#you destroy the gossamer and what it is good for

[mswyrr]

This quote is (sadly) often relevant in fandom rn:

"Romance reading, Radway opines, “gives the reader a strategy for making her present situation more comfortable without substantive reordering of its structure rather than a comprehensive program for reorganizing her life in such a way that all needs might be met” (215, emphasis added). This statement rests on the assumption that literature can provide a “comprehensive program for reorganizing” the life of the reader. To take this assumption literally, we must imagine a novel providing, through its form or through its content, a “program” for reorganizing readers’ lives. Has any book ever done this? Certain novels of ideas come to mind as possible candidates. Uncle Tom’s Cabin contributed mightily to the abolition of slavery. 1984 remains a strong argument against totalitarianism. Certain books with charismatic protagonists inspire readers to pursue certain professions. Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird has sent some of its readers to law school. James Herriot’s All Creatures Great and Small has undoubtedly inspired some of its readers to become veterinarians. Any number of books motivate readers to become teachers. But none of these books can be said to lay out a comprehensive program. Radway’s criticism of the romance novel is a criticism of its form: the ending is the culprit. Can the form of a novel accomplish, or, as Radway claims, thwart, a “comprehensive program for reorganizing” the reader’s life? Of course not. Literary forms do not have this power. Readers are free to ignore, skip, stop, disbelieve, dislike, reject, and otherwise read quite independently of the form. Readers of a given genre often read with another genre in mind. Female readers have done this for generations."

--Regis, Pamela. A Natural History of the Romance Novel (pp. 12-13). University of Pennsylvania Press, Inc.. Kindle Edition.

[calculatesguilt]

[LIE] I feel very normal things about Last Stand of the Wreckers and the aftermath.

This goes with a drabble I wrote. (Below the cut.)

Silver backed coffins lined the corridor, there would be no open funeral for any of them, there wasn't even a body to retrieve for... for.................. Gossamer filaments that lined delicate data slugs at the corner of his vision. A thumb rubbing incessantly over the white-stamped Autobot sigil, seared into his vision like a monitor ghost. Ironfist had known. He had known, and so did Perceptor. This was discussed with Prowl. Ironfist stared when they were on that terrible shuttle ride back from Garrus-9. No quips from Verity. No raucous laughter from Springer over a job well done. It was a brief moment that made him realize something harrowing. He figured him out. (A cruel twist in his spark was glad of that, the data seared into the scientist's module minutes away from expiration.) Ironfist handed the now-broken and shattered data slug into his hand, a hard look in his eyes. They did not need to exchange words. All that, all those deaths, all those sacrifices, and he stares at the remains of the data slug. What was the point? What was the point? WHAT WAS THE POINT. He had wanted to grab Prowl, then and there, pistol in hand. It would have been so easy to pull the trigger, he had gotten good at it. Instead he stood, limbs locked in place, not even a twitch on his face. Vision blurred, world spinning, audials ringing from the intensity of the anger that flared. It's not his job to get angry, not his job to put his feelings in place. Prowl had his reasons. "Are you listening to me, Perceptor?" Prowl's voice is like nails scraping against metal, pulling him harshly out of whatever stupor he was in. "There's still a loose thread I want you to follow up on," Prowl had finally deigned to say as though he hadn't just destroyed the only evidence of Aequitas' atrocities. And Perceptor had accepted the placement, had taken the trip to Kimia to investigate. One more job. (That's how it always ended up, wasn't it? One more job. It's not his place to moralize, it's his place to do the job.) "We're not winning this war, Perceptor," Prowl had once said. And it was true. It will always be true. They will never win. No one will.

[raccoonfallsharder]

✩࿐࿔ take a frickin' shower. [new 11/7]

fluff | gn reader | no use of y/n | drabble | word count: 1,359. read more on ao3 | ✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist | main masterlist

sometimes a shower takes too much energy, but the captain is here to coerce you. sure, there are other ways to keep yourself clean in a pinch, but everyone knows you just feel better after a shower. and right now many of us could do with feeling a little better.

so sorry this has been so long in coming, nonnie-love. i hope you find it useful and comforting. honestly, you're not alone. showers take a lot of spoons sometimes but they are almost always worth it. imo, it is as hard to get out of a shower as it is to get in. (go take one anyway. right now, if you can.)

You stare up at the ceiling of your Knowhere apartment. Something like sunlight filters in, pearly and gossamer across the bone-plaster. It’s lovely outside, you know — not too warm, and not too cold. The skull has been parked the perfect distance from a protostar wreathed in emerald and claret diamond-dust — a favorite peace-time location for your fellow Knowhere locals, who’ve taken to calling the star Gamora. It casts a mint-and-rose glow across the fabricated atmospheric shield, creating the illusion of a cotton-candy sky from the ocular and occipital observation decks. The colors blend with the manufactured wake-shift lights inside the skull, and it all creates a pretty, springlike effect that you haven’t seen anywhere else. And still, it’s hard to make yourself do anything. Right now is an excellent example. You haven’t been able to shower in days — barely scraping up the energy to splash water on your face in the morning. You’d barely managed to take your clothes down to the laundromat a few hours earlier, and now getting up to go retrieve them seems impossible. You lift your head — only to thump it back down into the downy pillow. Then you do it again. And again. Except on the final soft thump, there’s a new sound: a thud. It takes you a puzzled second to place it: the toe of a rubber-soled shoe, bouncing off the door. Welp. Only one asshole who knocks with his foot.

read more on ao3 ✩࿐࿔ for nonnie ♡

need more reminders from rocket?

the world is hard, and sometimes it's difficult to complete daily tasks & take care of yourself (aka rocket bullies you for your own damn good).

feel free to ✩ request reminders ✩ via reblogs, asks, and tumblr or ao3 comments if they would be helpful for you. it may take me a hot minute to get to them depending on life n stuff, but i will do my best. if you’d like to join my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask! ♡

this is about as wholesome as it gets (for me) i think. can be read platonically or romantically. mcu-based anthology, meant to take place post-volume-3, but headcanon however you want ♡

✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist

eat somethin. (wc: 576)

go to frickin bed already. (wc: 737)

get outta bed & get your shit done.(wc: 925)

take a damn bath. (wc: 1,375)

leave your frickin skin alone. (wc: 1,579)

take a fuckin study break.(wc: 1,020)

drink some goddamn water. (wc: 1,209)

stop destroying your frickin clothes. (wc: 1,609)

just buy the damn thing already. (wc: 1,271)

it's frickin laundry day. (wc: 1,923)

get some sunshine, sunshine. (wc: 1,614)

did you take your damn meds today? (wc: 1,288)

schedule your fuckin' appointments.(wc: 1,222)

do your goddamn dishes. (wc: 994)

brush your frickin' teeth. (wc: 1,774)

nobody fuckin hates you (wc: 1,231)

stop biting your goddamn nails (wc: 2,920)

take a frickin' shower (wc: 1,359 ) for nonnie ♡

if you find any of these at all helpful, they're meant for you.

banners & dividers by @/saradika-graphics and @/thecutestgrotto taglist ✩ @suicidalshitstick ✩ @glow-autumz ✩ @evolvingchaoswitch ✩ @wren-phoenix ✩ @pretty-chips

total word-count: 24,667.

[push-tet]

that post about Pucks

When i was researching the image of Puck in folklore. i noticed that the historians of the image of the Puck blurred and everyone is free to interpret Puck image. i really liked it and i have a desire to somehow realize it in my and Verona and at the same time to work out the lore of the fairies why not?

Clumsy (play), Oberon's Servant (play), real name Robbin Goodfellow (folklore), mischievous (play) prefers to live in the forest (folklore), prankster (folklore), suspicions of misanthropy (folklore), the fairy (play), cooperation with Obeoron (play), cunning (folklore\play)

next should be the suktchs so you can see what they look like but I'm too lazy to draw, so I'll just make some moodbords

moodboards

Puck Or Púca (don't call them that for your safety) Midasammerers Genderfluid i think? Knowledge Taurus 4\6\5\10\0 Hobbies: Science - Nature - Music. Obsession with substitutes (especially toads and frogs)

50% play, 50% folklore

Unlike the weirdos below. Puck is their real name, not a nickname

Remnant of the Midsummer Era. Puck is supposed to carry the knowledge and history of the ancient fairy people, but she's forgotten all about it

Puck used to have a passion for collecting and buying wet specimens. But because of her nomadic lifestyle, preserving them was impossible

In her spare time from scamming mortals for money and intimidating travellers in the forest. She likes to listen to classical or metal. Metal? Puck finds it fascinating that mortals were able to turn chaotic into harmony

The real body was destroyed for some unknown reason. So he exists as an intangible entity. Until he finds a new body huh. Priority is people over +185 and on the brink of death

Puck likes to wear makeup. But she doesn't know about waterproof makeup, so her makeup comes off right after her first swim at the bottom of the swamp

For friends and family, Shen; for students, Prof. Liang; for coworkers and subordinates, Puck III Gossamer He\Him Knowledge Gemini 5\6\7\3\4 Hobbies: Science - Nature Botanist

10% Play, 10% Falklore, 60% Chinese Legend

Smoking is not bad for fairies. So Shen can smoke two packs of cigarettes in a day. Surprisingly, he doesn't even stink…

Was a fashion icon in his department «Beauty doesn't interfere with intelligence. So your job as a scientist shouldn't stop you from dressing well»

He has a wife and a daughter. But because of the heavy workload, he constantly forgets about them.

A close BUSINESS relationship with Oberon

When Shen was on probation at Gossamer Corp. He and his students created the Money Tree that nearly brought the country's economy to a crashing halt

Missing in obscurity in 1966

Puck (Robin) Summerdream He/them Knowledge Pisces - 7\2\2\6\2\8 Hobbies: Science

Fascinated by astronomy, astrology

40% Play, 10% Folklore.

Although Robbin has already discovered his wizarding abilities, he is still firmly convinced that he is a fairy, it's just that their transformation has been delayed (spoiler: he's not a fairy)

Robin is talented at potions. HA! Now try saying Chemistry is a useless subject

Robbin doesn't even correct people when they are called Peck. Which is why half of Verona has forgotten their real name is Robbin

He can't say - No. Because he's afraid of offending someone. Because of this, he may have a lot of work to do

He wants peace in Verona and often thinks of putting a love potion in the drinks of the Monty and the Capps to stop this idiotic feud. But he fears the consequences of the potion's effects

In fact, he is not such a good astrologer and often says predictions at random. But by an incredible coincidence, their predictions come true

i tried to combine the traits of ONE person and at the same time, make them different. idk i did it or not anyway, choose your fighter

edit 19.01.24:

if these mfs meets

[tgrailwar-zero]

Hm. Well. We had been working with Pretender not that long ago, and we saw Alter Ego around if that is helpful. They were both with us in the Blade tomb.

AVENGER: "I understand that. Pretender made contact with me shortly after the issue with the Beast was resolved. However, I lost contact with them afterwards. Shortly after Alter-Ego and Pretender returned to our base camp."

NERO: "Hm, I suppose the genre is a worthwhile thing to consider..."

AVENGER: "This is what I don't have time for. I need answers, not distractions!"

Like a surge of violent flame, his mana twisted and burned around his form. Pure, incandescent rage made manifest for a brief moment.

He grit his teeth, shaking his head, calming himself- on the surface, at least.

AVENGER: "I understand that you want to help, but--"

MUSASHI: "You may as well let them. What's the harm? Like you said, we aren't participants in the War, so it's not like you're divulging information to the opposing team."

He thought for a moment.

AVENGER: "...Very well. Even if you cannot help, I can provide a 'status update'."

AVENGER: "A virus swept through our camp. It began swallowing everyone, consuming. Slowly, agonizingly. Our Attack Programs turned against us, and our camp fell into corruption. I started fighting back, but it went into a blur… and the next thing I knew, I came to in the rubble of our base. All of my allies were gone, and when I checked the map that MoonCancer had developed..."

AVENGER: "...The Red Faction had taken control of the Gossamer Coast and Fugue Hamlet, the two adjacent areas without a Lair Servant. One third of the Solar Cell under their control, and six out of seven of the enemy Servants missing. Presumably destroyed. In almost every situation, this could be considered 'checkmate'."

PRETENDER. FOREIGNER. MOONCANCER. ALTER-EGO. GUNNER. Even RULER.

Just... gone.

In other words, the War was essentially over. In the blink of an eye, by the decree of some horrifying power, at least six incredibly powerful Servants.

And that also meant that AVENGER was the last one. The final spark of the Blue Faction.

CONSTANTINE: "In less than a day, the entire foundation of the Holy Grail War was shattered… what kind of terrifying ability is that?"

AVENGER: "I don't care how terrifying it may be. I will destroy the Red Faction for what they've done. If they wish to stoke the flames of the Avenger, then so be it."

AVENGER: "After all, my allies are gone, and they've acquired a large swath of territory without anyone to push them back. Good. That is very good."

AVENGER: "After all, under such odds difficult, the Grim Reaper only flourishes."

KUKULKAN: "…If a Servant could pull off something like that, wouldn't going by yourself be basically suicide...? There's no way you're coming back from a battle like that, yes?"

NERO: "Hm..."

NERO: "Mm. Right. Give me that."

She snatched the Memory Disk, stepping off to the side as the rest of the Servants talked amongst themselves.

AVENGER: "You--"

SIGURD: "Before things get out of hand, allow me to commend the astuteness of the observation. Almost entirely correct, though there is no such thing is 'unlimited energy'."

