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utterlyazriel · 19 days

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whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: WE MADE IT TO CHAPTER FIVE!! EVERYBODY CLAP!! labour of love fr <3 but we're almost to the scene that sparked the whole freakin series and i. oh man im just yearning for that hurt/comfort

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: You test out if your efforts with the tonics are worth anything and Azriel bestows you with a gift. He asks about the Blood Rite and you ponder the strange, golden thread you've been feeling in your chest. Disaster strikes when night falls.

CHAPTER FIVE :: CONFIDANTS

You look younger in your sleep, Azriel thinks.

He doesn't think he's ever seen you like this before. The hard lines of your face are all smoothed out as you rest, so unlike your usual expression. There's something softer about you.

The constant furrow between your brows is whisked away for once. He can still see the familiar line between your brows though, if he looks close enough.

If he can look past the bruises that mottle your face, that is.

The damage you've sustained from training within the camp is severe enough to curdle something sour in his stomach.

Azriel had held his reservations about his trip back to Velaris— a suspicion that proved to be well founded. His own memories of training at Windhaven provide plentiful ways for you to have ended up in this state.

You’re curled up instinctively in your sleep, wings tucked around yourself. It sews of thread of worry through Azriel's chest, a slight concern at the state of your wounds and how the position will agitate them. While you don't move much in your sleep, he knows from experience that it'll be hell when you finally do stretch back out.

But... he can’t bring himself to wake you. You need the sleep desperately.

Azriel is fairly certain that the huddled form you take is some subconscious way to protect yourself, even in your sleep. Your wings drape across yourself, keeping yourself covered, hidden.

And while that makes some part of Azriel's heart ache, he can't deny that you—it looks… sort of cute.

Azriel forces himself to avert his eyes, ducking his chin for extra measure. Those pesky thoughts were becoming more and more frequent — something that he's pointedly ignoring at this point.

Protect, his shadows whirl around his ears like tiny gusts of wind, whispering their suggestions. Protect, they whisper.

Protect. Both a thought and a feeling. A guiding intuition that seems to reverberate from his very bones.

The suggestion from his shadows isn't entirely left field either, as they always take inspiration from what he can see. From his wandering thoughts, from his prolonged gentle gaze that lays upon you whenever he can.

Azriel scowls lightly at himself. He had no claim to protect you and further more, most Illyrian males like yourself would take great amounts of offence to the mere insinuation. He knows that you are more than capable.

He steals another glance at your peaceful, sleeping figure and his shadows seem to quieten in response— at least about you. The whispers don't ever truly quieten.

Azriel's fairy certain where they're getting their ideas. It's what he wonders too as he takes in your battered face once more—whether it’s the truth or just his familiar brand of desperate hope.

Something that would explain the urge to protect beyond reason.

Something like... a bond forged in starlight.

The Mother's Kiss whistles quietly outside and Azriel shifts his gaze again and this time, it lays upon the Heartstriker.

Sitting atop the one table-top in your shelter, the blade stays sheathed away in the very same bejeweled case that Azriel had found it in. Same as on that very first day he laid his hands on it.

It had been a wretched mission. One of his very first. It was not performed with the eloquence he would come to learn in future years.

Heartstriker had not been the objective of the mission. Far from it, in truth. The objective was a simple stealth reconnaissance into the Court of Nightmares.

He was to delve beneath the rock of the mountain in a mission very similar to his current. Swirlings of rumours and whispers of rebellion, against the new Highlord. Azriel was there to learn who had the guts to pick up the knife and try.

Heartstriker was a ploy. A shiny trick that Azriel had not yet learned how to evade.

He was still a novice by his own standards, only a few hundred years old. Spying in this sense was still fresh, still new. The work he had done under Rhysand's father during the war had been far more reliant on his brute strength. He had strict instructions not to hesitate to draw his blade.

It had taken time to relearn the importance in a message sent with words.

To remember the power of mercy.

This mission had been the first and only time Azriel had underestimated the measures in place in the Court of Nightmares, meant to keep out the likes of him.

His hesitance to kill had given another Fae time to trip an alarm, to flood the room with warriors. So when he had been backed into a corner by the snarling miscreants that lived in the belly of the mountain, taken by surprise, he hadn't hesitated to snatch up any weapon he could reach.

And it had branded him, singeing him right to his core.

But when he tried to force his fingers apart, they wouldn't obey, even as they screamed with the pain of the invisible flames. It was as though his hand had become fused with the blade, each atom of his being completely joined with the bronze of the sword through a terrible, unstoppable and invisible force.

