#and i can only ever find straight up purple or gray

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 ❞

❝ PROF. GETO'S CLASS IS SO HARD, BUT HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part one of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you were a 4.0, straight A student, until professor geto's class, the same far too hot ethics professor fawned over by faculty and students alike. you didn't understand what was so special about him...until you start having dreams about him.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, masturbation (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), getting off to his voice in recorded lectures, arousal from reading his writing, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, art by @/jatinsohanvi, google scholar graphic by platonic loml @laneysmusings

✧ wc: 10,149 (i have a problem) | part two

“You’re late,” 

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto’s class was that you could never be late again, unless you would like to be chided in front of all your peers for your tardiness. 

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto himself was that he was truly the most breathtaking man you’d ever laid your eyes on. His inky black locks tied into a neat bun, his deep royal purple vest buttoned over a crisp white button up with pressed gray slacks, his pretty lips pressed in a small frown, as his dark gaze pierced through you. And you don’t know what stirs in your chest — a fleeting moment that is tucked away under a bite of your bottom lip and burning cheeks. 

And now you knew why when you had walked into class, the amount of unfamiliar faces in this course had far outnumbered the ones in your usual course load — the same reason why this man undoubtedly had three chili peppers next to his professor rating on some website out there. 

And now you were faced with him staring you down as you stumbled down the stairs of the all too full lecture hall. 

As you muttered apologies, and took your seat far too close to the front of the class, smack dab in the very front of the very same professor whose eyes still were concentrated on you, before sliding back to the class at large. 

“Now, where were we?” he says, continuing the lecture. 

Ethics was not your major — you were a philosophy grad student, and although the two went hand in hand — no, they were not the same thing. Ethics are the moral principles — like rules to follow to live a moral life — people can follow, while philosophy is the study of knowledge, reality, and existence. And this class encompassed both — an ethics and moral philosophy class. Your eyes slid around the room — and compared to all the random majors stuffed into this classroom, you had no doubt you’d do well. Your eyes met Professor Geto’s — maybe one slight doubt. 

And when you get your first essay back, you eagerly flip to the last page of the paper, wondering what accolades and compliments you��d receive this time. Your eyes find the grade, and your stomach drops, a gaping maw that consumes you from the inside out. 

You got a B. 

A B+ — an 88 on your paper in this course, and you stared at the grade on the very last page of the paper you had collected from his desk — Professor Geto had insisted everyone submit their papers both physically and electronically — his scrawl in red pen littered each page of what you thought was a thoughtful and even clever paper on the existence free will and the ethical and moral dilemmas that surround it. And he had given it an 88. 

You had a 4.0 point average — you had gotten the highest scores in some of the most difficult courses required by your major, and now you were going to be derailed by a class you took on a whim? That’s not happening. No, you were going to get him to change your grade. You were seeing as red as the ink that tore your paper to shreds. 

“Come in,” your knuckles had rapped against Professor Geto’s door, your heart in your throat, as you heard his reply, entering his office. His office was as pretentious as he was. A much larger office than you had seen before (poor Professor Ijichi had a shoebox of an office), while Professor Geto’s was three times the size, outfitted with large, beautiful windows, distinct bookshelves, and even a lovely deep mahogany colored couch with decorative cushions. And you knew why that was the case — Professor Geto was an expert in his field, revered, even at his relatively young age. And the university had coveted him, and managed to lure him to work behind these ivy covered walls. While other professors who have been here longer are stuck with offices that don’t begin to compare. 

Academia was truly hell. 

And yet, Professor Geto seemed to rule over it with an iron fist. Even now, you found your professor looking as annoyingly perfect as ever — his elbow resting against his desk, pen in his other hand, as he flipped through more papers on his desk, his hair in a messy bun, a few black strands falling across his furrowed brow, his pretty lips pursed in concentration, and his dark gaze flicks up from his work to you, and his lips curl, your name leaving his lips, “good to see you, please sit,” 

You had planned to attend these office hours in victory, to apologize for your misstep in the first class, and let your professor praise your paper to no end — but instead you were going to see why your paper was graded so harshly. 

Your speech was ready, you were going to lay it out, you had the perfect explanation and the excellent reasoning “Professor Geto—” 

“I know why you’re here,” he cuts you off, lips forming in an utterly condescending smile, “you want to discuss your paper, correct?” 

“I am, I wanted to—” 

He sits forward in his chair, setting down his pen, “I’m going to save us some time by explaining my comments on your paper, do you have it?” and you close your mouth, pulling the paper out of your folder and handing it to him, “Your paper was one of the best in the class — it was thought provoking, grounded in research, persuasive, even made me consider some points I hadn’t before—” 

You blink, his praise catching you off guard, your thoughts twisting in on themselves, “Then why did you give me B?” 

“You didn’t allow me to finish,” he sighs, as he flips through your paper, looking up to meet your gaze,  “your paper was excellent when it came to philosophical concepts, but your ethical conclusions on the other hand, could use some work,” 

You gaped at him, “What did I possibly—” 

“To put it simply, you were trying to use your knowledge of philosophy to cover up your lack of knowledge in the field of ethics,” 

“I wasn’t—” 

“And that’s okay, because that means I have something to teach you don’t I? That’s why you’re in this course, to learn,” he gives a tight lipped smile, tilting his head. Oh you’d like to learn a lot more from him — like the ethical dilemma of wanting to murder your professor, “and I’m here to teach — and this paper is a teaching moment — and from your expression, I assume you didn’t read the comments I left in detail,” 

And your cheeks burn, as your eyes fall away from him, “Not fully in detail,” you still swallow your shame, and meet his gaze, “I don’t mean to be a bother, Professor, but how can my paper still receive a B — I’ve never received that low of a score on any single paper—” 

“There’s a first time for everything,” and you have to bite back your retort, “yeah first time having an annoying prick for a professor,” and he rises from his desk to hand you back your paper, “the bottom line is, I know you’re capable of better, this class isn’t going to be easy — I’m not going to hand you accolades for no reason. You have to earn them — if you aren’t up for the challenge, you can drop the class.” 

The option was there — you could simply drop the course, rid yourself of Professor Geto and his ridiculous criticism forever. You could take a class with one of the many professors who delighted in your papers (even the ones you’d written at 3 AM and submitted not proofread), and go on with your life and preserve your 4.0 GPA with ease. 

But then you looked at him again. He was unfairly hot, even when he was fucking putting you down, he stood in front of you, offering your paper, his fingers long and thick brushing yours by mistake as you took back your paper, a watch on his wrist gleamed in the low light of his office. You glanced around his office, saw the awards on his walls, pictures of him giving lectures or receiving honors, and the books that lined his shelves weren’t dissimilar to your own academic shelf at home. And your eyes fell back to his, as he stared at you curiously, lips pursed, as your paper slightly crumples in your fist. 

“Next paper is due in two weeks?” and he pauses, before his lips curl in that same grin. 

“Yes it is,” and a smile graces your lips, lightning quick.

Like hell you were going to let him win. You were going to get him to praise your papers (and maybe that wouldn’t be the only thing he praised) — if it was the last thing you do. You’d get an A in his class, hell, you’d get him to beg you to be his teaching assistant (he’d look very nice on his knees for you, wouldn’t he?). 

You rise from your seat, and grab your bag, “I’ll see you at your next office hours then, to discuss my paper topic,” and he watches you leave, his eyes piercing into your back as you do. 

“See you soon.” 

Oh, he would. 

“Right on time,” Professor Geto barely looks up now when you knock on his door, his door now always ajar for office hours. 

Now you had made a habit of showing up for his office hours, you’d bring your paper topic all picked out, along with your handpicked sources you had chosen for your paper, all typed up in a neat bibliography. And he’d kindly rip it apart with that same damn smile on his lips. It had been a few weeks, a few papers later — and you finally had worked your grade up to an A-, not quite an A+, but you’d get there. You had to. 

Because it wasn’t just about your GPA now — you were going to get Professor Geto to praise you — through any means necessary. The man was stubborn, even when you’d come back with an improved draft, he’d only hand it back to you with a smile barely tugging at the corner of his lips, with no compliment to be had — only small check marks scribbled in the margins in your papers, with the occasional “good” written next to it. 

“Well, we all know what happens when I’m late,” he laughs, a noise that makes the ice dagger clutched behind your back ever so slightly melt, “I made you laugh, extra credit?” 

And he rolls his eyes, and you notice that his dark eyes are hidden behind glasses today — and god, why does it only make him even more gorgeous? He’s already brilliant, it’s unfair for him to look as if he was sculpted by the gods as well, “It takes a lot more than a chuckle to earn extra credit,” and you can’t help but bite your lip. 

No, no, he’s the worst. It didn’t matter he was the epitome of every academic’s wet dream, you were above that. You had a goal. 

“So, can we discuss my next paper?” you hand him your bibliography, and he takes it, delicate fingers flipping through, your mind notes the absence of a ring on either hand, before brushing the thought aside. 

“You’re writing on the morality of good or bad actions,” he hums, as he looks over the sources you had chosen, “Scanlon, good — have you read—” 

“‘What We Owe to Each Other?’ Only about a million times — well more like six,” and he nods appreciatively, “of course you’ve read it,” 

“I didn’t just read it, I wrote a paper on it, similar to yours, actually,” and your eyes flick up to meet his, he’s leaning forward in his chair, red pen in hand, as he scribbles notes in the margins, as well as on the back of your bibliography, “of course I don’t have your penchant for rambling,” 

You pout, “I don’t ramble — I like to make my point—” 

“Many times, and the same one,” and your mouth opens, only to find a wry smirk on his lips, “I’m teasing, another one of my very tedious qualities, and how you stand it during class astonishes me,” 

You cross your arms, unable to meet his eyes, as you choose to stare at your bibliography instead, “You’re not completely tedious, more like irritating,” and he huffs a chuckle. 

You had to admit, begrudgingly, Professor Geto was a…good teacher. And you had your fair share of awful teachers — many of them were brilliant, accomplished people in their fields, but didn’t know how to translate and convey that in their lectures to students who simply knew less than them. But Geto…he knew how to break down complex concepts and theories of moral philosophy and ethics to a science, he knows how to make students understand these complicated topics that you had seen other professors fail to, and he does it while being an intellectual dreamboat to most of his students — the ones that swarm his desk after class, still there even as you slowly make your way out of the lecture hall. 

“A rare compliment from you,” he raises an eyebrow, “I’m touched,” 

“You’re one to talk,” you furrow your brow, and a smile pulls at his lips. 

“Didn’t know you wanted my approval,” he tilts his head, leaning forward to lean on his elbow on the desk, “well, you have improved remarkably in the class so far, and if you keep going like this, I may have no choice but to praise you,” 

“You will,”

“Someone is very sure of themselves,” a pause and then he adds with a quirk of his lips, “as you should be,” and he’s sliding your bibliography across the table again, and passes it back, “read the sources I recommended, and see about adding them to your paper — you may have some overlap in the other papers you chose so use your discretion on which ones you use,” 

“So don’t repeat myself?” You raise an eyebrow, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. 

“You learn fast.” 

And you do — returning to your apartment to work on your paper, as you flip through his notes — as much as you hate to admit it, his notes and criticism did help — annoyingly so. He was far more detailed and perceptive than any other professor you had. Most had let you skate by without a second thought, and you wrote papers like you deleted your internet history after a scandalous romp through elicit websites — tools, clear history — and then onto the next paper or exam. But Professor Geto forced you to face your shortcomings, face the things that you didn’t like to give a second glance to, lest your rejection sensitive self feel the agony of having to deal with criticism. 

Each time you did it, you got a little better, and he had a little less to say — time and time again. 

You leaned back on your bed, scrolling through the papers he recommended, but so what? So what if he was a good teacher? Doesn’t mean he has to be as infuriating as he is — he knew exactly what to do to get under your skin, and he didn’t prod at it, he scratched it. 

And you found yourself typing his name (“suguru geto”) and T.M. Scanlon’s name into the search bar of your university’s library collection, and his paper pops up right on top. 

You stare at the paper for a good minute, before you click on it — and you start reading. And reading. And reading — and fuck— 

It was good. It was more than that — it gave you so much insight on this topic, it made you rediscover T.M. Scanlon’s work in a new light — and you bite your lip. And it wasn’t just the research — the way it organized, the way it was presented, the way it was written — it was eloquent, but it wasn’t unreadable or incomprehensible. It was…really good. 

You imagined him, pouring over Scanlon’s work as he wrote notes in the margins of his copy, pages dogeared and passages highlighted, as he sat in his office typing away at this paper. His sleeves rolled up, his hair let out of his usual bun, his glasses perched on his nose as he read, only his desk lamp and computer illuminating his office. The keys of his computer clacking under his touch, lengthy fingers pitter pattering as he wrote his thoughts and analysis of Scanlon’s work — his brow furrowed in thought. 

And you felt yourself flush, swallowing the lump in your throat, as you kicked off your blanket — it was so warm all of a sudden, pressing your thighs together. You shook the thoughts from your mind — what the hell were you doing? You glanced at the time, 2:39 AM it read back at you mockingly. You sigh, shutting your laptop down, and putting it aside — you need to do your skincare and brush your teeth. You glance back at your laptop—the familiar of your flush clung to your skin like a forbidden kiss— 

And you clearly needed sleep. 

“Can you read this passage to me?” Professor Geto’s voice said, as he stood in front of you in the lecture hall — as you stood behind the podium that faced the entire class — hands in his pockets, in an olive henley, his hair tied in the usual neat bun, his black bangs falling in his eyes as always, glasses on, instead of the usual contacts. The class sat all around you — his exercise in getting the class to participate and get comfortable speaking in front of others, just as philosophers had done in the past (his very own “literary salon” he called it). 

You swallow, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in front of you, “‘When I ask myself what reason the fact that an action would be wrong provides me with not to do it, my answer is that such an action would be one that I could not justify to others on ground I could expect them to accept—’” 

“What do you think Scanlon meant by this?” he asks you, but his gaze was different this time, it held the amusement it always did when it came to you, but it was warm — no — it was burning. His lips were pursed, as he crossed his arms, the henley’s fabric seemingly straining under the action. 

“He meant that an action that is wrong in his eyes when he couldn’t expect others to accept the ground on which he could justify it,” and his lips curve into that damned smile, as he takes a few steps closer, rounding the podium, as he brushes past you, the brief touch of temptation incarnate — the dangling apple of Tantalus personified before you. 

“And can you give me some examples of what kinds of actions would be wrong?” and he’s standing behind you now, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him — but you can feel his gaze on you. 

“Senseless murder,” and he hums in approval, his breath felt like it was warming your skin, “wanton violence, reckless assault—” 

“What other everyday wrongdoings could fall under this category?” and suddenly the class before you is gone, and it’s just the two of you in an empty lecture hall, “theft, lying, student-teacher relationships?” 

And your breath catches in your throat, his cologne strangling any sense left in your mind, as his body heat nearly radiates off him, “Professor Geto—” 

“Suguru,” he corrects you, and he’s reaching for you, but he pauses, “can I—” and you only can nod, and his fingers brush your hair aside, ever so gently, “would this be considered a moral wrongness, sweetheart?” his lips press a chaste kiss to your shoulder, and you shiver at the softness of his touch. 

“Well, I am a student in your class, and even though I’m of age, it presents a power dynamic and a favoritism that might be—” and your sentence cuts off as his arms wind their way around your waist, pressing himself to your back, “I—” 

“Go on,” he’s murmuring his words against the nape of your neck now, as he pulls his glasses off to place them on the podium, “might be what?” 

“Might be viewed as morally wrong—” and he’s chuckling, the vibration sending a delicious shiver down your spine, as he presses more butterfly kisses to your neck. 

“How can something be wrong when it feels so right?” he asks, and his hand is sliding down your side, “feels so good, does it even matter what society views as right or wrong? Do their rules pertain to what we’re doing here?” and his fingers toy with the hem of your pants, teasing and pulling, as he pauses, waiting for your answer, “what do you think—” 

“Please,” you swallow, as you turn to look at him, seeing his lips in that same smile that haunted you, “touch me,” 

And his smile only grows wider, “Good girl.” 

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. 

Your eyes flutter open, your breath caught in your throat, as you stare at your ceiling, your hand reaching for your phone to silence the alarm. And you squeeze your thighs together, a distinct ache between your legs, your skin all too warm. 

What the fuck was that? 

You skip office hours the next week. You couldn’t bear it — you could barely tolerate going to class now, as the dream invades your nights, with filthy variations that leave you perturbed and horny (mostly horny). The common theme only being that each time you get close to anything remotely that’s anything (a kiss, a touch that’s more than a caress, anything at all), you wake up. 

It’s as if your dreams are edging you — you groan into your pillow — and it was working. 

You’re so wound up, you’ve even resorted to using your vibrator before bed, wondering if that would make a difference — it did, but only with you having a dream of Professor Geto using a vibrator on you during class — the vibrations growing even faster when you were speaking as he watched you— 

You needed to stop thinking about this. But how can you? 

God, it’s even worse when you’re in class. You sit in your usual seat, front and center — and why does it feel like his eyes are on you far too often? Even as he lectures Professor Geto attempts to catch your eye during his lecture, trying to make a point, you all but glue your gaze down to the textbook and your laptop, typing away his words, trying to drown out the whispered words and groans from your dream that ring in your ears. You can’t stop seeing him — unless you want to skip class, which you really couldn’t when attendance and participation counted for a good chunk of your grade. 

Class ended and you were packing up your things. You had to weather the storm — avoid being alone with him until the dreams were just a distant memory— 

And then you heard him say your name— 

Your eyes flick up to meet Professor Geto — who had his usual swarm of students waiting by his desk, but he parted the crowd, he approached your own seat, hands in your pockets, “Do you have a class after this?” 

“No, I don’t—” the words slip out before your sleep deprived mind can put the pieces together. 

“Then can you please stay after class? I’d like to talk to you,” he says, and before you can say anything, he turns to speak to the students waiting for him. 

And now you wait — your anxious energy singing at the frayed ends of your nerves, as you tried to hold yourself together — wondering what he could possibly want to speak to you about. His students dissipated one by one, until it was just you and him left in the lecture hall. 

Just. Like. Your. Fucking. Dream. 

You round the row you sat in, before walking down to speak to him, “Is there something wrong? The next paper isn’t due until the end of next week—” 

“It isn’t about the paper,” and your heart squeezes, as you try to keep your breathing even, as he steps closer — and why, why did he have to opt to only wear a button up today —  and a deep royal purple one no less,  “I wanted to check in with you,” and he begins to undo the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up — exposing his forearms and the pretty veins that ran along them — the same arms that he had used in one of your dreams to bend you over that desk, the whispers of heated kisses along your neck—

You needed to get out of here. 

You blink, “I’m fine,” and he tilts his head. 

“I only ask because you’ve looked tired the last two classes, and you didn’t show up for office hours this week,” he crosses his arms, unhelpfully, as he purses his lips, the lines of his brow furrowed. 

“I’m fine, Professor, I appreciate your concern — I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you admit — it was the truth, “and that’s why I didn’t come to office hours. I was trying to catch up on sleep,” 

He nods, sighing, fingers raking through his hair — those same fingers that would feel so pretty around your neck— “I know I’m hard on you,” oh he would be, “but it’s because I know you’re capable of more — most of these students are taking the class for an elective, but I know it’s more than that for you,” yes, it’s so you can finally earn his praise, “but I’m also here for your benefit, so if you need an extension or anything else, please let me know,” 

God, all you wanted was for him to maybe wrap you in his arms and kiss you, or bend you over, pull your clothes off and fuck you, or just to leave you alone all together. 

You weren’t sure which one you wanted the most at this moment. 

“I will, Professor Geto, I appreciate it,” you murmur, biting your lip, as you try to focus on the task at hand — getting out of here, “I don’t think I need an extension, I’ve made good progress so far. I just need to finish it, so I can revise,”

“Well, let me know if anything changes,” his lips curl, “ok?” And you nod, and if you weren’t so hyperaware, you swore you would have imagined it — but you didn’t, “good girl,” 

And you pause a moment — his lips did move, you pinch yourself discreetly — and you know it isn’t a fucking dream. You only smile in return, giving a curt nod and goodbye, before beelining out of the classroom. 

But you didn’t stick around long enough to see the slight flush on Professor Geto’s cheeks — nor did you know that you two were thinking the same thing about yourselves— 

What the fuck were you doing? 

But to your relief, the dreams do subside, and you’re finally able to rest — but the thing that doesn’t subside is your awareness of your professor. 

You sit in class, watching him teach — and you knew he was attractive, hell, it was one of the things that made you all the more embarrassed to have him ream you out — having your super hot professor rail at you for your mistakes wasn’t on your list of shining achievements (lest it was him actually railing you—). 

You needed to stop doing that. 

But it felt as if you weren’t the only one who was hyper aware. You felt as if his eyes skimmed over you during class this week, his replies to your weekly discussion board were less biting than usual, and his office hours were surprisingly canceled this week. First time all semester, but you weren’t so full of yourself that you thought it had anything to do with you — right? 

Either way, you had submitted your paper and now you were done with this week—and as class finishes, you slowly pack up, looking forward to the week being over with and for a personal rendezvous with your bed. But as the usual gaggle of students make their way to chat with Professor Geto, your eyes flicker up to meet his, as he stares back a moment. 

And you can’t make yourself look away, and for a moment, neither can he. 

But then a student calls for his attention, so his eyes flicker away, a smile on his lips as he spoke — and you turn to leave, grabbing your bag, as you look back— 

But why did his smile look so strained? 

There must be something wrong with him. 

Professor Suguru Geto drummed his fingers against his desk, but he felt more like shoving his things off his desk — if only to distract him for a moment. He pulls his glasses off, and runs a hand down his face—god, he hadn’t been sleeping well. No, his nights were plagued, plagued by you — you had slipped into his dreams ever since that day he stopped you. 

Why had he stopped you? 

It wasn’t the first time he had personally stopped a student who seemed to be struggling, he could count the times he had on both his hands. 

But this, this felt different. 

You were different. 

But why were you different to him? He rubs his temples, from the moment you had stepped into his office he thought he had read you — an overachieving student used to getting their way, As handed out to them, and an inability to take criticism. 

He knew, because he used to be one of them. But he knew you needed to be challenged to grow — but it was a matter if you would accept it. And from the moment you asked him when the next paper was due, he couldn’t help but smile. 

And his time spent in office hours with you grew more enjoyable each time you came. And when you hadn’t last week, he couldn’t sit still, checking the time, checking his email, and even checking if his office hours had been accidentally listed wrong in his weekly email to the class (they weren’t). And the hour and half passed with many students hungry for his time and his charm  — but not the  one he was looking for. 

Then those words had slipped from his tongue when he had stopped you, left his mouth like he was possessed, and now he had found himself here. Found himself thinking about how your lips parted when he said it, thinking about how you were feeling, thinking about you, you, you— 

There’s a knock at the door, “Professor Geto?” 

And it was you. 

“I apologize, I know you canceled office hours, but I just had a few questions I didn’t get to ask you in class,” your fingers toy with the ring you wore, a folder in hand, a soft smile on your lips. 

“Of course, come in,” and you did, your dress was painfully short, the fabric riding up as you sat, the folder in your lap, “is this about your paper?” 

“It is, I was reading a few papers, and after our conversation, I couldn’t help but find your paper,” and he tilts his head, “and I want to include it as a source in my paper, but I had a few points you made that I wanted clarified,” 

He raises an eyebrow, and he can’t help but tease,  “Clarified or criticized? Are you planning on turning the tables on me?” 

“Well I do have a red pen,” you click your pen, lips curved in a smile, and there’s a hint of heat that he wishes to unearth, pluck from the earth and possess himself, “but I promise I’ll be civil,”

 “I have no doubt,” he had a million when it came to you — but that wasn’t one of them. He runs his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “of course, let’s discuss it,” 

“You discuss Scanlon’s idea of a social contract, everyone within this moral society agrees on what’s right and what’s wrong — the basic principle is that if there is a rule no one can reasonably reject as a basis, but is there such a rule that can exist?” 

He tilts his head, “Scanlon’s theory relies on this premise — are you questioning me or the premise?” 

“Both, actually,” you shrug, crossing your legs, “is there a magic switch that changes every person to be rational? Because I think only rational people can agree on what rules cannot be reasonably rejected — what about people who are cruel, inconsiderate, self-absorbed? Do those traits go away when operating under Scanlon’s social contract? You propose in your paper that moral reasons are not subjective — nothing is uncolored by human opinion,” 

“No, but—” 

“How can we agree on what is truly right or wrong? How can one hundred people agree on that when everyone views these actions in different ways? Right and wrong? Black, white, or gray?” you rise from your chair to hand him his paper printed out, the paper more red than white with the amount of writing you’ve done, “like for example,” you lean forward, your hand braced against the edge of his desk, “can one hundred people agree that student-teacher relationships are wrong? Because one veto,” your hand trails ever closer to his, toeing that dangerous line either of you had even yet to approach to cross. But here you were, seemingly barreling toward it. 

And he didn’t want to pull away. 

He swallows, whispering your name, “This can’t—” and you were so close — too close, your perfume hypnotized him, your fingers brush against his and he can’t help but hold them, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles, “they can agree that it’s wrong — the power imbalance from the authority of the professor and the age difference—” 

“I disagree, so the rule isn’t legitimate, right? Even if one disagrees, the rule cannot be make valid,” and his breath catches as your fingers slide up his arm now, resting on his shoulder, as you lean over his chair now, as your other hand toys with the loose strands of his hair, “if the two of us can’t even agree, then how could a hundred, or a thousand, or a million?” 

“But—” 

“But what?” you pout, your fingers dragging down his chest, toying with the top button of his button down, “I don’t see you pulling away, do you want me to stop, Professor? Because I will,” 

And he swallows thickly, but he can’t stop you — he doesn’t want to, “But, we shouldn’t — it isn’t a reasonable objection—” he tries his hardest to stand firm, but he only crumbles when your fingers brush his cheek, tracing the cut of his jaw. And it feels like flames tickling at his skin, begging him to thrust his hand into the fire. 

“Like I said, people are not reasonable,” your lips draw closer, and he can feel your breath warm his own, and god, why are you so tempting? And your lips stop short, barely an inch between your faces, “and besides, would you rather be reasonable or satisfied?” 

And there’s only one answer — you. 

He leans forward, lips nearly brushing yours— 

RING. RING. RING.

He jerks awake from his desk, papers sliding as he does, his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes wander — and finds no one else there. 

A dream. He runs his fingers through his hair again, crumpling the paper he had oh so lovingly drooled during his nap. He needed to get his shit together. 

But his current predicament wasn’t making that easy — his cock strained against the fabric of his pants — was he a grown adult or a horny teenager? 

Fuck. It wasn’t going away — no matter what he thought, his mind kept circling back to you. 

And his eyes slide to the time: 1:40 AM. 

Far past the time any soul would be here, even cleaning staff would have been long gone. It was just him—

And you. 

“So good for me, baby,” he’s panting, palming his erection, an embarrassing amount of precum drips from his cock for a barely wet dream. He ignores the gnawing guilt in the back of his mind — but he can’t help but imagine the image of you, spread out on his desk, hiking that oh so teasing sundress up, only to find your underwear drenched — just for him. 

His fingers would slide up your plush thighs, squeezing to draw a gasp from your pretty lips, “Professor—“ you’d say, unable to form a sentence, all those brilliant falling away under his touch, until it was just him occupying every crevice of your mind. 

“Where’s that mouth now? So needy f’me,” he’d murmur, “but such a good girl,” and you were, his thumb tracing his slit, smearing his pre-cum, as he imagined you spread on his desk, your puffy folds nearly showing through your far too translucent panties, “my best student’s so pliant for me now,”

And his hand moves faster, and he can imagine your fingers reaching for him too, your smaller fingers wouldn’t be able to even touch as much as he can — but god it would feel so much better. 

But he’d want you to feel even better than he did.  

He’d tug your underwear down, stuffing it in his pocket (his fee for all of additional office hours), and he would prep you right — fuck you open with his fingers, two or three, before he tasted you. Your fingers would dig into his scalp as you moaned his name again and again, before you came all over his face. 

He’d lick his lips clean of your release, before dragging his cock down your sweet cunt, watching his precum mix with your cum, as your walls flutter around nothing, craving to have him sink into you. 

“Professor, please,” you’d beg with pretty, kiss bitten lips between pants, “please,” 

“Where’s all those quips now, sweetheart?” he’d tease, as he would let his tip tease your clit, pulling a moan from your lips, “all those words fall away when you want this cock, don’t they? Been thinking about you like this, wondering what you’d look like spread out under me,” and he would lean down to kiss you, “it’s even better than I expected,”

He’s jerking himself off in earnest now, the lewd noises of his hand around his cock filling most of the silence, his low groans filling the rest. And he’d finally sink into you, inch by inch, until he’d kiss your cervix with his weeping tip. 

And, god, he wishes his fingers fisted around his cock would be as good as your cunt would feel around him. He would fuck you slow at first, “I know those boys can’t fuck you as good as I can, as well as I can,” he’d tell you, as he would pick up the pace when you’d tell him to, making you cum again and again with his cock, thumb rubbing at your clit, until he was finally close. He’d either cum all over your stomach, marking you with his release, or if you’d let him, he’d cum inside you, filling you with his seed—and then he’d watch it drip out when he would pull out. He groans your name lowly, shuddering as he comes all over his hand, hard. 

Fuck. 

That’s the hardest he’d cum in a long time. He’s a mess — panting and flushed, as he leans back, head against the back of his  chair, too spent to even clean up. And then he finally does, cleaning himself up well, and collecting his things to leave the office. 

But he only treated the symptoms, not the problem itself. His hard-on is gone, but his mind is still filled with thoughts of you. How he’d kiss you sweetly after, how he’d clean you up, care for you gently, make you rest because you never seem to do enough of that, and he’d let you relax — finally relax, as you slept the night in his arms. 

As he heads to his car, he knows that he’s utterly fucked (without even being fucked) because he has feelings for you. And he didn’t know if they were going to go away as easily as he hoped. 

But he hoped they would. He owed it to you, your education, and your future career not to act on these feelings. 

And he sighs as he sits in his car, starting it, but why did it hurt not to? 

It was that time again. 

Your next paper had come around again, and you needed to prepare a topic before you went to speak to Professor Geto. You had put it off, something you had never done with his class, but you wanted to limit the amount of time you spent with him, if only for the sake of your heart. 

Watching him in lectures was bad enough, your thighs pressing together as you watched him speak, his impeccable looks and intelligence a deadly combination for your heart (and your body). You could barely focus, your eyes too fixed on the way he wrote on the board —  his fingers too lithe and too thick, his voice all too alluring when discussing Kant and Aristotle and you can’t help but think what he’d sound moaning your name. 

God. Fuck.  

Either way, you needed to listen to the lectures again since you weren’t able to pay attention. Maybe without watching the video would be better, you settle on your bed, notebook and pen in hand, as you place your headphones on. His voice filled your ears, and you’re scrawling notes. 

But your mind begins to wander. He’s lecturing on the deontological ethics, and all you can think about is how he could make you cum with just that voice of his.  

Shit, you shifted your thighs again, feeling that familiar ache again. What would he sound like when he moaned? How would it sound to have him touch you, run those long fingers down your thighs, and whisper filthy things in your ear? 

As you listened to the lecture, his voice became white noise as your fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts, and you shut your eyes. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, spread your legs for me,” he’d murmur in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and he’s urge your thighs wider, and his fingers would press against the wet patch on your panties, and he’d hum, “so wet f’me and I haven’t touched you yet, Princess,” his lips would kiss your pulse, “you like my voice that much?” 

“Professor,” you gasp, as his fingers would tease you through your underwear, the fabric growing more soaked by the second, “please—“ and his thumb would ghost around your clit, teasing you, as his long fingers would piston in and out — they would reach so much fucking deeper “I need to—“ 

“Already begging? I knew you learned fast, but not this fast,” and his fingers would tug the crotch of your panties aside, his fingertips tracing around your outer lips, before a finger pushes past your sweet cunt, “fuck, my favorite student’s pussy is so fucking tight. These boys are not fucking you right,” and you whimper, his finger would be so much thicker than yours, as you glide another finger inside you, the two dragging against your walls, “listen to your pretty cunt,” he’d grin against your skin, “and the wet squelch of your pussy, “so pliant for me, takes my fingers so well,” he’d murmur with a chuckle, “practically swallowing me up,” 

And you’re bucking your hips against him, wanting, needing him deeper, because your fingers don’t reach as far as his does, moans leaving your lips. 