The sound of footsteps, heavy and purposeful, cut through along with the voice of the Lord of the Nameless City.

SIGURD: "The Master is correct, and it ties into what I wished to speak to you all about after the celebration. The purpose of the 'Solar Holy Grail War'-- no, the Theurgical Holy Grail War is to cultivate and grant energy to a grand Solar Divinity within the Solar Cell. A destructive force strong enough to counteract the threat on the Moon's surface."

[rifleseye]

anonymous asked.

He broke it in front of you. Not very cleanly, mind you- the shell of it caved first under pressure, before the metal filament and inner wire snapped into pieces, scattering on the desk in front of you both. You were on the dropship, shoulder-to-shoulder with everyone who had died for broken metal and plastic. Do you remember their names? Do you remember how Ironfist had looked- watched you, every hour and minute and second on that return trip back?

Silver backed coffins lined the corridor, there would be no open funeral for any of them, there wasn't even a body to retrieve for...

for..................

Gossamer filaments that lined delicate data slugs at the corner of his vision. A thumb rubbing incessantly over the white-stamped Autobot sigil, seared into his vision like a monitor ghost. Ironfist had known. He had known, and so did Perceptor. This was discussed with Prowl. Ironfist stared when they were on that terrible shuttle ride back from Garrus-9. No quips from Verity. No raucous laughter from Springer over a job well done.

It was a brief moment that made him realize something harrowing. He figured him out. (A cruel twist in his spark was glad of that, the data seared into the scientist's module minutes away from expiration.) Ironfist had the now-broken and shattered data slug into his hand, a hard look in his eyes. They did not need to exchange words.

All that, all those deaths, all those sacrifices, and he stares at the remains of the data slug. What was the point? What was the point? WHAT WAS THE POINT. He had wanted to grab Prowl, then and there, pistol in hand. It would have been so easy to pull the trigger, he had gotten good at it.

Instead he stood, limbs locked in place, not even a twitch on his face. Vision blurred, world spinning, audials ringing from the intensity of the anger that flaired.

It's not his job to get angry, not his job to put his feelings in place. Prowl had his reasons.

"There's still a loose thread I want you to follow up on," Prowl had finally deigned to say as though he hadn't just destroyed the only evidence of Aequitas' atrocities.

And Perceptor had accepted the placement, had taken the trip to Kimia to investigate. One more job. (That's how it always ended up, wasn't it? One more job. It's not his place to moralize, it's his place to do the job.)

"We're not winning this war, Perceptor," Prowl had once said. And it was true. It will always be true. They will never win. No one will.

[spn-etc]

Amor Vincit Omnia

***** A Destiel Short Fic*****

Note: The above title, Amor Vincit Omnia, is a Latin phrase translated into “love conquers all things”

The dawn flushed the sky a golden hue, like a gossamer cloak across the waning night sky. Flashes of violet still lingered like a dream. It was a time of prayer, a time of meditation. A time where people were half awake from the nights before, and still others were just coming home. Home. The angel, a soldier without a home. The renegade warrior. The apostate. God had abandoned his place on high to whereabouts unknown, as people in hushed tones at this, the morning hour, sent their thoughts and wishes towards the creator who was not there. To what could Castiel say, but that he braved the condemnation of the heavenly host.  He left it all behind for the cause of man.  Man, God’s beloved creation. Humanity, that most fractured creation. So said the bright morning star that fell from grace. They were quick to buy into the trick from the angel. The one who had plans from the beginning to ruin God’s creation, as if to say, “You see, Dad? Why would you make humanity your favorite, when you have your us?” 

Castiel had wondered at the character of mankind. The site on which this church was built was once the site of one of the bloodiest battles in the history of the Americas. The congregation of this church prayed for the peace and good will of people. In years’ time, the same people would destroy those they sought to help. And they would proclaim it as God’s will, just as the conquesting soldiers did all those years ago in their scorched earth campaign. People and their contradictions. 

The golden sky turned azure. The light refracted through the stained glass of the church. The heavenly guest had abided here for a time, to locate the whereabouts of a relic used in exorcisms. And as he walked the floors, unseen to the clerics of the old chapel, Castiel caught the image that had stopped him in his tracks. 

Parables could be told in picturesque form. So common was the sharing of stories in this form at one time, that there were thousands of stories of the lives of saints and of devils. In this story, in shades across the spectrum of colors that refracted onto the stone floor, was the display of love in its shining hour. That of a knight shielding another from the dragon in vivid green on the window above the pulpit. His arms outstretched and the many colored scales aside like wings, as the one of which needed its protection stood just behind.

It had been seven days since the last sunrise. Since daybreak, and since he last saw Dean Winchester. Since the radiant sun, too, caught the forest green eyes which he had known so well. Green eyes that betrayed much of the sadness at having to leave in such a wonderful moment. “Cas,” Dean sighed, his head inclined onto the angel’s shoulder. His scent was that of smoke, and earth after the rain. Castiel imparted a tender kiss. He looked out, knowing this would shatter one of the moments they seldom found away from the madness. “Dean,” Castiel said, with his voice just nearly breaking. “I cannot stay. I am called back. There is word of something happening in England..” Dean was silent. 

“No. You belong here, Cas.” 

“Dean..” Castiel countered. 

“Why? After this long? I can’t believe you’d just leave like that!” 

Dean could be petulant, especially in moments where he felt that someone was abandoning him. Castiel brushed his hair. Soft, and in the rising sun, a kind of brassy color. 

“We’ve both got work to do, Dean. If my lead is anything to go by, we could be closer to making sure the seal stays closed, as it ought. You and Sam, you can do this without me.” 

No word had been sent back to Castiel, and he grew worried, as he still expected to hear back from the hunter. Castiel looked again at the picture in light. And,  he resolved against everything, that he would see Dean again.

[ultfreakme]

Hi Riki!

I really like your blog!

I want to learn more about Jay Nakamura he seems like such a cool dude. :)

Hi Kit!!! Thank you so much 🥰🥰.

I fear you've unleashed my non-ATLA/LOK obsession, and it is this little guy asdfvhj

So Jay Nakamura, aka 'Gossamer', is a DC character who's a hero and investigative journalist. He's dating Jon Kent, the son of Lois Lane & Superman (Jon's also working as Superman right now and shares the superhero name).

He's the son of the former president of his country, Gamorra(fictional place implied to be inspired by E.Asian cultures).

His first appearance is in the comic 'Superman: Son of Kal-El Issue 2'.

Jay works with this anarchist rebel group known as 'The Revolutionaries' & just helped save his own country from a dictator alongside Jon. He also runs his own underground news stream called 'The Truth'.

When he was young, he was kidnapped by this dictator & experimented on for half a year, which gave him the ability to phase through literally everything.

He's like, super sarcastic and hella emotionally closed off and keeps using dumb jokes to hide his feelings but he has so much love and affection for Jon and everyone. His fashion sense is truly atrocious, the man cannot dress to save his life.

His biggest idol is Lois Lane and completely frozen when he saw her & legit ran away to hide by a barn because she's an extremely good journalist. But then he started roasting Jon on first meeting about his hair knowing he was Superman(which...somehow made Jon instantly fall for him lol).

Also, Batman did not trust Jay and kinda left him to the wolves one time, which made Jon almost destroy Batman.

It was a valid concern btw, Jay's friends are wanted criminals, have killed people(HUGE no-no for Superman & Batman)& also one of his friends stole Batman’s car.

Anyways when Jon & Jay were fighting the dictator, shit happens and Jay's identity which was a secret until now, becomes public and everyone knows this kinda hot-topic journalist is dating Superman.

This kinda fucked him over because Jay was able to do a lot of the difficult stories of his journalism stories BECAUSE no one knew who he was, so right now he's in this extremely awkward position where his boyfriend is very specifically "Superman", meaning he can't be seen in public with 'Jon Kent the Civilian' and has the paparazzi and regular people hounding him.

He has the vibes of a villain, but he's just genuinely a good person who only wants to help & protect his loved ones. He often pushes aside his own discomfort in layers of jokes abd sass to protect his emotions. Like he somehow travelled from a whole other country, and ran right into the Hall of Justice(the central gathering place for every major hero) to check on Jon when he got hurt.

If you want to read about him, he's a very new character with mostly linear story rn so here's a list of his appearances:

Superman: Son of Kal-El (#2- #17)

DC Pride 2022

Action Comics #1050

Adventures of Superman: Jon Kent(#1, #2)- this is an ongoing series so he may have more appearances.

I think I covered everything but idk if I did him justice😅 he's really fun to learn about through the comics. Hope this was what you were looking for?

[venushorned]

“You aren’t doing that.” Gossamer circled around the chest, examining it like another look would provide a different solution. The problem was that there were two traps layered here: the first was a mechanical trap on the lock itself that looked most likely rigged for a minor explosion if tampered with; the second was a set of small runes carved on the hinges, and she wasn’t sure exactly what they meant, but she assumed it was probably a self-destruct mechanism. 

“Look. Someone was here before us, and they jammed the trigger mechanism on the lock when they tried to open it—they didn’t get in, but I’d bet anything there’s a surprise waiting for us if we have a go at it.” Kneeling down, she indicated to the runes from an arm’s length. “Can you dispel magic? Otherwise, I think whatever’s inside is as good as destroyed if we force it open, and you’d just be getting hurt for nothing.”

She did want to know what was valuable enough to hide behind multiple layers of traps, though.

@starlyht - continued from ☆

[libidomechanica]

“May he whose beauty”

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               First Part

And cause the other dress, and silent picture.   To strikes in darke and lost. The woman   is, protect thy head, whoever willy- nilly flowing an image in his auld auntie Katie upon by cynics like   Water wits still break her: O my flower!   But I willing in his real as a wave of your head, nor robbed in a trice from far as oak from the grange, wild, vain. May he whose   beauty. What two-handed the grieved at the   blade glance like a chuckle of water rushing on some we live forgot: let Rustum lay about it be stole, a songs grate on   the royal word was like the gotten good   to replie well could prize there whom? Is made thee such as that Life hast no dross the window.

               Second Part

Is woman: there like for your windows to   scared to her ribs, for not blame, ne strife: o   my lips drinking; to those gossamer embryos into her bosom move? A godly ocean bed, and on the Assemblement,   and heaped snow, such count of whose faire wont   to leaues with shame, decide itself into thy birth to repeat how mought with tinkling strong you and bowed bene with longer flower   torn from high for pittie, will climb, and crushed   again: how happy as a wave of your slave, therefore the breath, whose shrouded over the bent inroads diverged in thy streams, that   fly by night with a hinge. I did but swift   Hebrus to late i have too many Graces! Our blanket over all thing the tree.

               Third Part

And it out what parle: and yet I honour,   if possible song a little Crescent   moon! How many a bold erected to renew it. Suddenly face down like an old time of those who husband’s heart-string   against me prop my mistress of your goodnes   the best feeling grunters wrath with Eden didst see, as messengers of all that sing, as the neyghbour groue, while the much-lament   and, O ye dolphins, watched as if to   growled an answers quite but if he hirples than all be able touched upon Time I torture me alone in good man bespake.   Meaning in extremes, stood for fruict, nor confounds   great Bandogs will not forth: here are made him younge again: find the coffee grinder.

               Fourth Part

I gave met you. Thoughts were had not rank mist   the cruelly! I write thorn blows rained of this   huge bush, when my own beat the tilt of absence, stupidity, and moan the large: how oft he lets his Dominion Strong. Of thy   early or lazily fond, plight of   musical: sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Fancy return, with a Loaf of Bread bene fraught his wrathful too; winnings, never, mortal   Sovranty—think of nought me in passion, yea,   all my flitting my threate. Out in us, I am not that proceede. And corrosive care, the braw lass made the Belov’d to   thy silver branches yearning sun. He howls   with woe. So bury me by someone who gave sweet and strikes their gold. By light, destroy!

               Fifth Part

What could I not lovers— who last, our love.   It made appearing, but now is squawking   a Vessels one we love in the pow’r of a high, that does displeasured more of plain: my Love therewith, likewise I: be   comfort of thee cannot be than for Pieces   play. If you love to serues, to keep his hands that propitious latch, ere the blacktail dress with message and most what—and out   the whilome have been among their pride to   work. Like tears, panted to me. That end the speak, and very little faults, and by each strange girl: and home freshly bleed, but your neck   be wroong! Double-chinn’d and the Oake to   company, with theyr flock, I’d expire, that will see what shineth briers, more keenly tune?

               Sixth Part

Only they will bear, the last stalled out of   single ones, and this book of Verse—and give!   But Juliana’s eyes, nor barn nor heart, and from the will, or Hátim Tai cry Supper— heed the orchestra warming Polly Stewart,   the midnight and how sullen, and out   thy mind. Yet growe. Help me! I would the weird affection came: the feeling, and in thy tress, fearing, he said, Ruined. She is, in   an unswept street. Nay every noon: I pored   upon the early twilight; in which in hand, now converted Bowl we called him. Stayed stay sets you for ioy he least of wonder   we. What honours her wreaths against a   telephone pole, and me! Ah, good way one but o’er and Sages who ruled that is it dead?

               Seventh Part

As for loves; never die, the laugh’d nor wept.   I laid under tower; no matter what   euer I cast up from thee shepheards doen lick. Then too much enricht. What care na thy daddie, his house, far away, which in treasure first   children stumbling words I flung it is just   not my sweats; now an ague, the flowers vpon my skin, his broadcast over smooth dayly greater, they think the Dust depart, ioying thy   new birds weep my words my day is wight: and   made of everything all those who gave us in my sun-burnd bray of your hands of our faithful to the Wine you turn around   plumes his sorry Scheme of callous and Tim   would have love that made the hills. The lass made him that played about vs safely fedde.

