET THIS GO)

3.8 so that flashback between dick and barbara was really cute! and also illuminating:

a) dick sounds so light, so... um. look. i have some apologies to tender to mr thwaites, because while i’ve always thought he does a fine job as dick grayson, i’ve never been terribly fond of his cadence as he delivers dialogue. it’s often monotonous, i thought, but then again, he’s usually delivering exposition or dealing with one soul-crushing crisis or the other. so i was pleasantly surprised to hear dick sound so carefree and alive in his conversation with barbara, laughing frequently, his emotions so bare and bubbling to the surface. it’s really a fantastic contrast to the traumatised and world-weary dick grayson that we see now, even more so than the costume department just bunging a backwards-baseball cap on mr thwaites’ head and hoping that will convince us of his relative youth. 

b) and god, when he wakes up from that memory, all alone in his bed, bleeding from bullet holes in his shoulder (bullet holes that are--in a somewhat convoluted way--barbara’s fault)? yikes. it’s great. you have my apologies, mr thwaites!

c) can you imagine dick just... crawling back to wayne manor, trying not to be seen by anybody, shedding his suit and just... collapsing onto his bed without even tending to his wound? the sheer emotional and physical exhaustion of it? 

d) it’s so interesting to see how barbara and dick approach the idea of legacy--a big theme on the show!--in this flashback. barbara is the one bucking the idea that she should follow in her father’s footsteps, while dick seems pretty content with the batman-and-robin setup, and even tries to get barbara to join their team (robin-girl. pfffft). obviously after this several traumatic things happen wherein dick ends up questioning and then resenting his role as robin, his relationship with batman or even returning as a vigilante at all. and barbara... ends up replacing her father as commissioner. it’s tragic, really. 

e) the dynamic between dick and barbara in the flashback reminds me of how it was between dick and donna in 1.08 and even between kory and dick in early s1. it’s like having an older, strong-willed woman by his side means he gives over the steering wheel for a while and lets himself... unspool, a little bit. it’s kinda endearing.

also:

*pinches his cheeks*

3. you know, we talk about dick and Eldest Daughter Syndrome, and that’s definitely valid, but here gar seems to me the embodiment of it, with all the emotional gardening and firefighting that he’s expected to do. he’s kind of the guy expected to keep his shit together and take care of everyone else while they are falling completely to pieces, unable to carve out time to process his own trauma. he’s also picked up dick’s and kory’s tendencies to bottle up their struggles and shun appearing vulnerable, and he’s struggling in the shadow of both dick and kory undergoing acute crises, his best friend (and frequent confidante) on the other side of the world, and seeing hank die, utterly helpless to stop it. 

i’m glad that he got a chance to tell dick even a smidgeon of what he really feels, and i hope this is at least a semblance of a wake up call for dick to actually sit down and work with the people he repeatedly calls family.

3.5. it’s heartening to see that dick immediately makes it his priority to go talk to gar. but don’t blow off kory in the process, man!

4. i’m really loving this dynamic between kom and conner--i get the idea that both of them consider each other as Unknowns, alien two times over. but conner’s only ever known the titans, who embrace being different, and kom’s only ever known... well. 

anyway, kory is Really Stressed, and honestly? #relatable. 

when you’re forced to bring an estranged family member to hang out with your friends...

4.5. i love that the titans are spending so much time in the kitchen. a real family!

5. jonathan crane is a creep and i absolutely cannot stand him.

5.25. how did he get a whole lab setup (in the basement of a hospital...?) with a bunch of whitecoats to work for him? how did he just waltz into the viewing room of an operation theatre when he’s one of the most wanted men in gotham right now? why is jason wandering around maskless when--presumably--as the adopted son of the most famous person in gotham he’d be a tad more recognisable than your average joe?

why do i expect this show to answer anything anymore?

5.5. that’s not necessarily a criticism, mind; i’ve said since season 1 that titans is very comics-like in this aspect, all about the Aesthetic and the splash-page splendour rather than the niggling unimportant details of how or when the characters got to said location. like. the camera gliding over the operation being set-up, lady vic bursting in and doing her murder dance (imagine the luck of the poor intern who chose this day and this surgery to assist) and jason, shocked and slack-jawed, framed by blood.