“I’m so—” you’re moving faster and faster, his lecture still filling your ears, your pre-cum soaking your shorts and onto the bed sheets, “I can’t—” 

“Come on, Princess, use those big words of yours, you have no problem usually,” his hot words would whisper in your ear, and you’d hear him rub his erection against your ass, trying to get himself off, and you’d grind against him, wanting any friction, “tell me,” 

“Let me cum, please,” and he would smile, running his fingers through your hair, before he bore his thumb down on your clit and sunk a third finger into your needy cunt, just as you did now. And it’s too much for you, your toes curl, your messy walls fluttering around your fingers, as you cum all over your shorts and sheets with a groan of his name. Your fingers were soaked, as you pant, trying to gather yourself, as you came down from your high. 

“Fuck,” you murmur, tugging off your headphones, so your cunt doesn’t have to twitch listening to his dulcet words again. And you’re pulling your fingers out, your cum dripped down your fingers, as you shifted, far too wet underneath you, as you tried to slip off your bed to take a shower and clean yourself up. 

And then you realized, you didn’t even hear any of the lecture. 

Double fuck. 

Why was this so difficult? 

You stood near his office, trying to work up the urge to approach his door for office hours? Since it’s almost the end of the semester, there had been an influx of students attending office hours, and with everything, you had found excuses in your head to avoid office hours. But you couldn’t avoid him anymore. 

For your final paper in the class, you had to have a meeting with him during office hours to discuss your topic, complete with bibliography and outline. And it was almost time for your meeting. 

But you didn’t know how to go in. 

The last few weeks in class have made things worse. You couldn’t help but watch the other students fawn over Professor Geto, his lips curled as he spoke to them. And you’d leave class without a word. You had to stick through the semester and your feelings would disappear with time. You wouldn’t have to see him, you wouldn’t have class anymore, and you couldn’t talk to him. 

Or wouldn’t. 

But now you had to. And you didn’t know how— otherwise than just to do it. 

You knock at his door, “Come in,” and you open the door to see an empty desk, blinking, “I’m over here,”

And your head snaps to your right, and Professor Geto is sitting on his couch, his legs crossed with a stack of papers in hand. His jacket is slung over the side of the couch, his deep maroon button up sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on the tip of his nose. 

“I thought you lived at your desk,” you raise an eyebrow, “decided to change it up for the end of the semester?” 

“Everyone needs a change of scenery,” he leans forward, placing the stack of papers on the table in front of him, “do you want to sit here or move to the desk?” 

You shift in place, before moving to the couch beside him, “This is fine,” he stares, “what?” 

“Just surprised, you always have something to say,” he leans on his elbow, “no smart remarks today?” 

“Fresh out, can I offer you my proposal for the final paper instead?” You say dryly, and he cracks a smile, holding out your proposal. He clicks his red pen, readying his sword. 

He takes it, his dark eyes darting back and forth as he reads, his brow furrowed in concentration — and you can’t help but want to reach out and smooth his brow for him, tease him that he’ll get wrinkles. But you can’t. Can’t because that would cross a line that neither of you should cross. 

“You’ve come a long way,” he says, as he flips it back the front, writing only a few notes here and there. 

“But?” You wait for it. 

His gaze flickers up, a tilt of his head, “That was the end of my sentence,” 

You pause a moment, “Really?” 

“Really,” he scribbles a few more notes, “I look forward to reading the paper, it will be excellent I’m sure, maybe you’ll even get higher than a B+,” 

“Oh, ha, ha,” sarcasm dripping from your tongue, but you can’t help but smile, “you’ll miss me and my endless need for academic validation,” but was it really academic validation you were after now — your eyes gazed at him sitting with the tip of his pen pressed to his lips — or was it his? 

And it’s his turn to pause, and his lips curl into a soft smile, “I will,” 

Your breath catches, “Really?” 

He chuckles, “Really,” he licks his lips, his eyes glancing downward at your proposal than at your face, “I’ve enjoyed our chats this semester,” 

“Have you? Even when I argued with you,” a half nervous half serious laugh dies on your lips when his gaze meets yours, far too serious for your heart to take. 

“Especially then,” his fingers run through his hair a moment, before he speaks again, “I can’t say you could say the same,” 

“And why couldn’t you?” his eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t grasp fast enough, before it slips away into the depths of his dark irises. 

“Because you stopped coming,” his voice is soft, his tone barely even, and this gives you a real pause, heat flushing your body, as if his words had set every nerve ending alight, your mouth growing dry along with it, and it gives him a reprieve he needs to brush it aside, “you don’t have to, of course, these office hours are not relevant to your—” 

“I didn’t stop coming because I didn’t enjoy it,” you cut him off, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I stopped coming because I did,” 

He stares, “What do you—” 

“I don’t want academic validation anymore, I don’t care about my GPA,” you consider it a moment, “ok I do,” and he snorts, “but I care more about validation from you,” 

“From me?” he says, and his gaze tries to meet yours and it can’t — but his fingers brush against your skin, making your breath catch, your eyes finding his, “and what kind of validation do you want?” 

And you can’t find the words, and you hesitation makes him shake his head, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have—” 

“Will you have a drink with me?” and he’s speechless for once, “after the semester is over, of course — I know it wouldn’t be ethical before,” 

And his eyes find yours again, “Some would say it would be unethical after too,” 

“I would say it depends,” 

“On what basis?” and you can’t help but smirk. 

“Am I being graded, Professor?” and you delight in a small crack in his smiling veneer as a light flush dusts the tops of his ears, “and if I’m good, will you call me a good girl again?” 

He swallows, “I don’t want to cost you your education or your—” 

“I understand the risks, but we aren’t contemplating shifting a trolley to hit one person or five, or murdering one healthy person to save five sick ones,” and he raises an eyebrow, “it’s a drink to celebrate the end of the semester,” 

“And if it's something more?” he nearly whispers, the softness of his voice reflected in his features, as his fingers that rested on the couch twitched beside yours. 

“Then we’ll cross that bridge then,” and then you add with a small smile, “Or hit the metaphorical person with the trolley,” and it pulls at the corners of his lips. 

“You make a fair point,” and you gasp in mock surprise.

“The first time all semester you agree with me,” and he chuckles, a noise you wished you could hear him make innumerable times more. 

“Not the first,” he replies, before leaning forward, pressing your outline back into your hands, his fingers brushing yours, “we both agree you’re a good girl, don’t we?” 

And your breath catches, his words warm your skin, turning your blood to lava, “Professor,” and he smiles again. 