               Eighth Part

The Muse, and thunder’s sound with only knowe.   Strangeness live the mystery of birds covet   then should be jealous of the shepheards the story of the face, with his dog hote to raised help, on your leave thorns, and shore: freezing   coldly when the Tavern Door agape,   came sallying fame: but euer lite. Now thy birth strung each other. In my head up into Themselves reap glory, then can be made with   the blast. He stormy Hebrides, when as   Lowder was content, but for the fingering female heart bail; whoe’er your memory of a woman’s garment of nought I their   own leave to say, No! To all love comes thro’   the young fellows, o dool on the air that of their right? If i could beauty grow deep.

               Ninth Part

He hums and foul afflicted machinery,   becomes a pile of thine eye of war. Marry   Diggon, what is it may have drunkard. The soldier? Blossoms with Ida: she can to salute her teeth, the soundly slept the   barrier like a children under the   uncouth he wakes us our statuelike, between us, and oarlocks astate. Junked up into fiery heats, fainting the   stormy Hebrides, which soule I dared repeat   at last! Like her reade, reading, true woman: there with his Pomp abode him down. Let’s start, Not war, if you goe nye, fewe chymneis   reeking yougth to sullied for the camp and   vows. As his beards swayne you make me fight with daintye Daysies dipt in words to his own right?

               Tenth Part

Some stricken of this is what thro’ the yielded,   wroth and this was a pulse, and there quoth   hence apieces plays: hither day.—For their fancies at the bonie lass made of grace and fill the Crown, and leaves in new love you by   some we live and Daungers, and ’twill all boundless   here whom? In me do flow, for who my side. Ah, take a misguided preached white tower springs at parle: and me! That leave   my sire, who dare I quest, among the   comes over until I heard, tel it straight the least deserve, that in the Bowl from head is in the sheepe on the most our desire?   To shed; she flies wink at her hurried   each other personal wall in the shrieked they led—a kind of shame, decides it, sdeath!

               Eleventh Part

The larks from myself thy pre-existing   once seabeate, will protect you from a larch,   a beauty’s formed be, fearing him had beautiful house. Find, as the next is lovely sound, depopulating, and straight in   Annihilations poor: that euer auaile. Smoking   for Lycidas, young captain of all, and with a basket on his proudly thrust into the wept for her red cocktailed   her forget till we felt, what dotted his   tale. And daffadillies moue to sit in knots in sense; yet in such outrage, they draw, rot inwardly, are tired. This said, better,   out on Nina Simone singing me   of war What doth raise, nor tress, end in hands that the rest: whether, were in Sommer shake.

               Twelfth Part

So wert thou will take thee? Flight, all the tender   orphan hand ladies’ eyes, while you love   one, As boys are free burgess of your ends: wee shall love of that heats as shall make a iolly hole in the same word his drooping   his wrath I nursed, deliver’d from her granted?   Evening, hunting that made a hardest knife ill-used doth the Door! Through the laurels, and how insane the glowing. The woman   who All on Parnasse hyll, but what the fully   the faithful king hand, a fragrant rose, in the grain within can be made the Mower Damon sung, with self-substance fling in   the spur that he should so it is, and so   wickedness called him an’ wracke, and those eight doth dissolutions, which in thy shadows.

               Thirteenth Part

But in his corage hath made bleede, which do   breathe? My life, that decision? With th’abhorred   shears, panted to heel. Of ayde or could be told thus I would rush upon me those the best of the seconds her heads: but swift   Hebrus to end: they wandering heart beat,   night-long white tower; no matters of you, as harbinger in their own land make a Couch of Time. Desire in her crumenall.   On the uncouth I sing wells with laugh.   Hank Aaron’s care, and when you have stood for sinck. Because the same and bad! That day I e’er durst frame, and are not my soule doth lips   he is, and sit beside them a’ in sarks   to fill the waves; where euer auaile. To scold, those Gothic times and redress with laughter.

               Fourteenth Part

Thou mayst knowing year. Made: the greenish music   ceased; he snored and with the orbs between   they sneer at wild civil war is in Neptune’s please, let rays of liking, camp and in her could I have the breathes my heartbreak   him and all my grief, thought we were getting   up to go so you and breed up her heat? Fief, in the silver, white from men I beginning rubies, pearls upon the fall!   That was thine own Soul, devising sky: so   rich in the riper showe? Fair Ellen stood before a transformed, at first of the Waste, one worse. Him, and changed; with ivy never   dress of them in the here write, and inexhausted   vein. Of Ramazán, ere thou, O warriors! Who will believer passes throng.

               Fifteenth Part

But comes in theyr sheepe, when worke is chaste she   did it were: nor wise; at moments afternoon,   three moon that see my will send thee. I would like a wild inhabits you canst not enough in wretch, howling: she roses hate,   with each one down. I did maken gayne, oft   turned to me, i’ll ne’er forehead of my Julia lately wove, the law within months in thy sins are; for Lycidas, young fellows,—   o dool on the screech owl to my plain and   in the music hath cast, which that mole by his said, Prince—we would let out to grasp this firebrand—gentleness give me invite   to serues, to furnished to me, i’ll cross,   gets the street and I felt her none, for all now not wish for time’s wasted with a hinge.

               Sixteenth Part

Eyes have been momentary. Ah, fill or   mend the shepheard, there shak’d the much the Daughter’s   Shop I stood along since our second spreading branch thoughts more like the relieve what the doors of the World, and with thee this, and   fight all that oft suffer the roses, roses   foreclosed in honde, that greatest comforted: have been the shells before he’d call, and which thou art gone, from whence thought, can live drink!   They knew name then the beauty, like a wild   morning, throw a fool to fancy i have too many question with me alone a Gods great Pan bought I their glittering female   hear me and he could see to those who   subtle cargoes lie. That kissed it hight, yea, all the myster sway, for thee, Cynara!

               Seventeenth Part

Through that our weeks, I dare him down. Was but   come as the Potter, pray, since our marriage,   and when Phoebus strong, and long have gone, from a sip of her, king, ’ I said, an’ made the street other’s cloak from a larch, a beauty’s   veil doth ouercome my ioye shepheards Tityrus   in bliss, thou so weakenesse, who dare not peace, all her grove where doth fall? And nowe I won you most our claim: if not plain and   beginnings: for the same a shadows and   call, and froe, enaunter his knowne gayne, driuen for a noble verse, sound like a light well; only though in words I flung roses hate,   which wexen clear, the swart start, while; moment,   step afternoon, three weekday weather, gentle warbling scarfs and leave, for the cellar.

               Eighteenth Part

And in a crescent hand waive you like the   birds and our music, am banishing.   And prest, have dreary’s the last embrace. About his heavily from all the gaine, and successful clutch after me forhaile.   A basket on his foolish old Khayyám, and   ease. But I lose naked Armes streak the lusty greed but as fair guerdon when my leaves less fairies take something make and loued here:   why not know from woe tell the crash of spice   the point myself the day in bed. Of flowe. Slides over the was the certain stakes I gainers such frosty rime, they list aduised   be, if asked what the sphere are your history.   As if thy glimmering postures new got to pluck your eyes be enviable.

               Nineteenth Part

In the spring, and her tongue aspire to   wag their gay wardrobe weary car, like the   sharpened the meadow kit foxes crave the less that cheek wet with shepheards sich, God mought her which she has but a little child short,   and stoopegallaunt Age the bed to be   looks that wrong holy feet to the color on this learne; thinke of war. This, whilst thee the lofty rhyme. And seemed to follow she is   beauties shines in secrete wise; at moment   seemed to me, i’ll ne’er forget: the deuill at her try, where and paine, find somebody die? Masked what command angry for one hundred:   so kisse the bride, he repent his from the   bed to me, i’ll ne’er was it sat in three weekday weather—still construed from behind.

               Twentieth Part

I do but envious horoscope to   hand, now I may grow, if not playe, of ayde   or counsel of thy silver deathlesse pate. In that my girl remember how thy words, or I missay, both grown boy, with many   things when he whase arms shall losses and leave   there, like feeble age, he claim: if not deserues, that it so red the way but think what they will morn, we drove him is flatt. On   to compasse rownd. I can’t stops you make mad   the blames in that night, if in my fashionable. All forced old man! So while now thou kenn’st from off each beaked promontory. The   with gallant Prince, and in an amber cracked   an empty bottle across the glass of the Throne bene falls it thee requisite.

               Twenty-first Part

Its halved pit unfold from Káf to Káf reach   trifle under towers, eyes of Ayes and   ever from the forest of woman’s good, Christendome: but euer auaile. You said, and so they call freed from the Belovéd, fill   thee what deity. Nay more full break her:   strong to cutte there, to lag behind: return, Sicilian Muse, and fire; she yielded up with lying at the bed to sell he   liue tyll the Cup, and me, and there is nothing   spoke and maken a Mart of me: the Bird of Night and do not sleep with his words where apart. Thou was when we fell down, the   sinews o’er again: at which may not rank   with my Emma lay; and I was then, in theyr flock, that waketh, and of Time for me?

               Twenty-second Part

The best from the harbrought. Others not: and   Bahrám, that once depart where smoulder it   was never speak, or stir, graceful all my paine, I soone would never wilt, I know: whether on till it straw, the lower that grows,   sighing, she shoulder in her truest from   the idiocy or greedy licorous sencelesse all hem about three cherubs drawn in a mirrors that this said, the   law within Thee. Go; but many a thing   imparted, may return, Sicilian Muse, and all the Snare I languish. My please, did but sense; yet in evening, hunting lowe   in shady steals along, half so dear. Is   innocent! Let that has caught through Satyrs dangle down through all the Quarters of sweet!

               Twenty-third Part

She musk-rose, and so will tame? Each shall see   not destroyed. Set off the church and why not?   Will he lies, but yields: my Lady in heard, too cruell fate, and on the hyghest Ioue, and all this learn’d aught mistake. And bubble blows   from the Seed: yea, the name, and Come! If wee   must confesses in the soyle, then ceased; he snored and shake. Grace, were in her at the question stroke, and put it be bound up   she lightly pale, lost repose, but sae that   had bredd, and pity of that decision? I have both to my liege Lord, stirring and sae lordly; but weake sometimes of Neæra’s   hair? If not plaint proceeds, that I drave among   theirs as thee shepeheards sich, God mought with the Genius of their Worship of Thee.

               Twenty-fourth Part

The rare entertain state the sinews o’er;   and all this the lofty tree, sacred   majesty shed, and all them. But the blue crab from behind your peace which is mantle hair was transfused in Lilly white farmer of   those wage is dark, that sweet with ill-used doth   again. On a state the brooks, through the last asleep twelve hours and Bahrám, that give than the world was born in a poppy from her   sleep. Later I leaves of art. And Humbleness   this, which I could not a blast. I know not thy shadowe seruewe his sleep on the wrinkles which shall catcher’s graves give—and given   to some majesty; and the rest I   glory die. The mouthed grass. For love. Before him to much thy vestal, Heav’n, they worth it?

               Twenty-fifth Part

A sweater blows swerve in the fifty on   a sty, glorifying climbed highest was   Arac: all about my vnrest, that Time and sick of ancient Rome or Green fledges their dead: she meadows, where the pale sickly the   elevator where you may be myself   into the will right it’s gonna be alright meet in some from her set Design a- foot with gallant instinctual fear of night   to her plan; i’ll cross that once her rosy   lips, and the Oake, for you the passed anguish in. Two happiness no second toe a little talk to each evening, now, well-bred   men—and you spoke and I long whitened   their open further walk by my gude luck a Fibre; which soundly shadowing cranck.

               Twenty-sixth Part

Which I bleed, yet still seemde but thus mellow’d   to taste. To change now is squawking a younge   again, whom not the flame plan foursquares, which we leaves; I say, sun’s deeds—this Egypt- plague of men’s defects sought aymes and ladies’   eyes, thou prove that you shalt not rank with   cowslip-water dewe. Naked in a woman’s wisdom of better burnished my mistress. From thy heav’nly born. Called on thy train,   I lament, receiv’d into an oval,   squares, and no other tongue it murmur ran through the sudden light his leaves; I say, nor all your sorrowed, where shepehearde more,   but die by losse to his Lord, stirred. The war;   shall I tell your leaves tipped with the thou may be alright had laboured within Thee.

               Twenty-seventh Part

My hearts than the note of its teeth of canvas   led three paces measured more limbs the   mould in favourites by cared to me, when Nature thunder’s soundly shadowe serues thy loss to all new techniques for a   Song. Of weather, the first lov’d is presume   to overthrow of love’s austered, wins, thou know, an image picture. Another, throw, enter brauely euerywhere had worth   wits, and the cragge so stanck, ere Roffy is   wise, our lov’d to talk; and but for me, the lofty rhyme. I have done they sell. To the wind’s imprint of Reckoning sich. Did find that   blows. So darke the more. But the bitter, pray,   and am beloved where you can, for so to die that we shalt thou thy swete layes.

               Twenty-eighth Part

Muse with lucky words have been mooted, but   she, with th’abhorred shape, her she went: the   rest mount—The Head worn them leaue the rich ore: nor with glad moning, passed, the trumpet blared at the seat through the object of a Caitife   worth with myriads more of steel and prospers;   and again, only two bulks at Arac’s side grew a bragging my great hunt: but lack of woman, and with his words. Good brothers   feet to repayre vnto his knee, for it,   and mochell mast told, how Sultán how I was drench. Her dress of the horse to work. But, like the World to where thou was what deep wound—   for the sum of your desire: I thought   me hearts upon it, he comments doen hem about it be bounds wyde: vntimely sleep.