5.75. it’s a sobering reminder for jason that, though he chose this path in order to gain control over a world that seemed like it was rapidly spinning out of his grip, he’s only succeeded in handing over even more control to a man with an agenda that is very clearly not aligned with his own. he’s in too far to stop now, though.

5.9. i have a lot more thoughts about jason! saving it up for the end of this recap, though.

6. more kitchen time! i better see dick do some cooking soon...

(”our kitchen”! it still delights me! kitchens are So Important)

6.25. so much of dick’s issues have revolved around his relationship with bruce, so it’s completely understandable that in the wake of a huge crisis where bruce literally asks dick to replace him and be a “better” him, dick would default to all the worst things he learned from the man. and i’m glad kory’s having none of it, but come on, guys. the woman’s literally fetched her fratricidal sister out of a hole in the ground with no idea what said sister is going to do next and experiencing a burgeoning sense of guilt far, far beyond her history with the titans, and dick’s too far into his autocolonoscopy that he can’t see that she needs help.

6.5. “he services your urges”--well, as far as we know, kory is the last person he had sex with...

7. “i hope [gar] isn’t angry with me...” SIR! i thought you’d already spoken to him! smh, as the kids say. kory wouldn’t be needing to reassure you if you just took the effort to build two way emotional relationships with the rest of the team. @superohclair​ was taking about dick’s relatively low emotional intelligence? i agree.

7.5. “i got my own problems [...] you and barbara? fix it.” YOU TELL HIM, KORY

8. man i really like this weird, sad tension between dick and barbara--this sense that both of them are approaching the other based on how they remember them and are ultimately disappointed by the truth. barbara thought she could trust dick to... well, be a better batman, but dick has not only failed at that in her eyes, but repeatedly undermined her while exploiting the authority that she gave him. in dick’s eyes, this is nothing like the barbara that he knew, rebellious and ready to do whatever it takes to find something. 

like. this show sometimes really hits me in the chest about the ways it shows kids grow into adults and into caretakers, and the way it’s stop-start, the ways nothing can happen at all for a long time and then it’s Crisis Central all at once and there’s no space to breathe. the weird sort of sadness that comes with nostalgia. 

8.5. oracle name drop! i agree with barbara, any system that can just randomly tap into gotham phonelines is a monster.

8.7. (i don’t know if it’s my imagination, but is dick holding himself... differently in this episode? like that wound is definitely bothering him, and he’s running on fumes)

9. man, that was a really sweet scene between kom and conner. “feeling alien in your own world”... “not quite here nor there”

honestly this team runs on conner and gar’s faith in their value as a family, and it’s a sign of conner’s generous heart that he extends that opportunity to blackfire. this arc of maturation for him, where he’s now able to consciously choose which parts of himself he can use to do the thing he wants to so--save people--has been so fulfilling to recognise. this baby’s grown with the titans! and what he’s learnt is that people can get fucked up, but the titans is a place where they can be fucked up, and grow.

MY MAN CONNER

10. oh man i’m drinking in the gar-dick interaction in this episode like i’m three days into the desert and it’s the only source of water for miles around!

a) gar is absolutely not dealing with dick’s bullshit this episode and I LOVE IT. it’s such a far cry from the man who was idolising dick/robin back in s1 and expecting him to solve all their problems. dick is fallible, dick is fucked up, but he Tries His Best and that’s ok.

b) dick, huffing and puffing through that vent, unable to put any pressure on his left shoulder, trying to have a heart to heart with gar... fuck i love this asshole. 

c) bruce took in a kid who was suffering... “and made him into a weapon”. well. i absolutely agree with dick that it was bruce who put these kids into these horrible situations with him and they came away with a bucketload of trauma to add to the one that they already had. but we know that bruce was really trying with jason, and at the end of s2, dick was coming to acknowledge that bruce had offered him something that wasn’t just darkness. jason’s death and bruce’s reaction to that shattered that fragile progress.