Every part of him shrieked in agony. An age-old fear reared up within him, his hands burning like they were set alight and he could feel the flames licking at his skin, at his hands, could smell the scent of burning flesh—

He had fought on and won, all the same, taking on two battles at once. Fighting foes by real and faux, all whilst burning up from within all the while. The sword was immeasurably heavy and yet too light, all at once.

And only once almost all his enemies were slain, their blood staining the marble floors, did the burning cease. The blade seem to hum in response to the battle— drawn to the final foe who was clawing for his breath through his blood-soaked throat.

The tip of the sword had urged Azriel forward, like pulled by an invisible string, and he let it lead him, plunging the blade through the chest and into the heart of the last enemy left.

Only after, had the humming stopped. The sword finally clattered from Azriel's strong grip, the fusion broken.

His hands were same as ever, mottled with their scars, but with no indication of the burning he knew he had felt.

On his return, Rhys had told him the history of the sword and it's duly fitting name: Heartstriker.

It hadn't been claimed in centuries and as such, naturally it had come to live amongst other cursed objects within the Court of Nightmares. Unable to be used, unless someone bested the pain it took to raise it.

But Azriel had, entirely by accident.

It is said that once mastered, it will always strike true. Rhys had said, violet eyes gleaming as he looked over the bronze sword with piqued interest. That it's more than a regular sword but a living thing you must work in tandem with.

If anyone tries to take it from you, they must suffer the same fate. It can be gifted freely but, He had paused, that smirk that held no warmth in it pulling at his lips. I'm sure you can guess how often that happens down there.

It hadn't been used within the Night Court either, condemned to another hundred years or so without sight of battle. Azriel had more than enough blades of his own. The Illyrian broadsword that he had earned all that time ago in the Blood Rite for a proper battle and his Truth-Teller for the finer details.

Heartstriker wasn't right for his stature. Too short, strange weighted.

He'd kept it all the same. Perhaps, he told himself, to keep some other Fae from suffering the same fate if they laid hands on it.

His hazel eyes drift back across to you, bundled within yourself. You make a noise in your sleep, a gentle snuffle, and Azriel finds himself smiling.

Or perhaps, he thinks, he knew to keep it for entirely other reasons.

—

The quick healing of Illyrian's is more often a blessing than it is a curse.

On today's quiet winter morning, it is somehow both.

When you wake, dragged from your slumber in the early hours, it's before the sun has begun to make an appearance on the horizon. The shelter is coated in a soft darkness of dawn. The trees sway outside, a thousand creatures still roaming amongst their branches, reliant on the dark before daylight breaks.

It's the pain that wakes you, ebbing in through your sleep til it shakes off your sleep. You wake with your teeth already gritted.

The only pleasant surprise is that fact you're not shuddering yourself awake out of a nightmare, especially considering yesterday's training session.

You have a feeling that it has something to do with the sleeping Illyrian, propped up beside the fireplace, keeping watch.

His shadows still move about, even in his sleep. His neck is tucked down, his forehead pressed against his knee. It hides away part his face but as your eyes adjust to the shadowy light, you can make out his closed eyes. His hair looks messier than you've ever seen it.

It can't be comfortable, sleeping the way he is— but you have a feeling that Azriel has slept in places far worse before.

Shifting about in the darkness, your hand comes down to press tenderly at your sides, assessing as quietly as you can. There's no immediate sting of sliced skin as your fingers tips poke and prod at the skin, which makes you sigh in relief. You press down again, at bit harder this time, and it forces a wince out your gritted teeth.

Extremely bruised. But at the very least, the skin has knitted itself together in the nighttime.

Your face still aches, too. It's not quite the same ringing that made both eyes throb painfully yesterday and with a slow wrinkle of your nose, you can assess that the worst of your broken nose has healed up too.

Your ears, however, poses a different problem. One of them, the right side, still rings lightly. It would be more concerning, you think, if the left one itself wasn't so muffled altogether.

Huffing out a breath, you drag yourself up to a sitting position, moving at a tentative pace. Pain ricochets around your body. You're doing the best you can to be quiet but it's futile it seems — there's one creak of the bed as your weight shifts and Azriel's wings twitch, giving him away. He’s awake.

He lifts his head slowly, letting it roll from one side to the next, stretching out his neck. It's the only indication he gives you of feeling sore from his cramped sleep all night, his attentive eyes already watching you closely. His shadows, you notice, seem to gain speed at his rousing— circling his shoulders and neck closely.