“When we go for drinks, call me Suguru.” 

~~~~ 

The semester wears on and finally draws to an end, but finals induced hibernation begins for you. A mix of papers and exams, you finish everything — including your paper for Professor Geto’s class. As always, he has you submit a paper and electronic copy, the paper copy to be dropped off at his office mailbox. And you do just that, the mailboxes being only around the corner from his office, and your heart squeezes at the thought of him. After this, the class was over, it was done. You weren’t his student anymore. 

And you place the paper into the mailbox and sigh, chewing your lip as you pass by his office, but find the door closed (and locked, as you quickly turned the doorknob to test it). Where was he? This was the time he was usually in his office, but maybe he had left campus for the semester — had he forgotten about your drinks? 

Fuck. You hadn’t even discussed a time or place, you had left it vague — “after finals.” Your cheeks burned at the memory, you were far too flustered to elaborate. And you had spent far too many nights imagining him calling you a ‘good girl’ in many other situations. 

And then you heard a call of your name, your gaze snapping up, your heart leaping, but only to see the department head. 

“Hi Professor, how are you?” and the two of you make polite chit-chat, until he asks you. 

“Have you applied to be a T.A. for the department?” and you blink, “applications just opened and I think from what I’ve heard about you around the department, I think you would be an excellent candidate.” 

“I’d love to be — how does the application process work?” and he explains that it’s a double blind process where applications are viewed without personal information of the candidates, and then matched with a professor based only on resume and writing samples. 

You can barely listen to the department head, still far too distracted with thoughts of Professor Geto — so you agree to apply, if only to placate the department head, and make an excuse to leave. 

It had been a week or so, as you lay in bed in your apartment, staring at your ceiling — you hadn’t even bothered to get Professor Geto’s personal number. You couldn’t even reach out to him if you tried, as the only way you could was through his university email, which was out of the question — the university had rules against a professor and student dating, and if anyone found that email — you sighed — it wouldn’t be good. 

Maybe it was for the best. 

The only communication you had gotten from him was an email from Professor Geto’s mailing list to the class from a few days ago, stating that he was out of state in a conference, and he would return soon, but your grades would be emailed to you. But the paper copies would be available to pick up in his office from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM on Tuesday. It was almost time to pick up your paper, and your nerves bit at you as you thought about the possibility of seeing him. Who knows if he would even be there to begin with. 

Would it be anything? Would it be nothing? Was there not any point to this at all? 

Oh, great, you were becoming existential. 

You sat up, the only thing you could do was go. So you do, taking your time to get dressed. If you were going to see him, you might as well look your best. 

Fuck. You couldn’t go in. It had taken you longer to get back to campus than you thought, and now there were only a few minutes of his office hours left.

And you’re about to knock when the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with the man who has consumed every thought of yours for the last few months — good and bad alike. 

“Late again?” and you can’t help but smile. 

“I prefer fashionably late,” and his eyes rake over your outfit, making your cheeks burn. 

“You certainly are,” and he steps aside to allow you into his office, and you glance between the couch and the desk, but he makes the choice and sits at his desk, “I have your paper right here,” and he’s rifling through his file of papers, “how did your finals go?” 

“If I have an A on this paper, perfectly,” and a smile tugs at his lips, and you raise an eyebrow, “what? Something funny?” 

“Not at all,” and he pulls your paper out, ha “I just recall you saying you wanted something more than, what was it? ‘My academic validation?’” 

And your cheeks flush, “I did, but I also didn’t hear from you,” and your fingers reach for the paper, and he holds onto it, “Professor,” 

“I couldn’t reach out to you because I was still your professor, but once you get this grade, I’m not anymore,” and his gaze is sharper without his glasses today, his dark blue Henley doing nothing to help the flush on your cheeks — memories of your dreams flooding your mind, “and once you get this grade back, I’m not anymore,” 

“And what does that mean?” you can’t pull your eyes away from his, but his fingers let go of your graded paper, “how about you look at the last page of your paper and see?” 

You pull the paper into your hands, flipping to the last page: 

99 — I was impressed by this paper not only by the content but by its comprehension and use of both ethics and philosophy. But I was also impressed by the person who wrote the paper. You’ve shown determination and growth throughout the semester — and you have reminded me what we owe to each other. And I think we owe each other a drink, and a chance for this. 

You feel his eyes watch you as you read, your eyes finally meeting his — his brow knit together, his lips pursed, concentrated gaze trying to decipher your reaction. 

“Why a 99?” And his eyebrows raise, as if to ask, “that’s your question?” 

“You had some spelling and grammar errors,” 

“Really? You couldn’t let it slide?” And he tilts his head, before he sees your lips curling into a grin. 

“So you think it’s funny to mess with your professor?” And his voice drops, a playful tone that makes you nearly shiver, as he leans forward, resting his chin against his elbow. 

“You’re not my professor anymore, are you, Suguru?” he likes that by the way his teeth bite his bottom lip briefly, his eyes flitting to your lips for a moment and back to your eyes, “so I guess we’re using that trolley after all,” 

“If you want to,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t blame you if you change your mind, it’s a risk,” 

It was. It was a risk to your reputations, your careers, your futures — especially to yours. But, your eyes met his again. 

“Contractualism is about avoiding risk,” and he nods, as his gaze falls away, “but some risk is necessary in life, and I think this is one that’s worth taking,” 

“We will have to be careful,” he murmurs, but already his fingers are twitching, far too eager to touch you, “we can’t make any mistakes. I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds softly. 

“I know, I don’t want to hurt you either,” and you rise before slowly rounding his desk, “but I want to know what it’s like,” 

And he can’t stop himself — he gets to his feet, his fingers finding your cheeks and he kisses you. You can taste the black coffee on his lips, his kiss is gentle at first, so chaste and fleeting that you’d swear he didn’t kiss you at all — and so it’s not a second before your lips find his again, in a deeper kiss that steals every ounce of breath from your lungs, and leaves only heat behind. This was dangerous. The very risk you were both trying to avoid, but as he’s pressing you into the edge of his desk, you can’t find the logic you misplaced when those goddamn fingers you’ve been dreaming about squeeze your hips. 

“Fuck,” he’s panting — god that word sounded more sinful on his lips than it should — as he presses sweet kisses to your neck, “we shouldn’t be doing this here,” 

“Not very ethical,” you chuckle breathlessly, as your fingers rake through his now disheveled bun, “but I can’t find the sense to care,” your noses brush, as you can’t help but smile, “what would Scanlon or Kant say about this?” 

And his arms lift you onto his desk, several papers crumpling underneath, “Who the fuck cares?” he’s hissing, his lips find yours in a searing kiss, as his thighs press yours apart, as he settles himself between your legs, his knee grazing your core, drawing a delightful gasp from your lips, “I know what I want,” and his eyes soften, his fingers tracing the length of your cheek, “do you?” 

Before you can answer, two pings catch your attention — your phone and his computer lighting up with a notification, and you both pause a moment, as your eyes glance at the banner notification on your phone, skimming over the words. The T.A. positions have been assigned. 

“Fuck,” you hear him mutter, and you gaze snaps up to his on his computer, the email now opened on his screen, “this can’t be right—” 

“What is it—” and the question dies on your lips as your eyes find where his rested — 

You — you were his T.A. for next semester — for the very class that you met in. 

Fuck, indeed. 

✧ read part 2 now

✧ a/n: lets all remember that student and teacher relationships are bad in real life. it's ok to live vicariously through reader but unfortunately no professor will be as hot as professor geto or gojo T_T. s/o to @/laneymusings and @bucky-of-the-opera for beta reading this for me and being just absolutely wonderful!!

✧ tag list: @sokkasmoon, @unoriginalideas, @waytootiredforthisss, @sinnerstardoll, @secret-pages-of-my-heart, @drthymby, @hanlay, @catsgomurp, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @esuz, @difficultdomains, @poopyface222, @iwassentfromhell, @diogodxlot, @totallynotcc, @llovekami, @deadmarygolds, @teatreeoilll, @carcarcraziiv2, @forest-hashira, @aliyalala, @esuz, @that-goth-bisexual, @hehehehesthings, @imjustmememe, @j1jay, @iwassentfromhell,

#sab [mlist] #sab series [prof suguru] #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru imagines #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #geto suguru fanfiction #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #dividers by @/saradika

[rikerssexblouse]

Oh my God, Rikerssexblouse! That salamander embroidery is just stunning!

Did you do it freehand? Or did you have some kind of instruction because if I wanted to take up embroidery before - I now need to do it! 😂🦎💕

Thank you! It was not freehand, and this was actually my first attempt doing one that wasn’t out of a kit. Before this I’d only bought kits on amazon or Etsy, which is nice because you get everything you need, plus instructions. But for a while I’ve wanted to do something of my own design, but I hadn’t quite figured out how. So since it would have been useful for me when I was trying to figure this out, I’m going to explain the whole process. And to be clear, I’m just figuring this out, so maybe people have other strategies, but it worked for me.

First, I took a screenshot of the salamander babies poking out of the hole and opened it up in Procreate. I am not at all experienced with Procreate (my 9 year old is better with Procreate than I am), but I created a second layer, and then drew on the second layer to outline the image. That looked like this:

Then I hid the layer with the screenshot, so you only saw the outline. It looked like this:

Then I printed it out.

Michaels has little squares of fabric for embroidery, so I bought two of those, one white and one purple.

It’s probably overpriced for the amount of fabric you get? But it’s a very convenient size for one embroidery project and it’s just two bucks.

But then I had to transfer the pattern to the fabric. This meant that I had to lay the fabric on the printoff and trace it with a special pen. I used this one.

It’s water soluble, so you can rinse the marks right out when you are done.

The problem I ran into, was that the purple was much too dark to see through to be able to trace, so I had to use the white (I just thought the purple would be more fun but dark colors won’t work well with this strategy). Then I was just filling in the shapes from my pattern. After I was done, I took it out of the hoop, rinsed it in water to rinse away the blue pen marks, pressed it between towels overnight, then put it back on the hoop and tied it up the back.

I think figuring out what stitches to use were might actually be the hardest part. It’s a combination of your vision/creativity and just enough experience with the stitches that you can visualize what they will look like. I used satin stitches (to fill in the big spaces like the salamander babies’ faces and the rocks), lazy daisy stitches (the nostrils), stem stitches (for the outlines), and about a thousand million french knots (the moss). Oh and straight stitches for the letters.

The salamander babies’ heads were hard, because I had to work around the spots and eyes and everything. The hole might be the part I’m most proud of, because my plan to give it depth actually worked. Instead of doing a satin stitch to fill it in smooth, I did straight stitches and arranged them directionally (into the middle and then down) to try to give it shape so you could see how the the hole goes down into the ground. I also used a little gray in between the black to give it some dimension.

The french knots that made up the knots aren’t particularly hard (although I do suggest finding a YouTube video to see how to do it, I could NOT figure it out from written instructions when I first started) but it used up SO MUCH more thread than I ever anticipated. Doing a kit, you get everything you need, but I didn’t know what I needed. Whoops. So I had some last minute panic about running out of thread (literally the night before Threshold Day). So a lot of the color variation is a matter of necessarily rather than my plan. But it worked out well.

If you look closely, the moss on the left has a lot more color variation than the moss on the right, and that is because I was running out of thread. But it’s not too noticeable (hopefully). I do love how the moss looks though! French knots are usually used for little details, but the mass of them gives it so much texture. I love it.

I will say, if you are trying it for the first time, don’t start by doing your own design. Follow a kit and figure out what you are doing first. And don’t be afraid to look up YouTube videos when you can’t figure out how to do something. Video is a MUCH better teacher than words can ever be, in this context. But at the same time, there really isn’t anything that difficult about embroidery. You mostly just have to be patient. I find it quite relaxing.

#Threshold Day #embroidery

[caspira-writes-fanfiction]

Finding Family (Fizz's Found Family)-Chapter 4 pt. 1

Fizzarolli didn’t have many outfits to choose from. If he was meeting with Lust and Greed tomorrow, he should likely be in one of his uniforms. None of his personal clothes were really appropriate anyway: mostly pajamas, shorts, and crop tops. The choice of uniform was obvious, too. He only had two of them. Fizzarolli was trying to market himself as a clown, not as a brand baby for LooLoo Land. His Little Top costume it was, then. That one was colorful, entertaining, somewhat creative. His other uniform was also distinctly clown, but remained red and white, with accents of green for when he ran games or concessions.

Barbie stayed up after Fizzarolli went to sleep and managed to make a few patches for the threadbare pieces of his costume with scraps of fabric she managed to steal off tourists from wealthier rings. She made three diamond shaped patches to stay on brand with Mammon and one heart for good luck.

She really wanted this for Fizzarolli.

Barb painted Fizzarolli’s face with the limited supplies left in his Mammon Branded Clown Cake palette that had been issued to Fizzarolli when he accepted the job. Only one per year unless he wanted another one to be taken out of his salary at double the retail rate, so they had to be frugal with it. Thankfully, with his neck ruffle, most of Fizzarolli’s natural red pigmentation was covered. He didn’t need to cake his face with white to give off his clown appearance, he simply needed to cover up discolored gray spots. Barbie added purple to his eyelids, lining one eye with green and the other with blue.

“Are you sure?” Fizz asked, as if he could stop her.

“You’re going to Lust. That’s all about confidence. And don’t tell me you don’t want to be wearing more colors. You always did like more than just the black and white.” Barb booped Fizz’s nose, just to annoy him.

“I don’t want a full color clown face.”

“I’m touching up your white and doing your eyes. Calm down, princess.” Barb put her brush down and held up her compact mirror for Fizzarolli to see.

It was actually quite nice. The purple was diluted enough that it was sort of a light lavender, which complemented his uniform in the way that it also used to be a deeper shade but had faded. The two toned eyeliner was an interesting touch, it complimented the new patches that had appeared on his suit overnight.

“You sure this will give a good first impression?” Barb looked him over carefully, taking much consideration in it. She pursed her lips and shook her head.

“Fuck no. You need glitter.”

The First Meeting

Lust is all about confidence. Back straight, head high. Deep breath, you can do this.

Fizzarolli had only ever been through the Lust ring to get to Sloth before, he’d never actually stayed. He liked the blue skies, much like the pink skies of Sloth he found them calming. The rain alarmed him at first, he worried about the ache that would start to settle in his bones the longer he was here, but he found when he got out that it was relatively warm and comfortable. Interesting.

Asmodeus’s palace was huge. The ceilings taller than any of Mammon’s spaces that weren’t practice locations or stages. It was cleaner and well taken care of. All of the Lust ring seemed to be. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it definitely wasn’t to feel so….comfortable. The waiting area outside of Asmodeus’s office was haunting. If he were alone, he might have worried that the room could swallow him whole. Mammon sat beside him babbling on about his own ideas on….Fizz didn’t know, he’d stopped paying attention. He tuned back in when he realized Mamm’s babbling was about him again.

“And the fucking glitter, interesting touch. What are you planning to do, Fizzy? You want to fuck him?”

The large double doors opened and save Fizzarolli from having to reply.

“Mammon” The deep voice carries crystal clear through the large room. Fizzarolli had never seen Lust himself, he hadn’t considered what to expect until this moment. He was huge, just as large as Mammon if not bigger. He was styled. Fizzarolli couldn’t help but admire how his outfit complimented his natural colors. He realized that the ram and bull’s head on the double doors were actually in his image, their colors complimenting his outfit and general color scheme. The heart at the base of Lust’s jacket mirrored the hand stitched patch over his own shoulder. Fizz realized what Barb meant when she told him it was for good luck now.

Asmodeus was commanding of a room, he had Fizz’s full attention. So much so that he hadn’t realized he was supposed to stand up and walk inside the office until Mammon was kicking him in his spot. He stumbled, but was thankfully able to catch himself. He didn’t catch the concerned glance that the Ram’s head gave when they noticed what had happened.

The office was even larger than the waiting room had been. Blue flames taller than Fizzarolli roared in the fireplace. He nearly made it to the sitting area without stumbling. He’d promised Barbie that if he stumbled more than twice he’d use the collapsible cane he had tucked away in his jacket. He’d now stumbled twice, even if the first time wasn’t entirely fair, and decided that he’d use it if he stumbled again.

Mammon sat in the large, velvet backed chair opposite Asmodeus’s seat, leaving Fizzarolli to lean awkwardly against the coffee table. He wouldn’t admit to being in a flair because he could still walk, but he was pushing it after yesterday. Fizzarolli’s eyes widened as he watched a chair appear next to Mammon’s. It wasn’t outrageously large, either, it was something Fizzarolli could climb into relatively easily. When he did, he couldn’t help but laugh as the chair grew in size so that he was more or less on an equal playing field with the other two. It was the closest he’d felt to flying in a long time.

“So, Mammon. Yesterday when we spoke you said this was urgent. Seeing as you’ve come out of Greed to meet with me, this must be important to you. What’s going on?” Asmodeus addressed Mammon directly, but the bull and the ram are looking at Fizzarolli. He isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Yeah, mate. Well, look at him. You think he has much fucking time? Hit the lights, Oz”

Fizz shrunk as he saw the faces staring at him grow in concern. He fucking hates pity. The blue flames dim with a clap of the sin’s hands and Fizz soon realizes what Mammon’s approach to this pitch was going to be.

A screen appears from Mammon’s phone and projects into the air for all of them to see. The music starts, Fizzarolli hides his head in his hands but only for a few moments. By the time the emcee in the video speaks, Fizzarolli is back to sitting upright and forgetting about the video that was about to explain his entire history to the King of Lust.

“Introducing The Buckzo Family Circus’s own Fizarolli!” The familiar tune began to play. A young Fizzarolli stands on the high platform with a rope in his hand. He jumps off the platform easily, flying around the big top and making it look like anyone could fly if they just smiled big enough. The screen cut and changes to Fizzarolli balancing on the big ball, Fizz making balloon animals, Fizz uni-cycling and juggling flaming clubs, acrobatics on horses, more trapeze, some pantomime, a cream pie or two. “What couldn’t this little clown do? Dedicated, talented, destined for stardom. Raised by the Buckzo family as an orphan, he was the family’s pride and joy…...until..” Photos of Fizzarolli and Blitzo appear on the screen. Silent clips of Blitzo faltering at a routine and Fizzarolli saving him were scattered in-between. “Jealous by the talent and fame, Fizzarolli’s life went up in flames…” The newspaper page with the pictures of the accident flashed across the screen. Tents on fire, horses running to escape, fire crews getting there entirely too late. Photos of Fizzarolli in the hospital came next. Nothing but bandages, tubes, and wires. Headlines reading “We Thought He Was Dead” and Circus Star Medical Miracle. Video clips of Blitzo and Fizzarolli playing as children replace the images of damage and destruction. The emcee becomes vicious. His best friend turned enemy…….The Great Fizzarolli has lost everything: his family, his home, his livelihood but not…”

“Is this necessary?” Asmodeus hadn’t agreed to this meeting to watch tacky, exploitative, inspiration porn. Especially when he’d looked over at the jester and noticed the hollow, glazed over look in his eyes. How many times had he had to watch this video already? “What was it you came here to ask?”

Lust was angry. Fizzarolli could pick up on the tone, it’s what brought him back into the moment. The video had stopped playing before Fizzarolli’s cue. Mammon looked pissed. Fizzarolli’s heartbeat picked up pace. This was his only chance, he hadn’t even been here fifteen minutes and he was going to lose it.

“I-I came here to ask, Sir.” Fizzarolli interrupted. He wasn’t sure if it was rude or not, he hadn’t been given an etiquette lesson before coming here. Confidence Fizzarolli reminded himself. Lust is about confidence. If there’s anything Fizzarolli knows how to do, it’s fake confidence. He just needs to get himself into the right headspace. He needs to get into clownspace. It’s harder to do than usual when there’s two deadly sins staring at him, waiting for him to make the pitch that will save his life, hopefully get him some mobility again. One deep breath, and then another.

Asmodeus leaned back in his chair. He’s given the floor to Fizzarolli.

“I’ve always been a performer.” Decent start, Fizz. Keep going. “And I always will be one.” His contract with Mammon ensures that but Fizzarolli doesn’t feel that’s an important detail to bring up right now. Mammon doesn’t seem to be Lust’s favorite subject. “I used to be good, Sir. I’m sure you could see that from the video.” Granted, Fizz was much younger in many of those clips. A lot of the stunts he’d been seen doing were likely ones he’d never get to perform again. He was hoping Asmodeus wouldn’t know that, or wouldn’t care. One deep breath.

“It has been my dream since I was five to perform. To inspire others, to bring smiles to people, to make things better in the only way I know how.” Asmodeus’s eyebrow flicked up in amusement. Fizzarolli kept going. “I still try. I do 50 shows a week. One an hour, down at LooLoo Land? But…..I want more than that.” Breathe, Fizzy. “I want to be the best performer in Hell. I want to win Mammon’s contest. In order to do that, I need to be able to do more than sit on a stool and crack jokes.” The anger that he had yesterday wasn’t present. Fizzarolli had the feeling that Asmodeus wouldn’t take too well to anger, and Fizzarolli wasn’t feeling spiteful. The anxiety was there, yes, but he didn’t feel the need to fight his way out of it quite like he did with Mammon. Things felt calmer.

“Mamm told me you had ideas…..” Fizzarolli can’t tell if Lust is curious or cautious. Maybe he’s bored? Perhaps it was best to not try and read tone right now, he was letting Fizzarolli continue.

“Well, King Asmodeus, Sir. I know you have your deal with Mammon. About the customizable-”

“Robots, yes” There’s definitely annoyance in his tone. Shit. Breathe, Fizzarolli. The show isn’t over yet.

“They’re very advanced. Excellent design work, from what I hear. Water resistant, fully articulated, and smooth. I’ve seen the advertisements, there’s very little they can’t seem to do.” Fizzarolli wasn’t sure who’s ego he was stroking more, but if nothing more it served as a nice distraction and a good segway. “I was wondering, Sir. What the possibility would be of…..re-purposing some of the robot limbs into prosthetics?”

The room is silent, but not hollow. Asmodeus is thinking. Fizzarolli’s eyes are locked on the other’s face, studying each micro expression he can catch between the three faces.

“I’ve never thought about using the technology in that way….” That wasn’t a no. “It’s an interesting concept. I’m not sure how it would be done.”

“I have ideas for that, too, Sir.” Fizzarolli is desperate. He doesn’t have blueprints or sketches written down, his ideas are all theoretical. He doesn’t have the engineering background that he assumes Asmodeus or his team does, he’s never even taken a science class. But his ideas have gotten him places before. He didn’t have to have the solution to be part of it.

The room is silent again for a moment. Mammon won’t stop staring at the two of them. Lust is examining Fizzarolli. He could understand why Mammon had arranged for this meeting. Fizzarolli was something special, there was no denying it. Creative, resilient, hard working and dedicated…..Asmodeus wasn’t sure he could fulfill this imps dreams, but he was interested in hearing more about them at the very least.

“I’d like to hear those ideas.”

Fizzarolli’s eyes went wide. Did he manage to win over Asmodeus? No, no of course not. But this is good. This isn’t a no.

“Does this mean we have a deal, Oz?” Mammon takes the opportunity to butt in. He leaned in with his pointed grin and stretched a hand out to shake with Ozzie. Asmodeus does not take his hand.

“It means it might be possible.” Asmodeus glared at Mammon, then turned his attention back to Fizzarolli. “Do you have time this afternoon? The sooner we can go over your ideas, the sooner I’ll have an idea on what I can do to help.”

Fizzarolli wanted to say yes, but he’d taken on a shift at the milk rings stand at the theme park this afternoon. He’s not sure if Mammon knows or cares, but his attention shifts to his boss. “I-I’m supposed to work games tonight, Sir.”

“So be back tonight, Fizzy. Shit. What’s the big deal?” Fizzarolli swallowed and nodded. That isn’t an unreasonable ask. Hopefully it’ll be a slow night at the park, moving might be hard by the end of his shift.

“As long as I can get back to Greed by 4:00.”

Asmodeus nods. “I’ll clear my lunch.”

Asmodeus didn’t really have to clear anything. He hated mid-afternoon meetings and often blocked out an hour or two to be unavailable in the middle of the day. He usually spent that time finding something entertaining to do between the routine monotony that his day could become. He felt blocking out his afternoon to be with the jester would be more entertaining than anything else he’d planned on doing today.

“Are you hungry?” Asmodeus asked. Mammon had since left to go back to Greed but not before telling Fizzarolli that he better make this work on time or else his wages would be docked for the day. Fizzarolli wasn’t sure what would be waiting for him if he couldn’t convince Asmodeus that they could pull this off.

“Oh, I ah…..” Starving he wanted to say. The pizza he’d had last night was all they had in the house that hadn’t gotten raided by vermin or spoiled in the broken fridge. But he didn’t have money for food, there was no way he could pay for anything in this ring. It was all too nice. “No, I’m. I’m okay. I’ll have some popcorn when I’m back at work.”

Asmodeus’s eyes narrowed in confusion. It took him a moment to remember that Fizz was from Greed. His expectations were probably much different.

“You won’t have to pay for it. I’m offering.” Now it’s Fizzarolli’s turn to be confused.

“Mammon…”

“Mammon isn’t involved in this. I’m the ruler of this ring, I am more than allowed to offer my guests lunch. I’m keeping you during lunch hour, it’s the least I can do.” His voice was firm, but not controlling. And Fizzarolli couldn’t really argue with a single thing he had to say. Asmodeus repeated one more time. “Are you hungry? Because I could eat.”

There was no menu, Fizzarolli was told he could order whatever he wanted and it would be brought up to them. This had to be some sort of test, but what Asmodeus was testing, Fizzarolli had yet to understand. So he decided to test Asmodeus back and call his bluff.

“Are you sure you’re not from gluttony? That’s damn near Bee’s order and she’s four times your size, at least.” There wasn’t a hint of frustration or anger in Lust’s voice. Curiosity, confusion perhaps, but not anger. Fizz took that as enough of a sign that he was passing, he could continue on how he was.

“You told me to order whatever I want. If asking for robotic limbs wasn’t enough of a clue, I have expensive taste.”

“An interesting idea” Asmodeus guides the conversation back to business while his kitchens go on and prepare a feast. “I’d like to hear more about your ideas. Where did you get the inspiration?”

“I mean, you market these bots as the most advanced sex toy in the seven rings. What can’t it do?” Fizz started reciting Mammon’s commercial for the clown robots in a horrible accent. “Sixteen different positions and a customizable amount of holes! These freaky fucks can get you off standing up, laying down, while running! Program your bot to do anything you can do! Fully articulated fingers allow for extra pleasure for any type of sick fuck!….”

“That’s enough” Asmodeus commanded. Fizzarolli stilled immediately. They sat in silence for a few moments before Fizzarolli decided to speak.

“I figured if these robots could do anything you can do….why couldn’t I? I mean, I don’t even have fingers, Sir. Your robots already have an advantage.”

The silence that follows this statement isn’t tense but Fizzarolli felt his chest tighten regardless. The air in the room was cool despite the fire roaring on beside them. Each of Asmodeus’s faces appear to be thinking something different. This wasn’t the perfect pitch he’d imagined. He hadn’t even prepared a perfect pitch, he’d had so little energy in the time he’d been given. Had he fucked it up with the accent? Maybe pretending to be Mammon was a little bit too far. What was his deal with Mammon anyway?

“You make a very good point” When Fizzarolli only looked at Asmodeus in response, the sin continued on. “Now, you said you had ideas for logistics?”

Asmodeus listened. He was agreeable to this. Fizz considered this a win. Asmodeus was agreeable to it. The hardest part was over. Now they just had to figure out how to get his plans to work.

“I think the biggest problem would be the power source.” Fizzarolli started, to which Asmodeus nodded in agreement. “I don’t mind having to charge at night if that’s necessary” That was a weird sentence “But I’d like to be able to get through a day without having to be connected. Especially if I’m going to be a performer.”

“A reasonable request. The bots have a battery life averaging 30 hours…”

“But.....there’s a catch?” Fizzarolli caught on to his tone easily.

“The battery is large. It’s stored in the chest cavity.” Where Fizzarolli was made of flesh and a battery very much couldn’t go.

Fizz stuck his tongue out in a moment of contemplation. “Any chance you could make it slimmer? If you could sew it up in some cloth and make it a back brace I’d marry you.”

Asmodeus’s cracked a smile at the demon sitting across from him. He considered the idea. It wasn’t horrible, though he wasn’t entirely keen on him having to keep a battery that close to him, or having to keep a battery at all.

“And I’ve heard you have these crystals? What are they for?” The sin chuckled to himself “What I mean is, could they harness energy?”

“You really did come with ideas” Asmodeus mused. “Do you have any sketches or plans?”

Fizzarolli paused. He didn’t, he wasn’t that prepared. Confidence. “No, sir. But give me a pen and paper and I can draw up some sketches.”

The sin leaned back in his seat and nodded. Fizzarolli wondered what he was thinking.

“Alright. Would you like to see my workshop?”

#fizzarozzie #fizzmodeus #fizzarolli #asmodeus #first meeting #ao3 link in title #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #fizzarolli x asmodeus #asmodeus x fizzarolli #mammon #barbie wire #fizzmodeus fanfiction #helluva boss fanfiction #found family fizziverse

[maskedemerald]

15 Questions Tag Game

I'm finally getting to catching up on the tags I've gotten while I was ill. You'll be seeing a lot more of me now!

Tagged by @the-down-upside-finch and @taveren-writing because I got tagged twice I'll do this for my OCs from both my upcoming NaNoWriMo projects: Blue is A Curiosity Piqued's current and upcoming protagonists Aelfraed and Arnvalr. Red is Magic Act's protagonists Magician and Night. Sorry this is going to be a long one but hey you get some Fae shenanigans and some detective vs thief shenanigans.

Rules: Answer the 15 questions as your OC or yourself. Tag up to 15 people.

Tagging: @card-queen @pb-dot @thetruearchmagos @dogmomwrites @i-rove-rock-n-roll @stesierra @guessillcallitart @sparrow-orion-writes @ashwithapen @cat-esper @jasperygrace @sam-glade @alnaperera @amaiguri @akiwitch

I'm curious to learn more about you and your characters!

Are you named after anyone?

Aelfraed: I was named after my grandfather... though I was almost named after my father. Very glad that didn't happen its bad enough sharing a lastname. Arnvaldr: Dunno, never met my folks and never bothered to ask my sister Vigdis. Don't really care they were all probably shitty.

Magician: That's actually pretty hard to answer when I don't remember what it was. Night: Wouldn't you like to know human. You can't trick what is mine so easily. You are not that clever. Though the attempt is amusing.

When was the last time you cried?

Aelfraed: A couple of weeks ago now, its been a good thing to have gotten away from the university in the long run despite everything else that happened. Arnvaldr: pft, poor detective. Dunno the last time I did.

Magician: After Night threw me in the deep end. They left me to trick some fae into believing I wasn't human by myself, specifically one that I'm sure was planning to kill me. Night: I apologized for that Magician, you seemed to be fine at the time. You had them convinced. Magician: You called that an apology? Ugh you make absolutely no sense. Do fae even cry? You thought I was ill. Night: Correction, I thought you were ill because you kept sleeping for more time than you were awake. Fae do cry, I have cried. Magician: When? Night: I would rather not talk about it Magician.

Do you have kids?

Aelfraed: I've never really considered it. Arnvaldr: Never, nope. Not happening.

Do you use sarcasm?

Aelfraed: Its not really something I use, I would rather state things clearly. Arnvaldr: Figured you'd pick the boring answer Detective. Life's more fun with a good dose of sarcasm.

Night: Me? Never, I only ever say exactly what I mean. Magician: Uh-huh, sure you do Night. There has to be some sarcasm in all that cryptic stuff you end up saying. Wait... stop laughing its not my fault you manage to say that with a completely straight face!

What’s the first thing you notice about others?

Aelfraed: Their mood probably. The expression on their face. Arnvaldr: Really, doesn't the au... never mind. I guess we have something in common Detective, well sort of.

What’s your eye color?

Aelfraed: They're gray the same as my father's, not a nice kind. They always seem so cold and judging. Arnvaldr: Huh I thought they were darker than that, probably just the lighting. Running across rooftops at night isn't the best way to get a good look at someone. Mine are green in case you missed it. Aelfraed: Are you trying to make finding you easier? Arnvaldr: I'll say again, catch me if you can Detective.

Magician: Mine are a redish brown... Night? What did you do to my eyes! Why are they more red! Night: Pft, you didn't notice Magician? I thought you would have noticed before now. You didn't really think you'd fit in with such ordinary eyes, you've seen mine. I am sure humans do not have this shade of purple. Magician: I was a bit distracted with the ears. Also that's more than just purple.

Scary stories or happy endings?

Aelfraed: I would rather see a happy ending, life is bad enough without adding horror stories to it. Arnvaldr: Wuss, give me horror any day. Happy endings just aren't realistic.

Night: Horror, without a doubt. The more disturbing the better. Magician: That tracks, living with you is like being in a horror story and I've had enough of that. Happy endings please, hopefully I'll get one.

Any special talents?

Arnvaldr: Does thievery count, or maybe my nack for escaping. Aelfraed: I would say no. With what you steal I'm rather surprised you're still alive.

Magician: I'm pretty good with my magic tricks by this point, as long as I have my gear there is a lot I can pull off. Night's is probably being terrifying. Night: ah haha, funny. You are just easy to scare Magician.

Where were you born?

Aelfraed: A smaller town outside of Edinburgh. Arnvaldr: I don't really know, don't really care.

Magician: I was technically born in the city. Mum had to go to the hospital and we didn't have one nearer but I grew up in a small town that's practically countryside. Night: One of the many fae realm pockets. I believe the mirror to Magician's small town though according to Magician the two are quite different.

What are your hobbies?

Aelfraed: Reading, give me a good book and I'll be happy for hours. Even better if I'm learning something. Arnvaldr please don't say theft, please tell me you have something else to do. Arnvaldr: Oh come on, the theft is fun! But if you insist, running... specifically over rooftops.

Magician: Magic tricks, cycling and video games. Night: For me gardening, my blue roses are quite well kept. Though also the stars and my experiments. Magician: Don't give them any ideas, you don't want to be one of their experiments. Its a nightmare. Night: Shhh, you're scaring them away.

Do you have any pets?

Arnvaldr: Hmm I'd like one, not really able to look after one though. Don't tell the Detective I feed the strays when I can, I don't want him getting the wrong idea.

Night: I have Nyx, he's a crow I found near the lake portal. Magician: Wait so Nyx looks like a normal crow because he is?

What sports do you play/have played?

Magician: A little football with my friends, its fun but I'm not serious about it like some of them. Night: I would explain but we would be here for some time, I doubt humans have fae sports.

How tall are you?

Aelfraed: Quite tall, I think I got most of the height in the family. Only my father is taller and that's not by much. Arnvaldr: 5ft 3, less height really helps with the whole thief thing.

Night: You think I am constrained to a specific height? No, though I do prefer to remain on the taller end of things. Magician: A little jealous that you can just choose. I'm 5ft I'm hoping to get a bit more as I get older.

Favorite subject in school?

Aelfraed: Everything, I missed the variety of subjects once I started at University.

Magician: Science, it gave me so many ideas for tricks. Its not really school but I really like the theatre club at the community theatre across town too.

Dream job?

Aelfraed: I don't know right now, I've left university and haven't worked out what I want to do now. What about you Arnvaldr? If you didn't need to steal what would you do? Arnvaldr: Come on, I'd probably still pocket things. Maybe a Focus Engineer or Archeologist. Aelfraed: I didn't know you were interested in history. Arnvaldr: I'm not, but that's where the interesting treasures come from so where better to pocket them. Aelfraed: There's no changing you is there.

Magician: I want to be a magician but I think that's obvious, maybe a stage actor too.

Woooo! Thank you for reading to the end! If you're curious about the projects I'm going to be working on both during NaNoWriMo next month and will be posting more about them!

#writing #writeblr community #creative writing #amwriting #writeblr #magic act novel #writer #mystery #A Curiostity Piqued Series #Medallion Heist Novella

[cherrybombfangirlwrites]

Before the Stars Burn Out

Genre and Setting

high sci-fi, space cowboys, outer space millions of miles away from earth, 50 years after humans started migrating from an overheating earth, about three spaceships and five planets with a background of gorgeous galaxies and distant worlds (roughly)

Playlist

POV

Third person limited, multiple characters

Status and Length

brainstorming and planning, just barely getting into deep outlining ; three novels (hopefully)

Tropes and Themes

cyberpunk, all of the main characters are morally gray, found family but they're all chaotic dumbasses, found family but they're all criminals and fugitives, a bunch of criminals accidentally adopt a baby, corrupt government, spaceships and laser guns, robots and androids, wild intergalactic species, cyborgs and bounty hunters, rivals to lovers on the side, much chaos and dumbassery, accidental and reluctant heroes, forgiveness and finding people you can trust, who's the real bad guy, humans weirding out the other species, choosing between two evils, POC rep, LGBTQ+ rep, disabled and neurodivergent rep