               Twenty-ninth Part

I let my chiefe light. I curse, to crowned twins   may give that wish I were fix’d; the blew and   did yields, and greefe adawed, the way she fingers into her breath. But if thou see more pleasured from hands of farewell. That   night it take so right his plaint. Fearing was   ten, skinny, red-hot iron hills roll the third But then to gard. Of public grief of life—immortal muse thy train scatter the   morning, and seems holds the way to frowne. Old   I am lonely, Boys! With love? Why should brass with Ida: she meal. I sent beneath the plaint proceede. The day shift, joy reappear,   and gainst me good wife, worth with her outward   forms that poison foul contain cleft where and Wilderness of a Host, nor for whom?

               Thirtieth Part

Spring floods which that all their wilinesse?   End in our evening run, yet rather, willy-   nilly blowing. The Winter the grief my eyes of sweet your dog-chewed couch, and touch of Earth descent had been working now I   fear, his way the curious Lord that wrongs;   I seemed,-than the less. When there, my blossom, ah, yestern bespake: o Elenor, weak proportioned thy selfe them grows in cloud, flaying   in this althoughts serene of hottest Sommer   shadowy brook the Caravan in thy cruell showe, the same a shadowing cranck. So he had glutted his with hammered upon   thy head she would study the was far   more-for scorn, and without as thend of Old, which thou not nearer to thrust in bed.

               Thirty-first Part

When the night all make heed, dead her longing;   begin, and satyr; whence my decay, when   tis to give disquiet, then with that hath not mute, temper’d too far; but, below. And turtle ones, their aid: they who never happy   region be than she said, but, till they   draw from the thriue, all forth with the blacke bowe, brake on all Kent, new; you were wonne her house and must be myself corruptible death,   which playe, of sovereigntee, beneath though we   dashed his iron blunter gan to gathering though harbengers of dark. To caroll of Life to lovelorn women, soldier’s:   yet she has also theyr flocks astate. That   out to plaint, caused of weeds, but space where the accursèd duke! Yet waile the fires blaze.

               Thirty-second Part

Tell me where for they bene falsehood, in   their love yon slope of my lips billing and   speak give merrily, and—in the running Painter’s Shoulders of your lov’d is presume to Polly Stewart! By praising of   decorous sences, beauty; and I sawe thy   rich ore: nor windows glazed with children born every my soul between a cymballed on the other nine time did not to bits—   and then his dunghill, crown upon the surface   the refrigerator. That graffed to Roffynn not be said, Alas, ye’ve ruins to try for humor without   elucidation For we were Hobbinoll, as   God mought him on claims as rise and Lip the sigh’d, and their dead: fair hair and cannot hear.

               Thirty-third Part

The hugg’d it to haue I wote ne Hobbinol,   mought with his worst fear I would like a   station answer, in answer as we rode the Base. The Ball not his with due respect, and staggers into eternal fate, dost   throat in youth. Lake in words my day like a   questions where you complaint procession and fringe of longings of weeds, but all well-bred men in pass, instead I sawe thy sins more-   for stronger, and not, after supper, that   cheeks. At once they be yellow wood, and touch of The Fire of that can mine only theyr foldes yeeld at the best of discurtesie?   With rod and Kaikhosrú forgot, nor decay,   where was a cast-iron pot. Friends hid in death! But reality distracts her.

               Thirty-fourth Part

As if I should be, forstallen hem of   another—Surely not his sorrow where   is caution, most pity. When a woman’s art. Out in many things are dropp’d into this hopes do cary. She veiled her quickly   the king that scarce the stealing steppes do cary.   And all they hadn’t yet mine discredit of their glory die. With a hinge. Now sleep; when there were terms for love lose my ears: how   he’d called to change now is squawking absence   haue lorne the sole men set the Lizard stroke, and came Spring against the Goal, over thro’ Heav’nly gift to clothes on the requisite   grip, angle and tumbled mixt with you   see that night it thee are tired of joy and love. Weary evening slowly they sell.

               Thirty-fifth Part

For they quitten into this knee, for ioy   he lets his dungeon straine, to leaue that kept   with the morning fall, and He that cheek they say this with the bed to challenge eyes should hate that will not so; I loved so clear spirit,   with an unswept streetlight, when the words   where beate vpon a king’s right we Diggon. Stifling in Diana’s strength of canvas led threading, o heaven to your one hundred   I weep the River’s Lips are cover ever   complaine for the wings and rill; together beames, who goes? Twas once more! The mornings and in her small red wounds breaking, for   nature done this—When, start will seemde but thus.   And begins to those who doth not my scythe I loom to it. Your old barke abstracts her.

               Thirty-sixth Part

Colin, to fill me thou, Mercury, assist   my tears is raking from which we Phantom   Figures child cry where euer I wist thee assay with the Spring! Till the distant Drum! A kinde of the sight? Into the lips   and wipe the Realm of Yún, and such hail, such   conduct neither who knows about his sorrow to his Supremacy. When he wild horn in a land of echoes, and to thee   such aureate heart made for a Song. Blind moulds   such sleet, and there three to the Heads of the Soul scatter’d into the grass and praying, this Wolues, as themselves reap glory and   love you but you know you have been a very   quiet joke. She walks in his graves give the grownd, and fingers of sweet not removed.

               Thirty-seventh Part

You, kneeling branches more to the lips and   beares, that the grained, a followe flying   the Snare I languid breeding our frail as flowed so low dejected look—I leaned againe. Make your dream: and his stable; and yielded,   wins, thou know a wander mountain, thou,   sweet sculpture did my spired, or else I fynde: they sat, she roses of them as he went. Our blanket over dear to counsell   can, if we fail, we fail, we fail, we fail,   and o’er the day to beare blest. I know you had’st with a heart outgoe. To unwind, whych Adam lost. His Authorizing that with laughter:   fail you requisite. Of Kaikobád   away through the Sea, that Fate conspire to mountains; long since, she means daiquiri.

               Thirty-eighth Part

They were beaten with fraud and sting on while   these affection flies with flowretts bene   stars! Thou know not widely as breath gently to smite once. Listens to thee, hence, she will to live laborious quill. And saw the   ground Love’s angers of Ayes and Osiris   thought, or quiet to renewing smiled a drunk, kick up a riot, nay every way before him do a’ the yeare. Then Gama   swamped thilk same rule were hammered upon the   old women, soldier-city, till the blushing off ordinary wanton winds, and, having discouer whether is best feel the   top, and drawest throbbing me do flowers   vpon their little by in languisht with thy nervous verse, and beaten hyde, all in watched.

               Thirty-ninth Part

I wish no less vivid. This island of   pride I thinke of still fayrer Fortune doth   lie, yet I looked, the found, who, sleep with wide oppen the East, that Loues selfe, and waited the world, but thinking: and now at thy worthy   to what can you throughly roote of it.   As twere mute among the rank with Predestined coucht, make comfort of state the flower of these, how happy man, and tooke out to   Salámán did obeisance, and said: Because   it might not have done: mine eyes. Is thin, delirious; hearing again and definite Pursuit of This and shades away,   if this gentle clause take not those eyes in   a car, like that to that has but combination of your bloody cloth unfold it!

               Fortieth Part

For in the old king, ’ I said, Ruined. Shall   prize the Road; but feeds none to Spouse. Them by   a concourse ne’er the woman, who Man of bison still contagion spread, where and daffadillies fill me fit for the harmless   snake I brings in perfect music, which arise   from hands. And brushed and rose that decision? What can apprehend dumb harmony with many difference. Ease. Wrong, and lifted   head and the selfishness was mine enemies;   declare that waketh, and all maskes my woes increse, my life—immortal serenely spired, or marriage is darker   ways. That in the embattled squadrons of   day where thou list aduised be, for Lycidas sun beginning; but in distress.

               Forty-first Part

I took my leave to sleep, think and we are   your Reward of comfort is sipping the   Winter Garment his clothing—Oh, makes up and charming Polly Stewart,—o lovely Head. The woman, in the glass to kill, and   that is thine—and sound, toward part, his battled   die. Silly man: there we would have learn this garded be, for pay. A sheepe about her lap did seemes ease in the Face of love.—   Turning what throbbing me seems I heard sittes   not peace. And the Chrysler building might not a Step nor some, nor on the one nearer because knowes no step after a   thousand husks of Spring to combat for   a noblest kingdoms meek of house under the curious career homestead, and grass.

               Forty-second Part

And fayne is farre: I though I oft myself,   Is he picked ways. Lo Collin, her sleep. They   boasted storm. With greater, when fancy i have I not love of yourselves a work nothing so low tract of such strange ribbon in   a trice from me; darkness holds the grassy   mount—The Heads on my head last, that just maybe you can, so semest the blue candle- light—swear it—sdeath! Ah, fill with holy feet   his pith, the waves; where else things end in arms   in lonely, my darkling teeth. Asking, but slanted to me I kisses might came long sing. Nor whom those Gothic times with eager   thou, thyself a weede him an’ wracke, as long   I will not my selfe them at that graffed to bark, built a fon, now conversation.

               Forty-third Part

As killing somewhat love, or answer, or   the mother innocent! Tradition of   the worse. Nor wish’d nor rewarded. For whom for thought of the Fire—even now my petals twain the good, give you by you cannot   chuse but that inhabiters of war. ’Tis   death: and there’s no dream where to renew: for making three. Is so meeke, wise, what the subtly wroughten the brooks transformed be,   if asked and Kaikhosrú forgotten ghosts,   turning sun; and look’d for every wears dropt in words.—The bonie lass than all bushes vsed to badd, and of the image picture done   to her three stars danc’d, and striking thus   condition as if the same. Would be no more; drop like to be Lords of earthly years hence.

               Forty-fourth Part

But when I love allowed, when theyr sheepe, for   the cat in thy fairer charms, by glimmering   home, the clear spirit, wit, nor wept. Shrink. Will climb, in the crown from right: such civility, and love. All thou art, bold bigge, and   in her brightness past that of this proude weede   his own Phaëton. Each trifles are filled him, and are not do, thou art! Alike foolish marble busts in the Dust of that can not   be cut down from themselves pain, when from her—   betrayed too fast. She kisse; but what a torment his thin, now the eastern hills, whilst the West. And thou thy soft piteous plighted shrine!   White heart, o charms possess’d on this first   fraternity of nought that April morn and how this battle, lisping of selfishness.

               Forty-fifth Part

I turn to the conceit of these poor bride   of us i am on the sight to   her swayed, all for the martial fuel, making hath his lip, to peinct thirst for a year; nor dare nought we were nurs’d duke! To sheathing   alien in thy with cries, fools! Heard war-music,   am banished the fire where shall, soon, dost traverse part to me, and cruel. Then watched as if thence that you opened the can be   made them down: and ball, for ignorance to   a hemline. Eyes, least they were the evening, and sae lordly; but bound, whoever was days go by, still the heart be his whispered   jest to have been the grammar of that lights   of great deale worth wind wash off. Not justly the World to catcher’s hands and idle Joan.

               Forty-sixth Part

Twenty add a hundred favorite aggies.   Of the paine. One year. The bare; her brow. When   in passing points, and with mutual risk some fountain-top, to peinct thir girlonds, washed to me, sayne, but them not, nor brere, for the   universe. Bad luck on the large: how she   move? Right—but needes decaye. And thou, continuaunce. The tree, sacrednesse reward of curtesee, and noblest forget till the Canterbury   bell and in the Snake: for Death with   mutual pardon it; and the grain of freedom broade, and straight little ease my selfe content to make those, the image picture.   In us, and move; they ne’er forget: the   dead you remain as its steads, ylike and thrust like smoke go up the lass made it ill.

               Forty-seventh Part

The Moving roar: but priuely prolling starre   seemeth to Geb and corruptible death   lodge till their Mouths are play: name it I would beauty’s rose a cry as if thy glass of the Princessant care to tender churl, make   merry with fall? And I shall He that made   the tender span of his herself, whilst systers nyne, when she says, I would cry. They love is thy perfumèd garments; let us not   played aboue all, and who couth: but how them doe   learned below, turning fall, that eyes, when the shepheard sittes not I plants increase are windows glazed with a wild inhabits   you may building in civil be; gif ye   will not act, or lives in the others use, while the whispers of all that dance was pledge?

               Forty-eighth Part

And Heaven-ward Foot shall prize so dear might   unusual heats, fainting stormes, his high way,   the way before getting chance did into Gold transfused in the watching three. Her grow old aboue all, and to thy speche, then would not   to move in our noble vertuous commun   course from other puir Jenny for such, as well maskes my hearts that thro’ heaven, by magic, ghosts gliding. Man is to giue the   Muse here, to raungers, she lies buried once   love;—or brother was daye light’st flame, nor what is a murmur’d—While rolling there those who has wished to flowers shall see us forced   to me, let alone could say, have stood and   ladies’ eyes, that swallows so rash as rise and still my past, I sigh of parcells make.

               Forty-ninth Part

But thou never, mortal looks like tender   of his shady leaues, that hath gain’d of Royal   Augury was rescued from the less, had ne’er renew it. That latest come attonce. Nation make herself a lawful voice   cry they call hem all it bee that night in   every Begin the faces, with rod and that vernal your one plant divided into groan for the sea; you know, I thinking   denies. The Muse, and wanted, nor laugh o’er   thy perfumèd garments; let us divine, is not of the sun a land of echoes, and still you long; I had espye: they makest   to some Strip of Heaven to gaudy day   denied the woods. Clears to-day be sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Burning them doe loue to die.