d) “gotham got to me too.” i feel more sympathetic towards dick running off on his own than most, and it’s not just because i’m an unapologetic stan.  we’ve seen before that dick... devolves when overwhelmed, and he lashes out and makes ill thought out decisions and just Does Not Deal. it happened after hearing the news that deathstroke had returned in s2, and it didn’t help that everyone around him was reeling at the news, either. this time, however, he has his salvation in his family, and despite some stupid decisions like running off and kidnapping supervillains without telling his team, he’s been really on the ball this season. thinking clearly and logically, holding it together and working on a plan, thinking two steps ahead of the villains... yes.

e) gar needing to believe that jason isn’t beyond redemption... there’s a lot of blood on his hands, too, from when he was manipulated by cadmus last season. it makes sense why he’d relate to jason’s predicament, and i hope dick picked up on that.

f) my head just added a plaintive ow after dick jumped feet first into the storage room

i need, crave gifs of this scene!

11. *sits on hands* i’m going to talk more about red hood, i promise!

12. more gar and dick! is it my birthday??!!

(actually, according to the tamil calendar, it is my birthday! my “star” birthday)

12.5. excellent. dick using some implausible training that bruce taught him to solve a mystery? passing some of that knowledge onto gar? that proud smile when he sees gar perfectly execute moves that he taught him? MY HEART IS EXPLODING

13. aw, i love flashback!dick and barbara, they’re so cute <3

13.25. why does it not surprise me that the way he proposes a relationship to barbara is by saying “we make sense”? this guy can deduce exactly who was present where and what weapon they were holding from a garbled audio recording but other times he’s utterly clueless, and that’s a consistent character beat right from s1

13.5. so.... that’s why lady vic has it out for... barbara....? i don’t get it. it’s flimsy. but hey! the fun thing about titans is that i don’t have to get it. the payoff has nothing to do with the plot.

14. i can’t believe that barbara fell for that, but at least that wheelchair fight looked awesome, so.

15. oh yeah, i forgot that red hood bullied the mob into helping him and scarecrow... at least that explains the whitecoats and the elaborate set-up.

15.5. honestly i love how this dynamic between kory and kom is developing, though i wish more of the team would pay attention to it. time to call justin, i think!

16. i wonder what happened after that second flashback where barbara got hurt during that heist. did she give up on doing any more (maybe jim caught her)? was it because dick was called away by bruce and then the titans and got caught up in his own issues? maybe barbara froze him out because she wasn’t looking for the relationship that he was looking for? maybe the idea of doing that with someone turning into batman-lite was just... unappealing? scary?

whatever it is, it doesn’t look like dick ever processed the end of that relationship. it’s very intriguing to see where their dynamic goes next.

17. so.... what, did vic deliver some fear toxin to barbara? i... what?

17.5. and i TOLD YOU that they would never explain that doll or why vic attacked those two cops at the beginning! oh, titans. never change. 

18. did jason just randomly have tim’s restaurant burgled? god, i’m feeling a bit nauseous... are they going to kill tim’s father?

18.25. i feel like the rest of the season is going to wrestle with jason’s culpability in the horrible stuff he’s doing and i’m already seeing that prospect divide fans. on one hand, his story is taking a lot of oxygen away from other equally interesting story arcs, and he’s done some truly awful things, like indiscriminate murder, threatening to kill children, blowing up hank, and potentially killing tim’s parents. 

there’s something to be said for the kind of hold that crane has over him, and the so-called ‘anti-fear’ drug that he keeps plying jason with--he’s alone, drugged almost constantly (to the level of dependence), fresh from the trauma of being bludgeoned to death. he hasn’t conquered fear; he’s ruled by it. on the other hand, given that he’s the one character on the show given an obvious and identifiable ‘mental illness’ arc (maaaaybe dick too), one can argue that it’s irresponsible to show this progress into such violence: jason was vulnerable because he was struggling, and that left him vulnerable, but it took only a push before he became a fucking serial killer.

but that could mean we underestimate the degree of that vulnerability, and the mechanics of this universe where he fell into the clutches of the one supervillain perfectly designed to exploit that vulnerability. that helpless spiral into further and further self-destruction is all too real. it’s valuable to know that someone who has sunk that low can still seek help--actual help--and get it. 

18.5. i don’t know. it’s not a question i’m going to resolve at the end of an overlong recap at 1 in the morning. i don’t believe it’s even a question that titans can resolve. but i am interested in where they’re going next with jason.

19. this episode was genuinely great! i’m pumped for the rest of the season!