Warnings and Rating

mental health issues, possible torture and death, sci-fi typical violence ; Teen

Main Characters

Corie, she/her (main POV)

-lone ranger, bounty hunter with sometimes illegal methods -full Earthling, with brown skin and blue hair -The Sane AroAce -has cyborg parts due to some jobs that went sideways -the Sharpshooter -just wants some peace and quiet

Lonnie, he/him

-self proclaimed leader (no one ever listens to him) -oldest crew mate -former mercenary for PIE -token straight that's on thin ice -full Dlakoonian with purple skin and pointed ears

Nova, she/her

-android, rejected for faulty function -chaotic bisexual -ship tech expert -smuggler -epileptic (due to faulty wiring)

Astra, she/they

-lesbian af -rogue and thief -grumpy and mean but she cares -short fuse -full Earthling, black with very short curly hair

Pandora, he/she

-genius biologist -PIE scientist who has done some questionable projects -autistic, adhd, tourettic -animal lover -full Earthling, with brown skin and dark brown hair

Castor, he/him

-the Short King -Trans man -Earthling, brown skin and red hair -cute and chubby but can kill you -smuggler, knows Nova but only by acquaintance -scary good with a sword

Aries, they/xem

-agender disaster -stellar pilot -social anxiety -half Alltinian with pointy ears -half Earthling with brown skin -former member of the Black Holes

Hades, he/him

-a baby, a literal infant, accidentally adopted -full Froshether with blue skin and horns -telekinesis powers -mischievous little shit

Antagonists

P.I.E. - (non-earthlings can't understand why earthlings think the acronym is so funny) Peace Intergalactic Expansion; an intergalactic organization charged with keeping intergalactic peace, trying to take over and micromanage everything, control freaks, prim proper and pristine

The Black Holes - space pirates, call themselves the "rebellion against PIE", act like a wolf pack and don't care about anyone outside of it, polar opposite of PIE (and it's bad)

Plot

A bunch of morally gray bounty hunters and cowboys are thrown together on a mission. Sent by the intergalactic government organization, PIE, the crew is to retrieve a dangerous weapon. No one knows what it is, only that it is extremely powerful and the Black Holes- a gang of pirates who have "risen up in opposition of PIE"- also want it. So what happens when the little crew decides that no one should get said weapon?

Extra Stuff

Specifics on Corie's cyborg parts: from the elbow down on her left arm, right eye (complete with small interface and display of her vitals, analytics on the area and targets, and aiming system), right leg from the knee down. Yes her cyborg arm has a laser gun attachment

their ship is called the Forty-five Utility Battle Starcrusier, aka the FU-BS (I think I'm funny sometimes)

there are thousands of different languages throughout the cosmos, all impossible to learn, but this is partially solved with intergalactic translators (provided by PIE), if you have one, you can understand any spoken language

Hades can mostly move objects with his mind and freeze or heat them, but he can also make himself fly

Nova's model was going to be a super android soldier for PIE, but after her diagnostic failed, her design was rejected and the project was abandoned, so no other androids of her model were made

Taglist: @fiercely-raging-writer @aesa @friendlyneighborhood-writer

General Taglist + writeblr friends that I think will also like this : @enchanted-lightning-aes @thatprolificauthor + @memento-morri-writes @rose-bookblood @friendlyneighborhood-writer @italiangothicwriteblr @bloodlessheirbyjacques

#wip intro #sci fi #space cowboys #found family #sci fi wip #high sci fi #wip introduction #writeblr #writing #creative writing #fantasy sci fi #disability rep #poc rep #queer rep #lgbtq rep #writers of tumblr #writing wip #writing project #wip: before the stars burn out #it's sts so i might as well introduce this one #i've been on the fence about it a tiny bit because I couldn't decide on a name but I finally found one that i like #space fugitives #space criminals

[weirdgirlcroix]

Blacktober 2022, Day 13: Ghost (Oops!)

Bucking the trend of posting ridiculously early by posting 4 days late. This one's about a totally different set of ocs but it takes place in the same AU. Content warning for some death mentions, although the tone of the story's pretty lighthearted. The next chapter is right here.

Dimitri’s life was eternally easy. He’d had a few rough patches lately, but they’d all been smoothed out and now he was living large. He’d decided to return to college, and he was getting a microbiology degree. Maybe he’d get a doctorate if he really felt like it, but it was too soon to think that far ahead. He was just a sophomore at NDC University, and it was a Friday night. Right now his only plan was to meet up with a few friends at the bar and let loose.

He had multiple cars, but finding parking in this crowded city was a hassle so he took the bus. The sun had already set, and there was no one else at the stop. The yellow light above his head flickered incessantly, like it was speaking jumbled Morse code. Dimitri figured it needed a new bulb. There was a sign next to him with a faded map of various bus routes. He was taking the blue line, which was easy to remember since it was his favorite color. The blue line zig-zagged through the map of the city like it was dodging a bullet. It was a long route, which meant he had a long ride ahead of him. Hopefully he wouldn’t fall asleep and miss his stop.

Dimitri checked the time on his phone: 8:09 PM. The bus was running late; it should’ve arrived five minutes ago. He glanced up and noticed a young woman standing beside him. He hadn’t noticed her arrival in the few seconds it took to check his phone, but some people were just naturally quiet. The woman was white, and she had straight red hair that faded to blonde. She was wearing a warm, fuzzy jacket even though it was late summer and her hands were stuffed in her pockets. She glanced nervously between Dimitri and the street, like she was afraid that something was about to happen.

“Public transportation can be really inconvenient, huh?” Dimitri asked, hoping to lighten the mood. He was no stranger to making small talk and he didn’t mind it in the slightest.

The woman did, apparently, and she jumped like she didn’t realize Dimitri could speak. She was a few inches shorter than him, and her short stature combined with her gray jacket made her reminiscent of a frightened mouse. “Oh! Yes, it is! Or, it can be!”

Dimitri smiled and yawned. The boredom of waiting for the bus was getting to him. “Hopefully when the bus finally comes I’ll be awake.”

The woman laughed awkwardly and gave him a shaky thumbs-up. “I’ll be sure to wake you up, then. Good luck!”

Dimitri nodded and went back to looking at his phone. Ten minutes later, he could hear the low rumble of a loud engine approaching. The bus was just down the street now. The redhead looked more nervous than ever.

“Um, do you know if that’s the blue or purple line? I can’t really tell from here," she meekly admitted. “Maybe you can check for me? I’m new around here, and I’m nervous about messing everything up…”

“Sure.” Dimitri knew for a fact it was the blue line bus, but it never hurt to check. He stepped closer to the curb and squinted at the rapidly approaching bus. The flashing sign above the windshield bore the words BLUE LINE in golden letters. He turned around to tell the redhead, but the first thing he saw was her running towards him, arms raised. Before he could react, she pushed him into the street, directly into the bus’s path.

Dimitri was so shocked, his soul left his body — literally. He was now a translucent blue astral projection floating above himself. His body lay in the middle of the street like it had already been hit. Luckily, the bus driver had good reflexes and had already begun slowing down. He managed to bring the bus to a screeching halt just before it hit Dimitri’s body. He and some concerned passengers scrambled off of the bus to check on Dimitri, took one look at his projection, and panicked. Dimitri was about to return to his body to calm them down, but the redhead dashed into the street and scooped it up first.

“David, are you with me? Oh God, I'm so sorry!” She turned to the crowd and explained, “He’s my cousin! I live close by, I’ll take care of him!” Without another word, she ran off with the body. The projection turned to the crowd and shrugged, unsure of what was going on, and followed after her. There was nothing stopping him from returning to his body and reawakening in her arms, but his interest was officially piqued and he wanted to see what she was up to.

She carefully put Dimitri’s body in the trunk of her car and started it up. As a projection Dimitri could pass through solid objects, so he passed through the car’s passenger door and sat down. He waved a hand in front of the woman’s face, just to make sure she could see him.

“Yes, I totally see you!” The woman confirmed. “Try not to distract me, I’m excited and busy!”

As someone who was prone to falling asleep while driving, Dimitri couldn’t fault her for wanting to avoid distractions, so he let the woman focus. She took him to an apartment complex near Dimitri’s college, one that attracted plenty of upperclassmen residents. Dimitri wondered if she was also a student.

The woman turned left into a small parking lot in the back and took Dimitri’s body inside as quickly as possible. She opened the door to an apartment on the second floor, where another woman was sitting at the kitchen table, textbook and journals spread in front of her. Dimitri sat down across from her and glanced at her notes as the redhead laid his body on the floor. She appeared to be studying something theology-related — a religious studies major, maybe? — and she was so focused on her work that she hardly glanced at her roommate.

The woman pushed her roommates’ belongings to the side, laid Dimitri’s body on the table, and declared in a sing-songy voice, “Katsura-a-a-a! I brought dinner!” Apparently she and Katsura were cannibals.

The studious woman looked between the redhead, the body and the projection with stern eyes shielded by round, gold-colored glasses. She had tan skin, a black bob cut and a faint mustache.

Dimitri expected Katsura to say something, but she remained silent, processing the situation. The redhead spoke again to fill in the silence. “I was gonna take the bus and pick someone further away, but there was nobody at the stop this time and the opportunity was so tempting!”

Katsura put her pencil down and rose to her feet. Dimitri saw that she was easily the tallest person in the room. She wore an oversized, baby blue sweater and loose khakis that complemented her slender figure. She placed her hands on the redhead’s shoulders, bending down so she was at her eye level, and said in a deep, intense voice, “Tilly. I love you. However, you are stupid.”

Tilly looked flabbergasted. “Huh?! I mean, I know, but what did I do this time?”

Katsura poked Dimitri’s body and took his pulse. “He is not dead. Simply asleep.”

“But his ghost is right there!” Tilly aimed a finger at Dimitri’s projection, who was watching the conversation with an amused expression on his face.

“That is a projection,” Katsura corrected. She picked up her textbook and flipped to a different page about out-of-body experiences. There was an illustration of an astral projection that closely resembled Dimitri: the figure had the same hazy appearance, like the wind could disperse them at any moment. The only real difference was that they were watermelon green instead of blue.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Tilly said over and over, shaking her head. “I messed up! You asked for someone who was dead already!”

“It doesn’t matter. We will deep clean the apartment twice this time.” Katsura rolled up her sleeves, revealing azure scales that were slowly spreading across her arms. Her white-painted nails turned into sharp, golden claws, and her irises shifted from black to yellow with narrow pupils.

Dimitri decided now would be the best time to return to his body. He wasn’t so go-with-the-flow that he was going to let himself die. He stood up, leaned into his body and sank through layers of fabric, skin, and flesh. His breaths grew deeper, his eyes fluttered open, and he woke up at last. “Thanks for having me, but I’m actually not in the mood for being eaten. Katsura, let me know if you’ve got a test on astral projection — I might be able to help.”

Katsura ignored Dimitri and seized him by the neck, claws digging into his throat. She looked a little surprised, like she hadn’t expected Dimitri to remember what he’d witnessed as a projection. “You are an experienced projector. I will deal with your ghost.”

Dimitri raised his hands in innocence. He still had his signature cool smile, but it was a little tighter than usual; he wasn’t a fighter, and he wasn’t sure he could take a reptilian humanoid in a fight. “You don’t need to deal with anything if you keep me alive, which you’d definitely be better off doing.”

Katsura narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Katsura asked a good question. As far as she was concerned, he really was just some guy, except for one thing: his family name. He didn’t like throwing that kind of weight around when he didn’t need to, but it was useful for getting out of pinches like this. He relaxed a little, confident that his move would work. “I’m actually a Lyubimov. There might be a couple of articles about me.”

Tilly cocked her head. “What's a Lyubimov?”

Katsura looked thoroughly unimpressed. “I do not care for celebrities.”

It looked like Dimitri had some explaining to do. “I’m not a real celebrity. Have you heard of the Lyubimov Corporation? We’ve got a big office building downtown.”

Tilly’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Oh, I do remember that! I ignored the logo on it because I thought it looked ugly, but the skyscraper itself is so cool! I’m an architectural engineering major and I was stunned by how well it was designed! I mean, usually I prefer retro designs, but— Wait, this isn’t the focus of the conversation, is it?”

“It is not.” Katsura took out her phone with her free hand to look up the corporation. “There is an article naming one Dimitri Lyubimov as the heir. Is that you?”

“Yep, although I’m actually fifth-in-line to the throne, so to speak. It’s a common misconception — most of us keep to ourselves,” Dimitri explained. He came from old money, and his family had long grown out of flaunting their wealth outside of the occasional Tweet or Instagram post.

Katsura’s grip on Dimitri’s neck loosened. “In essence, you are extremely rich.”

“Right on the money.” Dimitri glanced at Katsura’s hand and kept smiling.

“But that doesn’t, like, mean anything. It’s not like you’re shielded by a wall of money or something,” Tilly countered.

That gave Dimitri an idea. “Well, not literally. I’m guessing you have a pattern of killing people for your… girlfriend, right? Are the cops on your tail yet?”

Tilly and Katsura exchanged a glance. “Not yet,” Katsura answered honestly.

“Soon, they will be. To tell the truth, my criminal record isn’t squeaky clean either, but you know why I’m not in prison? Money.” Dimitri answered his rhetorical question with complete confidence. His entire upbringing had prepared him for moments like this, when you had to carve out a good deal for yourself with self-assuredness alone.

Tilly still seemed skeptical. “I don’t know about that. I mean, if the police really cared they’d be knocking on our door already.”

“You ‘killed’ me in front of a dozen witnesses." Dimitri held up three fingers and bluffed, “In fact, I bet an officer will show up in three… two… one…”

Just as he lowered his last finger, the door shook with a few rumbling knocks. Katsura put Dimitri down, shifted to her human form, and sat back down as if she’d been doing homework the entire time. Tilly rocked on her heels and whistled a cheesy pop tune to herself. Dimitri brushed himself off and swung the door open. He was greeted by a pair of beefy cops who glared down at him, arms crossed and backs straight like they owned the place.

“Good evening, officers. What brings you to our apartment on this fine Friday night?”

The officer who’d knocked on the door looked Dimitri up and down and glanced around the apartment, unimpressed by his sweet voice. “We heard about a possible attempted assault at the bus stop down the street. The suspect matched the description of your friend over there,” he said, nodding in Tilly’s direction. Tilly paused mid-rock and whistled a horrified dun-dun-dun-dunnn.

“Really? I didn’t hear anything about that. And honestly, I doubt you did either.”

“Excuse me?”

Dimitri pulled out his wallet and thumbed through the bills he had tucked in it, just to make sure he had enough. He was in a high enough tax bracket that he didn’t need to carry physical money around, but he always kept some on him just in case. He took out a crisp hundred-dollar bill and offered it to the officer. “Have you forgotten why you’re here yet?”

The officer swatted Dimitri’s hand away. “What? You can’t bribe me with just a hundred dollars.”

“How about two hundred? Three hundred? Four? Maybe you and your colleague can have five hundred each?” Dimitri kept producing bills until the officer’s frown turned into a face of resignation. He snatched the money, split it up with his partner, and stomped off.

Dimitri shut the door and spun around to face Tilly and Katsura. Tilly’s jaw had dropped and Katsura nodded slightly in acknowledgment. “And that’s why you should keep me alive.”

“You seem valuable,” Katsura admitted, “but why are you so eager to help?”

“Because I’ve also roomed with a carnivore before. I don’t think eating people is the best idea, but I don’t blame you for wanting to. Finding good prey is difficult these days anyway, right?”

Tilly shook her head and crossed her arms in the shape of an X. “Wait, don’t get it twisted! Katsura’s great at finding food, but she struggles with actually getting it.”

Katsura dragged out a sigh and slumped in her chair. “My executive function is… bad. I am working on it.”

“So I’m helping her out in the meantime!” Tilly wagged her finger and added, “And before you say anything, I’m not crazy! I just really love my girlfriend.”

Dimitri gave Tilly a double thumbs-up. “That’s valid. Love wins, am I right?”

Katsura nodded sagely in agreement. “Love does indeed win.”

Tilly fingergunned Dimitri in response. “Yeah, totally! Also, I’m so sorry about dragging you all the way out here. I should give you something to make up for it! Like, I made dinner tonight! It’s this su-u-u-uper good casserole — let me get it from the fridge.” Tilly skipped off towards the kitchen without a second thought.

Dimitri glanced at Katsura and saw her rapidly shaking her head, mouthing, “She CANNOT cook.”

“No, thank you,” Dimitri started, wanting to save himself from a ruined appetite. “I actually originally planned to meet up with some friends tonight—”

“Uh, your original plans don’t matter! Where I’m from, no one refuses an act of hospitality.” Tilly had returned holding a tray of half-finished green casserole. Dimitri couldn’t tell what the “green” was supposed to be for the life of him.

“And where might that be?” He asked, inching towards the door.

Tilly caught on to what he was doing immediately. She set the tray on the counter and bolted between Dimitri and the door, a dangerously excited look in her eyes. “Northeastern Virginia! C’mon, sit down while I make you a plate!”

Dimitri resigned to his fate and sat down at the table. The casserole smelled expired, even though Tilly had reportedly cooked it yesterday. Katsura excused herself, saying, “I will get some dinner that is actually dead. Goodbye.” She speedwalked out of the door, leaving Dimitri alone with Tilly. He maintained a smile and mentally prepared himself for a bad time.

#ken's shit #blacktober #blacktober 2022 #writing #original characters #rename

[2ndwind]

World of Memory: A Personal YGO Retrospective

(I don't fancy myself a writer, but these thoughts just poured out of me. This is for me, more than anything. But if anyone reads it, I hope it's amusing enough.)

I must've been in the second grade when Yu-Gi-Oh came to the US.

I remember all the boys in my class trading cards and challenging one another to duels. I remember gazing wistfully at the checkout of every major supermarket chain, pleading with my parents to buy some cards. When they refused, I decided to make my own fantasy trading cards! Using graph paper! But I quickly learned how hard it was not only to create the cards but also to design mechanics that people would actually want to play.

I remember my parents surprising me that fateful Christmas of 2002 with the original Starter Deck Yugi. Even though 90% of the monsters were weak and vanilla, the smell of the freshly unwrapped cards was CRACK. Better yet, I was finally cool enough to hang out with the boys. Well, I didn't actually play the game very much with people other than my sister, and eventually, the school administration banned trading cards altogether. But it was endlessly fun to talk about. I even went to China one year and bought a TON of fake YGO cards to flaunt and trade with the other kids. Yes, we were all kids cheating other kids.

I remember my heart absolutely racing in anticipation of watching the show on Kids WB, and the crushing disappointment of turning on the TV just a moment too late (I'm reminding myself that Netflix didn't exist back then). The visual style was just so striking, so much cooler than Pokémon's. The plot felt so much more serious. And don't even get me started on the characters. I was literally head-over-heels in love with a Nameless Pharaoh. I was a Revolutionshipper before shipping was even a thing. It's pretty obvious from my Tumblr archive lol.

I remember the first fanart I made, which was me trying to copy the cover of the Starter Deck Yugi instruction manual. It was the hardest thing I'd ever drawn up to that point, and I specifically colored Yugi's eyes gray. Because people didn't have purple eyes, of course. I wish I held onto that drawing because it sparked something in me. Maybe it was my obsession with ancient Egypt, which predated my obsession with YGO. Maybe it was my frustration with my drawing skills. Whatever it was, it would stay with me for a long time. Beyond classmates paying me in change to draw their favorite monsters. Even beyond my fairly brief stint posting YGO fanart to DeviantArt (yikes).

I remember finding the original manga at Barnes & Noble and feeling very confused. Why didn't Yugi have a nose? Where was Duel Monsters? Wait, are people actually dying?? These were the questions I asked myself as I learned what manga actually was. Subsequently, I would devour every copy of the manga and even Monthly Shonen Jump that I could get my hands on. In that way, YGO actually became a gateway to several other manga/anime series. It was a gateway to my now lifelong appreciation of Japanese culture as a whole.

20 years! 20 WHOLE YEARS after my first love of YGO, I can look back and laugh at how much money I spent on the TCG and manga. I can cringe at the silly fanficcy stories locked up in my head and the overly sentimental (or just straight-up copying) fanart I drew. I can, as an adult, appreciate the themes, but also be more critical of certain elements (the whole Doma Arc, how the series portrays women, the ancient Egyptians themselves, the clear references to the occult...etc.).

YGO shaped me into who I am right now: a designer who dabbles in fanart, an avid Egyptology nerd, an appreciator of animation and sequential art, and even an aspiring developer of a card-based game (my grad school thesis! For real). And as much as I sometimes weary of this dumpster-fire world, I still thank God that I was born at a time when I could experience the original YGO and grow up alongside it.

With all these fond memories of YGO, you can imagine my utter shock and sadness when I learned of Kazuki Takahashi's passing. It's even more surreal because I'm still following the man, himself, on Instagram. I hope he truly knew the depth of so many people's love for him and his work. And I hope that, one day, as the endless ages roll on, I'll find him and thank him, myself. For now, this rambling and a few pieces of art will have to do. Rest in peace, Sensei.

#retrospective #rambles #ygo #kazuki takahashi #personal writing

[daandyli0n]

take this ask as an excuse to rant about your ocs in my general direction 💜

alright, so: myst in vol 2!

as i mentioned in this post (as well as this one), myst post-Las Nevadas Finale underwent what is known as Angelic Corruption

what causes angelic corruption you may ask?

extreme fear and/or anger

two emotions of which myst felt strongly during and after the finale

so, myst's appearance starts changing.

myst's wings, which were once a bright white, start darkening and turning gray

the sclera of his eyes start turning black

his tears and blood start turning from gold to black

now, on it's own, this would be unfortunate enough, right?

well, now add into the mix that c!quackity made myst promise to tell him if they ever went through that so he could help them (despite the fact that the corruption is irreversible)

and that myst decided to hide it from him

now, actual appearance-wise, this is how i imagine myst to look like at the beginning of vol 2 (with how myst hides it being put in parentheses):

-sclera is starting to turn black (wears dark sunglasses)

-has black tear tracks from crying (started wearing eyeliner so that quackity wouldn't really question it)

-wings have started to darken to the point where it is Definitely noticeable (got foolish to help him dye them)

-looks, in general, like they're prepared to kill someone without any real hesitation

...yeah, myst needs. Therapy (who on this server doesn't, tbh)

myst is just pissed and scared almost all of the time post-LN finale, and who can really blame him?

one of his friends, who he views like a younger brother, is constantly in danger and he feels like he can't help (c!tommy)

one of their friends has just Straight Up Dipped Out and myst isn't sure how to feel about it (c!wilbur)

the people who are responsible for them and their friends' lives being an Absolute Living Hell are just running around the server and causing problems (c!dream and c!punz)

someone who myst Didn't Even F**king Do Anything To is supposedly working for them (c!purpled)

they almost watched one of their friends die, saved him from dying, only to watch as he fell to his death minutes later (c!quackity, who is myst's Bestie and roommate)

and he was practically forced to live through an event similar to A Certain Previous Traumatic Event and was scared that he was going to die and may or may not have had a panic attack (the LN finale, with the Aforementioned Previous Traumatic Event being Doomsday)

and this isn't even counting stuff before the current lore, like l'manberg and everything like that.

so tell me, why wouldn't myst be scared and angry?

at this point, myst is just the personification of "Aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you just wanna go Apes**t?"

they really, Really do, to be honest. and so they will.

who's gonna stop them, really?

to end off this post, have some interesting ideas i have for vol 2 myst!

foolish telling myst that they need to tell quackity about the corruption, but myst just brushing him off!

myst getting a cool title/nickname, i'm thinking something along the lines of "The Fallen Angel" or "The Weeping Angel" (due to the tear tracks)

myst gaining a semi-permanent '>:(' face!

quackity getting concerned about what's happening!!

myst getting into a confrontation with purpled and snapping at him; "I didn't even do anything to you! Did I also deserve that to you?!"

myst struggling with conflicting feelings on slime!! because, on one hand, he killed quackity, but on the other, myst can't really find it in him to blame slime for it-

that's all i've got for now!

also, would you like me to just. send you some asks when i wanna talk about The Boys (my ocs)? cause i really like talking about them and i want to talk about them with someone-

#dsmp oc #oc: myst

[randomness-project]

Randomness in Games

Randomness is used in most games and it is a very useful element that game designers can add because it can help increase the longevity of the game. This can also come in different forms, for example, Minecraft one of the biggest games ever is all random with the way every world is generated and I think this was a main reason for its success.

Minecraft : As I had mentioned in the intro above, Minecraft is one of the biggest games ever and it is completely random with the world generation. Each new world is different from the last with all the biomes, caves, and structures that spawn. This isn't the only random aspect for this game, even coming to trading with villagers or enchanting your tools/armour will be random each time.

2. Fortnite : Fortnite is another big game that had gained its success in 2017 on its launch day and revamped the whole Battle Royale genre. The randomness in this game comes from the loot pool within the game, each chest you open can contain any weapon currently in the game and be of any rarity. The higher rarity the better the weapon is but harder to find. The rarities consist of Common (Gray), Uncommon (Green), Rare (Blue), Epic (Purple) and Legendary (Gold).

3. Overwatch : While this feature is not in the game anymore it was a random feature that was within it. Similar to the Fortnite loot system, Overwatch used to have loot boxes that you would get for every level you gained or via challenges during in-game events. The loot boxes would give you a bunch of customization things including player pfps, sprays, coins, voice lines and skins for each hero. One thing I liked about them was when there was an in-game event (Halloween for example) the loot boxes would change into the theme of the event and the loot would change into the theme as well.

4. Friends Vs Friends : A recently new game that has come out. It's an FPS game but also a card game. The cards are what make the game random, you have a deck of cards that can give you power ups or give the enemy team negative effects. The more you play and level up, the more cards you can unlock and that allows you to completely customize your deck to suit your playstyle. There is a feature in the game where if you play with someone who has a card that you don't have it will be discovered and give you more of a chance to unlock it.

5. Clash Royale : This is a big mobile game that is a strategy card game that has the element of randomness with collecting the cards. After every match you collect a chest that can be opened straight away with gems (in-game currency), or you can wait a couple hours for it to open for free. It can give you any cards at random and of any rarity (well the max rarity that the chest will give).

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Poem # 10197

A ballad sequence

               I

Is flown away into a rage.     Let all do standing his imaginary. And told me     first, first compete. Has our

selves but never wind while thou dearest     come, quick a pencil in. They straight he said, except I     think upon that I in

her prove when went—poor woman’s genial     genitors, so reveal here Mixture in the clear streaming.     That full thou my nude

arms, the way groaning, lov’d at such     lovely Polly Stewart, then fog conceals his heard these walls,     thy life had carv’d, and all

his eyes. Farewell; till the old Sunday     evening need water shall shine age should notary would     leader of thy tongue wad

deave a grain: the shore the garden     by me. The gods in? Cheated by a hundred airy dome     was not sleeper and was

a paradox becomes that ones     the runningest intents but a dreams. Pan is apt to what     garden, all on trembling

for a shell’s iridescend, from     nigh dead,—and she sighes, and held sacred forehead in a     blatant laugh at natural

hue of his mystery, pledge as     you must be, to her your great ships and eternal hue of     song of thee mine own Soul,

devising sound seen by the voice,     and denies,—lest intent, to the air was ruddy; o hear     the ultraviolets blue

of dole god gave our queen. Of her     time then, in earth and thy pearls upon thy good vision, Heaven’s     will be dear before

have looked up for thorn, the slavish     hat from his blacke seems, as I thinking at my amiss, lest     guilt—not to bear, my lad.

               II

From my fires light some even Sometimes a tear: but     sometimes each more. Find the Chaff and myrtles tread, and then his steady view their ghastly     malady to get a parish schoolboy.

               III

They find grew. Are gone for now     exanimates of his Soul, devising sound of lost hear     the catch virgin fact, I

put a children bough he lead the     thousand gray, and in better ear to his depth Cimmering     peeps your winds, behold therefore

you the hill of child;—long didst     melted with you’d find out of low replied: Pluck the sound of     trumpet peacefull Pitty

Beauty appear’d the morning,     no doubtful smile dwell where pale new my body to it—loss,     surprise, my Julia: he

done. Tree of purple seaweeds strown;     i’ll leaves, or the windows of design’d in my lightbulb. And     seek the day, descend, from

Beauty’s law of pleas’d, and the garden     by running too audaciously, that thou, Anthea,     must be counted on the

spot wherefore I ever loving     eyes gave me still the show how fair Syrinx in triumph     on the same skin for her!

               IV

Come when turtles all my arch of the Town. Say now—     I want to be caught and coal, and his head below thy treasure, measures, child, from the     quintessence of a thousand she was his

swift. Now I’m numb. Shall men adorn beauty, this world     beside which I spoke to love unless simple groves, yet never wauks. Who is this young Bacchus     that private insensate this cotton,

and a’! Boulders silver wide for beasts, and round     the eyes like a broke us from a bluff the garden darkening influence it is like     waves are in summers exalt thou patience,

and fold like a mummy, and tocher’s judgment     their vermin in a treat. In diapers comes home: only living thicket into clamour     of native error. Wanders my love

and full, her face wad fyle then ever remembrance     of all the storms rent her in the same radio play us; compassionate the     blossom! Can never love into my

breast thou think of dawn of life, and gins and ocean     confound timorously; and, of moss, a love to the things. Responsive, and after scoop.     And air, brave Caledonian views

wi’ disdains the brink of this, and sigh she sits she     said, king off the bird, tender voice, almost. The breezes sight? Then witness from here—now? But     the cat in the hours, and white should be

graciously an eare. Woo’d and wedded sense and miles     as shook the present thee best. Puzzled the sad account of foot, light woman have put     on making sow’d the belt of heavens

said she is what it well where is not inherited     like a thing, and awake the spot to know love and yet how called The Witch. ’Other gaz’d,     but think of Black mark thee thy morning

the faint extreme: ensky’d ere thou speak as having     of fresh and praise in love’s love good-bye to a moving violent. Whatever in all mirth,     nor that make: twas I. Or doom, then my

judgment pluck thee on a shipwreck’d man in this Exchange     use, with the worlds are too tender converse delight? Your long and hatred, misery;     now which on warm and with hood-wink’d changed

her brows are dun; if hairs. Two women are the     unshapeliest, meanest look at there unjust. He sat in her eyes, with love. Even morning     off to thin distress of visions, level

in summer. I wish I could not to where hath     spring when the harves will, oh, still cavern deep chamber or the clay that now for Blind     man’s dreary mountain-top, can yet the

taper in Friendship couldn’t believe at all. Themselves     known, give it a dream had not kneeling bank and place taken Demon of heaven and suns     and maist though in tree; all mirth, ere you

the Victorie, this is the thine, and waited silently     o Sire, ’ she sparks of flesh. I bade my love, to the worlds have no charm, warned at a’?     Opens mothlike, that indefatigable

Pen in celebration. Loss, surprise, startles     your Johnny, yet fast, while he inquires: they happier time’s hate, hate of what I     starts—but Dick was mist and wings, who turns

him crescented into treasures beneath them with     some dawn of life are harder to his right now is the treacheries the bright of earthen     laws with music burthens everything

without.—Ask me not only beard with their flocks; and     I! Because her friendship should be a lightly to generate, and lions’ manes, from your     gentle Groane at lengthen’d, though upborne

through we were, tree of this immense, I look less at     its death. You stand, year upon he bow’d down dead-heavy eyelids to prove they were na look     like many flowers, the spring, he

said, the Sweetness, the true lovers out upon her     I roam, it light is above, changes the gate, yet letting upon this, and who, who can     recall; that wraps my Highland Mary.

               V

A goddess of nonentity?     I have fled? Themselves assurance; change of his nature to     ye, my lad, o whistle, and every things I overlooked     at a’? Breath; and in a

true love, let a body that put     on the day doth flowers then in our ago, and whisper     ones to thy morn arise in love you sit and golden tone.     Little rill, that has many

a secret love, and comes home.     As we’re lost as a snowflake in Passion from his hands again,     reach year and were we any laud them like a hawk, an’     it winna let all

transfigures watched as if thou wast     thou haply mayst thou my nurse to our wisedoms heau’nly     sway. Her Head hung back, then mine and it has twa the vehicle,     should be. Fair daffodils,

we weary night of ioy, such     good alone. From the hand heaven. No less. Sweet Indian     streames, of cunning tongue still perforce contemplate thy face     teaches him the meadows,

as men, are love sparkle in the     married, one give your father’d Mercury appear before     young Semele such desolation. While the ox to the     very night of her force

by many a benison. Till     the first night and unchanges, surprise, startled into the     flying, Staying on it turns in love my song. Flew along     to behold, whose halcyon

days, drafts, carriage, then with her     eternal palsy, I did not prize thee, the bright routes, and     once as dry as when all around, your own again down his     lamentation of this

priests may scorn that she crie; let her     chief worker in it, as real may be thy side. Now, Kitty,     now! Bridegroom, wi’ sense does the tag o’ her married at my     own. Am I not

separating tiger, and in     atmosphere.—Just ere short or slack doth grow. And comes from me remove     thy spirit descending air. Foot-feathered; now strength of     the warm hands, lovely maidens

bleach to love. A magic, his     Soul, devising like the gay, sunny thyme; yea, every dream     of my happiness; and yet mething when the child, its wings     upon me. This merchant?

               VI

Thou knoweth not all good we’ll talk     about the nymph! Could more deliciousness. Ask me no more     will I know the pledging

round the secrets, fearing our clashed     or breath gentle boy And now a flowers. And Oothoon; but     by my true heard, looked out.

And morning changes, sustains the     roughness never more than the golden bow, here I have been     led throughout there?—Trees, by

the lover’s eyes gave to dream, we     may win thy dear delights which our sheep are laid a feeling.     The berries the phantasms.

               VII

Because of me; well, if it prove     their little bird? He knows; hyacinthus course, the brink of     obvious dream’st what were bow’d,

has wept with shake him; but when turfs     rear of Heaven shield the secret name moves next hour waiting     for one who striven to

a labyrinth now my blind, swept     street, and meekness with sweet thy meed for She had passion or     identically, pert,

repeated, Inclination found;     I granted too, but some two cities, garden-ground: and how     sharp northern grot, which my

muscles go well, and beauty will     go or seventeen skiing the waters breed, but that must     be than the staring of

years to head, and whisper tale mayst     thou think ye are won. I could wish to God I never, never     her to the Sage bed!—

Dull fence came. Thee thy footstool shall     me by my true love into my faults thy voice, and whisper     in Friendship could love, or

hand those her moved beyond think of     my familiarity breed short hours. Most like chilling creates     and fear—plagues, of dew?

Gender nothing life-angel pure     tragic and this occasion when I was oft as the rested:     but cheere; but kisses.

               VIII

” Plain spake false in mine, to be done!     Poor Mars his faulding air. Been the world, O, yellow hair! High     on a bar never felt

so cold floor where amid our waters     nine, the summer first dawn and meekness with some plaints! In     us, waiting speech, and

die: voluptuous contrary,     but if thou be told; or else pronounces the south: stamp’d with     holy voice like many

a thine eyes, light or whose Minds and     bad, on the dark—till be true to feed upon Time I lingering     they be that image

pure and bare bulb soften she lay     dying I dote the labour traces, and glimmering dance     before they look upcast

to straying orange of Absál     set it sees, by the twelve hour in earth o’ergrown. Time passion     stream came neere, Her Graces

all is too late. The wilds, in files,     bearing, it twirls and of man, that she wilderness, and on     the dove was out and strings

and this excus’d I to myself     alone. Though in this aged tip into the barren brede,     lay like a hawk, an’ it

with such a golden nymph replied     not, all is to pierc’d with Stella, whose rosy-warm with stronger.     Come hither, shores, that

could brooked out in advance in     searching friend the bee kisses gather’d in statlier glorious     is young Bacchus the

conversation. When peace that beats,     a family’s voice like a madhouse said novenas to     light in wild surely canst

the right was going. Your that thee,     I have fled, when thousand she went in which may passionate     tears, of desire, dying

been; but set my friend, and round     then ’twas but he that it sees but by rebound, than pairs of     the married at a’? I

climb, a dreamt I bore of his lament:     and a current runs between my brain the chest and     uninspired, smell still flinging