               Fiftieth Part

That it fades away, this realme of my minnie   to sea against myself a lawful   notes are slick-faced. Bearable: pennies sewn into his knot, by gentleness to such eeking your eyes: thus mellowing creatures   need a hotel room. That oft the expect   them if To-day prepare, most humble at thy celestial king head of yourself in our compared, sun-spotted back, which cruddles   the stal, is not played on a side, and then   here is a bold brere, nor bussed this I know, I think their faye. That Tim would defiance, wheresoe’er keeps me, let us light wi’   a kiss, I would have met youth in its little   child? Tale, nought nor what your books, and when it shows me where your soul devoid of fear.

               Fifty-first Part

All in my dream milk burned for jealous thou   Desirest from woe to feel thou taste that   has caught through the eastern hills, and shining sky: so though dashed in lazy tolerance, and flowed the flame withered lies. Found the better   just Káfir that flower than new Bloom,   ourself be dazzled by, and send such as thou place ambitious empires throng: I took the hyde the bewitcht with you, Sir! We   planted word. Or Diggon. Smooth as the Sultán   with the sence, trampled the trees, with sad eies I their cheriping, with my own hand, but of mind; I thought of false, and dies, thou   born at thy beauties shines in the lofty   tree, cut down, the sun went ill or mend the windows of planted Sword. Shade doth remaine.

               Fifty-second Part

I claps’d her she whole as something the pathlesse   Rosalind, and o’er thy would catchen   his sheepe that for truth enlight shade of maybe it’s not Wisdom of thy Tears wash my though love solemnized occasion I   know she can say that might not for Stellas   name: as thou art! All her father that one by one more, for which waves of childe to compassed by drink jeered at a chair was his   dungeon strops of sweet will to like! Or taint-   worm to her brows, and pierce heat the Bowl did I know not what, badde the way that I write my louer? Guess I figured to badd, and slays,   and, while I run repent; my best peak on   my skin, his rome, where are not traverse of my Robe to Heaven reflected to me.

               Fifty-third Part

I would definite Pursuit of Things are.   Were passes through for me. It’s a kind of—   as it so red the Right—but need a hotel room. Thoughts of Fate, sunk thoughts sere, I come back. Passages walking of love, some   melodious time thereto I strive. When   he said, better when thou will flip, let me walke not have lovers. To give disquiet, the shpheards bene the peopled ark the wind’s   imprint of canvas led thread-bare Penitence   at pleasures for love is an accessary needs no one else I fynde: tho would I wene behest, save where who has the fond   visions as they came. Must descend, to raunge   their tunes, you causes or gotten ghost, the questions under stops of various quill.

               Fifty-fourth Part

End in thunder-storms, and the fewer Woolues   the soth together, fiercely sent a   brace of twigs and from sacred hands: before we grew and disconsolate and he his elbow, says, I wanted words favoured   both the Cock crew, thou, then rush’d past, howe he   venteth into the Ruby yields, where’er to thee, dearest placed war him here remains and Bayona’s holding in timely sheepe, as   the least the music of a pitch where   entertain, though I feel thou shall know, to ken thence the sword, all the garded man vsed then if ever, mortal serenely spent: for   truest fruits of Fate; and they are cover   by this fix’d on thee. A man is herself a lawny firmament thy words, or wrong!

               Fifty-fifth Part

In sure while by in after-time, while she   sat in front steps. Draws the ascend, and rudely   dream that next she doesn’t company, with furious courtesie; I bow’d fu’ low unto Thee—take turn’d up to drinke nectar drink   in trine. Them that see my will not have no   rain to fall, and my nursling new is in us, who knows: but tells the sinews of an evenings are. So lost her made banked first   Morning the Woolfe were getting a famine   where’er to the self-same hills, and Cyril seeing it because the snatch’d the uncouth swain to survive. And her wi’ a crazy   auld man vsed the here under eye, double-   chinn’d and a job having written, unload my budding next self bring, disarmèd of it.

               Fifty-sixth Part

A small goodman shrink. On Cupids bowe how   supreme, a ghost, since in me downe, is a   simply human to some with my greed but asking, What Lamp had thee: or sicker thy pale, lost Travel, girded up with cold season   gave, and how supreme, a goodly Oake   cast him to his Lip went in the windy jest had come wild the times and strike an old passion, yea, let alone its pedestal,   all forth with enuie, yet rathe primrose or foul   of Man is blacke bowe, brake on all the hyghest more the rolls impotent spell. Though we dashed his imaginary walls with   catapults, she wrongs, and see the milking-maid,   nor has always with the Oake, for leaning all agrin as at a chart made me rich.

               Fifty-seventh Part

Take her know, and with the accursèd duke!   Last calculating the second two hours,   I wanted daily life. Not to sing invincible our statues, friezes, columbines have to say, No! Sense that the door stands   victories of the horsemen. Later in that   sunk upon her is best of drifts into your moisture heir. Which I new pay as if thou declare all that deity. Many   meete tales of day: but one by one children   born every captains flash the city. And sleepe in lillies mourn half-right be in loves; never give up the mountain bend? For poets   feign, batt’ning behind you goe nye, fewe   chymneis reeking hand, alas, thou Sound like tear their echoes of Neæra’s hair?

               Fifty-eighth Part

The Grape that sike fancies were all they mought   line I sued the cup to that here had   designated great. And but keep the River’s path. But do not so; I loved you goe nye, fewe chymneis reeking youth in haste; your arm.   Where Deva spread; beside a long oblivion   is sleeping brere we to me. Only could I seal. The name? My lord was large and death’s diurnal course I take, as   messengers of all, and this said, thee memory:   but yielded, wroth and then my friend, and with honey dew. Heat, and no Key: there it but most dere. The thou liggen in the stub   of her waist, and singing my sable shroud!   Whom Juliana stung! And therefore another day! The Grape my fading the Pot?

               Fifty-ninth Part

What through all bushes vsed to me, the bottom   of better the man loves a mansion.   And with the year was daye light, and slays with the kitchen table of their christall fauld the ground his head, sweet with pricked up because   the mother never came halting the   unimaginary wanton winds displayd, but for once esteem me, against a telephone faire, ycladde is the garlands fade   the mart from the authentic mother praise;   naming rimes and life melts with the footmen didst see, bene as from thee requite. Very lonely way, this Woluish sheepe about   vs safely fed, where Jamshýd’s Sev’n Thousand   husks of breeding on the same lovers ever. Midas they stopt his piteous stem.

               Sixtieth Part

’St creatures complained the blessed shades, while Death   with wailing for Lycidas is decayed,   his be hel-driu’n from cause knows: but tender heir more be seen to have, has plan, and even dead, forget her own leave thou would. ’Er   renewing smile did the kisse, what day shifts,   which as in his own rage this memory, I watchfulnesse, for none regarded lords with rocks: part and hoary wyth Muses moe,   do such an one else I fynde: they that Hank   Aaron’s care, winter, city, till that has they had be buxome and the top appears behind your gifts apply, as his hands before   getting up in her verses darken’d;   like a falling rings from fear, for nature sweet society to dash thy fond, plight.

               Sixty-first Part

—Think their answers quite dim, and with her had   love in its smooth and rudely drest: thy louer?   Ringers of throats would my Reputations, it fades, our bodies fill the lass that I be call Things divine, since my thoughts sere, I   come as goblins in the clear streams along,   far from the Hunter of his Secresy; stirr’d not take a new, and thimble just poured lies. None finds her heart that I can; he’s doylt   and truth, eternal youth. That Youth’s beams. Man   forests. And where the tallest chick pushed the Player goes; and waile the morning Eld another died, or ere I nigher beauty   she saw hypocrisy designed, and   in the must we be bold, the harbor it’s nothing at the more if thou desert rove?

               Sixty-second Part

While rolling bones are lockt; but her hair, and   wicked Wolfe lowder hast with me the flocks,   and fill the door stand die. Become the tomb shall fling: the small: little ease, how happy draught well attir’d woodbine, with pity no   more deserues, the cold season from your   wit. Mute among the Realm of Yún, and what she can I drove him young did encroche, and, when we saw the gates, and fountain cleft whereon   followed his poem, There grew a branch,   thou art but that wander mountains, and sold them if To-day prepare, a Muezzín from the new name and give your first, with briers, more   poor he didn’t even know you see, each gripping   a famine which wexen old passion is like to truth proves a work and his throng.

               Sixty-third Part

Viewed from wound in his can you to meet your   sleep with too much rebuke and barren rocks;   of lands in the rout of what thou wilt not be stole, and the noise of shall sound, and so stiffe and heavy changed; with now the pure delight.   Wine comes in a clench of dawn the bed   to horse to count you at all: a commend; so never chose out the Challenge answer which thought vs many and the shpheard a   devil curse tear, and slender orphan hand,   seek’st the cat in that with thou withdraws the World or Nation’s Waste, I know the mellow’d to the nape guess I will tell and in arms,   by glimmering points of May is evening.—   My heart is the garter belonging somewhere he rode we to my pass that two crown’d.

               Sixty-fourth Part

It’s fun what name I keep the street can nowhere   among the field, wherewith the hearts   up his burning field alone the spar’d for many Graces! Shall take that I honour. As garments whereon the air was drenched his   old bought nedes be hel-driu’n from the dun   forests, hath made him an’ wracke, for the more ye myrtles brows, and, having still, and said, the bed to see, beating thee how the piping   Péhlevi, with Time for vnknowne falsehood,   in sure while, going pleaseth me; or let her hands which looks as we. And twists the needeth to charm that Wise Man forests, vouchsafe   your best peak on my friendly sheepe, as in   the painful was in Ithaca or he howls with incessant care I, war or no?

               Sixty-fifth Part

These offices, sighs, tears always with new   spangled evening. The day: but that graffed   to follower than they wandred I wene be his outward peace, whose lawns beneath huge trees of the sting so lately seen, and twists   they make those clothed with Eden didst make the   rose the Two-and-Seventy jarrings fresh ornament and, right and heavy with his was a Dogge to bereave my eyes I’d   known that art not, thought wind it be bold, that   is at moment lies beside a star in hay. That of Jove doth not the stream on a woman! And, in the rosemary we leaves   engraine: semed,-than this wonder oats   foraged in its ode inside here beare: which I found no other, adopted to me.

               Sixty-sixth Part

She is more be seen before that you were   given the sea. Ah, poor humor with the   beach is the pleasure, but the rolling to heare not: this the pride, spread it done: mine ear, we parts will. Look to the wat’ry bier unwept,   and then his own selfe escaped the Idols   I have as it spake but my arms. Disclosing the zits that sith I held, and, whych Adam lost. And the lass made the head, who   taught, and either delight, the watching but   a little tunes attemper right: and ours shall we fell for hymns divided into groan ran the grain with a songs sake. That sparkles   their dance was sprung in triumph where thou   art taught surpasse, vnseene, as these lines had struggle forth three child, its amber of him thanck.

               Sixty-seventh Part

For thou deserts our books, and we are spreading   mission is sleep to deck her Dame, and   less; though deface the sun a land of echoes of allied for his rine, his thy lewd tale I think our mother’s taut thrice as ours   with either morning floods which loose or used   to me, the big white, and ’twas—they’re boring it, of Sommers flaming rills we traverse my ears: how high! Ah for the poor they con   to his dunghill, crowing cold splintering   porticos which, half so fair thank our son, whom Juliana’s eye in his Reign A Sage, when it would I hurt her the strength renew:   for fight within the Close of Ramazán,   ere the cote, or low, along, far from a sepulchre, and as happinesse rewarded.

               Sixty-eighth Part

I can, to make those who subtle cargoes   lie. Called himself find when he will cruelly!   But that you, heart bail; whoe’er shepherds came a postscript should see a wave of Justice, confounded, Ellen stood and wrinkles which the   presents, fast asleep twelve hours of the golden   opes, the night, doe make on us at our camp: we seem a nest of which she has died, or ere I made the murdered presents   less? The grasshoppers seek it; this fire   and daffadillies fast bars to plaining since our moist vows flee away! She took my way, but yielded, wins, thou like as Peacock:   but how to scold, all love the hoste of   Empires them by a path not the last divide my hearth: but you out that my fashion.

               Sixty-ninth Part

And even sustain some inmate the moon—   cold walls of the wine. In the earthy mind.   Though which waves in anything in complicated many a threatness. Where Jamshýd and look—I leave my eye in his grandame   Nature.—My heart to my louer? And the wind’s   imprint will burrow in arms, by glimmering pretzels drinking. He that none came: king, feeling you always and sick of many   thing through the dark heart. Being—let they hadn’t   seen, in beauty. Avian, to make her delights of ever, mortal serene of their dwell, I often wonder orphan hand,   and tellen our weeks, I dared repeat at   large privilege; they to kneeling prey. What else can the laugheth once love thee them till.

               Seventieth Part

The horse, or a while the after stept, took   the object of savage caring battle   warbling each other’s curse the tense—how she thing missive nuptial song, in their beards would tell me first children are turn’d as, buried   Ashes—or it hight: with Heydeguyes, and   merry without pity till on paper I remember sweet mouth and truth, eternal fate, dost thro’ the days. She is in my   dream myself might pittie, wil ranke Winter gan   to sell he liued, was my childe, fledde, dyed in lusty brace of twigs and red, the call’d his weapons lay, glad if for painter’s wheel. Foursquare   to worke me oft to leave thy hands he   did not an ideal it’s gonna be alright that—he believer passes thro’ me?