You clear your throat and focus your gaze forward, resuming the task at hand. Raising one hand, you snap your fingers beside your left ear, then your right.

Frustration bubbles up inside you as you repeat the motion, as if it’ll change the outcome.

It doesn’t.

At least beyond the ringing, your right ear can hear the snap clearly— a keen Fae sense that like any warrior, you rely heavily on. The left one…

All you can think is that they must have hit you pretty damn hard to leave it as dulled as it feels. It can still hear, thankfully, but the noise that filters through is muffled around the edges. Buzzy. It makes you feel off kilter and unbalanced.

You let your hand drop and try to remain stoic, so used to hiding your emotions away from your face. You don't realise your drooping, limp wings give you away anyways.

Azriel gets to his feet swiftly, the movement so smooth you would have never guessed he spent the night tucked up uncomfortably against the bricks of your fireplace. He regards you with those burning amber eyes and your heart seems to lurch forward in response. You avert your gaze.

"It would seem we have an opportunity to test out our efforts." He says. His voice is still coated in sleep, low and rumbley, and it sends a bright zing down your spine. You lift your gaze from your lap and raise your brows in question.

He waves a hand to the table, in gesture.

Your various ingredients for brewing the tonics stay tucked in one corner, some wrapped up and set beneath the table. There are several different bottles too, stoppered with corks and containing yours and Azriel's attempts at the healing tonics.

It takes another moment to understand what he means.

"No," You say sharply, climbing to your feet. A thousand parts of your ache and groan in protest and you channel your focus into not letting a single ounce of it show.

Rolling your tense shoulders back, you wander towards your armor in slow steady steps. "Those aren't for me. I've healed enough in the night."

"I see." Azriel replies. "Is that why your left ear isn't working right?"

Gaze snapping back to him, you curse his ever-so observant nature. Maybe that's on you for trying to keep a secret from a Shadowsinger.

You are keeping a secret from a shadowsinger, something whispers in you.

A cold flush fills your body, numbing out every nerve for a single moment. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your wings hike up, tuck in. It feels wrong.

For the first time in your life, it feels so so utterly wrong to be keeping this secret from someone. To be hiding who you truly are.

But Azriel... he was a stranger not too long ago, wasn't he? You're not sure if you can even call each other friends, even if you had begun to in your mind, without even realising.

You think back to last night, to when he could have easily lifted your shirt a few inches higher when trying to save your life and known.

Then you wonder if he did — and he hasn't said anything.

If he's waiting for you to trip up, to fess up, to explain to him why you've been lying to him from the moment you first met him.

Azriel seems to sense your internal battle, the same way he seems senses a thousand things from you as though he's known you his whole life. He clears his throat to get your attention. When you focus your vision back on him, you notice one of the bottles is in his scarred fingers.

"I will train you today," He says. "On the condition that you take it."

Your nose twitches. It's an ultimatum. He knows you want to train, to brush off yesterday and let the pain in your body fuel the determination of today but he won't let you do it so carelessly. Bastard.

Before you can blink, he tosses the bottle across to you. You react instinctively, cradling your hands to catch it quickly before you realise what you're doing. Your nose twitches again, a tiny flare of annoyance at his smugness.

No, not smugness. Surety. His expression, bordering on bored, tells you that he knows you don't have any other options— unless you want to climb back into bed and rot for the day.

You yank the cork off the bottle harshly. Then, just to show him how unpleased you are with this, you lob the cork at him with all your might. Your bruised side screams in response. Azriel snatches from the air easily, without so much as a blink.

He looks like he wants to smile but thinks the better of it, placing the cork gently onto the table. "I'll meet you outside." He eyes the uncorked bottle in your hand then back at you. "Drink it. Please."

—

The tonic, as you find out, is only mildly effective.

It's a gutting discovery. The mixture is nowhere near potent enough to fix the level of nerve damage that gets inflicted during clippings if it barely lightens the bruises on your side.

The mottled blue painted on your skin gives way to a light purple, the edges of them retracting to a tinged yellow. The skin glows hot as the tonic works as best as it can.

The taste of it is nearly as rancid as the failure feels.

You deal with it the only way you know how; chewing it up and spitting it back out as determination to do better. The drive to push yourself harder in training rears up, fiery and stubborn— harder than you logically know is any help to yourself.

What was already tedious and heinous training is made that much worse by your injuries.