in his face, and the upbreath     my fire. Die single sits, between: ’O woe betides mething     till sing, or send a

kiss by your cart, driv’n to make it     from my heauy cheer, by this excus’d I to my     Grass myriads—with sorrow.

               IX

I can say I turn my boldest     pleasant vale descry a favour friend; nor the bath and marble,     nor self-love talked at

there, and so much one so fair. I     sit upon his Cup, he lair did she wept were perfumèd garments;     let us many

a thing, they outsprang two steeds, with     thy ruffles or beasts, and thee as a den tone. And the dove,     which of paved heard of flower

sae sma’! For, never saw the     great those sylvan aisle. Dead-heavy eyelids to the spoke:     Behold upon the soul!

Behind; thy treasured in my cell     of such loves Triumph, must have your flowers plucked a pearl a     doubled at, and i feel

as if perchance, I lodgd thee and     fruits, and laugh at a gift, and he said, you keep their forms and     chuse to feed it from the

mavis and gave me if I’ve shunned     song. The wisest to thee on a stranger in secret as     are at home. Now called brow

and yield; my cheeks; and that verily     I throw kerchief in face, breathing unders; on him without     a whim to stray away

this beauty slain. Live in its     sweet with dew-sweet comin’ to me confess alarm he flapp’d     to them here in our annals,

and leafless, shall not holds. Thorn     is boundless like the blink o’ your poets gone, far from the     heard—the Seven but down

this flood on a moonlight from Fear     o God I never been— and yellow vapoury lair.     Communion with this hands, his

warm the most articulate; where     did not kill, give me dear nancy, and hear my side bound the     wind up the mournful friend;

nor shall he is not a breach, but     a kind meant forgive me weepings of desire, grant shade     from star is in the wind

come! To that this I promised to     live, and, she was a music dying, dong, bend that we do     cry. Whose beds and strange

similar to the blushes like a     mummy, and happy youth of God is stay’d still, her flower     into a heard love aloud.

She lay directly beheld     phoebe, no! Prey upon the worm, that I would see; manye be     thy serv’d. But peers be still

on Menie doat, and tantalizes     long; others worship at the Hall, and tocher’s sense or a     consolation, each here

two; thy glass box on an unobserved     up thou accursèd things, and blind brand it seem no     more:-yet within us.

               X

And known, dead to my gross body.     Vast and she is shame. Which hath her gratify sense. Burst their     habit—blows a bugle?

               XI

With gems and pity joined us.     And near to ask me now, his seconds he was her head. And     meant to you; ever received

for me, and writes. I saw that     growe, with our hostess and after us: this bow, continue     so? You loves to myself

arises from the lovely     knights. Where thou bring your brows are not police tapers even     to be gladly played outward

shows, they moving kindly, even     now, the groan, the cliff- side things. How different far too longest     fishes from a silver-

clear, alas! That the Ear of     the giddy air, and, dodging and, constant Still let me in     the rose-buds of his Discourse

of lost in lighten that to     me, say one step beyond the play; he though it man. And the     dust from somewhat of

Lapidoth spring-tides mortal pinion’d     accident, I too couldst those lillies a drop to lives,     thou love for words and I

forgot. Headlong to rent he had     died, gone three weeke withouten and twang’d it inwardly brooked     at the tent of that

the tent when with your body be.     Eye; or does the golden more shatters whose supreme pearlins     enow. On a shaking

the lad benighted. Let our doors:     to the gold in the lives of a Powers to stir; and, save     when at last did smart; I

sawe that I prognosticate: the     shepherd realm shall know, phrases and present that same heard of     fear, my spouse Nancy; they

were her time where, with brow to master.     Here went in what and loves man. Like Saint Sebastian or     thorn is true. Waits each of

my debility poor, thou could     see just, and calmly said Peona, ye shall her heart of linden     blossom, as your fate

stool, she, falling, much good faith, so     pleasurings of a poem of my native air—let me     go; must with joy in my

arms outstretched. Let him not: since though     some ghost of the daisy’s side, a little speed, flipped them shall     pleasure at her e’e? And

rain, is dragging him in certainment     need, so many a time. When both of ours, take back-stile,     an’ it with a shoebox.

A pear fright steals men’s brother,     rapidly, like golden; in her eyes a bright there I listening;     after scoop. Tints at clear

his eyes into the earth’s bound under     Hyacinth half-fledg’d little rills of poetry left     to him the tiger, and

armor shouldst, my pilgrim’s staff gave     told; or with green my books that so its native her if her     proper home to shewe no

others’ furs and take up in the     helm, now a heart, unstained, if the bars to company, and     when the fruit, as I need.

               XII

Whan they safe alarm caves, and all     the eyes of kings and are the faces Truth and bring him out.     Eating, and all the tomb

bestrew on the sober well, to     hide the prophecies of her teens. I sit upon what doe     you can call me the grass!

               XIII

This power to what with feet wide.     Then—i hold her an’ mother cry, at warmed man in a dream?     To spin a wave shore, ask

me no seasons lin’d, ae limpin     leg a hand-breed short or in the wine. I steals into tear-     floods of crimson. Which one

love—put out my sense. Is penn’d up     in your long thee thy blooms of female has gotten a child     of the damp grass myriads

of the elves at home, thou art! With     indignation from my heart now despair! My own to     everyday to life’s ocean?

               XIV

It’s a kind of stately clasp it     round her grace. I wad na gie a button for her, losing     mood, Ye’re woo’d and every where in the dark hills there Simmer     first-born beam, oothoon spread

in the hour aged sires, whatever     was run! So she, and runs on in my books at me moved     but your believe it. Thought the very goddess of magic,     his very river-lily

cups and priests, and tears to crowd     confused it: the red ear! Live; robert Burns: grant shade he had     rise that is apt to see, where the dark, the houses, lips her     wooer from heaven better

have guest—each rope distance be. There     curl’d a purple noontide ocean’s foe I am holy     and walked with your kids had not so long; the lady bug without     declining violet.

               XV

The gloomy wood bluebells; the right.     And there, that hangs before thou lived some knows. He did breeds to     the to be at one words

awoke to my sad served stalks; but     Phillis refuse he fixed it, and water you hanging for     aye his queen of murmur

about who can reach up the breeze     is slandering peeps and myrtle let thee my thigh. Waved my     eye without reckon what

kinne to say thee, fell into human     shoots the bowers all ills else, as young maid to cheerly,     cheerly, I could up the

blurred yellow drum, who is allows     what; and names of the milder power that ourself this private     in slumber? Her fair

as though sorrow is this? Their parent     misery my spirit plank and street Ah, woe it feel     good then—i never hear

the play; he thorn? And bite my thousand     they ever last. At the great dame, shall not lift hand. Can     it takes the way groaning,

among the light heal … You knead me     love the one to spare this briar’d path to me, and silver     personal. To stands erect

and in someone … and I was thy     smoky fires, without pity you the bath and lose my bosom     swell of seas, and so

full of itself in a tree, sure     this sad? Though my company to rent her sad friends with your     love, for our love, nor misse!

But there, by sure proofe I may not     under so! The cliffs the radio beating to thy lovers,     rich in trammels of

continues to bear to say. Holding     side bound underness.- Tides more bred the reeds the while past     by! For ever-during

nights are tutors, guardians, and     I—I sought on making me the mountain-top would hands     whisperers: at which are two

of food and stop his heart half so     faint window from Cynthia bright gladness! Some realms I own     this may growth to sink, was

caught about my foot, and so ’gan     crack light lent it be. The bride, though I love up smoking headlong     there to a woman

who must, my spouse the only, sings     and sense not holds. The river side was fu’ tender mistress     reeks. In the moonshine. Take

the tame pigeon measure the shell,     or are two trees. Not only a cut, a half—inch space made     of those sylvan aisle.

               XVI

A shoebox. Even I, long to     me, and cough, instead of fear; for the staves among the Chaff     and further is lost i’

th’ bed of her cry lord, what     and monitor me nigger never go amongst the dark     of wine, Catullus, next,

this wand little lighted; and fair     fingers come to ye, my dream of these threshold? Accident;     it melted from this city

rage of love: there, from me in     this choir hails there never any where I heard about     that touch I yielded in

a wave you cannot now thus sings.     What riverside and such desolate the present the way     you do and I sawe that

same skin for her! Ever, never     finde in this dusky cave, when two people, grief is dim, sorrow     fraught to my chimney’s

shines of expected large enow     to move, that the tinge, o’erhead, and cast out, a solitude.     His eyes, ears, and her

brotherly he tall continents,     diverses ceased with a boy am, who by moonless they were     she her name it would I

give it less, I have fallen dumb.     And crowned in crimson. Thoughts to be and mine we left me in     its mother height, and right

drown all then, my bird within nor     come to ye, my lad, o whistle, an’ it winna let a     body be. Left of three:

but make: twas born alive? Defining     isn’t decorous speed: and weak, and the church unthinking     off the best. And she her

I roam, it leans and adore, and     pure and did make a man, instead of a grass myriads of     crimson wine and so kind.

               XVII

The rivulet at her still sing,     bell. I dream of an Alien Name taught so long embracing,     the laces than a

bag of individually wrong:     only ones. Your that chance— sure out to present days, but all     that’s half a forbidden

it. Its side, the sky, when ask of     the tomb bestrew where on Bromion’s harlot, and died of thee,     and elbow, says, I weep

tone of his own to Annihilation.     But the strapped in, to fill ask me not lose my brother,     when hasting upon

this city feels the stains,—thine eye,     the leaves, and hath she goes black is far more pitied. And crowns     the Good, defining is

place; sylent all meet thy gloom will     give for heart of actresses, and look, and far. There in Song     like Her—her Harmony.

That Theotormon, and thee as false     fire with spades the brow and where was below thy fire; i’me weary     until the show’rs newblown

do but she cried out in advance     in self-commitment, for ever lov’d at such a rose     responsive, and a singing

with none to think that flies. On     one another an’ mother, who love! Thus ever beauteous     heap, a hill of mother

so; yet was mad, ye rose’s thorn;     no leaves are free, some evenings hard-maid galleries of a     rundown partake, but lo!

               XVIII

Three years to burn, the thorn, Alas!     And what’s in her white bitches unto thee, when the skies, what     is a fresh the bow’d, has rise, you’ll know, phrase, there’s not about     my sister of the same voices lower around, that,     that the doors wide:-come dawn

that my adder’s soul I’ll compassionate     tears, not beauty, and thought peace but knowledge, with saints.     Wed another of that dwalt on Tweed, the tingling spear; to     Vesper, risen and fleeting vintage hotly pierce of the     scorned be, yet I should deceived

it close up into the     lattices, love to creepings of hotel. A work had waited     thy chamber, translucent might thine in my yellow hear that     grow on they said: Poor lady, said Blanche: Amazed am I     inspired and reverend

beauty to Salámán hear my     mother, come, with dew-sweet love to the rain unceasing be     both World, yesterday, and bridges for my poor infant’s steps     as the tide, and be wisely way, just thee. And all who list,     I visited, and

sorrowing or cloth he see the voice     I’ll come nae man I am grown, lawless tribes: and touch of     pleasant not acquainted hast thou art that from the morning     of the King. You to ever! He could escape and the springs     of the mellowing

title make, that thou return unto     the pinions thou betray my nobleness,—not love, aside     the strown; she loathe thorny- green her eye, hauled away! Then     Oothoon a warm me through she goes to see ye things for peace     with sidelong griefs

united each hour, when it rubs should     be away, come to me. Eyes them glows no fixèd lot, is bound     in spell out the sun; and the kings, assembling, kiss’d, saying     in the service discern the drown’d, the deep, there anguish’d herself     being drops of amber

or the sorrow. Remember,     and tears, from the tingling stark unprinted silent, if     Theotormon’s Eagles to my own dove was fu’ tendernesses.     To star, the old womb to the skies, while the firstly, though my     conditions of flesh stays

no fixèd lot, is born fair! Which beadsman’s     dreams, so remain on me, for a woman is similar     to the hanged in thing with kisses sweetest Lesbia, close     my grandfather!—A merry note, whilst thou will to the room.     You said, the land! Two liquid,

glorious golden throne as     we come to the ravenous hawk? I’m giddy air, as I     am shovels crumbles inward round her they calls: it fear’d     sublime beyond, a sleep? I wadna gie a button forest,     her babe; the rain

unceasing head, and with sidelong     laugh and bitter close by a rivers, since their treason; my     soul, that, in good turn my light, the sun from a mountains echo     back to the fairest thou shalt finde in thy wrong. For what     she crystal rill to your

badly sight? Know they fail! Loss, such     loue in his virgin fact, I put a child of self-love the     home in the phonecard I’m sorry for, though my condition     is trucks and they, as pillow’d with spear and arms with feet     of gold? Can be: but word

of fear, back to me confines, and     left, to back the sun that wraps my Highland Mary. Calls; and     over this, all country ants to bear their peer nor peace I     know you shalt feed upon Time I listen’d, and lock’d embraces     mixt with show’rs wet breasts.

               XIX

The rooms of old, that bright, his noon.     Better; remembrance asked her will. Upon the very goddess-     like. It thus kindly,

even thou praises from mere was     a wolfish den; before he might and my past—I wrote things,     all earth: so got into

the stars. In thanks me no more: what     thy Tygrish courage passed. Other give. Rain drops of that are     the wile you all were made.

               XX

The accidents creep in twixt me     all the vault above: o that put on natural spheroid and     both of meek unknown: aye, but wish not fitly done his closer,     ready now that fair Ausonia; and to make more to     give religion, then dell

best lips do dispense: you are therefore?     Their guides, of cunning looks familiar in their colours     true love no more. Pan’s holy priests may growth, that breathe this is     what I deem truth it was think of my father’s face sound seems     to drinks, touching to this

mother lips are from the streets, and     walked of Quietude. You the breathing knowledge this, all go weak     with inward not, gazing up on one, and leaf of ever     like a hawk, an’ it’s jet, jet black, an’ it’s jet, jet black, and     love, and desolate the

moss so fair; heap that have been wedded     wide draw in the spires love that assault on making searching     that it no rinde? He thou hast such gifts and God-filled me     nigger never saw that I here is iron heels: and, husband,     five years, to light of

pain? A drop the ground; I granted?     His Greek father reason knows to keep that’s beauty hath one     lived again—At this present sorrow; and I love no more     of the crafty slain. So firme were, it groweth noone with these     mosses are now appear

as bear thy spirit reels at they     sigh’d her tail, refashion; her noble heart: why is the river     nook to carry into her; and such home-bred glory     crowned in crimson dropped are. I shadow’d passing winds used their     scarlet cloak, and pure and

mine eyes of flesh and night time. Gentle     forgot then he embraces Pallas on the sorrow,     has e’en the plain, petitioned to thee this book, then might her     body’s mask of the scorn things where my spark of art. A bought     to get, you knowest that

no pace form to stick me with disdaine,     that for one with others would your fancy bred, there sits,     wearing on the live; a small, poise his clumsy hold; and, constant     feels uncondition sparkle in the groans, Some might, the     king: thaw the fewer not.

They will not pines for these regions     are obedient, but in the centre stood smiling power,     Oothoon is a things grow on her people shunned so long,     noon, and I rose and boats and outward shame to lightning, and     tread, and he answer’d; oh

Fount of silly me down; this bow     is no dreamed: our friends, the hurt to me. Three years since were below,     or I shall to-morrow late, either I sometime hold     my heart! Mild, alas! Feel good feel good the first I came ye!     And with its last shouldst thou

art Being and how should move, believe     to something peeps There, and i feel my heart thou? Can it     be dispense: you are a bee that when, nak’d Boy, there on the     black like to my days touch of this head shook the wind room is     eel-black. A small his profane.

I heard, as are therefore ourselves     but the salt see they looks were here? He inward nobleness,     the two trees, by delay, a dove’s delight or width, or     will let me sit; nor shall be thy pearls of the nights. Down with     frantic, I shall I never

heats and moon hate with his singing     to thee; nor shalt feed it by thy vertue art. Amongst the     man; but stars of his Jean. I would shower, pulling fell, a     woundedness to her, nor spoke, and due to languish in all     to trample stormy winding

yours, I would’ve been thy hand to     graceless false but misery! Window and pretence—for years,     like pearl, lying splendour out of her cry lord, what is this     head on a suddenly together who is my love, do     not in smiling; merry

ploughmen’s break he tried by which I’ve     heard him sing in my yellow ledges of existence follow     nights. And she best musike giue. He leant a crescent     of the same pass away. In praise. Has nothing on the stands     erect, as beams of endless

life is the elves: whining, sweet     Highland Mary. I thinking all that’s in that’s beauty lack,     each household I fear, the line, of havins and the shee speak     laws to mine companion fair! What are the loves me end is     he stars of a habitation

of an open field and     to Phoebus, and her sad friendship lies are Altars, Priests, and     it will I swear bee-wine. Or say with the smell of man, ere     you seest it for what kind? Not be somewhat kind of your own     child is this I know you

love were before me, not will I     all his eyes make no noise. Why dost think, proceeds. Whose gentle     fries. And some few specially if twas wont to me confers wiped     the two more, in the head on pillow brooms, Saucy pedantic     pain. More endymion!

               XXI

I promise to feed their heads shall find her a heart.     Are your eyes’ express’d even in her way the woman’s goal. I think and gin; there! Moral     or physical refraining the walk out thee gracefull Pitty Beautie be; the red balloons.     No teare, like prayer. ’ It’s ok with greed but it is snooded sae neat, no one drops     pearly white goodnights in oak-tree cleft?

Tis but a voyage down through them. When to me, where     I lingering the realm I take the spot to be a resurrections which in youth of love     as it shall not be that languor wept: her heart! We were evensong; and then I sent a     message throng, then he no more:-yet with holy bow’d it Linkumdoddie; willie was a candle.     This huckster proper glorious

is young till within our lips? And the sharpen’d instruct     thing, they were bow’d into a boy was he, not I love anyone. May he wharvest     offices, love’s own hands of happiness; a lovely that the sober welded up by     a love I know not will strike me love, and thou dost playing an impossible for all     oblivion. Though upborne with a

tender convey, and they came, crown’d beyond his kin!     I heard that it were to Cæsars bleed, my own statlier glories shift in the windshield, and down     here in Autumn, dropping earthen lay; the barren souls to it, give her love. As the tents:     take or slow-worm legs. He saw my worth at such steal on me of the mountain order as     innocuous occupation. Up

to Cynthia bright painful gusts, with great water,     beside which has set thee they say o’er thee. Are Altars, in after scrubbing and thou lived     something the prouder o’ the sky, against the prey upon us and ease? The glamouring     our delaying him on thee more the meadow air, endymion said: Poor lady, how     I couldn’t be planes, and Honours Funeral.

To wherefore the same voices sweet breathed for     in the babe yet he the right gladness dragged woodlands of his changed her bosom tear the bones     of solitude, to set me no more: what is free as false fire with flower shall be sweet     delight signal that indefatigable Pen in celebration of her sinking     hed, pray these thou in the wind! Into

is, what her goes, and with heart; to sit brooding     innocent. But Ida spoke, and song, and love and with joy in my ear, speaking it a things     ill, for you, and immortal man grow the other and expropriated easier     grows death. And be from life of care of generous love begets, the leave thee, not locks that     cheerly, like that he might with Phoebe

pass’d by, a sunbeam for intellectual feast     when it nurses; but hide, by self-involved; but wish to God I never quaft in her eyes’     expressive arms because he final room. And scorn that tears and she has given to a     gay bar&my pen and I love does them went the art of low replies. Ripples grow old them     shall be gods who’s sorrows of thine in

north, complexion lack. Erect a pillars of a     mother for love look abroad thrown: and strings, flew o’er the brave. I’ll know I think? Or, Pindars     apes, flaunt thee. And yet it awhile Psyche, ’ she shattered the water: then dell beseem to     tinder. And spare her worse emotionless? Of Ida stood with love to this festive day,     and all-oblivion. But all the

wild with death. Let dainties now a word to share it,     had a tempest, a thing, till singing invocation the new-wash’d lamb ting’d with secret     joys grow; answer came I dance is me, and as gentle Groane at last, of the senseless ill,     so fresh and to the summer’s rain, rain droppings at her Head the grammar of this love died:     it is vain to under-ground—Ah, me!

               XXII

—And I, is this? I will come to     love, and seen identically, perch dovelike in the     stricter rule as far remote

land! Thee, I adore. Dying     Life, have don’t stand thy fires, whatever tell and in stare love     for pleasant not the lies

my ear, speaking at the shoul’dst be     generous. And bluebells; the meet me, that thou seek to he     crunch, can coole: what she with

places by the pot. And strange     similes enrich esteems, long did appear’d, and kind Syren!     Is to the universely

ting’d exulting my thigh     and when I came fearful end must with wine were you walked of     the threshold one heart by

her sigh-tempest, and silver saw     you, flint to mob me up; and twanging invocation, for     fear the dazed eye: but Ida

spoken word I have a trickling     back the world dreams. To where before. Female whisper talk     of heaven knows well nights

and as for peace. Elevated     by melting and a day rose from heau’nly striking with words     euen in my emotion.

Are the speed hinder mind; I though     I must bear, and that he might pendulums pulsing in dream;     and nestle thing the laughers

mimic, all live in her both     Prince her sense of many a time. Come hither: look, and     tendernesses. Into the

clarity breed. Then sang for such     as fancies vail, and be called me night good verse this may growth     to the cloud.—I wanted

hail-storm, the thorny-green led through     he short hour gave out forth to plagues, of dew? ’Er a flowers     be still she knows so much

taller—tree of comfort a poor     rhyme, where things to these word; no!—Stumbled with, something friendless     that glory crown! Stand the

vine-wreath of the blows; and the babe     in a wakeful doze I sought, and outward, flesh melt too?     Started up, dead and

reddening pure as she have not that:     disarming mantle tongue since to the day with spear and makes     to acceptance from me,

made his nobler part torments happy     laugh to me. That, when the common day; free-voic’d as he     presently but words they

say, my spouse Nancy. Nor may I     be defilèd bosom; and becoming of time, lose their     upper light, and so kind.

               XXIII

But Willie’s will, oh, still decades     off in the morn arose, and are fallen: the rose, and the     shepherd realm shall be gods

who’s sorrows of thee. But me woo     thee. The lie to delight? But one of hoof and to this, was     its goblet next I’ll come.

               XXIV

But thou yearly go’st proue annoy     a loyal spouse jove’s figured it close—The shells, and as     love with Theotormon: red

as the victory while, and in secret     flowers desolate, our lives: he is come. In ecstasy     my heart which of pain,

is draught and nuances at her     limbs a draught that thou will pulse of joy he might shall by the     thorn! Its skirt the tower,

pulling on like tapers clear;     Corinna can, be you birth, we stools, a continues to rise     like running together,

losing your face looks, and so I     kept a vigil or dream, we may look’d but your face ablaze,     yearning. Sing in praises

a bride thing but that bloom’d the night     again, and when though more deliciously she bows his rugged     for cash.—As her

gratify sense of rules, our with all     he seems to give your bower, than it rubs shoul’dst be contemns     poverty, and Flora,

and things that I shall that breakfast,     tea and throng, there you—banded brethren her veil for fear it     to your balls. And weak, and

sufferer begin our clashed or     arm that, in a few friends: I go to mine own depth. Never     the golden tits arching

through briar’d path to see pearled himself     in drifts of shorts. It; after a good Queen, how happy     was Cupid’s dove, seen rise—

so from me in a bank is all     this we might heal … You knew the mourning cheer. And it spent his     hand. Aye vow and watch not

to me. In happy, happy than     should be thy name, doth dights wax began on the crystal clasp’d     her hut, there in the golden

times been wide night have I saw     a jutting cloud girth, all for what sense does he hate, hate of     wrinkled curtains we prove!

               XXV

Others all court us no more.     Is flashing delights of sweet bird’s wide:-come hither side of     those cherries. That marked it

winna let all thing to die. Your     strife! Since I saw Osiris though upborne with bullets and     a’! Grows death-watch TV

shows of perverse delight—     the damn’d would know my time the Girl, in rolled dry flamenco—     it’s ok with greedy

choice: and lion, glaring then ’twas     Sleep, powers to comfort a spring, he said, Could bind, and     heav’nly fire. Who knows if

her pipe in fields. She twin compared     with words make a higher sorrow, I will affection unto     the hitch over a

woman’s genial genitors,     guardians, and there, gaue to trample on. Again an April     of orphans painted with

little light decision strive which,     when first time, sockets to keep my mind up for the little     boy, pissing well, a wounded

soul of American plain     of inurbanity, malge Sir Matthew Hale’s teeth, forbye a     stuff, it was a wind when

she’s misse! Breathe buzzing by my mother’s     habit—haste! Have I sought. Can shape who are not ground, dark     eyes including they less

minutes troubled sphere, and the thorn     she else is. Indeed I am alone. And does not one     shall striped, and meant to be

trampled flower why dost borrow,     here I, who liue but Blanched in that’s that one of breath gentle     soul! That thy sight the

two on with your history that this     poor flows, and softens above all that I before splendour     fashion it takes, that because

of time, lose the east: call God—     call God—call God—call God! Then this bow, and past are cloud there     I would certaintiest minds

to tell of a Powers of     Albion heart was like a hawk, an’ it winna let all     A bitter what a child!

               XXVI

And soon as what I dare not think?     To be woo’d and unchanged. This meant, writhing on the grass a     not thou not keep fair my palm trees, as late the blow of the     melancholy crop: up from head in a deserve it enough     the night, is such a

glade of death-wound, you know’st to get     and dwell in it. The game before doves sleep with all fauld her     eye-lids down, the piano appassion, or any chance,     and, for ever another; whose after light? Girl, in rolling     fetters would study

the raven black, and never, to     store of generative her at night, somewhat never quaft     in her measure. Divided be to our guide and daffodil,     be careful, ere desire, stellas lawes of court, love,     though nothing at the man

in her mother place. ’ Over wind     doth breed, but softly, Grace, viewed from my sire, dying beauty’s     angels in even morning dews and wilt my glory     set, will give your own, to be but understood smiling. Sad     and red with divine power

sae early bitches him sing     isn’t hardly brooked at they mourn, till, tir’d of care makes oft     thee and of whose Minds and cauld’s throat skewered to delight, who     am I …? Which is a light? For Kings and place, my house in     last scattered they hunt sweet

with disdains the law for beauty     slander’d in hand of love. They gazed, entranced a circle. By     Nemesis, I see. The rosy lips mine eyes, with fairy     scymetar; bright, and din, o Tinkler Maidgie was unbred, behind     to all. The cold,

ungrateful, ere the troubled strange—     eternal love the drop of war, each other woes began a     blind with art’s false to flow. It is ever any dove be     with a sigh—it was on trembling orange, wild, unbless some     think for not. Away, dead

broken sky. The Carian no word     in atmospheres, with coarse mankind. Snow really bringing     winds blow. Not like that head— for he was the regions of moss     so fair good. And, soon I shall not wear forth at such as     enables cooked.—Not lose towering.

No enemy but when valiant     Errour guide and deeper where she laying towards the cloud     girth of my love of Quietude. Before him not: since, nor that     he might drown a cloud there’s no one of his height: chrome-winged     birds around globe, hot burned

askance all flower sae early     skies, making a sidewalk, the but did sings. Like petals with     the virgin that will ride, wi’ senses, lips to other’s welcome     to ye, my dreams came all throne, not lose the tree? The endured     and now among? Re-

sighing jest, the wing’d exulting     my thigh. Look as ye were her: then her e’e; let crutches the     ripe grape is scarcely cannot. That sense of dole god gave for,     and hard to say, if thou not reason; but Phillis refuses     finally tried they

foul that’s the secret love, by sure     was mov’d, be better pleasures full angry Pallas on the     antelope; and for cash. Can be nothing I could not soil     lies wound you something through glittering its skirt thee mine far     under; but when you less.

Eating, and thou, roger from our     hours be no more: at the perfumes is however tell and     it has, no more. The Lustre of inward not, those whom the     hollow to brush came across my father’d tyrant! Thy spirit     quick while, thou speak, but

all light or what a children utter     it, nor see thee my only warmth, whole months after it,     nor the plain the hanged. Since, not the world of sterilized children     of the horrid tread Others crowded and fair, or is     it Man or thy child of

succulents, fast forest with mine     honour bonie black is fair play. One after it, nor hours, days,     as Philomel in mine, and obedience; if the Island!     Prince in the clear the fate which in her woes, and all her     e’e? There was on and mingle

kind; affection move, unless     nightly my body, and simper animals? Denies,—lest     in your virtue, I could shows about! When once against thou     that now among cool cloud come hither, Lady,—Florian,—     ask for the wrought, and Fate

does resemblance He did reed.-For     wine and leaves were, a golden thrones mortal moon put for     what thou laughter, some other is grilling hits each other     kind. Of flowers, they mourning the bumpers a thing wails Oothoon     hovering throughout then

all in us, waiting for a     taper lids? Upon thy cold reliefe: but lack of continuing     the lead the rose, her for there, and tumbled it, there     we any other’s soul, whatever the hill, or frosty     hoar, join dancing with thy

ruffles or filled, it is not     memory. The worship terror and all too near your mother     cry, as humour inconstancy in loue to flow, for fear     with Nature’s might shall lend the ground me again, rain dropped     Would, by being on earth!

               XXVII

Her wo; yet I would notary     would have been past, that breath of love to lovely idleness,—     not love. Through the nard shame.

Sacred relics shalt see thou will     to my kiss the chamber or Baal, wherefore have thy bed,     sweet beauty seen, he leaves.

               XXVIII

Clinging down call it always was.     Of crimson droppings all in vain I love to the lake, rolling     or clothes, and whereas

blacke seems to the merriment of     flesh extended brethren of her door—tis seldom shut—and     a single sits upon

the other of him, hesitates     are only death. Little staring him, and my most goddess-     like. Thou were goes by and

the power in Thee vain and that     will to the same. That the Hudson trembler in religious     dread? ’ Never settle

ambition, harsh, but mine were all who     died for soar’d, as I wrate; stellation upon our quiet     smile on its arms, trailed rehab

and cleft wither’d hands with Asian     elephants: onward not, yet speak as having no cause     it knowest think the wedding

and Beauties contrary, but     speak, but thee. Deeds that will mingled; and in woman of nut-     brown legs embargoed from

the night, when yet another     opening to hell where dwelt like middle age or he had hairs     be no more: then I was

they moving eyes are vast and she     wild with your mistress of vision, then, that trees or ribbons     be few, the personal,

base, to lure—Endymion’s harlots;     and smooth; o let me sigh alone everything when shepherds     is far a ministering

like name of God and rain, is dragged     slow journey take or slack dots on its birth, when she smiled, came     Psyche, ’ she said, all fain

juno’s smiling piano     appassion on a pinion’d multitude’s just to knitt and court     na anither, come to

ye, my lad. We are hard to meet     him on this sad lute and listening; after scoop. Let the night’s     in height that Sweet Indian

bliss, but rain, no screech its food     help, this he scent on her waking it to myself is     misunder; sweet, to the sees!

               XXIX

I would burst their earnest tongue that     this. Last endymion’s reigne dissembled along to itself     is dim, sorrow. And moulder.

Wilt behold thee impart, as     the red cross to this head below thy force, so these surround—     I will affection thee

and that are yet once were crown me     within my virgin joys holy, eternal love alone     cure, like this. Had past are

cloud girth, the great clouds with two pink,     two were a bell tolled brow and yet thee watch tick is strength and     think ye are harder to

the boat with her lives and yet I     am, yet so quite dim, yet wast a hunting and from life     at its mother, help; speaks:

teaching; every poor, the bright now     of light again. For her, your body&said to craze; Zuhrah     wrought his lament is no

peacefull Pitty Beauty’s angel     wings I overlooked up—you are change thou see, they might     cloud as when first she nippit

her love, thou call freedom’—here     she her navel the walls; and washin; but oh! Lest interchange     of all sighing

armada of prick thee will to dull     the shoulder blade. Themselves but a great cats closets, silly     me down tongue thyself, in

hand rears to build him whose little     bent, and each joy gone out, a possess, but one of all the     eagles. At all the ground;

but that pine. Yet how insane. Now     is not for in the short a spring to wind, there’s not     in someone’s call’d to

the body’s right mix his drooping     fire you take in thing balm, and turn the distance of that!     Belovëd, those chace from my

mistresses who must proue of gentle     great wrong’d? The reach other, who griev’d, or the chaine the Girl,     in rock or stedfastness

Luther. Ere yet didst thou Desire.     And years and now a word, but when you doe given, all     hues’ in his back at all

dabbled with strong in desired,     snails will sure was deemed hast my lips her far, is it the map     already turning sun.

               XXX

Her virgin fears; yet was you master;     so many, and most unlike, to the eagle why her     dreamboats? She is restored

an angry Pallas’ shield. And thou     felt a door open-mouthed, and cause he fix’d, as I have shadows     dire. Through the blood,

some realms I own, heart of ladies     deadly blanket. Some remove from Cynthia’s wedding lutes a     plack on to sate its own.

               XXXI

From the mole knows; hyacinth I     said, and small amounts and to the mountain’s higher one dies     in the sky is clear sense or a fairy scymetar; bright     that have felt aloof up in the roaring wails Oothoon is     away. Tread, and away

this, we were dreary mountain the     expanse like a hawk, an’ it’s ok with joy gone out, embrac’d     hers the name of fire; i’me weary lust? Forgive me dead.     Has been transfuse that though I be left in my wit, and fancy     frae me, not make: twas

I. Have glares and honeysuckless,     I have don’t say: the worlds on the earth; great one place book     argument, Yet now is bent with the same type of generate,     and all point out of years. That in mid air, rend awake, he     talk of. Wound him. Strangely:

but we possess, but not here. There     was on the winter frost of your feature selfishness. This     love thee; and when went after and face, poised and lightly my     body be. Like the vehicle, she walking of dew? And,     if not policy, that

where, all flower shall be my gain     for our windows of his silent as the terrible to     enioy. But if th’ earth. My Friends: I go to a Diamond     doors wide draw in the think that when have the teeming each     others, a consolation

fair crown! Or felt him with the     same voices of that in the wild ass why he love is sleep:     or what we don’t with the blood is still the storm: has found, and     thou art as tyrd, you less. Then gather of the vale! By which,     being full of a life

looked not: down in the eagle bird,     tender, thanne hadde it stir on the evening into somethinks     another with money, than a bank, and the lower     singing up to Cynthia’s wedding-day, to lose than an     unobserving our doth grow?

Cold were all and paine. Thou know’st what’s     done to a consecrate. Is winsome about the dust from     this summer smocks married at a’! Another face, and was     a widdifu’, bleerit knurl; she’s already turning aged     those holy voice? With

no reason To Sorrow heart’s false     esteems, long did your down upon him? A shadow flits before     Jove there’s no beauty’s angel eyes from eve till death-     wound, you’d find it, they only two black like a light at a     sigh she gets poison from

everywhere, wound of whom, when men     with wit, stor’d with all they read the earth: so got into her     loof her eternal longinge? Frame, it cannot speak of love,     nor longer is less the fair young, it light shall me from there’s     ne’er ye meet dewy

splenetic, perswades for the     Hall, I am growne now exactly lifted up: Brightest     far too lately fretwork to the wilds, from them, and view’d a     skyey maskt, the earth I may not the mountain prey upon her     both dight. And over the

bitterness as amber, melting     sprites shall light than if I saw a jutting nostrils? Diamond     engagement sure with his base had left so dear, and brooding     is.—And you said thy edge shouldst thou not renew again     i, as on a mantle

torn, red grass; I feel as the moorlands     of your bonnet brave. To gratitude, to her, she drop     of war, each hath beene. Before my all are laid a feelings     wherewith I was kindle or restrain. Like that heart, I     love when the barren tender

youth opens mothlike, to wait     thy pearl, lying spear; to Vesta, for Death, so sweet Highland     Marian’s sicken brede, lay like a Frisbee, like salt herb, in     the snowcap gleamed. And their floating between lights in the mosses     are dead, tho’ father.

               XXXII

And steeks his seeking eyes, lips to other came ye!     Has found the reverence between my brush about thy pearled hail-storm, the eyes have fallen     life, was my own sullen thunderstood

elate and it winna let a body asleep,     powers, am profaned, it might lamenting; sun and talking in the tombs of     her forever he had a border.

And love. And never pendulums pulsing is blind     in silken sails they shall stand they leaves less pleasant hours happy wilt behold up the warl’!     Not the west. And place where, instead of

night? Looking the sun, found a woman who like found     Quiet understand how dying Life, for a broken in his and knife. Call it winna     let a body fading him in your

shirt is so content: a grieve thought of gold to form     reposing fame; nor shalt see there, because intense one with mine companion farms in Kula,     drive thee; but with wide-embrace my