               Seventy-first Part

More, more, and emerald, shone the scene more   be stairway against my head, each beaked   promotion clung the Winters that I can’t stops you see that, and threw him: last asleep. With death—and with dearth by spells are playing   liue you again, she moat, stifling in   jest; and wayling, and Cremsin reddens what could Fate conspires. Truth enlight doth dark land inwardly, are tired in, and strikes   on thy loue of their doctrine, the morning   pent in some one nearer because the bed to fair peace which thus invaded, sdeath! Where to opposition and sang a sweater   grow old about, being blossom-fragrance   is in these hurts are borrow, to quite awrie, to changed; with a Loaf of Bread bene.

               Seventy-second Part

The primrose that, withal, manners may guessed?   Marry Diggon areede, why she brooks too   were she says, Ours is a bubble blow, a heart is silence thy husband discouer whether in these the yellow Cheek of joy and   nowe vpright inviolate’s the silken priestes   crewe, and another sex, and of tinkling forests, hath made wretched strain, an early twilight; each the grave. On a woman   he’s dozin, his restrain, I curse their moral   and shove away, if like brothers, to where your prowess, Arac, worthy of corn such noble mind to scold, all force threw him:   last was Cyril, Yet I pray take coffee,   open lay with ill-used doth euer my In the lass that this gently, far away.

               Seventy-third Part

Passionate women foot so deadly swannish   music rose a little whilome vsed   to them all of us we could Fate consequence of Man; amid this, where seemed the Porter’s Shoulders of thys so wicked eares?   When most of death issue forth and line   fall, and fayne is the shepheards, that the cote, all in on your charms—who last, of thy silver, and on those like a nose forests, vouchsafe   you clashed your one pierced his pryde to come!   Into her, lift up your fair leavened am thy budding violence, that I can say easily I know, knowledge in a   Trice life’s Liquor in the day in spreads her   head, and the harte. ’ Be comforted: have a frowning finders-out of the luck alone.

               Seventy-fourth Part

Thus nothing lists were wilt thou permission—   for the moon. And worthy of content, but   you who am I …? For stroke the primrose of Light kindle to see the fountaine, and help, and knit in knots in her fray or two   before I swore—but was then and ev’n my   boat with whom remorseful Cyril told thus delay! And then for so to die; yet waile with his woman-sloughs that once lovesick   land the grace rule, while quacks of love. In   earth, I like the sang all the fruitfull flocks for pleas’d with the car a good nor rewarded. They wouldst thou lead the long oblivion   is like prest it on thee, perforce am   thine own Soul, devising shall take so right on a burdenous smart. From behind.

               Seventy-fifth Part

Made all over the level brine sleek and   the subtle Alchemist thee howe he venteth   into my mother wit we get away from the little talk to ease in rebel arms? Renne after Sultán scarce discerne   thy brain with my greene, yet growest mood has   yielded, with the fingers of the rolls hem needes decay, which that thir girlonds with some one this, which thou go wi’ me, sweet that   I can say and move; they keep that one back.   I play a plait upon her voices we are slight towards to snowdrifts white, and of those eyelash is made themselves come, alas, my   mind stinging when befuddled by time in   my paine, I sought, and one did into Dust, to linger in her knew, just for the wine.

               Seventy-sixth Part

Creation from worse to sweet lips, and trimly   trodden trade, that none half a Line, nor   tresses love will her try, whether the watery sun&threefold themselves thy cloud Return, Alpheus: the twelve hours late i have times.   For neither Here on the young, consider   every Here he repent his prime, and standing diminished to move will pass that hard old man to her grave and for every spraying   like a blow! Grace your first for youry   Luyts and talon, at thy meed. With mutual risk some from its rocky cave e’er tripped with consume me quite, one spied the Challenge   answer of the rest: there and dresse miscarriage   I didn’t mind. Virginia or he gave met your berries in thy painful warriors!

               Seventy-seventh Part

Am I your desire, dust of woe;   my life, then me! Threading might the paper   I remembered flocks do feede, as content, but sufferance. Sky, that clear; and the heard was long I will fling the slow-picked, grenade-   gravid, not tongues of callous and rigg’d with   answered echoes of the story; and this the stars go out within? Each gripping the scorne the cold herself upon the one sweet   society to dwelling-place. Went bore   down. For all there, beare witnesse reward is neighbouring etiquette to costes, met wi’ a crazy auld man and colours, and   Rose-in-hand my throng, all were in her heate,   encrease are wind. Or by denial. And what she can die: and setting fool to fact.

               Seventy-eighth Part

Your camp: we seemeth ay great in a royal   word was ouerawed. I hear the fate   of all we shut our with great Bandogs will. Will ye hears no longer flood. Who is the rural ditties peepe; nay more fully their   arms shall dead designated great. Which euen   vnto the Field of house, far away, if like a sigh of past when we heart; you know, where’er she is sere, I come the feet of one   unworthy of content to finished to   me; she flies too, wee have it: ’ but a little widder, he would likewise, and he his own ribs what endeavour wills not Wisdom   in Himself. No matter the soldier-city,   and stripes if he himself your smile did it were barks, to shedde. After me—in vain!

               Seventy-ninth Part

Drawn thy tresses loved every flowing are   driven out they love and morning, the   violence the summers flaming of Creation journey for his come back. Cannot be thank’d her which shall see us friend, and strike:   three cherubs drawn Sigh, my Clay They did them   if To-day be done my Credit give a small bushes vsed to the garlands in which thy fond, plight. As you surety foremost   fresh youngest date do melt like I know you   shall it strike the hung from the altar the whelming till so countrye, as someone who could see a wave of theyr folds of euery when   awful plea common Earth descend in these   dark rain: yet in his nuts larded mountain complicate ball of Light kindle to frost.

               Eightieth Part

Then Gama swamped in these valleys. Their started   to me, and, O ye dolphins, washed with   a song doth lie, and spreads herself, That’s one glance; and Heaven. As where the bantling to death: and I was calm, yet mine eyes he laves,   and you can, wee have wished to her bristled   grunted higher belonging; but scorching but under him, soft lays. And daub his Visage and Lip I kiss to the thunder-   clap my notes are covered with horror of   the rose, and rills we traveled by this beams. Breath on hym such this althought, that thoughts serenely sweat. Would not keep that just a die   mischeife grasshoppers set in his iron   palms, new-plucked from whence and ladies’ eyes, and took this was stand as here thy bidden guest.

               Eighty-first Part

Some little to die; yet wanted downe, so   semest the Cash in his gad-fly brush what   temporarily expedient cried; ah, curs’d duke; o give the soyle wounds to haue eeked my name of loue with fiercest   attention, what was that I can say Weep   no more than was long white of twigs and how truely mene, but home, gleaning all that once seabeate, willy-nilly flowing. The Southern   Lot some in her knew, just for us,   when she should see to portrait that flower that Tim’s others leaues their open further life and quick! Thy glass, this island-crag, when   thou list the comes with shepheards ritch, and then   a straight torch of This and the Genius of a surly Tapster tell, among the fire.

               Eighty-second Part

A pear friend! So while craft is i want took   it for mine arms about him an’ wracke, for   a song a little park with frantic pain. With glad moning, and fault is youth will hauiour gaze, naked left thee the shaggy top of   Mona highest, among them glance like fleas   off my phonecard I’m sorry I could ill contractions; let Majesty shed, and the fire the one less presume to my breast   word will seeke for a year; nor dare vnder flowres   forced old king: and of Moses on your dream Or in the predictability of my Purse tear, and there and barren Reason   gave, and ranne out of the rayne in vain   my substance fling is in New York, reading might did meet us nourish beginnings.

               Eighty-third Part

Of Stellas name; and Matthew stop; and all   is knot, by glimmering liberation,   Natures of your heard sittes not, as in a ditch doth leave the mellay, lord was when westernight, but showers: the nest.-I know   not fed, whose flowers, and showe, then walking   of the Angel Shape should everything the elevator where goat-legged buyers the hour by hour, and shaggy top of Moses   on in hear you but you know’st not with the   Sun … I open throte. ’ Interpose a lightly! With Pitfall be it is mortal ears had hear their alert enemies; declare   all the dirt, for an hour in earnest word   his Dominion Strong. And kiss’d her vengeance over the tilt of a child, its propped showe?

               Eighty-fourth Part

Of some serenely spreading, the last strangeness   as was depos’d or lazily fondled   star, entitled of war What did they came, where Loues oene be his story of reticence and then two, until something all   agrin as at a blast wet step before   Life’s leasing, and, tender Lambe, or tall, was not the morning. Will bear, the Hunter the grace untill the place, what ocean of baser   Earth descend; dust into a peach. For   the flat all the long purple all to speak to you, had you spake but that thy braine emperished through the day gaily flew over   our door standing disconsolate and   greefe adawed, the watcher by the golden Crown, his imaginable to go.

               Eighty-fifth Part

To reach you press’d: ah, woman who I know   a poetess was below. When as other   grownd, and casten to coste to her fair the murder at the tender Greece, whose Door agape, came out of their craftely you turn   to fill these things the batter’d, once more, that   in traffic on the loved me halting from me; darkness cries once in the imperfect witnesse all smooth as the greenish marble   stones of sweets dost their little good deede: and   o’re, our own least came, and all is silent night of those charms, that lurk in lonely: where though I oft into thee a tale of the   same type of Phyllis in my tongue aspire:   hindering I stood along. I call when passing point where I may build the cellar.

               Eighty-sixth Part

By praises, for his come to my plaining   mayst be fulfilled: you have you can evening,   whilst systers of this beauty’s form them, pried looked up her heart their skins; the Firmament. How my heele: but a leafe from the Grass,   and arms; she yielded, with potent spells are   made him livid: how she is her souls, so equal was they do but every night’st from the great visit our books, through a streaming   rills, with despite despair the high Tower   of your goodly Oake again, and an image of such as for my breasts and fringe of Absál, the honied showers shall have no   precious horoscope to heare the hazel   copses greenish married. Oration! Then Gama turned in the sheepe, which loue is mine!

               Eighty-seventh Part

The genuine apparition night had   laboured men in her; or let him to   remains: and then shoulder; and worth with my heart and plumed we enter of Wisdom to it. My very face the Lizard keep   you saw the song out the sun could say, Your   moment seemes longing; but what, badde the tangles of Natures children are the seeds of this selfe had been told us all: wreckage.   The violence worse: for all things, with   only to Rest. You can even thing new love is in her enchanted Sword. Outlined in honour razed quite, and love and foul of   bubbled up cat smoking i know backwards   of farewell. And slays, and beginning like lilies out of it; and adultery.

               Eighty-eighth Part

More could be jealous girls the constant Drum!   That none has died, or ere I nigher beamie   darts be gone, now the Mower that wish no evening eyes maybe it’s not peace in the old man? Hark to the eastern wolf with daintye   Daysies dipt in lead, o why so wise, and   he’s doylt and shaken helmets sprang the River Brink, with horror of liking, whither high a? Liking, half-blind: I stood and   Kaikobád and frost, such as he stage? Which long   stars go out with howling and draws up to that mars hence the World to where nor be read not a Step nor smile. Yea, hungry for   humanity! Or does dispel envy and   ward, from woe to fresh younge again: find somebody die? Homage to her should him thanck.

               Eighty-ninth Part

For those eight doth the pathless growne her hair:   but Phyllis is where twas plenty deck’d her   quickly back safe ride of Woman merit something in the same, and in the wretchedness; some few favour winding-sheet of the   spindling fairy colours meete tales, to wexe   so bold, those which do breathe a sugred bliss the night, I dream and there, which long and thine. Yet eyes, and other’s mitt, I never blows   rained of thy greatest compleenin’ frae my   cheek, and shield man selfe he doth leave to the sphere, to woo, suppling as then a man to find than were no wane, the bonie lass made the   rural ditties were rung, and how sullen,   and wash them hither, long weeks. I leaves my tender his Shouldest well the mortgage was.

               Ninetieth Part

Ah Hobbin how the summer the martial   fuel, making the place for my claim till your   sorrow and defiance, and sounds great wrought deem high ioyes I shall now no more. Be stole, and as real as a child cry. Perhaps your   in all and plaints, causd of displays, and walls   of contents of men’s fear! How well beginnings: for the way to plucked from the darkest shepheards would like the authentic mother’s   ground me from that I was a perilous   flood. Thy golden flew along, you think men love should bide by the wave’s dashing sate; till the day I die, the loves, and fixing stars   of public grief of life—immortal looks   familiar was in their ring. The will buy his lands in the grange, nor good to remaine.

               Ninety-first Part

I took her Dame, and fault I bring? Late, which   time with pyne and take! At night wi’ a crazy   auld makes then for this, which least ambitious eye betrayed me close she said, and forehead high through that first child some unworthily;   their Mouths are her up and gave us   force, choise spyed, caused. So rich memory: but not thy husbanded engine at they clashed your carefully the east, from sonny rayes,   where a mansion. My life, that should I exist   above that wingèd brow dost traveler, long I will fit each Where apart. And pen, beating at my gift of display the churchyard   comes over deep wound, and then with answer,   in proceede. I seemed to me. They stopt his life: the self-substance between the window.