You're moving sloppily today, offbeat. The dullness in your left ear helps to keep you off balance. Still, you manage to keep up with Azriel— not quite the one step ahead you're usually aiming for but, at the very least, you're still holding your own.

Your ribs ache and your heads throbs. The ringing in your right ear has disappeared with the help of the tonic, only to have started up in the left. A relief in one sense— it's good to be hearing more of anything. A fucking pain in another.

The only major upside, really, is the sword.

The Heartstriker, Azriel had called it

You had been half convinced it was a hallucination, the gift. Sure that it some desperate illusion born out of the delirium of the blood loss because, really, when was the last time you had ever gotten a gift?

When you'd limped your way out into the snow and saw it in his hands, you had blinked in disbelief.

But it's almost like Azriel had expected it, his scarred hands reaching out to gently curl around your wrist, murmuring its name as he had pressed it into your hand. It's yours, he had said.

He had let go of your wrist go immediately, stepping back but not far, still hovering close by. He let you have a moment to marvel at it before he urged you to follow to the usual neck of the woods you trained in. The sound of clashing steel had soon followed.

It's a perfect addition, you find.

The blade is like a mere extension of your own arm. It's light enough to carve through the air with ease but when you strike, it's buries deep. Compared the Illyrian broadsword used in training at camp, it suits your stature far better. You move more agilely, hit more frequently and harder when you do.

It's probably the best thing you've ever owned— ever held.

You're gazing at it where it rests on your lap, glinting in the light of the day, as you try to catch your breath. Azriel had given you a moment to recover, far earlier than normal, due to your injuries, no doubt. Normally, you'd grumble and snarl and push him to continue but today, you're quite happy to have another moment to stare at the first gift you've gotten.

Azriel breaks the silence with a question.

"Why haven't you competed in the Blood Rite?"

Something icy spikes in your blood and your back straightens instinctively, the hair on the nape of your neck standing on end. Whether he knows it or not, he is treading close to dangerous territory.

"Why do you ask?" You answer his question with another question.

Azriel regards you with a certain look, his dark eyes dragging down your body intensely and back up to your face. It's enough to make you fluster momentarily, to feel a faint stirring in your heart that doesn't entirely feel like your own. No one has ever looked at you like that before.

"You're strong. You hold your own. You're of age." He states carefully. "You remain attached to this camp with no rank until you pass it. Why not?"

You scowl at his frame of thinking, as if you haven't passed over those reasons a thousand times. Beyond the fact you can't ever ensure you wouldn't be burdened with your cycle during the Blood Rite, there's more than enough reason for you to remain a nobody.

You feel oddly disappointed that he would think only in that manner; glory and rank.

"What makes you think I want any rank in my camp?" You spit bitingly, watching as his wings sink down an inch at your tone. His misunderstanding of why you've chosen this way of life bothers you more than you expect.

"Because you did?" You ask. "Because three bastards fought their way through it and won and left their shitty pasts behind? I am not you, Azriel."

Azriel doesn't react, not even the raising of his brows. Only his shadows give himself away, whirling around slower than usual. He speaks in that same careful tone as before.

"I know you are not."

He makes you feel foolish for giving in to any lick of your anger, for so quickly snapping at your only friend. You turn your head away and stare down into the snow, taking a breath. Cauldron, you're tired. Lifting you arm, you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, clearing the sweat that beads there.

"I could leave but for what reason? Ever since I—" You suck a sharp inhale, swallowing back words that dance too close to giving you away. You pray he doesn't notice your hesitation. "Ever since I was young, this has been my goal. This change must come from within, you know that."

You inhale again, feeling the breath rattle past every ache and pain in your chest.

"I can only do the things I do... the things I must achieve, by being unnoticeable."

You cast a glance up to him. "To them, I am some bastard who won't give up and die. I am not a proper threat. You, of all people, should understand that it's easiest to work when people are not paying proper attention."

And that's all you have known — how to become unnoticeable when needed and how to be noticed when wanted. Attention, you've learned, only means a target on your back.

Beyond that... you can't imagine someone who would want to notice you for anything more. You've had many, many years to make peace with that bitter fact.

I am.

Without warning, there's a sudden thrum from deep within you, like a echo of a drum, of a call. It's golden and threaded with softness. I am paying attention.

It startles you, one hand flying to your armored chest in surprise. As quick as it had appeared, the hum flees and leaves your bound chest twingeing only in its usual discomfort. One moment of brief serenity. You long for it, despite the unfamiliar nature.