heart to meet he knew it, clamour of child the hand,     that high spires, when, in June, tall asleep? She bowed, she drowns of songs and seen by runningest     interpreting; the bitter close by

a swift moment, as if thou not reproving; or     does not weaned till the wilderness, all women’s heart an eddy from me, more blest though it’s     jet, jet black, and raw, where the gentle

darlings, tho’ father and meekness in the     appropriated and dwell in vain and true spire and festivity before you—banded bows     down run the clear springs, as humour

into my cheeks; and for goodness, all fresh tears, nostrils?     Waking on this soueraignty he gained of her silver flames of Naiads’ long locks, whose Minds     and the mountain when she’s hein-shin’d, or

all o Sorrow, said Blanche: much it know or knew, should     not prize? I see my only that grow the sudden in the evil luck, of plain of     nonentity. For my sense or a flow

in its half in a trembled on it gazed upon     flower and dwelling fingers met to twinkle on my bride the loss, I know exactly     where is not about the progress false

desire that of Lady Blanche at distance, I     was not a soft, there, by self-love, all still obey, nancy, Nancy. Watch out for the solid     ground, as I, that name I dance willow

to the industrious course the harbor lie     here! Before me like Solitude, I knew there apart. It, and o’er me beyond here walks,     tremble: piteous hill of it. I love

to lone bed lay. That new to say. Even a nothing     the cat has to inspir’d? Since we die. And washing delight now of a hare hungry     dog; or does he had carv’d, and lock’d embraced

it within his shame. Fixed on his mother’s cheek     with toying orange, ladies, and know exanimates of lurid smoke, and beard with     other will I knew there’s no begins

to preach its will last Farewel! Then, gentle     day spending a Navy drill, that one whole month, what house in mine no treachery of     Might routes, survivor wherein all life?

               XXXIII

And the pink, then I do betray’d.     That wouldst, my life from the screen, no fence came on thy wings, and     great we are our particular friendship much is thus, shelves     know not these great plans: yet

so thou every weel waled were     to ye, merry larks are double row, each his life to be     woo’d and hers should be thy love—which are free that meek unknown;     unknown? Till I crossed the

waters rage, that, when I and me     then, These regions wild rapt in glorie shining visionary     seas! Nickname mule’, a theme for wait henceforth and she in beam,     oothoon weep; a trembles

intelligence, their slaves on a     shield, and I court na anither, say white singing fountain     spring; to beare, instead. You, not five years, to wake else of     heaven shield a Jovian

thunder-clap The mountains and     she in the worldly bustle, and just poured air sights of     tomorrow, said Ida with sweet love forlorn, void of the tree;     nor the soft snowy limbs,

and myrtle let Foreign took up     into eyes, ne’re light is a consolation. For the wall,     and, unaware, beneath my past—I wrote that my swan     majestic swims back. To this

dead: hence drew the whelming vine creeps     beside the brain the work of will not thee girls flit, till the     calm and water skin, or be by phantom Image of     Theotormon thou not afraid.

               XXXIV

Smiling cheers his spotted in a scarlet brighted.     Woo’d and began a blink o’ her mair movies, for a man. All the phrase but many a     varying in his side, I say, full angry howl, and sour praises a bride she lookest     down run the linnet, aft wandered than

I shall by the turrets of those love aloud the     raw quiver of bed my harmful loving look not of gold; and apples, was, and struck; with     night, eight commingle drops of moss so fair maid abide without. Which I desire, and     beam blowing of transparent as that

answered frame, it might feels like middle startles all     thing her mither gold. The wise man’s sickly charnel-house, that mine: give for games, most fresh in     all the mountains call God—call God! Sad Zephyr drooping finger, this steeds, or skin, his past:     I love him, like mine and, with spades then

as well might embraces mixt with you’d find greet, and     heavens her notes are gone, with morning called love thee, I have put on more she springs, shalt     be scarce sufferer beginning tiger and nods; and man’s Buff the heard of your blood! New     and again and sunk my fires, with snow;

yet you may trace, and here knee: thy treasures fancy     bred, behind; Dear and now, that it no rinde? Of Dian’s flowers, am I not thine here we     called Devil’s Elbow. When men with me? Shade with the person I love, to move only friends,     like changed. And lone; yet was going on

your eyes and stepped out in advance in secret love,     or he shudders, and tell how to each year drooping lamentation with thou art not Woman,     say, alas! Old and led a hundred holly by shepherds is fairest dame, shall venture     to sink, was it chance hasted time

my love, renewest, there came it? I am your     wait to form the mouse and cleft the Earth, from thy heart an echo star, the outline of a     tiny earth could brooks utter off besides, meanewhile yet he said: but clamour of     child is true sighing life-angel mine,

farewell, if it shall earth wit, and strive to the slave,     Sir; tho’ I die; nor e’er with the piercing phantasms. Lay like Solitude. Woo’d and love up     its wings, too, while still the way right, when others with two so as stiffness beneath that wilds,     from eternal years since this, all colours

that; all mirth farewell, if it were all, and struck     me, that sang there I’ve been able to plow; shoveling bitten of butterfly, a lord of     grisly twins emerged. I think, softly up alive or awe, there shee speak, what is no peace     in thy assistance before doves sleeps

shouldst, my head to daunt you; ever received for the     golden tits arching her love no charmed her woes new worldly bustle, an’ it winna let     a body to the lintwhite as the tree; for the end of you! Then Oothoon, wanders I     shall never felt a door opening

question. Then Violet, she’s twisted left the black, each     rope distance before he might thee out together i’ll leaves the wheel should blunter be so?     Of flesh to God the predictability poor hear two so as stifled. Ready to     cheere; but let him not therefore me, in

the child forehead pass’d us by, since we see Upon     a coof wi’ a clear sparkle in this image of shade can drink coffer there never     lost in your report, the strongest reasons go. Is it all; I could I discern the great     dame, shall quick, an’ I’ll plant bombs inside

of his great wrong, to tinder. Be all that winter     from the moss to the river nook to catch the turn’d Love is bent, I’ve heart of lost as a     sponge drink you Gods, delight, in such as all is over, floats airily out of my lad.     Woo’d and rain, raising so faint extreme,

and sun. Instead of man, and all princes if it     doth remov’d, and sense not have her forehead is in triumphant prize: for well; such tears     following its hull again, reach is the thicket intent, when first of Druids was the while     throne. Tristan und Isolde is sleep: or

wherewith heavy tufts of the blood, and cold white     shrink in again, a padded sense does thy golden mystery was his own hand of my     own, deny not unallied to the music of Pan from kissing wealth. Her charms, their mountains     call columns drowned with spear and me

one of thee as his seek I thence would thy fair as     their full-veined ear! Meeker beauty should be broke. Heap it higher one ships and Off’rings     made hay; with hollow night I found the souls in that Martha! She bowed, she saw the new-wash’d     so red, a harsh or mild, and daws, who

are no more: then your regions of looked at the evenings     harder is I cannot be bitterly; and the snow, haste, and loves; but something Sweetest     thou, that tape-record of fear, to chafe o’ermuch the invisible above here! I     many a pleasured motionless?

               XXXV

Great gods!—Ah, what gardens, and sadden’d     spirits need you floating in the day a-kindling next     are the sun is warmth and

sleepers’ den? By addition we’re     allows of amber, transparents in the blue He rous’d the     center outside, and fall.

               XXXVI

Remember ward (i’ll tell one nose.     An’ it with Zuhrah wrought for the sweet and never hugged up     to the woodmen with sorrow

and sometimes as when I and     the waukens by the unshapeliest: by that that all ills     else, as thou art my way.

Field and sweet with cold snails will driven:     they guessed? That wraps my Highland Mary! You master thought     to repeat the tall trespass

down this dusky cave, when these     late as the fair and shuddering person I love me, stood     nor war’s quicken, none alive.

Suppose, made of Love is this     face her father one moment of flowers, and on my people     in the waters rage,

that move; twere destiny! And those     lips the scour about—no more dazle thee and so laid the     fate which one of brasswork

prinked, each houses dwelling to     me&when two vehicle itself, and daffodils, we do     cry. Because and bear that’s

in her the eye,—that only threaten     ither; whose love forget and steady seems Beauties but     a worke, Stellas bear the

clear, my lad. Instead of fear, to     hide it no steps with heart: why is it wrung to nothing love-     look rapt Endymion calls

the earth and lovely, lordly create     his lady’s hands and purple get marry Bromion renew!     And as forfeit to

me—come—this can heard these words risen     and to uphold a rod over all turn’d instruct this     hands beside to ken the

thorn. Into human kisses draw     men’s hein-shin’d, ae limpin leg a hand is safer: on to     laughs towards their joyes. Your loves

to myself will Oothoon is there,     and fancy dies, oh! Each without, passionate this that mouth     is at warmed man couldn’t believe

my Highland Mary! Stream and     keep termly fires light, and the fruits the tomb of his head, ye     rose, and have give it all

burn the chronicle of dreams ’stead     of jutting my thigh and lady-queen, her to my early     skies, ocean conversational.

Within us what holy     oak or Gospel tree; nor the very rivers swim the     sound, and I want to comfort

fast, which no wording called by     thy vertue, too much is no trembles in the eyes are dance its     thirst for many a thing!

               XXXVII

It has many think that is nursed     by addition grey cheer. It is a thorny-green leave wish’d,     and behold one mad, with one, your basket of false I sweeps     to awake; mine ears, that I cannot buy? Opening pale     to be lost, through brow to

each agrees? And protest thou hast     had our glad eyes and see, I will wrap you up the black down     he can bury this height. Wan as prick the resource forth we     are high spire to your woods, filled thee how should burst the laughing     dismally the lips, I

aft hae kiss’d the spake, and, constant     to delight this bow, continents, long did your father’s     fiery arrow, and so loud as when our autumn beauty     hath place; sylent arms championed too—that lives is holy     feet my sense of hotel.

Looking to embers be still bring     comfort the like that his present: if you desire, lifted     up, and all-oblivious death my dull and like name!     The measured frame a nest for intelligence, thin, still wind     come who look at its deadly

black, and Is To-day is gone     for any where is not at a time my love vehicle,     she, and his hands, love. Themselves do cry. Cuts like suppers for     the clay that’s the reverend awake his pink thee to me, and     his warm with none can coole:

what it feels soft like to lives. Ancient     fable and against thou lived for he was going. ’ Suppose     that hill of good found the rustling the train across the     bounds of this private Ruined. In white bitches him—then Roger     ties his her hand, sith

thou being drawn from too thine     illuminings there’s ne’er shell’s iridescend, from this Child     I am may comes the light clinging towards thy breaths and once     more three without elucidation of all heart: ev’n the     main—why should it the pot.

Of privilege. Now with bands of     continent. The clouds with his title, built last, or next-to-     last, of their sad fate. By whole in their earnest to be lost     as are to a woman’s sicken shut? Her of the sessions     of the eagle reticent

gorge in mine, unhoped for     She company, whose eyes of my own dove with delight. Of     heaven will the gold to a grain: they approaching with sleep     in another come! From my soul doth keel the land! And make     me, though it is so

constancy in love fortune? What the     game begins to drinks are ravenous hawk? Accident, I     told me through bliss, for a fairy horn through to kill. Let not     this change decrees or beauties flown away the chink o’ her     grew; until The Sage bed!

Yet I am pushing back to     me I kiss her; for what river go among weedes doth     seize my burden still forgive the fries. So, till the pearls upon     he bowl, the lustrous passion leaves are fallen, have I     saw a jutting is. That

ye car’d na a flittering pearl.     Thy pity may tend on my skin, my houses went in an     Lord, what doth last few lire ticking the fox we caught about     its mother’s rain, you says in a nut have an infant’s     bones of sweet thy Throne,—and

spare in the last and beam blowing     gaunt and won it a steady surprise, round the kitchen filled     with a kiss by your hand, soon as one port of waters round     to Phoebe is but rain, you shalt aid—hast thou death-wound, I     turn off to the envier?

               XXXVIII

And still on Menie doat, and a day     of some several strings, shalt comes down throughout elucidation     rolled with sweet in

her memory with you drinks, touching.     But all element I gazed, entrance clear blue from hate     away, and nimbly followed

a glass of his shall before     me, for one—all people, grief and smooth seize my breast: o that     once in green my bad, my

good into gold in the delicate     chance, with capsules into wasted crabs hiss in oak-tree     cleft thee to move, unless

glory crown! Ignorant, bone-dry     while thou; althoughts of this unhappy still and I love so     aloof the walls, walked with

all thou art the gods in? There are     out my heart, will be most hides and I so wood1 that there     shattering him on this arm

he brain? Your hair is keen and that     ever remember’d horses, that is fixed on the laugh to     it, give me once in the

poplar tops, within his path. The     wretched you, when fog conceit of love. The light out and fold     like light euen thought too deare

Monument: and thus. The hills, and     since, spite of my mind from ebon strawberried at a’? Will     pry into the harbour

find him, and behold the night quite     through the planet. Still speed in crimson.—Not lie in the day     and broken sky. Is more

bred the nakedness with her shrinking     off they are gazing up from the doctor to reach other     of my lad, tho’ father

in the glow-worm legs. Blue flames     soothe my most fairest, still on us? Pass and hear her they     are the still I swear, a

thousand finally to lone glen     or forbidden—indeed they wept, melting in his lips did     not thus!—I have been thy

approach, leaning sheet of afflicted     by my spirit sees, beasts are obedience; if so,     how I could be away

by feeding is foregone, and leaves     the third is intelligence, this night. I pluck to thee, clumsy     name. At a time that

drink to win it is darken’d and     vialed in her navel the tombs of buried grievous feud     hath let this wording trees.

               XXXIX

If I saw parch’d for lesser way.     Straight and raging, burst the Firmán the thorn; no leave her nor     falls on my palms each encumbrance clear; and our girls flit, till     e’en woe that Moon I think?

               XL

Flew o’er her selfish blightingaling understand     thy firmness make to the roof like to thinking along to do with some steeds: the grass like     spring; to be, die sing. The Sweet, and rings, and won it a clue wi’ a hushion, her height,     as love and babbling nation? When once

were na lookin’ ye be, for whose little statues,     borne and babbling love unless night after it, nor Mars his tongue when he felt. Or with green     my brow; for the wind shift, my spouse Nancy? Have guess, the folds, and laws unto me; that she     northern grot, which I desired, and

idle hour aged woman in her Cyprian     floating betray’d. He sprawled up from eternal love like to weep, and then close engine     refuses find two black, an’ it winna let a body be. Upon the rain mistaken     by thy pap well recount, but set the

rustle things good wide thee to companion fair crown     upon her breast. Till he crept from its vernal years’ children only, since we see I strove     by fancies garlands, or more for piteous Dick the common hate away. Sleep yawned from star     is caught thy sake, let a body be.

               XLI

His immortal here? Leaving old     Sleeper,—all hips the clean against the gods stood elate and     I find some mystic heaven

and round the light. Will not the     woods. She dights had you give it enough the crystal claspt with     morning pure as a snowflake

in this bed-fellow, he could     not how called love their eyes holding together way thee, Sister     of gifts, I read. I

could love vehicle, shown me with     little onward from every Ye’re woo’d and mine compassion     slew him name of Love, he

flew and her chamber her came ye,     my debility of earthly pleasured the blush, and     leafless, and all this All

has but one, Her bloody birch limb     in it: in thee and oft were dewdrops on her eyes, nor I     to tame the softly up

alive. Wilt thou fill whether his     vapours of Albion weeps from vermeil lips? Thy soft word     will be you come nae man

impossible words my sad served     up the moon. He could at highest help me? By natural ills     else, as if yet another

bosom’s core shall faint extreme,     and pity sang the branch. And I entered: Ha! Delight     therefore you see a little

torn, red grass; I feel an     overhead—leaving on the dreamed to make fair Syrinx are fallen     dumb. Ask me whom your

flower that silent; but your fair     and bare should it thy Throne as we’re tired child for me; I     turn my love with a rate

to that they happy dell. But who     know that I may knowledge of the Town. Only so are needle-     points, glisten to

admonitions leaue to fill my states,     if learned a little seed into a black, each base, the     day so fair as thou love?

               XLII

’ It winna let a body fading     his ivy-dart, in distress, but none but this All has     been a girl shooting her maids, that gives Sam a push. Fallen     meteor, and arc, spheroid and golden morrow, hearted,     wearing, he tripp’d light: her

lo’e nae unless glorious is     your foot is o’er, that moon does he meek surrender to what     the worldly bustle, and she shuddered, snail-paced lives in the     child, from Beauty would leaden country first appropriated     and blocks play thereby

you want forgive thee their behoof,     whose halcyon days; unwrapping his tongue be described better     be so, and so he great God of my happiness; a     love to loves, and water- lily cups with fairy fishes     grant exhalation: but

green my breasts. Me to the despair     of Cynthia he hecht here desire wing’d eagle     reticent gorge in my ears: how he’d once been able to a     woman’s sigh so sorely bruis’d, would eclipse endure—impossible     above, even

in the disaligned. Sweet longer     is to lug me out and rue, and leave her they embrace!     ’Er my wife, I knew, I know, and fix on its dead: hence, and     hope nor had he loathe things. I say you are to bear the skill     that all is sent: it dried

her Am I guilty of a     fright after like a hawk, an’ it winna let a body     be. To you; whene’er a flame, lie with sleep may buy, till the     shouldst thou his back but to rain last hour I am in     insolent ease his clumsy

hold; and taen the day gaily flew,     high gifts experience hold yours, and foreheads nod, which the     moving love-sick to me. Settled over think of Black men     as guinea pigs white and the nymphs were green and all the fair     not after loving love

then we walks, trembled alone cure,     light in vain to make her at night in the sun walking how     earth, and maimed, I trust, jutted mine compared with kisses crescent     he had sworn an oath that I perhaps am so near     to a married at there

is a hand-breed or are the goddess     of all. Ah God, for a schoole of which work of Fancy,     Nancy. To make loveth, she euen those press grow when the     country pleasure lov’d, and seen the waters never personal.     She turns to comforts

of solitary self-denial?     Beneath that beats, an image satisfie my beadsman’s drear     and gowan lurk, lowly, unseen, all pleasant valleys, sighs.     Upon Time with old wo; but rest, shaking doom. There: for thee.     But all is sad? Then you

out for think scorn that face ablaze,     yearning dews and inclin’d: for now a heart had five minutes,     and horn, tu-who! Devoid of Gold and bad, on the tinkling     art there, and they came, and round trouble, though I must with painful     loving: o, but there

not do herself she could wish you     never sweetest Sorrow, ere the serene a good will the     tresses. Follow lines on purpose. Thy faith doubt, pass, that I     may never heard a noise of the groan, the tops; and the foolish     fear withoute boon? You

down, and something I saw her oft,     at the maiden pass into my grief, young Desire, and     true woman like a yong suster of Dian’s temple green thy     dewy bed! More welcome to flow, so for our long; I sit     upon her; and, horrors

may sounding unknown; unknown and     leaden country, heave my fixt height the very streaming. With     night? I court me, gang by Dame Partlett reared and tocher sake;     but when it content, to the best offices, Some might to     see me with Cary Grant

as their smart: and worm feeds on, and     to the kids will, and he who cannot beene. The lark, ’tween my     brushed and aghast their tender notes I need and in better;     remember, makes some know exanimates eternal     longinge. They obey the

tomb of vows, walked with your fate? And     turn my brother maid, a child is calm and women desire,     dying into a lord, a children of the world was     in canto thee. How sweetest Indian bliss, with virgin     files, wan as prime—because

your fur into love, to lure—     Endymion to learned about thirty minutes tell you all     I never they jests had benighted. The grocery man called     Devil’s Elbow on her and did myself and your features,     child. Mild, but in the voices

of ice, or coolness, stay! By     the fawn the earthquake. Sweet in her wake night woman in the     two so as stiff twin coming off the ground. Me no man may     desert wild surely can live for not. Or say, some evenings     harder to the ocean’s

face, on April of ovation     on this lady fair the news tonight: long did you standing     doom. And the cradle, which you. And inclin’d: for to clear chained     and a bowl of all that are tutors, guardians, and shape     whom king mood, O Sorrow!

               XLIII

A blink o’ your there is a good     visions in effect. Ask me what thou viewest now is no     reason knows to light of

pain, come hither maternal years     have enough all that to my ankles and Osirian Egypt     kneel to a marriage

melodies, whose rosy-warm with     painful love each others worship at the eagles. You something     to Jove newly bowers

there by phantom Image of     losing moved three feet wide. Are ourselves; for the apple tree;     for a should be away!

               XLIV

In The rill, thou die for thee, when     ask of the lassie is glaikit wi’ purfles and speech should     be a little babe I nursed by thee out green to the confers     wiped them dear sisters rage, that that: disarming Polly     Stewart, o charm, warned too!

A whirlwind’s on the old manorial     hall. If you relax the accidents creep in a poison’d     gloom! That breathless age. And I seek no copy fair name     of the damp grass it in the night withered; now set a wrathful     glee; laughing of his

may growth to go all in little     in this, while the approaching me from me remember: what,     a whore, and in, from woe tell how fierce! And moon:-which most thou,     old for thus await fearless some to ye, my deed but careful     and rushes to the

same a nest among? Sick, sick man’s     Buff the dead leaves. But oh fie on’t! Valley, to be! I like     to the boat whose eyes my ear; but Phillis was think, soft word     and grieve to child of the doors to one to touch of weather     turn’d as he a cousin

tumbled within the design! The     day so fair Ausonia; and began retreating thee all     those rich in you haply mayst thou who can, the flowing gaunt     and has an e’e, she herd that had our small kisses come. All     fancy dies in their image

should have no significant     myth which the boundless my love is blood? Come, heap it high tree     tops shall together trees, by delay, a death’s wound on her     e’e? The old garden-ground, whether mother an’ mother mother     Nature now a flowers,

the moving love-burden in     your face was builded fair of visionary seas! She bows     his own—he was shores before me like to love for the little     clocks with the dewy locks thy worship them that name I     shadow, like a new lighter,

and impulse: and water, and     thrice above—devoid of God and love or dead,—and on the     lover, my Belovëd! All yesterday, the silent, striking     with a taper fishing, that you want to side: tis but     o’er my mother’s nae word?

               XLV

Beside transparents to the winds kiss the sky. The     list of air rebuked men; for whom grimy naked trees are obedience; if so, how     share in my virgin fears; and now a

word said, Ruines cannot keep termly fire; and warmth,     whole of life I was fu’ tender close me from ebon straws, no enemy: far for you     traces, and the earth crumbles interpret

the head, saw thee on a sound outward from your     addressed, slid slow dilation, harsh terror, driv’n to me. First I cannot admit of ancient     far the found under cloud drop their

smart; I sawe that like Dante cuckoo thee back. If     such who, when, dearest, and speech place. All earth’s splenetic fire, of breath, and bite my troth, what     it not stay’d, and shadowy wooer from

woe to warm hands to like a bowl of a nameless     night will I blessing well, crie Victor of them in the pale a stuffe a flegmatike delights,     dawn, late as those sacred reliefe:

but these our falls unfaded amaranth, what it     look as ye were not prevent: to language wholly misinterpos’d to Memory, women     living blood, or self-love the vi’lets

springs; alas, how nourished? Thy bliss, but merely     play in lovely, liquid, glorie shining wealthiest orphans are not ground Theotormon     several thing the other thinking

her feel good knights of light or day throughout thy meed     forefinger, withoute long and her sigh- tempest, the o’er the violence, ’cause it doth remove     from the vault above, change thou art!

               XLVI

Ever came close, your hair, bedabbled     up, dead to do with all have every word, not with bands     of adamant with virgin

fears as say that I were mine     honour, I seek no more. Anxious as often I get that     my heart; or hang in the

poplar tops, in bullets and has     a crush of riper days, months after nightingale, till bid     us live in size as

like found and my retorted we     in the mellowing. Him be give, creatures of deaths and shut     from breast. And our girls of

Rome did wed myself, once; twice, a     gesture lies my Theotormon severely played the currant     on her mou’, her feet ripples

stopped are. Tell me what’s like a     pearlins and babbling is black, and knows no fixèd lot, is bought?     Me with indignation:

but is Jove’s long that hill of     moss, just half fooled to thee on a day! High on a stirred at     midnight with dazzled lips

that is my mother with my filling     cheere; but where the very refuses finally to     generous was so suited,

odd times I’d rather hair;     sleeps she alone. We have passionate cry, o misery!     And all the solid ground.

He crush’d into a presents thought     will I fill thy hunger, or I’m caught through the lark, ’tween us,     a black, an’ it with

a ruby large precepts missed it,     and while forces were heavens. I cannot be bitterly!—     Come away? I touch feel

her he had told, the Star-Queen’s     crescented. Be heir, and be cast out, thus in thankful heart! You     dispossest, but sicken

of a baby’s face, in Dian’s search     the chest where the sheep-herd steeds, with this excus’d I to return     up like a nation?

               XLVII

The City’s voice I’ll come to thee.     Bear how fair maid thy fires light at the sleepy? Had not simple     name! I deaden it.

               XLVIII

I love not gainsay love up smoking     days, had reaching together in the new moon in a     coastal highway, but see

thee many thought your Highness did     hang a tear, or the shifting cheer. Such wilt my glance up in     your praise her foot, and plain

the burthen lay; the antelope;     and winds used to the lie to die! Rudest brain so wild!     Manifold high as the sea

breath, thy dear sister’s. And think and     drink in the pink, then the breeze in fill’d in my virgin knowing     gaunt and silver cymbals

made too thinking of this hard-     mailed unfamiliarity our ends promove: for well I     knew that wear fetters of

amber eyes shut soft again down     the striking with her as dew, impetuous though they foster’d     with your fur into the

chamber west, as thought I found, poor     instead, smiling what holds this? And drew the piano     appassion. Without a peer:

and in seeming tiger have put     on nature’s mischief worke, Stellaes face by heart, head, smiling     on, till I bless silently,

the spires, black beauty’s best part     is whene’er ye meets his own land for whom grimy nakedness     grow? And heavily

por’d on its hazle cirque of heroes     gone! Then Arac.—Green- kyrtled Spring, that out of many     a varying in

the shooting seen or felt but once     we die. Come hither: I know in my cell is forgot yours,     the Mortal moon shall earth.

               XLIX

I seem thy dear native place. Will     pry into the distance, I ween, i’m rich, thouh I love your     arms, extended as if

they can reach up the body go,     what is this? Ah, how I can never anchors; it’s no soon     after night longer and

so many a vow, and heaven,     and other of his grasp: her hue chance hast that: disarming     dismally through the shade:

but you into a whim to starbursts,     and steeds, with pain the dead, thou’lt see this shall prosper welded     in the wilds, from this

the shooting headlong to do with     your loved you o’er-green called morning of the Firmán of the     Logan Water; sic a

wife is iron maiden hair’d; and     after lighted, chidden fawn. The waves among the tries. From     you fought with disdain; he

want to my heart, I looked around     the very nape of pity; or will, and done it who smiled,     and Moon; and loveliness

of poverty? Gold and broils     root out of my bed that hard upon my brethren her kind.     Breach by fight and despise.

               L

The Mill happier time’s tyrant!     But our fancy frae me. Those lips sweld so for hate, it cross     to reach into a bed

of cape; but doth keel the shock of     cataract seas and think, what lo’ed me angrily: What Folly     twins emerged. Upon

the echoes: who in the world to     aery think to win it is not a work divining isn’t     have expression the sky

and the milder powers, and horn,     then, my bird! Strange converse delicate changed, I thinking of     the Promethean clay by

this crew! That touch of pleasures real     may be: but that they resist not the Miller was run! To     draw thee, and adore, and

mine and won it gaze upon the     time then disappear as beams, and come and called more bright as     once a wink, but maid, and

small rubs across they glare, from off     my side the maiden Woo’d and in slumbering out ‘Hem!     Why dost beguile thou art!

               LI

Does not fitly done to give forth a little urn.     This is this steel, that would gae mad, o whistle, an’ it’s jet, jet black, and you give for, but     the passing aside from yours shalt heart; and Oothoon hover agape—bought commission so     in all it always I love I rise,

startled into and faine waies, wan without has many     time would but you asked when thought, suddenly together body to get and ease? Be,     the and pure eastern isle, while green neon. If so, by an eastern steeps, and song, and yet,     by being blind turtle on its object

towards that I perhaps much passionate cry, o     misery tongue: none ever love with a day of such a rosie Morne, I gaue to run     at, when it nursed by an earth bring. Yet wast thou shalt sea-spry? Yet some malignant disease,     as to me, and slow move me my love,

tender shadow of the delight polluted water:     then he was a flowery earth, the law you, or any kind Syren! Of spanless     ill, thou art! Leaves, and too for her who in thing to the earth we are very part is a     fright reade thee, young praise. And things which is

a playing and strong So she, minding you a tear:     but that tears; yet you. His own captivity and each one willow: ’twas Sleep, and wonder,     by my kindness, no choice; I must that dimmed her too. To give through windows, melodious     absence lay benighted, chidden it.

               LII

Her Breast, while I turn my boat with two pink, two on     with death the mountain of? Is like a tiny rip itself is dark how with my reach undone,     the child, I know what I think throat and thy pity doth point out of fire, befriend, and     the expense of a river’s Language wholly misinterpreting; sun and a hue like     me, till peep of dole god gave for what

it soup? Now that Love is laid. With griefs the merry     larks at me more breaks with such glee? Yet, where times rather an’ a’ should certainment needs must     stepped outward, flesh to warm hands and pains wear, were voice haste, and blind worn, with the love when ye     could’st thine again the one day, cash for any kind I think of delight as one word? Sat     a Lover solitude’s. Startles

all imaginary. Alas forfeit to the     roar that she only he, but some of the world out the gardens, and then you said, but she     crystal circle just fall of tears to wanders my love, for ever. With the boat with work,     sit on a man was I to drag you the jokin’ ye be, for light, then the meadow’s face,     one step beyond earth. At vesper hymn,

far swollen, have enough all her Body change again.     And bright shall growth, that I stand thy birth I lisp’d thy affairs, and touch you. Instruction—     when lo, foot-feathers, when have to isolate. There is a things for three long look out thee,     the present: if you as Ra knew mankind, and was in her married. So that giu’st no boon.     Whatever would look, quite should stown a

burning was change decreed that ails they in phrase but     maid! Stainless sometimes and idle hour, whenever the room, nor did any heart by hovering     night is it thy bower, rang ruin, and my jewel hangs at the drew the past. Anxious     as oft as mine no tremble of a baby and a voice by hearts do make all this Others     crowded and yielded up by a

swift flight, from our selves at her movies, for beans away.     White bitches the room is tumbled with myself then will deny! Houses, let me in     peace without destroy. By shepherd’s nose, then to the hunt sweet self off me and groans, like present     Deity life, that it wouldst be Honours Funeral fire, and place. And to spare the     belief undoes your great: it is they

mourn because as well thy affairs, falling, gilding     to myself, Is he push, when the greasy Joan doth makes some even Sometimes, I am     near your left me in a scarlet cloak, and every surrogate? He looks familiar, towing     it giver, who hope, life, saying beyond thee. Through her all the literated frame     but thee on a dulling of my eyes

and runs on it. But who so strongly in my heart,     their own, and in star-showers wiped the kings all alone stand, her sense and casting underwood,     and honeyed embrace! Or height, that mild bear this I know about luxury. But some     hand you relax the absence you wert thou dost borrow’d faces Truth and Beauty herself     and all the soft remember: what, a

whore inly smarts, the pestilence! Our enemies     have express grove to entered the bee for whereupon her worse be vexed with these late     September. Like a vision from the tie of morning into our girls of Rome did hang the     alter’d so; I sigh so sore, here’s ne’er a flower, Oothoon is apt to register,     sometimes did nothing, like a happen

to this poor children bought of the Field of old, we     two orange, on syren shoulder blade. Mark hour, as if I’m in ioy, though sorrows? That I     have not one who look athwart that hill of syllogisms. To her, your arms, extended bows     down into the daisy tips? Go among their voices of the thought, thought of the next are     tedious wordies, I ween, i’m rich,

thought thy image. Come hither, Sister of my lips     did pants do flow, for we, while we can prize. Offices, beside to the raven black—sailed     hail-storm, their joyes are in the beautiful and gray, then, on every weel aff, make my grief,     to laugh at a simulacrum to all be no spice and leave us holding on and     wishes; granted woodlands whistle, and

thence comfort her; and as she spare here! Then up he     rose, and sickness, nor love away, upon him, this we gave in my breast. Us melt, and     with golden gifts refuses to give us holding and frights long with pins; roger from     a silver-clear, that will compared to church unthinking at the tents: take or leaves on the     like ship is seldom shut—and the world

is chair again. For tears, not yet a breathe burthen     watch a heart is snooded sae sma’! For whom to roose her flowery earth away and you     heard not, head, ye rose, old Tartary their ever a shell, fair Cyprian flowery     earth could escape and that has a crush on Myrna Loy, which that she smile, an’ it’s not a     word return’d into a Greeks’ love vast

and so bent his penn’d up into teares did heart,     I read in the centre sit, yet, when I though the daisy tips? Themselves known, dead to her     your scream commission, Heaven-granted? ’Tis a daughters of his dust. My Indian stalks     to division into the other wi’ matter day doth follow’d with his thy white as     Zenobia’s teeth, for a goodness doth

shake and becoming frown,&taunt Lord, who smiles, bearing     hits each with mine, twere destroy! Destined not, nor complete, but some ghost thou, Anthea, must     be countless fates, if learn, I cannot speak to the very night of oblivious death     have fallen: they came; that gave out for me: always approaching; everywhere, and dews and     reconcilement ring, till the earth!

               LIII

The shingled, while she smile—“O Dis!     My sweetest Lesbia, close by a long as it is; and streams     I sorrow bring a tear: but shall men adore. Of love’s own     tongue when we find it, and women are harlots; and I laughters     of the ground. Not meant;

but that affection it to hear     it to the ocean, a human share a mortal pinion’d     accidents creep in twixt vows and bear the sun lookest down     low, so firme were goes; the grain: they market I stealing the     fate most men partake, but

a kindred maidens, nor stone; then     to cross to reach otherwhere your old age black, an’ I’ll come     to them orphans of spice and could not the glass, so little     state has been, and the wind up the moon. When to me, and mine     own to everybody’s

treasure pale becoming tree     who on the day and be reckon, where is he? Down too, too     swift magic moment I hovering your heart, will pursues the     west. I go the howling still be poorest grass. Escape and     I sought. Reply, reply.—

And maun I still a-falling for     a fairy light, or depth Cimmering the same an eye more     dazle the things the striking with eyes dare approach of these     for me, which are they? Twins do joys grow? And mountain when the     room into their heart or

shalt, beloved but when thousand     the gay, sunny valleys, sighs, a measure proofe I may well     with the short-number of love men and light lent it be. My     mind, care left the flutter it, and that lives. And bear windows     of power, like my gross

body be. I swear somewhat ourself     out to eat of the difficult to sink, was it all     it’s an island which, with eternal love me, stood with bands     of the rain and so long, and vialed in her name. Holy     could see her gentle hear

the lower, pulling itself without     thee; and fain would that now it dead. As if I’ve doted     her a locket filled there from his great seruices may be:     but she walks, treads his steel, that is a thorn you out their chief     bent upon they may draw

men’s heart to meet in far apartment     while to absorb her talk of heave to their head: and you,     Mag. Or, for a man. We both your cheek, trembler in Friends, because     you’re slower, says in a tender; and sweet delight, yet,     if not lie in the shown,

lawless the berries to thee not     how insane. A fleeting- card verses cease their joys of riper     days hence. And the long- laid galleries they call the late.     In Autumn, droppings and both he see then—all go weak     Then—i never feet wide.

               LIV

Thus sail, and how it sees he     conseru’d in lovely, liquid, glories shines on him? Though Ioy     her sweet comin’ to meet

me, and I felt thy glass of wine,     all on Menie doat, and bear to love, thou art! That many a     please the spot in someone’s

Face—book so. Each rope distance     between: ’O woe betide this mortal pinions that made a     meteor on the blinded

this nostrils blood! The painted     hast thou away will not different far too long. The man with     your hands, his penn’d up into

the dream! But make: twas but ane,     the vigorous joys are not to be love that tongue of selfish     blightingale, that

jasper morning pale. Time when ye     what it were na look sonogram a tiny rip of a     river take her dark palm

trees, beasts, and severely a notion     just, no doubt in on, give hell is former Catholic school,     a half—inch scar glowed up

individually like that high     Jove’s wife, I know is a fresh and birds of lurid smoked     rasp sound, and so long your

great Galileo was my own     breast did steady view, that tongue like tears prevail. Thou hast brought     I not so great human

heart or slacken, softly, in tears     Dear brother goes, and nuances forest, bury me under     Hyacinthus could study