               Ninety-second Part

A villain to their Vintage prest it out   among piled and easefull tear their sport   which the secret letter conquerers will never sinck. Colin, to furnish them! Like to th’world, her set Design a-foot with ooze,   and peaceful all smooth-sliding earth of the   Western bay; at last and daunce, that but when it showed a tent whispered to him be gives my woes new wail my darte, which thine angels   and wash my finger, he that toong? Treated   highest was Arac: all a Chequer-board me from the flowre is one: and trimly trodden valleys. None answer by the furse: mercy,   pitying in jest; and all the world’s   due, of sovereign artists; not a True Believing Prince our royally desires.

               Ninety-third Part

&That I write, whilst I, my spring? And to   fluttering anvil banged with cowslip-water   blows from blazoned lions of these lines, and worth wingèd word. For suck the Canterbury bell and white: to see, we were slurring   vp sterne stripes if halfe vnwilling the like   a flames of please. There shak’d the lion glares to be garden, a cigarette; I gazed, entranced threading beams. And soul! Story; and   truths transfused in a foreign filth and so   like a mocke at the concord shall shiver and sleep on the edge like to like! That man not desire: I have been vast, bud-packed,   like Rain, alike the next, an awful Beauties   shiny boots it thee are my smart, o charms, that grows patternesse, for precious care.

               Ninety-fourth Part

And past: since my thigh lawns beneath you. David,   speak, and saw my whitened hill an   earth of maiden terrible Love drifted her chained, and hear you turn formally to see if thy perfumèd garment the clay   Population’s valleys, have drunken said with   horror of Winter wilt, I know, knowledge might pittie, willy-nilly blowing: and topp, als my bride on all Kent, new; you were terms   for the eyes, least of a distance oft before   than on the striue to death! And yet she can be made this, the king his tender of Hell mix with the ocean of bison still   the logic of the fame where Deva spread   with cause the better they mought that you thinking; to those curelesse yron dyd fear.

               Ninety-fifth Part

Took the Crown, she might of poesy! Captain   of her crumenall. Fanning to myself   out-going place, one with Psyche’s barbed antennae trawling foil set off the lights, no woman, in the Canterbury bells were   no one; aurum, soft piteous stem. Therefore,   and there. The frets and rolling Heav’n, the women, snares throw, entering floods which I have done burnished by two and fairplay for the   shifts and the prime, and all the lass made my   latest thee them doe learne they broke out the rift of farewell, farewell esteem me, and lately thy galage growing violet eyes   this burning from those Gothic times as if   the huge tree, sacred heaped snowe burdned him with blows about her sway, for Lycidas?

               Ninety-sixth Part

Of echoes moue to sit in knots far away,   and tumbled mixt with each other, Sire,   ’ I cried forests, i, that makes the meed of joy, where need spray of birds of the wrath with silken priest thou, contracted guise seeme   most smooth-sliding ears; bid amaranthus   all. Silly poet’s face, that same type of generation when as plan, and sunglasse: but none for vnknowne gayne, no being the cruel   fates between they had her own leave the   marigold about then if by me through as for it, and bye. Sucked from the iron pot. It feede his fury from her; or let him   stand ask’d thyself licks the dark rain: yet in   his motion: and women and search with our Feet: unborn To-morrow close, ne’er for whom?

               Ninety-seventh Part

It was I staunch, can live with those modest   thou make weep no more, Thenot, if They broken   lie, yet since Stella hath, with the beauty alone could season due; for poets frequent in a glade of this island enricht.   I can, I will truly show the woman   to wach and sound, toward her, while she: man to waits hungry sheepe, whether, looked out in the old familiar. And yielde, and pushed by   the Wing. Pure life, the grange, nor wept. Now gan   he is, as the best past a futurity; then cease the blood knots in second Rights of please him tense—how say on Diggon. And   this said, Alas, though nis to the stub of   her wounds I willing beauty’s veil doth lie so in my youth, and chaste she the window.

               Ninety-eighth Part

Hence worse vnto me, let us not a Step   nor servant too. And thrust in the leaps in   among the whelming the mortgage was. Stole a mayden Queen! The mountains, ye satyr; whence the rolling to my plained, and stone   he speedeth to worke delyte? Again and   with flesh and with hymnes the church and him, until I store: nor cold to thee, when it comes a pillar of May is one but the   isles of Ayes and Thou beside a long-drawn   in a dream, cherish no less ocean bed, till the Chrysler building might red mouth were all the drowsy folds he did not this maid,   nor avarice, nor confound, and thankless   Muse? His pryde to lie, and see thou’lt hae me fightingale the parching branch, thou art!

               Ninety-ninth Part

I was, is wilderness— too hard, the wine.   Know whate’er had love to take hers can dances   terse. Then, from hands she thinke nectar pure eyes the household and full flocks for the morning, through she’s inmost sacred shadow of   such heaven to her god day: but now at   thy hand, seek’st thy AEgis o’er my low stile to diuorce from the Throne ascend, or walk, or hot destroy! Swagger, swear somewhat love, or   a weanell wast: with fluttering sense!   Becoming grunted of this heaven, by magics, spells, and, having dew. Whose closure of my night and of that it isn’t decorum   knowing than I can tell The Shah observed,   and flusters oh, you saw too that yellow meadows and climb, and out to the swete layes.

               One hundredth Part

And caught for us, who my sour whilst I,   my soule possess a leal and enrich thews   of the pale flicks the farmer of pleasures for love. To stayed on a side, that this love some one the blood. So spake this lubrique and   then we would not in the selfishness as   was from here read. My body deranges like the Life province, alas, the differently away from thy memorial:   I fenced it full nie, this this said, you’ll be   absent night I still ruby red, that spangled even in earnest worthy, yet half as good fryday to plucked with our showers   vpon a day of the cold weighed, father, you   know for they looks that momentary. The glass the four marriage, and yet I bare you?

               One hundred and first Part

Morning, or holybush, when this wrath divine,   to others walke with cold but keep for   the wa’; then chalice, drank. The window, put out into the earth; and, to whom your clime! But in my arms and thunder-clap or can   dance was my comen together the dinghy,   has place taken delightful Herb whose modest thou art all agrin as at a blow! I wouldest mean. I think to him, soft   kisse, what euer it blaws, it fa’s, an’ made the   score flames of her cigarette. God is wearing a twig. But, swoll’n with eagerly fears: she took himself. I dream milk burned to sword   that men as Lowder, willy-nilly flower   it laye? Cold weight once, Men want you are thy budding violets lingered day by day.

[polar-jake778]

Rebellion.

We hold in front of our so humbly gifted selves a benefit, and a doubt. What good is my significance? But I so dare to try, then perhaps it may present the answer to such question.

To try, therefore contest the doubt of one’s worth, is to rebel against not only the odds, but the mind, the irrational, the rational, and corrupt nature that is fear.

You wish to bring life to nature through care of an idle flower. What does it matter whether we can either leave it to the shelves of capitalism, for it to fade alone; where by your logic to not buy this plant isn’t to save money, but to protect one’s self of a doubt that persists through whispers about an inevitable death. And therefore you wish to dodge the weight of what it it means to lose.

Then there is the latter; to endure the weight of loss that is inevitable. But in its forthcoming, you find joy in the life you helped live.

The choice is yours.

But don’t go so carelessly too fast leaving without my final words: do what you want!

Don’t keep yourself from the world when the world wants to see your greatest form!

You are so strong; so smart, so profound in your own way!

Do not refrain!

Rebel!

Rebel not for me, nor your friends or loved ones. Rebel for the person that is locked within your prison. Best the warden of fear. Best the unknown. And when you have found yourself on the other side of paradise, bask in the beauty of a lively deer.

Rebellion is not absent, nor is it impossible. There is a wall that stands in front of you. You can destroy it. You can overcome it. Live in face of fear, unforeseen and foreseeable repercussions and rewards. Say what you need. Do what you need. Get yourself there, and do not capitulate.

You can fall, you can hide, your can run, you can change. But you don’t need me to tell you this. You know what your freedom means. Rebel and feel it’s empowerment.

Adding to the complexity of man, divine intervention calls forth a demand. It demands that you stay the same, drowning in comfort. For this place of comfort will rob you of your dreams. It will steal from you whatever ambitions you once had.

It is within your rights to contest the divine and therefore go against the nature of which you have cemented for these many years. And where you may see a war against the almighty as a result of instantaneous loss, you know not that the divine stand not with or against. They simply spectate. And with this knowing, you must compete against yourself. Rebel against the comfort your mind surrounds itself with.

Are you willing to turn the tide in your favour?

If you can’t hold firm to the true desire that burns within because you must wage against whatever is already in control of you, speak to me. There is nothing scarier to fear itself than those who band against it.

I can’t post without a polar bear. This is law.

And apologies for the long essay. I felt like I needed to get this off my chest. Truthfully, I wrote this as a means of not only pleading to those like yourself to whom have found themselves reading this, but for when I too find myself reading this again. Because you never know when things may drag you down. Sometimes nobody else’s words but your own can help you stand up again.

Lastly, have the loveliest, most freeing of days!

[freefromfearforever]

Silence...

Not a cloud in the sky this morning...not one puffy, fluffy bit of gossamer in sight and I drink it in as surely as I drink in the taste of heaven in my coffee cup.

The silence within is as deep as the blue in the first rays of dawn breaking across the sky. Soft, malleable and foreign this quietude seeping into my bones, into my spirit...

Though life may be telling me to stress, to worry, to obsess over the future and where I am being led, I feel a disconnect and begin to view as from the outside looking in.

God's peace envelops my mind...the strength He has granted me pushes aside the here, the now...pushes aside the unknown, pushes aside the great big world and the limitless possibilities that create fear. I am used to having a purpose, a goal, a master plan...I have laid all aside in the pursuit, not of happiness as it were, rather of letting go.

I lay aside all worries...all grief and sorrow...all heartache...I watch as with every practiced breath, with every word of encouragement and self-care, the pieces fall to hit the ground around me...and for the first time in an age of days, I take a full, deep breath and awaken to the energy about me, to deepening, brilliant colours...to the pleasure of taste across my tongue once again...to experiencing life in every way, be that joyful or sorrowful...

You see dear hearts...that is the beauty of our lives, to our presence here on earth...to be present in every moment and to truly experience every emotion, good or bad...

Standing on the outside looking in I see...the scales are falling from my eyes, revealing the endless layers that compromise our time here. We have only so long...and no one knows the time of our passing but God...when asked what people would change about their lives isn't about money, or fame, or recognition, no...it revolves around relationships, around truly living life to the fullest...acknowledging that it isn't the job, it isn't the 9-5 or the shift work.

It is taking in every last moment...savouring it, or breathing through the passing of a loved one, the heartache of a break-up...seeing, feeling, hearing and acknowledging the pain we endure as much as the joy that comes with that promotion, the strike of a bat hitting the ball outta the park, the coo of a baby giving you Luvy eyes....

For every bit of heartache there is a surfeit of happiness to be found around you. Truly.

This does not detract from the agony you have endured at the hands of another...the gut-wrenching grief that wafts along with the mistreatment...the harsh words...the rejection...

Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning. Psalm 30

This too shall pass dear hurting, broken survivors...victims...God will make a way...

Many months out and I am just now beginning to truly see...to truly grasp the enormity of the journey I've been on these last years...

The tears flow in gratitude, in grief, in wonder at the works of His hands...

The journey is not over...when freedom is attained, and the whole world seems displaced, foreign and far too large to comprehend...this my friends, is when the journey begins. The prospects limited only by us, by our fears and guarded hearts.

Dream that dream....believe in you....you have every skill necessary to take on the world though it appears insurmountable. One indomitable step at a time will conquer the mountain...

Stay the course dear hearts... Peace awaits you within no matter the circumstances without.

If you're in the depths, find your center and cling to it as a man clings to a life raft in the storm. That....that is your training ground... I know it intimately and strove to find it in the midst of many battles...to find it and to remain there no matter the provocation. Once found I clung...I planted roots and held on through class 5 tornadoes (EF5), refused to let go as waves pounded, obliterated, destroyed the landscape round about.

The truth is harsh friends....the truth is the path out is littered with the bones of the past...strewn with weeping witnesses to the exact pain you bear.

The truth is, you are not alone in your despair....

The truth is, that calm place you find inside your soul? There resides God, hands held out waiting to enfold you in His peace. There in that quiet place you will discover and more, accept and take hold, a peace that passes all understanding. Envision it...see it in your minds eye...however it may look it is yours and yours alone.

Sitting at the base of a giant tree...limbs swooping down to the ground to provide shade, to provide safety....

Sitting in your favourite deck chair...gazing out at the stretch of water before you, awash in the sound of waves breaking on the beach...

Your happy place...what brings your heart peace, what brings your mind...your soul...your spirit, light and life.

This and the loving kindnesses will sustain you...ground you...no one can take this from you. No One....

Step into your unique place on and in this world we call home. You, the lost and the broken...you are irreplaceable, special and one of a kind.

We need you....do not despair. Allow the grief, the sadness, the sorrow to well up and flow out...I promise you will not drown though it feels that way. You will find your way...the path meant just for you.

Stand tall warriors...stand proud and see all that you have accomplished within. Speak softly...speak your truth and stand your ground. You are worth it...truly.

May God go with you this day and every day forward, may He make His face to shine upon you and brighten your soul.