You realise abruptly that you've trailed off and force yourself to move, body aching in the process. Heartstriker sinks into the snow and you use it to clamber to your feet, not nearly as graceful as you would like. Azriel doesn't say anything.

In fact, when you lift your gaze to meet his, he's staring at you more intensely than usual. His shadows seem more agitated. They flit about, circling his hands more than his shoulders, and you can barely see the scarred skin through their inky darkness.

There's a long moment. Around you both, the trees creek as they bend in the wind, a thousand leaves rustling around you in a chorus.

Azriel breaks the silence, casting his eyes to the ground and lifting his blade. "No more questions."

He says it like a promise, his lips pulling at the edges like he might be offering a smile.

"Just fighting."

—

By the time the moon rises, the ache in your body has dimmed to a more bearable pain.

While you'd be miffed at the idea of Azriel pulling his punches, you can't deny the sliver of gratitude you have for it now. As you reach over the cauldron of simmering stew, only a few of your ribs twinge enough to make your motions falter momentarily. The stew bubbles and brews, filling your shelter with a hearty smell.

It's been too long since you last cooked something to share.

You try to shelve the guilt away—you and Azriel have been running a very tight schedule, switching between training, tonics and rest. Taking time to cook, for yourself or others, hasn't even had time to cross your mind.

Your brief brush back with the reality during yesterday's training, however, had provided you with ample reminders. Your home camp and all its violent glory.

So, you cook. The logs crackle on the fire and above them, the stew simmers gently as you stir absentmindedly at it. Giving yourself this quiet moment, you let your thoughts drift as the tiredness of the day trickles into your body. Your thoughts turn to the quiet Shadowsinger.

He had taken his leave as soon as he had declared the end of your days training, needing another trip to Velaris.

I'll be back by morning, he had said, each of his seven cerulean siphons flaring brightly before he stepped between the fabric of the world and disappeared. Another hidden trick up his sleeve.

You'd allowed yourself only one moment of surprise before you closed your mouth— you really needed to stop underestimating him. As the stew before you begins to hiss and spit, you pull yourself from your thoughts and prepare yourself for the discomfort of meal times.

They never are as friendly as you might hope.

Despite your generosity, the different outcasts of Exordor remain cagey. Regard you with pensive and guarded looks, hands hovering on the butts of their swords. You can't blame them in the slightest.

But those that can brave the walk to your cabin, risking both themselves and your own safety against the other Illyrian brutes in the camp, are rewarded with a hot meal. Tonight, you feed 12 hungry mouths before your doorstep grows quiet.

You pack it all away in silence, with a quite yearning for company you've only just become used to having.

It's only as you're tucking in for the night, your wings wrapped around yourself tightly, does the first pain strike. Right to your core, the very insides of your gut feels as though it's being shredded. You gasp, your entire body curling up tighter to fight against the pain.

For only a moment, confusion clouds your mind at the attack that seems to come from nowhere, from an invisible enemy. Only one answer comes forward—the only thing that can threaten to reveal your secret without your permission, through mere scent alone.

A certain agony that only tortures you twice a year.

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger x you #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar #i have nothing to say but sorry it took more than a month!!!!!!!! ahhhh!!!!!!!!!#mwahmwah please forgive me #we're GETTING there #i just keep being dedicated to the backstory lmao #TOO dedicated

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mangocustard16 · 7 months

Text

Sunrise Sweetness 💝🧡

| synopsis: When Y/N mistakes her idol boyfriend Xu Minghao for a thief in the early hours, their reunion turns into a cascade of cheesy kisses, rekindling their love at sunrise.

| genre: fluff

| pairing: idolbf!xu minghao x gn!reader

| warnings: none

| Word count: 550

The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the dimly lit kitchen as Y/N groggily stumbled out of bed, her sleep-addled mind struggling to make sense of the situation. The early morning light seeped through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

With cautious steps, she tiptoed to the kitchen, clutching a heavy cast-iron pan in her trembling hands. The silence was broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she rounded the corner, ready to defend herself against any intruder.

But what she saw froze her in her tracks.

A figure stood by the kitchen sink, facing away from her. A tall silhouette, clad in a dark hoodie and jeans. Panic set in as she tightened her grip on the pan, ready to strike if necessary.

"Who are you?" Y/N's voice trembled as she demanded an answer, her voice barely a whisper.

The figure turned around, and in the dim light, Y/N could just make out a pair of tired, but familiar, eyes. It was then that she recognized that disheveled mop of hair, the same one she'd run her fingers through countless times. Her heart lurched as she dropped the pan with a loud clatter.