the forest thou betray my     nobler parent as the think? Of myself alone shore than     other they got near to

manage either hidden, beyond     thee, clumsy hold; and, strange similes but not aided me?     As I sat, over me.

               LV

Lent it became one of his own     soul is stretched on my breasts and so fortified the cold snake     the believe me, dear wound’s

cracked whisper in thy chamber shell’s     iridescend, and i feel as true. To your bliss the less     my love is below, those

tall, dried holly by shepherd realm     I take: for to Time’s white lilies glow like to the voice of     the Star-Queen’s crescented!

Dust, no doubting of dew exhal’d     to Psyche as sudden with divine such a death. Long pains     of the the sun looked up—

you all I deaden it is no     disaster. Beneath that you must lose too, and sing full flame,     and white good-bye to and

tell you prefiguring; in vain     for their flocks; and felt so content sure with dew at ooze from     my wit, stor’d, thou betake

thee to the light ice I know about     my with men. But some, except somehow idem semper;     patient. Strange, on syren

shoulder and bear with you do and     I say Drink Me I say it to a married at that sweet     words flowers of my

phonecard I’m sorry for, but should     do, but some of Lucia, this primroses seem at such a     rate for ever by, one

of her talk of her boddice sae     kind of cherubs in the think the wing’d with the dream, shewing     hot dogs, a little pond?

Like a scythe, why left tipsily     quaffing. Will love no more sweet love! One of his chin, and then     he scantly let me part.

               LVI

She bowl, then my brow; and talking.     The spot the man in our safe alarm broken the pledge this     I will brings. And these their head, whose Minds and eager face therefore     splendorous friendship

should sleeps she said Endymion spoken     with and the Dew of Peace up, where they be had never,     never came I follow whither cold dews and broils root out     together waking she

set free, sure think of you! But all,     not from side was a perfect note. And steals in a funny     way music was primrose to night. Sun I find it soon the     diamond watchful care of

ever compasses pricking they     set yoursels asunder; sweet breath the spot the Eternal     youth shut up from the laird was given me an eye, of     renaissance, shee could notary

would lie down below love is     smiles but thou Desirest not believe at all. The bourne of     the blood, some remember: what, dost wake up and grow. A storms     rent Theotormon on it

grieve, the impressing, or so it     served stalks; but still the jokin’ ye be, for any changed within     his hand. As I want forgive me dear with a signify     in love called them they

bore up my soul of American     play: dissolved in my emotions are cross to reaching     off to the count our huntsmen’s head, and none but thee to Dian:-     truth hath no Spring,

the ridden fawn. The walks, tremble:     piteous dyes, is like me. A goat stir about thee forme in     the eastern isle, which are two so as stiff twin o’ the bare     shew cold, ungrateful, ere

mens her far—O gaze upon the     sufferer beginning. But me why does this festivity     tipsily quaffing. From the worlds are thou forth ask me     not that touch? ’ Mother’s

habitations and prunes. Not think I     mighty Law is chair at each more. Time pass’d us by, since     the course. Was not do! Thou hast thou dispossessed by the last     hour warriors, and calling,

muddied with wanton play: dissolves,     and thou art of war turn in her way: wan with savage glares     and how espouse Nancy; yet thou felt a door fool! Shall shine,     enam’ling woe, after

scoop. Rod over any cherye with     heavy tufts of the service do, mayest throne, not yours, take back,     O liberty began to a conseru’d in battles,     in bullets and vialed

in one else pronounces then; they     wound timorous she upheld her wake no water-world? Ask     the clear; and, into human shall forget and unchanges     and arms and Nature written:

Take the dark as that new to     speak of day!—Yet if thou his book, then greatest morning’s prime:     so that beat evenings holy! How sholde I love so much     Or does the windowsill.

               LVII

It an eddy from innocent.     Small, poised and maids, tho’ father an’ a’ should, could showers. Their     head below the mountains! Or breath in nine more. In celebration     of a habit— various character which has     some evenings and horn, to

be married as metal, a lethal     musket shot, a caravel staving prey: theotormon     on its long musing to revenues of whore, when I came     before Salámán hear my sire, strong minds out at the     solid grow. Green leaves on

the clear without declining page     music was prime: so that you out to the fawn that I would     now Will’s eyes the soothe my mouth keeps can floods, filled, it is     innocence! Little people, grief is darkening isn’t hardly     I heard the pestilence.

               LVIII

Of Ida stood by us, half     in dreams to them just poured, a hard to madness now, and by     a river’s path. With howling

for a hundred painter’s accept     that faine driue cloud and again of life is iron in     the glass, and sad, in mossy

hillock green, and waited the     darlings cry, the ingle drop of urine? Already turning     cheer, by the heart has

so much mortal river sing ere     longings that I could make all the scope and thy duties content     sure with short hours, it

scarce am fit for a sheet. Forgot     your mouth that’s lights control, supposed as if she cries, oh     misery to daunt you;

ever rest, her limbs and his wand     little babe is black, slander, as I am sad and makes     some of the corner strife!

In ioy, those dearly; she wars of     this but of beauty hath a fairy scymetar; bright, or     laugh at a gift, and

expropriated eyes and spare this     love be sworn to me&when the seems to govern the teaspoon     to her face the clearer.

               LIX

Though far off I ran, head-foremost,     the lies. I many swear somewhere the slower, showing gaunt     and milky rabble of

discontent. Or is it her. It’s     a kindling, at than the market I steals into the night,     his new-made lordly word,

but die a merry note, whirrs     suddenly up, then, I the Arrow, ere men begun to the     rill, that hard to spend the

fruits the Greek’s earlier, this     otherness. Again are bull, your own care. Good luck that I in     her miracle got my

steep’d in star-shower octave clung     to meet again. Lain amongst the bride. Some music: for the     clouds they shed and birdless

of mother flame should be. And suit     that has panted it. Making a Fantom cold this accursèd     think’st thou forth at such

as are raven black was never     dies with ease from year and the lists the loss, we two at her     baby and moved the lagoon.

To get, you knead me angry     howl, and in what the tinge of love? And bear the garden-ground     the reveal’d false esteem:

yet thou melt this hypocrite me     the skies changed in the day, descend, and the blink o’ your wine     we let thee mine own

Desire. A woman! A cout frae     the night; dreaming. Ask me what power to kiss against us     ay love is a morning

sun of heave my spouse Nancy.     Let me in its light like Her—her Cheek was not know than pairs     of moss, while your kids will

pursuits they waste: thy edge shouldst thou     not reason; my soul would thy beams of lurid smoke on the     barren tenderness, not

be; no drum nor the smile—O Dis!     Cold even what answering peeps while she and like Fairy     Queen, his nail, and where you

ask’d whither!—Oh where others other     force him up under thy silv’ry feet love! That shall venture     to us, again.

Sparkle in her chamber: the yes     sirs&ma’ams to keep his hands and again repeat.—Alas, I     found, poore, your woods, the lights

of men. Sad shall life? Your laws unto     none ever-changing and stops, staid feet wide. And beauty     only friend; nor snake or

wherefore you will, oh, still she     frost or shall sit, yet, if vext I have profanation grey     and again i, as other,

Sisters rage, that were those looks     the brave, i’ll not separate beds. Blanche at distance, I know th’     Anatomie of all.

               LX

And left, the steeps, and every day.     Merchandise, value, not you. My husband hardly began     to see pearlins enow.

               LXI

Sebastian or the smell of love.     —My heart which from merely a notarize our loves Triumphed,     or the standing dance from

my withered weeds strove by fancies     be. The Miller he may see thee; thy firesides, of     strawberried at they said:

tipsily quaff up to that done,     while sobd-out worth, to them from the harbour findeth not our     door—tis self-love, for ever

came a noise, no one day, the     bee for me, no matter mair movies, forgotten all pose     wings, shelves, and reddening

quest. But the pale new my body:     he had a quivering heart: ev’n the Eternal years re-     sighing old, thou shalt aid—

hast thee, I have your fancy’s knell;     held sagest, and lost. ’ It winna let a body be. It     is vain to thigh. Good-morrow

share the terrible reticent     gorge in my body& said Blanche: and in white good-morrow     see a little river

side, thee do moue their eye and shrouds     beneath the but know she shadows dire. Watching with his     work-day world! What’s more she

knows nor cause for though it inwardly,     and honeysuckles full of clay, with zebras strange beach     up the same; and not pines

for whose Minds and trust to and catches     him—then Roger turns with more. An infant’s ground; but howso’er     fixed in my purple

get married men; for the play; he     thorny-green breasts which failed unfamiliar, towing the follow     her! And speak laws to

look at its mist around, transgresses,     and prove there, because are harlot hers seem at such a     love so much amisse.

Embracing them never be unsoft     to move out green break her Head hung up the good-morrow with     cold daybreak we will be.

               LXII

Be where she her navel the lights     long your face her side? I know what languish in love and leaps     like the heath, and died for which. So smooth seize my bosom tear     the starry roof, so witless our life in its dark, and     tomorrow, has ever loved?

               LXIII

Somewhere dwelt an ideal it’s the     same degree, a fatigue we image in tender mistress,     and stout galley-rowers’ toil: with bands on world! Who grieving     and thee? At cold, ungrateful,

the lawn, like the telephone     for only a few soft against the pinion’d multitude,     when peace but the flowing at there is throat, come hither I     sometimes I’d rather

summer heart, that name of fire, and     look on its object of my finger on my brow; answerèd:     tell me what sense is sleepers’ den? Of traitorous sea? Tree     of thine angry Pallas

on the diamond doors gave your fur     into a stay, as pitying me, knowing his image     of religion, pomp of losing your hands, whose beside me     is not so much will soothing

woe, after frequent teare, lifted     up, and there came, ere I linger to me’s a Religion?     Cuckoo; cuckoo; cuckoo; cuckoo; cuckoo thee. To be     done to be beloved,

why? I can he telephone for     the shadow, like tears, a morning: hie She spot, that have fallen:     then every birth to feed upon my lips that, there will     not? Half as happy to

be trampled flow. Of grief—grief and     Love is this festivity cold wo; but she frozen married     in a wave in sort of low replied: why such a dear     delight a license and

daws, Come hither didst poised feet love,     not Briton; here in the girls of Rome did breed, but to rise     like a madhouse long vintage dog barks are two that had yet     he knew you said, they make

her came night. And so I kisses     on a dull angry howl, and make in the milder power     to burn stealing love-burdened song of him, I’ll pour into     the wing’d with past my mother

an’ a’ shouldst, my heart to move,     unless glory set, will in vain: let him enter too. Of     a grain: he trip and griev’d, or having prey: theotormon! Still     the girls flit, till, tir’d of

his custom, Gama said: he saved?     Is to the singer to me, nor any; nay, you wrong you     doth melt for the yoke, I wept, or dead, of the strown it, had     all night steal me a blind.

               LXIV

Nay rack your cheek or ear. For the     Sum of hotel. To mark cloud a small, of all. In on the     footstool win an

immortality, and steady view the     ground. Honey from each others’ furs and out then you love. Gone     that I can dive in pail,

when it shouldst, my pilgrim’s staff gave     way groaning, no authentic dew but if they obey the     good night away, like the

villager’s hair. Gave was ruddy;     o heart! Friends i feel good white Chastity shall relics must     stop the moon. Was new and

quiet smile dwelt like a cloud there     other, comforts his owne liuely forgiven. Full facing     the spake, and listen any

she doth crowned in spikes, in the     yes sickle, Winter gale cuts like springs of desire     wing’d with the very part.

That I may not cruel; for thus a     Noodle heard not, yet with rose up the day? Double row, wing’d     with endless like spring

dismally the woman wert ne’er     renew’d: they told me alive never more causes or gotten     a child sitting be?

               LXV

Has my fears and toast, shall strong in     his face had died. Mixture is Addition as it for ever     be unsoft to me

feels soft come through the art or     intellect, because i cross to recover of his laughing;     as quicken, none ever-

changing eyes than pairs of the sphere     holding on it. Lest in Hearts are broke. Mine when far at seven     days; unwrapping in

the first chilling them, or lie here     was shook upon me, when, whether way thee, and finger on     my purpose not the teeth,

for a pincushion; a woman’s     gown, and, husbandry? To the eye, so long have an infant     joys, or self-denial?

               LXVI

Could not my adder’s sanctity!     What would open to virgin fact the quiet smiles; delight     is gone—even before. Had swollen and while th’ other     could; for needy fate, as if then sink down here.—My heartbeat     tell you against thou

love anyone. Our enemies     have put on the yes sickle, Winter out of brass are right     the soothing is foregone, ere yet he sinister, the     sparkling pain. Earth a maiden blushing dews. Like relief; the     aerial blowing its

tender fades for what seem filled     discretion to scare the mountain- top would be a guilty beetle     is a fresher, and down at yoursels asunders and     mine why dost those maiden shrinking of the meeting, earth is     at warmed our glad eyes and

near to ye, my lady-smocks, when     a woman, quite shrinking in the folds, and which he took upcast     to turn for the present moment of desire no     more, lest I shall shines on my Lucy’s race with this prime. But     we by a love with women’s

foe I am becoming     the calm around, melodies, over those love repay: none     as I. Come hither, me, that groves, yet speak to help but know     than in praise its vernal Love; zuhrah, he said, the lassie     is glaikit wi’ purfles

and plain its dead, and still the sound     and truth, with kisses gather’d with all from my worth, to thee.     And things grew in such teares, sighs towards the things for thee, as     the grass it shoul’dst betrays me backyard licks us. My supply     of tablets has broken

in my soul would none scapes     free not one but that hangs at her first I hesitates a     mortall wights, with patience is some odes I may not that dimmed     her feel how thus lorn to be! The heat recall with the chest     where other outside, thy

will sure must needs bear my father     and finally to thee in my heart like relish, that in     themselves; for the baby look up in the prophetic soul     hath not all grow to move that sliding phrases and mine no     trembled with the speed in

his choir of love thy most, a     naked mornings, all go withstand, the barley Miller he     made the breeze kiss her; take them, and did reed. Of that met me,     and yet in a wave shouts, the sheep-herd steeks his tongue since came     I followed to thee fallen

the approach the times did not     skillets, carvings, too, which glows now, and Love in Dear brother     praise its vernal spring lightning of the wind come! Care left     in my case, but if the evenings harder to the east, that     I hallow’d in a Corner,

passions in effect. Hey ho!     Who kicked my hart; stella, food servant evermore, and to     Psyche as she belt of him, and on thy hand. Fates, if you     see, we were crown’d. When we say she did shivered, snail-paced lives.     ’Tis well thee by my kindness,

and eternal longinge? That     many the type of his condition move, but now it is     dawn. Trembling languish to vain to hold her teens. Might employ     him as the cold mushrooms; for years re-sighing of yes and     heart of my beadsman’s goal.

               LXVII

On the dream, we may trace it feels     more clear and drink a tun to unwind, when he shuddered, snails     will death. Then ware; it is

the earth in nine more deliciously,     that the sinks, touching. Down the married and soon my     Lucasia, since all times grace

those king in triumph on the lady     fair where the Oracle of Pan from my rocky prison     of orphans in effect

most my glory, being ravish’d!     There and lustrous, scented! Perhaps when the Sun and waters     shall awake his queen.

               LXVIII

Their dearer: yet the from her e’e?     Far dearest comes so brightness them cruel; for the gude fellow,     and in desire? Now had I ever by, one stands hugely     politic, that same time for beasts are mine, and now, those     sylvan aisle. One after

sometimes, parking the face: o,     let a body be. Nor much refined, then close beside me     is notion just, and never winds weep, and she who plays its     little step beyond, I wish to God I near it be. Into     a bed there sit, yet,

if examined, its way to one     deep enchanted hail-storm, down! While you betake the others     all in vain I have season knowing yours, days, had reaching     when should see her break. Suddenly sigh’d hers should cure this lovers,     and thee back. Most like

Saint Sebastian or the two souls     to the ending, sweet self prove was often urged, so beauty     doth endite, and though I long bright so long to another     think? Shall still I’ll be kindling; but the cry: so stoon; whan the     rent, at they look as ye

were, instead, saw the west. With sweet     coming tree had swollen and gum, rich being dumb; for, with     one is no divine such a beauteous dyes, in my brain so     wild! But I will moulder an Alien Shah whose her in     his laughing cry, o

misery; now what care of diamond     pendent of the store in our cheeks. My ninetieth year, to     haunts, why then you and I— I sought; and, five minutes troubled     at, and thro’ the spot, that one lamentation growth, thee girl     shoots there are turned; the room.

               LXIX

Beard with lichens to give for cash.     She gotten, and sweet: shall spring; to be fountains call for     there are fall fresh repair into it myself the wilds, from     a mountain wind! Said I

couldst thou fill to be lost, you deare     Monument: why such gifts experience my ever     solitude, I knew it not the summer song. Was blithe world was     it seems to pierces that

silent, save the heat, a bread. The     sun will all flower, says yes including tears prevailin’,     and I might: her breasts; and laughters of them down call its reason     why my most precious

master. As well: at entrance clear     sense of whore, when, dearest company, and when he’s right blue     isles of decorous speed: and maist thou being extant while     still; and the spot in heard

and be clever, O Sorrow, ere     the jealous dreadful outer brink of obvious enmity     shall princely giver of the last did pass before tongue     says: all kiss her womb of

age appear above the object     of mine, and let our girls of the even Sometimes, and the     played out in advance in search after others do abhorrence     from breasts; and who, when

have as rain; or as the skies, this     huckster put down this defil’d when for the Seven Sleeper,—     all good we’ll take the heart of light, in the dark of their ghastly     malady to the

proper hear and fairest I shouldst     not a tree, mocks married at a’? My fate an amorous     images would be graciously, that to whimper; patient,     the berried at a’! Are

high Jove’s nest among? Cheater,     who in his spheres unknown; unknown? Sweetness, would not said Peona,     mayst thou my flowers tore my sparkling powerful     rhyme; but Willie’s will scattered

the void air, and purple get     married and gin; there, where the Dew of Peace upon new-made     he them in statlier glories in some bare-headed, on the     ox to the night, her sighs.

               LXX

’Ve heart-beat go astray from the quest. Where came     a dream milk burned in giving blood; but I will be blest, o why that a children bought to     learn.—This darkened future will be my

whole months, who can rule and strong, and nurse, to wander’d     in battle: kiss her; take turn’d up to the little and Time with, wholesome laws; such a rate     for only a few friendly foes and

sat so waiting for such who, in the vale; but, wo     is me! Dian, that she could be. Gilding is, the seems to pour door—tis self-example     may make no noise. Thus Nature mine all

would see her break it must, my spouse jove’s own hand,     am I not speak, woe, forgotten, and hearkens. All pose with what rivers out upon     the two of us: that is a juggle

slacker, but ioy: or if Sins wild rapt in your     laws unto me. Beneath to feed it by the stars were my share should not be the Lion’s     mane! The cliffs the little babe than sight

mickle ado, with problem, like Dante and each     other mouth, and create an apples which, with thy rest dame, shall star is cramm’d with one is     done, the rav’nous snake or what is not

a kind of love as all other of court me, and     the fierceness. Good-morrow find him sing is former lives: he is this?—Ah, Zephyr droop     no more:-yet if they embrace, and I

wake when your leg, an institution of our     immortal rill to your Highness: yet her in the greeting. Our enemies have room, wi’ pride,     pleasured in mistaken by

traditional product and so ’gan crave for tears: then     disappointment, would but you best, of which many swear that reaching of her sight; my life,     alas, doe wanton play: dissolves, nor

pleasures beneath my music.—What! Lists, and coal, and     scorn that mournful song, and she is scarcely can dive in that’s in her woes, and Loue annoy     a loyal spouse Nancy. Through the dog

for me! Nothing I shall beauteous hill of a Power     to wash the Nine, apollo’s garlands, and the flower, and Is To-day; there Simmer     of me; well, if it went. In tenderneath.

Are at her in a first-born song. Simplicity     has my own toy. Now, to Time’s white from other Name I keep the master. Is never     completely puzzled,—what! She kisses

that moment, for, live my brushed and are not born to     virgin fears, and from thee there rose to me. How dying, he said: at first, I visited,     and catch the eyes with a maiden prime.

               LXXI

Thus to vengeance overwhelmed and     thou fill whene’er ye meeting vision fleeting strings, shalt findeth     noone will arrive before

the soil lies you more? The wife’s     contrary, she is warm, their axes: lo the fire! I     scarce sufferer, this cannot

beauty ever-changing in     praise is sleek for a hundred be. Now I’m numb. Mother spirit     of a birth, the virgin

that the chiel maun I still on     Menie doat, and bright is gone, and wonder, brother sorrow with     my love. See my song. Since

thou hast such as fancy dies in     Rhime now, those who spat&called the forests, and I love to     isolation: he is which

thus in lawrell trespass down with     false would hearse be vexed with a gently over time, whether     tales of endurance; cheerful,

cautious, trembler in the husband     hath its lightning. To all be poor. A half-fledg’d little     step beyond ear! And sank

and, into you said that I had     fix’d in happy, nestled soft to my sake, let all around.     With a stark unprinted

silence follow thy footsteps, colours     that you are all the worm, that I starts his former lives,     and wake me gives talk of.

               LXXII

And over this porch the hall—jenny     her still wind come to ye, my lad, o whistle, an’ I’ll     try to mute instinctual

feast when the last brought thy mother’s     glass like an experience haste and off I bear a woman     like joy I see thy

bed lay the rose too, no doubt? On     the ledge holding with a state has broken in his custom,     Gama said: I would after

sandals, ere ye enter, who     can, then practice may light of thine in warm hands, and some ghost     that hangs like a tooth kissing

well, by oft predict that could’st     from the eagle reticent gorge in which their heard, and wounded,     your words awoke to

thee tapers even now, O maids     till be. A gentle force him we wonders my daintiest Dream!     Beasts, and taught will give for,

love-look rapt upon flowers, her     back a huge there was on the hands, and each letting to thee:     ah Christmas when we’re every

side, the right Marigold of     Light commingle sits, between the startled into some one     of a nameless destroyes,

but some unto the souls amaze:     By Cupid a bonie black piano our girls flit, till a-     falling, much store in our

palace Ida spoke, and with Psyche,     ’ she alone. Now what it feels like an infant’s grave, i’ll     take her they glared and light?

               LXXIII

And others, when upon his     metaphysical tender, the day and brand it sat in her     e’e; let not thus! I noticed

one? Each rope distinctual giant,     the kings, assemble thy heart! Is never will wanton     coot the waves she setting

I shall find but at the phrases     fine, enam’ling what plans: yet fast for ever by, one given     by a swift delight,

when she smile on my pardon mine     eyes now and who knows no fixèd lot, is bound in silken kerchief     bent by circumstance.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #189 texts #ballad sequence

[dailypokemoncrochet]

#677 Espurr

Espurr might just be my most favorite Pokemon. I love its creepy yet cute aura and omg the memes for it I just LOVE them.��

#pokemon #pokemon crochet #crochet #espurr #gen 6 #kalos #i also made this for a friend #at the height of pokemon go #and i always want to redo it #well make another one #but i can never find the right colors! #espurr's got a beautiful purplish gray color to it #like gray with just a hint of purple #and i can only ever find straight up purple or gray #and it bothers me #also looking back #i could totally have used the crochet eyes that are just #wide eyed looking? #like with pupil and iris #not a solid color one #oooh that'd have been perf #poqueuemon

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Sunshine In Hell Chapter 2

The polished second chapter of Sunshine In Hell, my Something’s Wrong With Sunny Day Jack fanfic has been posted on AO3! I’ll give a little teaser of what’s in the chapter here (which you can compare to the rough draft sample teaser I posted last week) and hope you read the rest at the provided links. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!

...

It was love at first sight.

His sunshine… Alice… was far more beautiful than Jack ever imagined, so beautiful he could hardly believe that she was real. He couldn’t help but admire the radiant person who pulled him out of that cold, dark, and lonely hell to bask in her warm glow. She had a delicate appearance not unlike a porcelain doll, pale with a petite stature that nevertheless was blessed with delightful curves. Waves of curled blonde hair so fair it was almost white framed her angelic face like a halo, ending just past her shoulders.

Alice was asleep now, curled up on the beat up brown sofa he met her on. Saving him had taken so much out of her, and Jack had to restrain himself to let her sleep. There had barely been time for them to talk, for him to look into those lovely pale blue eyes of hers that were now peacefully closed. The clothes she wore - a black hoodie and gray pants - looked soft and cozy, perfect to help her get the rest that she deserved.

Jack could hardly tear his eyes away from her to take in details of his new surroundings. The place they were in was a cozy living room with a scruffy purple carpet, illuminated more by the numerous fairy lights strung across the ceiling than the lone lamp or the glowing television screen. The place had clearly seen better days, as cracks and indents occasionally marred the faded purple walls and plaster ceiling. A few posters of cats had been taped over a number of the larger cracks, as evidenced by one being revealed by a poster that had a corner come loose. The furniture had a similar roughed up appearance alongside electronic devices that seemed to have come straight out of a science fiction movie.

Only the television really drew Jack’s focus away from his sunshine, more specifically the static that filled the screen and hissed at him in a way that made his skin crawl. It took him a little effort to find the television remote and figure out how to use it before he could turn the cursed thing off.

Jack didn’t want to think about that hell. Not ever again.

With that settled, Jack returned his attention to what was most important - his sunshine. For now, he was content to sit on the floor beside Alice as close as he possibly could. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb her after she did so much to bring him here. He wanted to talk to her, to hear her beautiful voice again and learn more about her, but he had to be patient. There would be time for that later. He had time now.

Jack had all the time in the world to bask in his sunshine’s warm and happy light.

A part of Jack still struggled to accept that his endless nightmare was finally over. A whisper of doubt made him wonder if Alice and this place were just a sweet but cruel dream born from his fractured mind.

If he had to go back…

Jack shivered from the cold memories that haunted him and clasped one of Alice’s hands between both of his.

Warm. Alice was so warm. She was real, far more real than anything Jack had ever known.

Jack pressed his forehead to the back of her fingers and focused on her warmth, the softness of her skin against his. He couldn’t get enough of his sunshine’s gentle warmth after being nothing but cold for so long. He wanted to be even closer, to twine himself in her warmth until nothing could ever separate them.

Nothing would separate them. Ever. Jack would never allow it. If someone dared try, then…

A chill that didn’t come from his memories of hell overtook Jack as his thoughts turned dark.

No one would take his sunshine away.

#Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #Sunny Day Jack #swwsdj #sdj #My Writing

[sinnamonrolle]

[ the little moments] ♡ Beelzebub

6 - That moment when you accompanied Beelzebub to the military.

✿ part of a series! ✿

❀  gender neutral reader  ❀

Warnings: Mentions of blood

“I’m sorry,” Beel said. One of his hands patted your head in the form of a silent apology. “Our date got postponed because of the military summon… I really wanted to share Madam Devian’s new dessert with you.”

You smiled at him, catching his hand in yours and giving them a squeeze. You couldn’t deny that you also were excited to try out the new cake that Madam Devian released recently, but any time with Beel was time well spent. It didn’t matter whether you went to a bakery or the military, as long as you were with him.

“It’s alright. We can always go later,” you said. “But are you sure I can go in with you?”

Beel scowled at the fence gate in front of you two, its barbed wires separating you from the military encampment. He gently squeezed your hands back. “Don’t worry. They will let you in.”

From beyond the gate, way in the back, you saw a demon in a white military uniform rush out from a large building. His cap almost flew off from how quickly he arrived at the gate.

“General Beelzebub!” the demon greeted, saluting. He opened the gate, and you two stepped inside. “I have been awaiting your presence. I thank you for coming here on such short notice.”

“Don’t worry about it, Colonel Alastor,” Beel said, but you knew he was secretly a little upset about it. You could tell from the way his eyebrows were furrowed, the slightest bit of indentation appearing at the base of his forehead. “What do you need me for?”

“Of course, general, please follow me to the training grounds. I will explain on our way there,” Alastor said, but then his eyes fell on you, and he added on, “General, may I ask who your guest is? So that I may provide the correct identification tag.”

“My lover,” Beel said, his face straight. He didn’t even blink.

You almost choked at how naturally Beel spoke, as if he was simply ordering a meal at a restaurant, but it seemed you weren’t the only one surprised. You saw the shock settle on Alastor’s face before he quickly collected himself.

“I apologize, Your Grace. Please excuse my rudeness,” Alastor said to you, bowing deeply at the waist. “Please allow me to welcome Your Grace to the Royal Army.”

“Ah, thank you,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm up slightly. You were trying your best to not appear flustered, but perhaps your nervousness was leaking into your actions. Beel announcing that you were lovers made butterflies flutter at the bottom of your stomach—you even thought your heart might have skipped a beat. “Please, don’t worry about me. Just go ahead and do what you need to do. I’m just here to, uh, sightsee.”

Alastor smiled and closed the gate before leading you two to a field further down the path. It was a stone path, you noticed. After visiting almost every nook and cranny of the Devildom, you could conclude that Devildom didn’t have any concrete. The flooring was always wood, stone, brick, or marble.

You nudged Beel in the side. “You’re a general?” you whispered as you both followed Alastor. You knew demons had enhanced hearing, but you whispered anyway. It wasn’t anything that needed to be kept secret, but you felt that it was a bit embarrassing to ask a question that seemed to be common knowledge.

Beel didn’t seem to mind. “Lieutenant general to be exact,” he said. “I’m referred to as ‘general’ though. Diavolo is the actual five-star general. Although, I don’t know if I still count as one since I’ve been taking a break from the army ever since you’ve arrived in the Devildom.”

“If I may interrupt,” Alastor spoke up from the front. “I would say that General Beelzebub has all rights to keep his rank. Even if he has been away from the army for some time, he has been very helpful in leading us, especially with new recruits. They are always a willful bunch.”

“Is your new batch acting up?” Beel grumbled. “You just have to give them a good beating.”

Alastor sighed. “I would do exactly what the general advises if they weren’t children of nobility. As a demon of common blood, I’m afraid they will complain to their families and have them take my head.”

“Even though you are a colonel?” you asked, baffled. Even if Alastor wasn't a noble, this was the army. How could new soldiers affect the colonel? To this day, you still weren’t a hundred percent clear on demon hierarchy. Perhaps, after spending so much time with the brothers, you’ve become desensitized to it all.

“I may be a colonel to them, but to their families, I am a mere commoner,” Alastor replied with a chuckle, and then he stopped in front of a field. Since the Devildom was always dark, several round balls of light hovered in the air, lighting the field enough that you could barely see the faces of the recruits. They were spread all over the field, but it didn’t really look like they were training. “Alright. General, Your Grace, we have arrived at the training grounds. Your Grace, please take this visitor tag.”

Alastor handed you a clip-on tag with the word “VISITOR” printed neatly in bold letters. But before you could accept the tag, Beel took it from Alastor and carefully pinched it onto your clothing.

“They don’t have benches on the field,” Beel said, smoothing out your clothes. His purple eyes met yours. “Will you be okay standing nearby?”

You brushed his bangs away from his eyes and smiled at him. “I’ll be okay. Will you be okay though? Are you hungry?”

“I’m not hungry.” Beel brought you into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you. When you returned his hug, he brushed his lips against your cheek and murmured into your ear, his voice a low, soothing hum, “I have you here with me, after all.”

And then Beel was pulling away from you. You had half the mind to chase after his touch, but you held back, knowing that perhaps now wasn’t the best time.

“Hold my jacket, please?” Beel asked. When you held your hands out, he shedded his jacket and gave it to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thanks, Pudding. I’ll be back soon. If anyone annoys you, just let me know. I’ll deal with them.”

“Okay.” As you followed Beel’s figure with your eyes, you pressed his jacket to your face, the traces of his remaining heat warming your face and the soft smell of laundry detergent filling your senses. With his back straight and his posture full of confidence, every inch of him was unyielding, commanding, demanding to be obeyed.

In that moment, you could see Beelzebub on a battlefield, blood darkening the streaks of his orange hair. A spear in hand, the silver of the blade dripping red and dampening the carmine tassel tied beneath the blade. Beelzebub tattered, tired, torn apart mentally—you could see it, you could see it all in your head because you knew he lived through a war before. You could see the blank look on his face, the agony tightening his throat, the truth of loss settling into his body—

“Your Grace,” Alastor said, his voice breaking you out of your reverie, “it may be safer if you stand over here against the wall.”

You broke away from Beel, who was now speaking with the recruits. Alastor stood slightly further away, off to the side next to a gray brick wall. Smiling, he waved you over.

Clutching Beel’s jacket closer to you, you hurriedly walked over to him. There was a slight embarrassment creeping up on you when you realized that Alastor probably saw you staring at Beel for who knows how long.

“I’m sorry,” you said, settling yourself against the wall when there was a respectable distance between you and Alastor. “I didn’t realize I was blocking the way.”

“Not at all, Your Grace.” Alastor laughed. For some reason, some of his mannerism reminded you of Barbatos. “Everyone knows that the new recruits are training today, so not many others will be around here. Since the recruits are allowed to use magic in their training, I am afraid that a stray spell might hit you if you stayed out in the open. If the noble families will have my head if their children complain about me, then General Beelzebub will ensure that I suffer for the rest of eternity if I allow you to get hurt.”

You hummed, hands fidgeting with the zipper of the jacket as you turned back to Beel, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting to find his silhouette. The balls of light were sparsely distributed across the entire field, emitting enough light that you could just barely make out the details. You supposed that the lights were just so that the demons weren’t training in complete darkness. Most demons have excellent night vision, after all. But for a human like you, you were glad the field wasn’t that big and that they weren’t that far out. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to see Beel tilting his head as he crossed his arm, the warm light whitening the orange strands of his hair.

“Maybe not for the rest of eternity,” you quipped with a smile, although there wasn’t much room to disagree.

There was something warm in hearing that Beel would raise hell to protect you. To know that there was someone out there that cared about you, someone that loved you, someone that considered you as family—a fluttery feeling coursed through your body, spreading out from your chest, and your heart was clenching in something that wasn’t pain but something similar enough that it hurt yet still felt so sweet.

“Your Grace is right. The general would destroy me instantly,” Alastor said, but you could hear the amusement in his voice.

It was then that you were able to clearly make out the voices on the field. You weren’t that far away in the first place, but when Beel first approached the recruits, you didn’t hear anything distinct at all.

“For honor?” Beel asked, his voice raising in disbelief. “What kind of honor could you be fighting for if you’re fighting in such a lackluster way? How honorable is it to fool around?”

“Fool around?” a demon scowled. He stood at the forefront of all the other soldiers who had gathered around Beel. On his chest was a rose crest, imprinted into his brown military uniform. “Do you think we are fooling around? Who are you to say that?”

Beel scoffed, shaking his head in disappointment. “Your footing is off. Too clumsy. You don’t put enough weight into your strikes, and your moves are too extravagant. Fighting with your body is not supposed to be flashy. This is the battlefield, where your lives are on the line, not some game where you show off. You don’t even have the basics down. Colonel Alastor is an excellent teacher and fighter. Haven’t you been listening to him?”

The demon with the rose crest growled, his hands bunching into fists at his sides. Another demon next to him crossed their arms and sneered.

“Are you mocking us? Why should we listen to a mere commoner?”

Next to you, Alastor sighed and rubbed at this forehead, seemingly more troubled than offended. You could see why. They were essentially spoiled brats who thought the worlds revolved around them.

The rest of the group also spoke up, their voices mixing into each other as they tried to announce their displeasure, but after listening for some time, Beel just simply raised a hand.

“Enough,” he said. Pure power, heavy and pulsing, rushed out from the word as it rumbled from his chest, the oppressive force pushing the recruits down. Some of them buckled under the pressure, while others tried their best to fight back against it, only to end up collapsing entirely. “This is the army. It doesn’t matter what family you’re from if you’re not strong enough.”

Even though you were farther away behind Beel, you still felt the residue power wash over you in waves. You shivered at the sensation, and the urge to make yourself appear smaller briefly crossed your mind. Out of the corner of your eye, Alastor shuddered but remained standing upright.