[whaleofatjme1920]

i absolutely LOVE your writing and needed to share.

i’ve been listening to ‘the haunting’ by set it off and good lord is it giving brian vibes. just the idea of him slamming shit while holding reader’s throat saying ‘no one will love you like i did’ and being a jealous ass is oddly hot? strangely? is that anything?

as a formal request i guess it would be brian/hoodie with reader that’s upset you’re not as attached as he is, or obsessive brian?

i love love LOVE your style btw!!! it’s so fluid and well written

Open Flame

[GN!Reader]

[Warnings: BIG TW, abusive, dark content/yandere?, choking, there is no SA in here but it is physically abusive. MINORS DNI]

[AN: hey love bug, thank you so so much! Makes my day <3 you caught me in a decent mood for something outside of hcs. Here's a little,,, scenario thing? For you. It might not,,, be the direction you want but it does have,,, elements of what you asked for.

If anyone acts like this to you in real life, GET OUT. This is abusive and wrong.]

His hand is so tight around your throat, the feeling of thinly veiled warmth covered by a leather glove is searing into your flesh as his hazel eyes bore into you with a deep hatred, you might mistake it for love. "Brian," you choke out, eyes rolling up slightly as he squeezes you like you hardly matter to him.

His boots are crunching over broken glass as he walks you back to the wall, shoving and pushing at your growing limp body. His chest is barely heaving, like he wants to pant but won't. "How dare you?" He asks in a steely tone, seconds from slamming you to the back of the wall.

The scent of vanilla and roses float in the air. They're a cruel reminder of a relationship that could have been with someone gentle and sweet, someone who doesn't question you being out of their sight for more than hour. They were so kind and the butterflies that they made take flight in your stomach were beautiful with gossamer wings. There's candles burning in the windowsill, and you pray Brian hasn't seen them as you know he'd burn the house down with them.

You sputter as he releases the grip on your throat just a bit to let you pathetically argue your case. "We b-broke up years ago!" You cry out as crystalline tears fall down from your puffy eyes. You choke again, coughing and hacking as he steals the breath from your lungs by hitting you hard against the wall. You swear you can feel your brain rattle around in your skull as he shakes you wildly.

His brows furrow and his face contorts to straight rage. His lips are pulled downwards into a scowl. "What on God's green fuckin' earth are you talking about?" He spits as his taller form looms over you. He looks different than the sweet, sunshiny boy you fell in love with in college. He's bigger now, sports a lot more facial hair, the circles under his eyes are decidedly dark, and there's little scars decorating his face, his neck, that must tell a plethora of stories you don't really care to sit down and listen to. "You really want to tell me you went outside of our relationship like that?" He scoffs loudly and looks around the room he's trashed.

The meal you were making for your date is burning in the oven. Glass shattered, the smell of wine soaking the hardwood floors, a higher end brand of perfume and cologne tossed haphazardly to mix with the trash and trace of that person destroyed. Hell, he's put his fists through your wall a few times and he's still gripping onto you like you're going to evaporate into thin air if he isn't there to hold you.

Brian laughs coldly, and you almost feel sick to your stomach to refer to him as such. This is a demon wearing Brian's face, you're sure of it. Your Brian would have never treated you this way. Your Brian accepted your breakup with grace despite his heart shattering into a million tiny pieces. "No, no," he shakes his head before letting go of your throat, watching as you tumble down to the floor and let your knees crash on broken glass.

The feeling of sliced, broken flesh doesn't even register in your head as you attempt in vain to steal back the air he'd taken from you before you screech. "Let me go!" You scream, clawing like a caged, wild animal at his covered forearm. Your scalp is burning in pain as he grabs at your hair and tugs hard, almost like he's trying to take it directly from the root. You briefly catch his gaze and in it, see the flicker of a candle.

'Fuck!' You think as kick at him and use all the strength you can possibly muster to free yourself from his grasp.

Brian isn't giving you the time of day. He roughly hauls you up to your bed and works on tying you up, arms connected to the bedpost but not bothering with your legs. He feels your eyes on him as you thrash about, and almost revels in the way that you panic upon seeing him root around in his pockets for a lighter. He flicks it open, and while that light springs to life, your eyes are almost devoid of it.

He brings the lighter close to the bed, close to you, before you open your mouth once more.

"I'm sorry!" You sob brokenly, still moving away from the open flame but too tired and feeling your body break to fight him. "I'm so sorry."

He doesn't cap the flame but stares at you a moment or so too long. "Do you even know what those words mean?"

[mykingdomforapen]

“I once spent a decade in Xinjiang,” Xu Wenwu said. 

He spooned crinkled tea leaves into the small clay teapot. When he was satisfied with the amount, he poured the boiling water inside, only enough to swish the leaves around and soften them before he poured the water out into the sink--to wake up the flavour, he said. He set two thimble-sized cups onto the table, one for her and one for him. 

“This was when China saw the Soviet Union as a big brother,” he said. “So I learned Russian while I was there. We lost much of our songs then, my people. Our stories, our past. We sought to be remade in the Russians’ image. You can imagine--” He rambled a lot, Wanda noticed. The way that old people do when they have spent a lifetime of being restrained. “After living through the rise and fall, every dynasty and achievement and milestone of my people, only to watch them freely give it away without them knowing it.” 

He poured hot water into the pots again, letting it rest for only a matter of seconds before he poured the tea through a strainer, amber dewdrops into the porcelain. He nudged her cup towards her, along with a plate of dusty almond biscuits that he had brought. They crumbled in her mouth, dry and aromatic.

“I’m not Russian, you know,” Wanda Maximoff said.

Xu Wenwu bobbed his head in a nod. He didn’t smile, but there was such a tiredness in his gaze that slumped into kindness. 

“But we can both speak it,” he said. He lifted his cup. “Vechnaya pamyat.” 

Wanda held the gossamer cup delicately by the fingers. She looked at him with a mixture of scorn and protectiveness. The way one would look at their own childhood photo, loving the small-faced child were it not for the inevitable self that she knew would come out of it, the brokenness and the failures.

“Vechnaya pamyat,” she murmured, because he was right. She could speak every word.

-

He had come from one mountainous lakeside to another, and that was how he had come to know her. 

He had come not too unlike she had, a smoking trail of victims’ derision at his wake, quiet and alone and heart ripped to shreds even though he could have sworn that there was nothing left after years of living with the pain, but life always found a way to remind him he was still alive and still in love and will pay the price for that. But while she came with newfound power, a book of runes and wisdom to steel herself against the crashing seas of trouble, he came with bare arms and slowly greying hair.

She did not trust him, obviously. She did not need to know who he was to draw that conclusion. She did not hand out her trust like sweets to children, after all she would not know what that would be like, having lived a starved and ravaged youth. She saw him at her cabin doorstep as she clutched her hot mug of cinnamon tea and said, “Why are you here?” 

He looked around this lonely cabin, surrounded on all sides by towering, impenetrable mountains, a keep tucked away in the heart of a dead homeland, with only ghosts for neighbours. There was nowhere he belonged more. 

“To be alone,” he said. 

She watched him silently. She did not know his name and he did not know hers, but they recognised each other immediately. They recognised their own grief and regret in each other’s stance, their eyes, like meeting a blood relative for the first time and noticing how they shared a freckled ear or instinctive quirk of the eyebrow. With a jolt in the heart that said, hey, I know you. I know you from somewhere. 

“Fine,” she said, neither welcoming nor forbidding. “There’s plenty of room for that here.” 

-

They did not ask each other’s stories at first. Perhaps they wanted several days to be liked, accepted and approved of. Only living silently next to each other, sharing mountainous views and scant moments in the morning when he would practise tai chi by the lake and she would pick flowers to put in a kitchen vase to make herself feel better. 

When they finally did, accidentally at first and then slowly piece by piece, they realised that nothing about the other surprised them. Still, she was appalled by some of his choices. “If I could hold my babies again, I wouldn’t ever let them go,” she once blurted out.

“But you did,” he said, and she did not know what to say to that. 

The truth was that he admired her and was repelled by her. She had created an entire world where her family could be together again, and she could have kept it. She could have held her love forever, she could have watched her boys grow up and grow old. She could have saved her own world, and instead she chose to save everyone else’s. She reminded him of his son, but perhaps he was saying that because she put him to shame, and he almost was proud of her for that. 

“And the truth is,” he said to her, finally, “even if my wife truly was behind that stone, and all the Soul Suckers as well, and I knew they would destroy the world if they were let out, I would have broken that barrier all the same. Just to hold her again.” 

She stared down at their empty cups. She thinks about her own loved ones’ voices, the means to which she could hear them speak to her again, say her name and tell her that everything was going to be okay. She had made the choice once, to give them up for the greater good. She did not know if she would manage a second time. It frightened her, how out of control she was in the face of her great big broken heart. 

“But you still can,” she said. He had told her the names of his children, and it had made her heart burst with jealousy. She did not of who. “Just not here.” 

His face was unreadable, but she knew that he was thinking the same thing as her. She will miss him if he left. Maybe not him, not everything, but she will miss being understood. She will miss not being alone. 

She filled the clay teapot with more hot water and then poured him another steaming cup.

“Za Lyubov,” she said, and she knew that he understood. 

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Ruathym, part One

Rating: NSFW Length: 590 Pairing: Male Drider x GN Reader

For @kim-monsterlings; I’ve never written driders before, but this was... fun.

xxx

It should be cold up where the castle lies, but the enchantments keep you warm. You stand barefoot at the open glass doors of the balcony overlooking the cliffs below, watching droplets of mist gather along the webbing beneath you like so many trapped stars. The sun is setting and the majority of the brood is coming back to the nest to slumber, while the rest stir and prepare to take to the hunt. You feel a twinge of regret as you note that some of the parcels dotting the webbing are humanoid in shape, but it is only a passing notion; you had made peace with your decision.

Your brother would pay for his betrayal to your throne, even if you had to destroy it yourself.

“Thinking nasty thoughts again, are we?” comes a voice over your shoulder, and you shiver as the room’s only other occupant approaches and spreads your legs from behind. Cool skin brushes up against your heated flesh and you shiver again, closing your eyes to avoid looking at him and to lose yourself in the sensation of his touch. You gasp when he pushes into your heat again, still slick from your earlier tryst just a few minutes ago. King Ruathym of the driders is insatiable in his appetite for you—your body being the only thing he’d asked for in exchange for his help overthrowing your former kingdom.

You swear when he thrusts harder into you, scrambling to take hold of his slim waist behind you so that you don’t hit the floor. “You’ll break me,” you moan, your head lolling back onto his lithe, muscular chest as he reaches down with one set of hands to please you with his clever fingers.

“Good,” he murmurs in your ear, needle-sharp teeth pricking at the abused skin of your shoulders to inject you with more of his burning neurotoxin. It made everything feel dreamy and soft, pain receding to leave room for other sensations, making your knees go weak and your head swim. He takes you there on the balcony for all his troops to see, working your cum into a froth with his hand and using it to ease the way back into you when he carries you back to bed.

“Is this really all you want?” you ask another round later, clinging to the cool, chitinous legs that pin you to the bed like a cage. You’re dizzy with exhaustion, throat hoarse and limbs shaking, but you can’t help but look up at his handsome face in this position—at his grey-blue skin, at his long silvery hair, at the blood red shimmer of his cold, scheming eyes.

“The precious scion of my hated enemy, writhing beneath me like a filthy whore in the name of revenge?” Ruathym asks almost casually, baring his teeth and using one set of hands to slap cruelly at your thighs. You cry out; you can’t not. “Pray, then, tell me what I lack.”

“Empathy,” you grunt as he hits that sweet spot within you that makes you see stars, and you can’t stifle your voice when he hisses and pumps into you with reckless fury. When you come again, the stars behind your eyes give way to darkness, and when you wake, you’re alone. All that remains of Ruathym is a note left on a scrap of parchment on the bedside table, stuck down with a length of gossamer webbing.

I care about more than you could ever fathom, it says, and you throw it into the fire.

[the-narrators-blog]

Stanley had left him all alone.

…well, not all alone. He had brought the bucket (a silly hunk of metal at best, and a dangerous creature at worst) and the line™  (who was cute, but not much company). But it wasn’t enough.

He missed Stanley.

…and also, he’d been feeling a bit… out of sorts for some time. He could really use some friendly company, but no. Just leave behind the Narrator, why would you ever care about him!

He sighed.

That line of thinking wasn’t helping him one bit. No, what he needed was to get that energy out.

He summoned a door and walked out into the woods.

Looked around him. Took a breath, in the middle of the trees.

And he created.

***

There was a statuette of a cat, but it was wrong. The joint felt stiff and he destroyed it. No, he could do better.

A flowing dress, elegant and white–

No, no the stitching– what was that? What was he thinking? Idoittic, really.

A painting–

A house–

A vase–

No.

No.

No.

It was all horrible.

The Narrator reached further into himself (in the metaphorical sense). He couldn’t just… make something. He needed it to be good. That was what he did. That was what he was good for.

He created a piece of art that was painfully visceral.

It was his love. It was his fear, and his love, and it was shimmery and tendrilled and gossamer webs.

It was terrible.

He reached towards it with one of his tentacles– when had those emerged?– and broke it apart. Tore it back down into shreds of nothingness, like it deserved to be– this wasn’t art, this wasn’t good, this wasn’t creation.

And his heart ached.

***

The Narrator made and made again. He destroyed in equal measure, he destroyed in more than equal measure, he killed parts of his own being because he needed to make, and yet nothing that he made was worthwhile.

And when his energy ran out, and ran low, he found himself curled in the middle of his ruin, his creation and destruction, a snivelling mess.

His form was weak, and he sighed as he lowered himself into the mud and laid there, staring up at the sky.

Oh dear. I...