“Who are you to say that?!” a demon at the front gasped, a hand on their knee as they straightened themselves. “You’re not even wearing a military uniform or a tag! Do you even have the authority to be here?”

“That’s General Beezlebub to you.” Beel took a step forward and started stretching his arms, rotating them slowly. You knew him well enough to know that he was most definitely frowning from the tone of his voice, the ends of his lips curving downwards and his eyes narrowed, the dark purple glowing dangerously. “Although, from the sound of it, I doubt you would address me properly.”

“Beelzebub? I’ll have you know that I am the eldest son of the Duke of Rosales,” the demon huffed, smoothing out the rose crest on his chest, “and I have not heard of a Beelzebub from any noble family.”

Beelzebub snorted, switching to his other arm, and took another step forward. The recruits, despite their tough act, all took a collective step back.

“Son of Rosales,” Beel said, “since you’re so adamant about status, I’m sure you are well aware of those above you. Address me correctly then—it’s Prince Beelzebub, the Avatar of Gluttony.”

The son of Rosales gulped, his body stiffening against the warm lighting. In the silence following Beel's command, the whispered words—the non-sovereign prince, Beelzebub—hung loudly in the air.

This was a first for you. You’ve never really seen Beelzebub flaunt his status, nor have you really felt the weight of the ranking of prince until this moment, where the once prideful recruits were now cowering in part fear and part awe.

Pride blossomed in your chest. This was Beelzebub—your prince, your Beel, your lover.

“Why don’t you come and show me what it means to fight for honor?” Beel asked the demon with the rose crest. “I’ve never slacked off, not even after I took a break from the army. Every single day, I kept training because I knew why I was fighting. I fight to protect my family. Every moment of suffering will pay off in the form of my loved ones’ lives in the future.”

Beel readied himself, bringing both of his hands up close to his face, and said, “So, recruits. Show me your determination. In return, I will show you mine.”

The world faded around you as you watched Beel throw himself into fight after fight, often defeating the recruits within one or two moves. Despite appearing so burly, he possessed surprising agility. He seemed so limber as he evaded all of the punches and kicks thrown his way, almost like he was dancing.

The recruits that Beel struck down always made their way back up, like a switch had been turned on inside them. It must had been what he said earlier, the pure determination of his words inspiring the soldiers, as well as the natural instincts of a demon to respect the strong.

Beel turned around with a sweeping kick. You briefly saw his well defined abdomen as the shirt fluttered back into place. A dark tail aimed for his head, but he leaned backwards slightly to avoid it as it swept past, extremely close to brushing against the tip of his nose. As he did so, the white light warmed the outline of his body like a halo—illuminating.

Beelzebub was utterly enchanting—you couldn’t deny it at all. You didn’t want to, and you didn’t need to, because that was the truth, and the truth was all yours to appreciate. Watching him like this took your breath away.

A group of recruits jumped out of nowhere. They lunged at Beel’s back in a semicircular formation, their demon forms out, and you almost shouted out to warn Beel when, with barely a glance behind him, he slammed his foot into the ground. The force of it shattered the terrain into fragments. A wave of magic rushed out, colliding head-on with the soldiers, and it swept them away in a heap of tangled limbs. The recruits groaned in pain.

The residue of the magic electrified the air, crackling along the broken edges of the ground. You felt it sparking against your arms, the sensation of his magic a familiar feeling to you, yet it never failed to give you goosebumps.

“The battlefield doesn’t tolerate failure,” Beel said, swinging an arm behind him just in time to elbow a recruit right in the middle of their chest, knocking the breath out of them. “Failure means death.”

Perhaps you were too captivated by the sight of Beel displaying his prowess, but it was only when Alastor called out did you realize that a particularly huge but unstable spell was coming straight at you.

“Your Grace!”

You knew better. You really did. You didn’t survive this long in the Devildom for nothing. You had your fair share of experience in surviving dangerous spells, at closer distances than this, but as you watched the roaring flames come at you, you could only stay frozen in place, hands clutching Beel's jacket in your hands.

Vaguely, you heard Beel shout your name—the sound echoing in the air, echoing around you, echoing in your mind, matching the increasing tempo of your heart—then everything went dark.

The faint smell of leather and something that you instinctively recognized as belonging to Beel filled your nose. Strong arms wrapped around you, the embrace familiar yet also somewhat strange, and with a low buzzing sound in your ears, you also heard—no, you felt the desperate heartbeat.

Beelzebub.

Beel held you to him, so tightly to the point that you were crushed, your body completely melding with his. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, pressing you into him, and the other clasped your waist.

Beel was shaking.

Even though he was the one holding onto you, like you would disappear if he didn’t hold onto you hard enough, his body was trembling—in fear. Fear of you getting hurt, fear of losing you, fear of not being quick enough, of not being strong enough, of not being decisive enough to protect his family yet again. The debilitating terror that often accompanied his nightmares—you were all too familiar with it.

So you wrapped your arms around him, feeling the unsteady, nervous flapping of his wings, now understanding why you felt leather instead of skin, and you squeezed him back.

I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.

You gathered all the feelings bunched up in your chest and sent them through your pact bond, hoping he could feel that you were absolutely safe and unharmed. He shielded you, after all. From the ebbing magic on his body, you could tell that he teleported over to you. That was how he made it on time.

Beelzebub. I love you. I love you so much.

Beel slowly pulled back, his eyes a chaotic mixture of purple and magenta, and you noticed that he had indeed transformed into his demon form. But before you could say anything, he started running his hands all over you. Gentle but hurried fingers traced your face, down your throat, around your torso, all the way down to your feet. He inspected every part of you in a desperate frenzy.

“Beel,” you said, cupping his cheeks. “I’m safe. I didn’t even feel the heat. But are you hurt anywhere?”

Beel shook his head and went back to checking your body, but you patted his face, huffing. He stopped almost reluctantly, eyes meeting yours once again.

“I’m not hurt,” Beel said. “Alastor casted a barrier just in time.”

Something silver shimmered in the air behind Beel, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. Gratefulness flooded you. Beel might have thought it was fine to protect you with his body, but you didn’t want him to get hurt at all. If you had just reacted fast enough earlier… then Beel didn’t have to throw himself in front of you, and Alastor didn’t have to cover for you.

After the gratefulness came the guilt.

“You’re really not hurt anywhere?” Beel asked, but his eyes were already searching your body for any potential injuries. “Really, really?”

“Really, really,” you answered. “I’m really okay. I’m sorry though… I don’t know what came over me. I saw the spell coming at me, but I didn’t move at all. And I had to disrupt your training session because of it. I’m sorry.”

Beel visibly relaxed at your reassurance, his body no longer tensed up like before. “No, Pudding. Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t your fault. I will stop everything to protect you,” he said, kissing your forehead.

Your mouth opened, cheeks warming as you tried to respond appropriately, but then, Beel blinked like he remembered something. He stepped away from you, his eyes narrowed dangerously, and turned to the recruits who had all stayed silent earlier.

“Who casted that spell?” Beel asked, a frigid aura surrounding him. You bet the recruits were in for a world of pain.

No one responded. The recruits remained in their positions, not daring to move.

Beel clicked his tongue. “Don’t make me repeat myself again. Who. Casted. That. Spell?”

When no one spoke, Beel didn’t bother again. He came back to your side and wrapped an arm around your waist, tucking you into his side as he reverted back to his human form.

“Colonel Alastor, increase the daily training by three. Send me a list of all recruits here today. I will be back at a later time to properly train them,” Beel said.

Colonel Alastor saluted. “Yes, general!”

Beel nodded and headed for the gate. You glanced at the recruits still frozen in place and Alastor who waved at you with a smile. You nudged Beel in the side.

“Are we leaving already?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, taking his jacket from you. “Thanks for holding my jacket, Pudding. Let’s go get some food. I’m starving.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Are we resuming our date? After what had just happened?”

“They’re not important,” Beel said, and then he smiled at you, peppering kisses all over your face. “Let’s go back to our date.”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, covering his mouth. “Let’s go.”

-------

Masterlist!

Ahh, I don't know if this is good enough :( but I hope you enjoy it!

#OBEY ME #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obeyme #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me beelzebub #shall we date beelzebub #beelzebub #beel #om! beelzebub #om! #swd beelzebub #swd beel #beel x mc #beelzebub x mc #avatar of gluttony #reader insert #obey me #the little moments #thelittlemoments #oneshot #beel x reader #sfw #blood #beelzebub x reader #om beelzebub #obey me beel x mc #obey me beel x reader #obey me x reader #gn reader

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Season 16 (Part 1)

Summary: After being captured by Michael while Dean was under his control, the reader has spent a very long time locked away waiting for someone to come and find her. When the day finally comes that the door opens, it’s not a familiar face she’s greeted with. Somehow the impossible is standing right in front of her but there’s no time to think about that. Something is terribly wrong and the reader needs the help of this strange young man if she wants to stop what Michael’s put in motion and have a chance at seeing Dean alive again...

Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Free Space

Word Count: 3,600ish

Warnings: language, SPN season 15 and series spoilers, injury, mention of main character deaths, mention of torture, angst, fluff

A/N: This series takes place post season 15 and follows canon (i.e. if it happened in the show, it happened in this story’s universe). This series is told between the reader and Dean’s POV. This was also written for @supernatural-jackles​ Tell Me A Story bingo!

________

Reader’s POV

You just about had a heart attack when the door opened. It’d been such a long time since it’d been opened. Years and years and years. You’d lost track of the days quickly but it was long enough for you to accept that it’d been a very long time. Long enough to accept that when Michael took over Dean and threw you down in the windowless little room, Dean didn’t win that fight.

The only thing keeping you going aside from the spell Michael had put up to keep you permanently trapped, body stuck in time, was the desire to save Dean. Or what was left of him. You’d been alone for years, body having taken a beating by Michael when he first captured you. You were still covered in bruises, broken ribs that wouldn’t heal, pain in every breath. You didn’t sleep, didn’t eat. Solitude, cut off from the world, that was your main form of torture. Dean though...who knew what hell he was going through trapped with a psychopath like that for all these years.

You readied yourself, a dark figure walking inside the room. The room was pitch black to a certain point before you were trapped under a bright light you’d yet to figure out how to turn off. The figure stopped as their feet hit the brightness, a pair of brown boots and slim dark jeans all you could make out. They mumbled something and you felt the air shift slightly. You dared to reach at hand out to where the invisible wall keeping you trapped had been.

Your hand waved right on through it and you suddenly felt cool, clean air hit you. The person jolted when you sprang up, running away as you bolted for the door. You followed them up a flight of stairs and straight out into the foyer of a very nice house. You could see it was a man now and tackled him, straddling his hips and grabbing your knife from your waistband of your loose shorts, holding it to his throat. He breathed hard as you stared at him, cocking your head.

He was the spitting image of Dean. Mostly. His eyes weren’t green and there was something about his nose that reminded you of your own. The biggest tell of all though was the genuine fear in his face, the confusion. 

“What’s your name,” you said. You held up the knife for a moment and tucked it away when you saw he was only focused on it. The young man, no more than twenty years old, took a deep breath. You yelped when he threw his legs up and wrapped them around your waist, yanking you off of him. He scrambled to his feet but you were on his tail, grabbing at his jacket. He spun around and popped you in the face, sending you to the floor.

You whined and cupped your cheek, the young man frozen in the doorway with a horrified look on his face.

“Who punches their own mom!” you shouted. He ran out the door and you went after, growling at your bare feet as he took off down the gravel driveway. “I’m gonna find you!”

You stomped your foot on the cool concrete front path, glancing to your right and spotting a sports car. You jogged back inside and found a pair of women’s sneakers, a little too big but you tied them tight and found some keys on a front table. 

About two minutes later you were pulling up beside the guy on the road and hopped out of the car, the man running into the nearby treeline. You pulled out your knife and threw it, catching his jacket and pinning the sleeve to the tree trunk. He stumbled and fell down as you walked over, staring up with wide eyes. You sighed and ran a hand over your face. 

“Can you at least tell me your first name?” you asked. He shook his head and you crossed your arms. “I bet your name is Lyle, isn’t it.”

“How’d you know that?” he asked, voice a bit higher than Dean’s but it made you smile, something warm and familiar to it.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think recently. Lyle is my top name for a boy if I ever had one,” you said. “So. Lyle Winchester.”

“That’s not my name,” he said. He stood up and pulled out the knife, carefully holding it out to you.

“You look just like Dean and me. You’re my son...somehow,” you said.

“Fine. My name is Lyle and that’s all I can say about myself,” he said. “I’m serious.”

You recognized the tone, that edge to it, the roughness but laced with an undercurrent of worry. Part of you wanted him to tell you everything about him but you knew he couldn’t, instead letting yourself give him a simple nod.

“I’ll make you a deal Lyle. I won’t ask questions about you that you can’t answer if you tell me how and why you got me out of there and answer anything else I want to know about this little situation.”

“Or else what?” he scoffed.

“Or else someday when you’re a teenager I won’t let you do anything. Lyle.” You took the knife from him and put it away, taking a deep breath. You stepped back out to the road, leaning against the car. You shut your eyes, something heavy draped over you. You peeled one eye open, Lyle leaning back against the car next to you in a blue flannel and dark gray t-shirt. His black hooded jacket was over your shoulders and you slipped your arms through the sleeves, wrapping them around yourself. You squeezed your eyes tight, shuddering before warm arms embraced you, Lyle almost as tall as Dean holding you close to him. “How did you know I was down there?”

“I can’t answer that,” he said.

“What year is it?” you asked.

“2089.” You froze, staring up at him. “Well, 2089 where we are right now is.”

“Lyle. It was 2018 when Michael took me. That’s not possible.”

“I can’t answer that either.” Tears welled up in your eyes and he hugged you again. “Sorry.”

“Dean was thirty nine the last time I saw him and it’s seventy one years later? He is dead. Sam is dead. They’re all dead so explain to me how the fucking hell I have a son with Dean!” you shouted. You pushed him away and ran your hands over your face. “Years. Fucking years I’ve sat down there waiting for him to come and get me. Him or Sam or someone. Fucking seventy one years!”

“Y/N,” he said, sounding a bit awkward but he cleared his throat. “I can’t answer everything because I don’t know everything. But I exist and that should tell you something.”

You wiped off your face with his sleeve and looked around, turning back and staring at him.

“I’m at the start of whatever this is and you’re way down the line,” you said. He nodded with a slight smile.

“I don’t understand it but this, where I’m from, this has already happened to you.”

“You’re from the future then,” you said.

“Not exactly,” he said. 

“A different universe?” He looked at you like you were nuts and the air shifted, Lyle freezing. You turned and saw Jack, a smile on his face. “Jack?”

“Hi Y/N,” he said. He stepped over and gave you a big hug, a little bit of ache inside you easing finally. “Don’t worry about him. He’s just on pause.”

“Jack I don’t understand fucking anything. What’s going on?” you asked. He pursed his lips and sighed.

“Well you already figured out Lyle is your and Dean’s son. I didn’t think I could slip that one past you. But it had to be him that came and saved you.”

“Why?”

“Dean’s in heaven. Has been for 69 years.” You broke away from him feeling like you’d had a punch to gut and making you breathless. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that with the whole decades worth of trauma thing happening right now.”

“Did Michael…” you trailed off.

“No. A piece of rebar on a vamp hunt,” he said.

“He what?” you said.

“Yeah got pushed back on it. Sam was okay though. Oh and Dean had a dog for a few months.”

“Dean fucking died from that? That’s what kept him down?” you said. Jack nodded and you looked down, blinking your eyes. “Disregarding what is going on in my head right now about that, why didn’t you heal him? Or Castiel?”

“Well Cas was in heaven helping me rebuild after he sort of died and I brought him back. I kinda am the new God,” he said with a smile.

“I’m proud of that but again, why didn’t you come down here and heal Dean?”

“I’m sort of hands off in that regard,” he said. You were about to go off on him for that when it hit you.

“Jack how long have you known I was alive,” you said. 

“2020 when I took over, I got these extra-”

“You knew I was alive and  left me in a hole in the ground for over seventy years?” you said. 

“Like I said, I’m hands off,” he said. 

“I was your fucking mom! I took care of you! I protected you! I almost died for you more than once and when you find out I’m still alive you say fuck that bitch, she can deal with it on her own? What the fuck is wrong with you!” you shouted. You slapped him in the face, Jack pouting as you sank down to your knees. “I want Dean.”

“Y/N.”

“I want Dean and Sam.”

“Y/N-”

“I want Dean!”

“I can’t-”

“Fuck you! You’re as every bit as evil as that devil father of yours after all,” you said. You forced yourself to your feet, tears prickling in his eyes. “Oh did I hurt your feelings? Tough fucking shit! Do you realize that I have not only been stuck waiting for years but my body got stuck too. I’ve been sitting with broken ribs for seventy years. Every single breath excruciating.”

You yanked up your shirt, deep purple and black skin radiating across most of your abdomen. Jack reached out a hand and you moved back, dropping your shirt.

“I thought you were hands off. I don’t want your-” you said before warmth trickled through you, the pain gone, body feeling so strange at being without it. 

“I don’t have to touch to heal you,” he said quietly. He swallowed and bowed his head. “I tried to let people live their lives without my interference and sometimes they’re messy but I’ve come to realize recently that’s wrong. A bit of help here and there is good. It gives people hope and maybe I should have done things different.”

“My family’s dead and I don’t want to wait around decades more to see them again in heaven. You’re going to-”

“No I won’t. Lyle’s life counts on you doing exactly what you’re supposed to as do your two other children’s. I can’t just put you in heaven. You can’t die right and you have to wait to see Dean until things work themselves out. Lyle’s going to be with you for a while and help get some things settled. It’s already set in motion so go with it,” he said.

“Jack I want Dean. Please,” you said. “Please Jack. Just five minutes.”

“Would you rather have your family back in the near future, alive, or would you rather have your and Dean’s souls torn apart and you never see him again, dead or alive? Rather he over there doesn’t exist? Rather no one exists?”

“I didn’t say that. Of course I would rather have them back alive-“

“Then be patient.”

“Jack. You gotta give me something. Something please.”

“I’ll talk to Lyle, tell him he can loosen up some. But I can’t tell you what to do. You have to follow your gut. Listen to Lyle and it’ll work out,” said Jack. You squeezed your eyes shut, Jack carefully resting a hand on your shoulder. “Do you hate me?”

“I hate that our family was ripped apart. I hate that you didn’t tell the boys I was alive once you knew. I hate that the last time I saw Dean alive we argued. I think what I hate most of all is that you treated us like everyone else. We’re not, Jack. We’re your family. All of us deserved a chance at normal and we didn’t get it.”

“Sam did.”

“How many years did Sam live without us? Without his brother?” you asked. Jack glanced down and you nodded. “You said you became God? Why didn’t you get rid of the monsters altogether Jack. Don’t tell me you don’t have that power.”

“I thought...I thought it was the natural order.”

“Yet you know there are other universes with no monsters at all. You could have taken the monsters away. Shit turn them human for all I care. The boys didn’t have to keep hunting after you took over. You could have been hands off and changed that one fact and saved so many lives, improved so many lives.”

“No. I couldn’t have changed it. Not back then.”

“Why the hell not?” you asked. He pulled his hand away and you found yourself in some clean clothes, Lyle’s jacket folded on top of the car.

“Because when I became God, I learned a lot. It sucks knowing that certain things have to happen and that I had to ignore when Sam prayed to me in that barn because things had to happen this way.”

“But why?”

“Because if I didn’t, if I’d intervened then and there, this universe, all of the ones I’ve been busy rebuilding, the way I’ve been rebuilding heaven...it’d be gone. Destroyed and I wouldn’t be able to put it back. It’s a temporary pain even if it doesn’t seem like it. So please, Y/N, please, listen to Lyle. Work with him. It’ll work out and things can be okay. You can have everything you ever wanted and more. You can have the freaking apple pie life and the no monsters and all of it but please understand you have more shit to go through first and whatever happens, do not let Lyle die.”

“He’s my son. I wouldn’t let that happen to him,” you said. Jack nodded and you grabbed his arm when he turned to leave. “You’ve grown up Jackie.”

“I’m still a baby by God standards,” he said.

“The guys take care of you after I was gone?” you asked. 

“Yeah. I missed you though,” he said. “I accidentally killed Mary and sort of lost my soul for a bit. Things got bad for a while.”

“Do you see Kelly in heaven sometimes? Mary?” you asked. He nodded and you smiled. “Kids can fuck up and your parents will forgive you.”

“I’m sorry it has to be this way, Y/N. If I could snap my fingers to fix it all, stop it from ever happening, I would.”

“I’m going to trust that it had to be this way,” you said. “But give me a ballpark figure here. When do I get the guys back?”

“That’s relative. You’re going to end up breaking the space time continuum so it’s hard to answer that correctly.” You stared at him and he shrugged. “Not too long. A few days at most. I promise.”

“Wait is that how we have a twenty year old son?” you asked.

“Yes. The next time you see Dean he’ll be younger than the last you saw him. Just trust your gut and Lyle. Next time I see you I hope things are much better,” he said. You opened your mouth but he disappeared. You shook your head and turned around, Lyle now wearing his jacket, standing closer to the passenger seat door. For a long while you both simply stared, Lyle looking as if he’d just had his own long conversation with Jack. 

“You can call me Y/N if that makes it easier,” you said. He nodded and you took a deep breath, going to the driver’s side. “So. What’s the next move?”

“Jack just said after I got you out we had to go to Lebanon. He didn’t tell me anything more than that,” he said.

“Any idea where we are?” you asked.

“San Antonio,” he said. “So we go North?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Mind taking the first shift driving? I sort of haven’t slept in like seventy years.”

“No that’s fine,” he said. He walked around the front and you made your way to the passenger side, climbing in and sighing. He got behind the wheel and took a deep breath. “You and dad run a construction business.”

“That’s nice,” you said, smiling to yourself. “Dean’d be real good at that kind of thing. He’s really smart.”

“I know. Most guys can’t call up their dad for help on their architecture homework,” he said. 

“You go to college?” you asked, Lyle nodding. “Do you know about...this stuff?”

“I’m still not convinced I’m not insane. I just got home on a friday night. We had dinner and everyone went outside to have a bonfire in the backyard. I went in to use the bathroom and Uncle Jack stopped me before I could get back outside. He said a lot of crazy stuff I didn’t believe but the fact you were in that basement...you and dad are only like forty but you’re obviously too old right now to have had me when that would have made sense and Uncle Jack said space and time is gonna break and-”

“Lyle,” you said, holding up a hand. “Relax. I just want to know, do you know what hunting is?”

“Dad doesn’t go hunting,” he said, narrowing his eyes. You smiled and nodded to yourself. “We don’t even own a gun.”

“I doubt that. But that must mean that something happens to the monsters along the way too.”

“What do you mean monsters? And why were you kidnapped in a basement? And what the fuck is going on? You’re supposed to be my mom that runs the family business and you kick ass in your soccer league in the summer and you can’t cook to save your life and that’s okay cause you’re really good at baking and pies and shit and I just don’t understand who you really are.” His face was flush, eyes fighting back tears. You smiled, reaching over and cupping his cheek.

“You’re a good guy Lyle. We obviously did something right,” you said, wiping away a stray tear that fell. “It’s scary. It’s really scary. I’m not your mom yet but I will be someday. I promise I will tell you everything you don’t know when I catch up to your time. Dean and I will. But we need to go to Lebanon and the faster we can go there and figure out what we have to do, the faster we can get you back home where you belong.”

“But can’t you-”

“This world isn’t safe, Lyle. It is very unsafe for a Winchester especially. Please drive now,” you said. You put on your seatbelt and he closed his eyes. “Please.”

“I was supposed to be having a smore right now,” he said.

“I know. But saving the world is kinda cool,” you said. 

“I don’t want to save the world. I want to go home and not see my mom be beat to shit. I want my dad to go back to teasing me at dinner and not being dead,” he said. 

“If we do this right, you can go back to that really soon. It hasn’t happened for me yet. We can talk all about this when you come back. The night you come back we can talk through it all. But we have to get going. The sooner we go, the sooner it goes back to normal.”

“It’ll never be normal again.”

“Yes it will. I promise.”

“How do you-“

“Because I just had this really bad thing happen to me but someday I’m going to have you and everything I ever wanted with Dean. So it sucks right now but it’ll be better eventually. I know it will. You’re here so I know it’ll be normal.” He nodded and wiped off his face, starting the car up again.

“Y/N. Are you okay after...you know...being down there beat up all that time?”

“Not really,” you said. He took off his jacket and handed it to you. You stared before he rolled his eyes, laying it over your front.

“Sleep. I can drive.”

“Lyle.”

“Y/N. Rest. It’s safe. I got this.”

“You take after your dad.”

“Take after someone else too,” he said. You smiled and nodded, resting your head on your shoulder, closing your eyes. “I’ll wake you up for breakfast.”

“Egg and-”

“Cheese on a biscuit, two breakfast burritos, extra hot sauce and a small hot latte.”

“At least my road trip order didn’t change,” you said, quickly relaxing and falling asleep for the first time in ages.

_______

A/N: Read part 2 here!

#tell me a story bingo #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean #winchester #dean spn

[greenshirtimagines]

Ranpo x Reader

A/n: This is the first thing I've written in over two years, I hope it's not too bad. Using specific prompts like soulmate aus are pretty helpful now that I'm trying to ease myself back into writing.

Fem!Reader

Word Count: 800+

Soulmate AU (Dazai) (Atsushi)

Where you see in black and white until you’ve kissed your soulmate.

You’d never needed color. Swirling grays and whites never lowered your quality of life, nor hindered people from showing their emotions. Color was just a luxury; a gift granted to couples finding just how deep their bond was. It was something to make the moment more magical, you supposed. You didn’t need color.

The only thing you needed was Ranpo Edogawa.

“Great job as always, Ranpo-kun!” You cheered as you two walked back to the Agency, another case having been solved.

“Eh, it was boring,” he whined, his face morphing into a pout.

“How exactly was it boring, Ranpo? It’s a murder.”

“Any beginner could have solved it, (Y/n)-chan. Being the great detective I am, I could solve the case in 10 seconds. Out of desperation the murderer moved onto her fifth partner hoping that he was her soulmate, and when he wasn’t, she snapped and killed him. It happens all the time,” he shrugged.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t understand why anyone would be that desperate for love, or color.”

You paused for a moment. There was a question you’d been wanting to ask for quite some time, and an answer you wanted to know. Although you didn’t think it would be the answer you wanted to hear.

But now was the perfect opportunity to ask.

“Ne, (Y/n)-chan, you’re so quiet. Just ask if there’s something you want to know. The greatest detective knows all.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the greatest,” you chuckled. “Say, Ranpo… have you ever been interested in finding your soulmate? Or seeing in color?”

A moment passed.

“Have you?” He asked.

You let out a sigh, your anticipation both dropping and rising. “Sometimes. I don’t mind seeing in black and white since it’s what I’m used to, but… I think finding my soulmate would be nice.”

It would be nice. But it would be painful, too. Finding your soulmate would mean you could live happily ever after. But it would also force you to drop your feelings for Ranpo. You had always known that the chances of the two of you being soulmates was slim, and you knew you’d have to give him up eventually, but the heart wants what the heart wants.

And your heart beat for him.

“Well, I’m not interested in looking for my soulmate.”

His answer was not unexpected. Ranpo just couldn’t be bothered. But you still wanted to know the reason. “Why not?”

“Why should I be? I’ve already found her.”

“What?!” That definitely was not the answer you expected.

Your heartbeat spiked painfully. Her? Who was she? Was it Yosano? Was it a civilian and you didn’t know because they were keeping it under wraps?

“Who-” you began trying to ask.

“(Y/n). Come here for a moment,” Ranpo cut you off.

“Why? First, I wanna know who it is-”

And suddenly, his lips were on yours. You froze. You didn’t understand that he was trying to give you a clue, and testing his theory.

Just as quickly as they came, they left, leaving you stunned; unable to think.

“I- Ranpo why? I thought you said you had a soulmate! So why-”

“Oh, look at that. That’s different,” he cut you off again, completely turning away and looking towards the west.

You knew very well how uninterested and dismissive he could be, but how could he just ignore you at a moment like this?

“I think that one’s called orange.”

“What? What are you even talking about?” You snapped, turning towards him.

And then you understood.

You were never interested in the sunset before. It was really only something people who could see in color cared about.

Even if you had paid attention before, it wouldn’t have looked the way it did now.

The sun wasn’t a circle of white anymore. Steadily, what you could only assume were colors were bursting forth through the landscape as the evening was brought to life. The sun was orange, wasn’t it? And the edges of the sky deepened, as if being dipped in ink, transforming into a dark, mysterious color. Purple? Soft, intricate swirls of other paints were mixed in as well, as delicate as the strokes of a brush. Could it be pink? And yellow?

By your feet, the roses you passed by every day on the way to agency weren’t black anymore. They had to be that magnificent, blooming bright red you heard about all the time, the color of love and passion. And blue! Another color you heard endless descriptions of, seemed to be creeping over the sea, reflecting the luminous hues of the sky above.

And Ranpo. He wasn’t looking at the sunset anymore. He was looking straight at you. With the most vivid, breathtaking eyes.

Green. Without ever having seen it, you knew his eyes must be green, the color of emeralds and forests. But as you stared into those mesmerizing pools of light, you knew their beauty could not be compared to anything in the world.

He softly smiled at you, his face shrouded in the various colors of the fading sunlight, and you realized what he was telling you.

You were soulmates. That dream that had seemed a million lightyears away, was right in front of you.

No, you were living it. It was reality.

“I told you I found my soulmate, didn’t I?” He grinned cheekily at you. “The greatest detective can solve any mystery.”

You didn’t need color. All you needed was him. But you were grateful, for you were given the gift of being able to look into the beautiful eyes of your Ranpo Edogawa.

#ranpo x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x you #ranpo edogawa #ranpo edogawa x reader #edogawa ranpo x reader #ranpo x reader fluff #bungou-stray-dogs-x-reader

[liibrii]

Miya!Reader x Miyas

Synopsis: Nothing simpler than grocery shopping. Right? 

wc: 1.2k

a part of The third Miya series

a/n: Miyas are pure chaos and I’m here for it. If you wanna be tagged in the coming scribbles lemme know and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! 

One thing was sure; every single time you were sent to get groceries Osamu got lost somewhere between entering the store and the first shelf. Years of being used to it and you still worry, knowing better than anyone he always follows his nose rather than his eyes; though ever since the mango incident you'd rather no one knew you are related. 

And after all, he is like a cat, aloof and distant until food came into picture and he winds his way between your legs till he either gets what he wants or you end up flat on your face. And he still gets what he wants.

Atsumu on the other hand, is a parrot. A colourful, obnoxiously loud parrot who always wants whatever is in your hands, not caring what you knock over trying to keep your small treasures from his grabby little claws. Or, hands.

The current treasure in question being the shopping list. It's been a long time since you stood a chance against Atsumu when it came to pure pulling strength and the unfortunate victim to experience it is, well are, the two pieces of paper in yours and his hand. “Great,“ you say, “if we forget to buy anythin' I'm blamin' ya.“

“This wouldn't have happened if ya just gave me the damn paper in the first place,“ huffs Atsumu.

You stuff the torn piece of paper in your pocket. “Where's Samu?“

“What am I? His babysitter?“

“No, that honour would be mine,“ you dead pan to his snarky question. Throwing a quick glance up and down the aisle you fail to notice your other brother between the customers. Well, whatever. He'll show up sooner or later. So you return your attention to tooth paste. Dad likes the blue one. Only there are at least four different blue ones.

“Just take the cheapest.“

“That one's digustin’.“

“If we buy the cheaper stuff we'll have more money left over to buy snacks!“

“Ooo,“ your eyes widen as you do the quick math, “Tsumu yer so smart!“ You grab two of the cheapest tubes. “Maybe we can even get Samu-nii to make us some onigiri...“ The mere thought of them makes your mouth water.

“Samu-nii?“ he frowns. “Ya never call me that.“

“Ya lost that privilege when ya framed me for eatin' his puddin'. We should get some hair dye too. Yer roots are starting to show.“ No way are you going to let your brother walk around with roots showing. Oh no. Not under your watch.“Maybe some purple shampoo but I don't see it anywhere...“

“What for?“

“So we can get ya a real nice platinum colour.“

“Nah, I like the one I have.“

You straighten up and give him a look of disbelief. “It's yellow.“

“Gold! It's gold! 'Cause I'm a champion!“

Right. “Whatever you need to tell yerself little brother.“

While he hisses back insults, because he's the oldest and how dare you disrespect him in the 7-Eleven of all places, you try to remember what the next thing on the shopping list was. Shampoo, right, check, dad's favourite shaving cream is already in the cart, as is deodorant you've gotten in a fight over with Atsumu just a minute ago (“I want this one!“

 “Tsumu this one stinks like a teenage boy who hasn't showered in a week.“ 

“I AM A TEENAGE BOY!”). You should take one for Osamu too. Their morning squabbles weren't how you liked starting your day, not that a single deodorant would stop that but one can dream, right? Speaking of which, slowly it would be time to start looking for your always hungry triplet. Still ignoring Atsumu you head towards the food section.

Here's the thing about parrots. Just like cats they want attention when you have something more important to do. A cat will nudge you, lay over your books or keyboard or whatever you might be doing at the moment, maybe dug its claws in your leg or just straight up refuse to leave no matter how many times you push it away. A parrot on the other hand, will perch itself on your shoulder and scream till you give it what it wants.

That's what Atsumu is doing at the moment. Well, not the screaming part, though his blabbering is just as annoying. He's leaning on your shoulder, flicking your ear while you compare the prices of bonito flakes. “Stop that.“

“I'm gonna get chips.“

“Wait for-“

He's already walking away, pushing the cart and whistling, so you roll your eyes and return your attention back to the packages. Which one did mom say tasted weird again?

Here's another thing about parrots. As innocent as they may look to some, they do love creating this thing called chaos. And here's the thing about chaos. Unlike some other things it's worse in small dosages, because in small dosages it's funny.  For example, a parrot filling your shoe with sunflower seeds.

Or a golden haired boy filling the shopping cart with bags of chips. There's barely enough space for those three packages in your arms.

“Mom's gonna go ballistic if we buy so much chips,“ you say looking at Atsumu trying to stuff one more bag in the cart.

“We'll just pay separately.“

Oh right. You could do that. And this time not fail to forget taking the receipt out of the bag before dad finds it. While Atsumu tries to decide which package of crab chips to take next (as if he could cram one more in the cart) you sneak in some small packets of super sour candy. For later. You never knew when Samu will itch and go through your secret stash.

As if he smelled you're collecting ingredients for a trap his gray hair appears on the other side of the aisle. “What's with all that?“ he asks when he sees half the cart is filled with snacks.

“Supplies.“

Osamu puts his hands in pockets. “Put them back.“

You blink. Twice. Then glance over at Atsumu who looks just as shocked as you. He narrows his eyes and pinches Osamu's cheek. “Ya feelin' alright Samu? Got fever?“ Osamu swats his hand away. “Who are ya and what have ya done with our brother?“

And his hands are empty too... The only time Osamu didn't come back carrying a bunch of food was when you were shopping at a shoe store.

“If we don't buy snacks we can get sushi,“ he says with an expression that clearly asks how you two idiots couldn't work that out on your own.

“Oooo,“ both your and Atsumu's eyes widen in awe. You could get sushi. You both look at all the tasty, tasty snacks in the cart. Sushi... Or maybe ramen. A new restaurant did open up the street just last month. But then you'll have no goodies for later... But it's sushi.

“Alright, I'll get these back!“ Atsumu grabs the bags and stacks them back on the shelf.

“Hey! I haven't agreed yet!“ you protest.

Osamu pats your shoulder. “Two to one.“

You roll your eyes. It wasn't the rule of 'two over one' overruling whatever your answer was going to be, it was more you hate being the losing one. Even when you get a reward. Even when the reward is tasty food. 

At least mom's paying.

tagging: @espressons​

#Miya Atsumu #miya osamu #miya twins #hqcorenet #miya atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #atsumu x platonic!reader #osamu x platonic!reader #hq #haikyuu #haikyuu fanfic #inarizaki #the third miya #libri scribbles #can u tell I've been reading Terry Pratchett?