"Minghao?"

Xu Minghao's face broke into a tired but relieved smile as he stepped closer, pushing back the hood of his hoodie. "Hey, babe. Miss me?"

Y/N's eyes widened, and the adrenaline coursing through her veins gave way to a rush of emotions. She couldn't believe her boyfriend was standing in her kitchen at the crack of dawn.

"Is it really you?" She blinked, her voice a mixture of disbelief and excitement.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "I missed you so much on tour, I just had to come back early and surprise you."

Y/N's initial shock gave way to a surge of happiness and longing. She rushed into his arms, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart. Minghao held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, and she could hear him softly sighing in contentment.

"I can't believe you're here," Y/N whispered, her voice filled with awe. "I thought you were a thief or something."

Minghao chuckled, his breath tickling her ear. "Well, I guess I'm a thief of hearts then, stealing yours every day."

He leaned down and kissed her, a tender and lingering kiss that spoke volumes about how much he had missed her. Y/N melted into his embrace. She'd missed him more than she could put into words.

Their lips met again and again, each kiss expressing the depth of their feelings. It was as if the world had ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them entwined in the soft morning light.

As they finally pulled away, Minghao whispered against her lips, "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too", she replied, her heart brimming with affection.

The reunion they had both yearned for had come at the perfect time, and they knew they had many more stolen moments to look forward to.

With Minghao back in her arms, Y/N couldn't help but think that sometimes, the most beautiful surprises come when you least expect them, even if it means nearly bonking your idol boyfriend with a pan.

I watched Tangled yesterday....i'm sorry i had too

#mango.writes #seventeen reactions #seventeen #svt #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #xu minghao #domestic fluff #domestic mighao #svt x reader #svt x you #svt x y/n #svt xu minghao #svt fluff #fluff #established relationship #one shot

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beansidhebumbling · 5 months

Note

Any chance of a Nesta x Eris drabble?

Let me know what to think. As tends to be the case I lost control of the length.

Warning!: smut

Patience and Other Vices

His hand glances over hers at dinner.

It's an accident. She's been so studious in her avoidance of his gaze, his presence, the mere mention of his name since the announcement. Tonight and this brief touch are just another in the long list of regrets he surely ties to her name.

He reaches for the pitcher of water just as she does and their fingers brush.

He has the hands of a pianist, dexterous, elongated, agile when they play on the keys, when they play with her.

And how he played her.

***

Their eyes catch.

He's thinking of that night too.

She knows as his eyebrows furrow, light colour tinting high cheekbones, left hand clenching his fork in a death grip as his right lingers- outstretched and alone.

If he is striking in sunlight, he is devastating in candlelight, the sharp cut of his jaw and his glare cast shadows, even as the rich red tones of his hair burn and flicker under the gentle wavering glow of the candelabra.

***

Long fingers pump inside her in a rhythm she chases but cannot catch as her head falls back on the rich navy velvet shoulder of his tailcoat.

'Please... God in heaven please.'

Gasping and breathy, a more sincere prayer than any she has ever offered on a Sunday.

He lets out a low chuckle.

'That's not my name, sweetest. Plead to me, look only to me or I may take note from your God and be very cruel indeed.'

And when he stops the infernal masterful movement, she finds herself possessed, for that is the only reason Nesta would be compelled to beg him.

The plaintive cry that leaves is a sound foreign to her ears,

'Please my Lord. Do not stop or I may die and take my spot in Hell alongside you.'

She squirms in his lap, attempting to create her own friction. Her cunt, as he calls it, as he taught her, is stretched and hot over his blasted unmoving fingers.

Cunt.

The word looks blunt and crude on paper, in the secret letters sends. But when said by him it sounds more like treasure, more like covet. The word dripping in awe and adoration.

She is full in a way she never achieves with her own tender nocturnal explorations. He taught her this too, the importance of self-exploration, coaxing her to find herself in the wet messy flush of carnal pleasure.

He pinches her right nipple with his free hand, brief and chastising.

'This is a lesson in patience Nesta. You are learning to wait for me.'

Another mean twist, this time to her left nipple.

'And you still haven't said my name.'

'Eris.

Eris.

Eris.'

Each gasp is breathier than the last. She loves the familiar shape of his name, how it falls from her tongue.

A confession no deity could pry from her.

'Good girl.'

The dance of his fingers inside her continues once more.

A reward.

And she thinks maybe he needs no confession when her loud moan at his praise is a sure equivalent.

'Look at you. Beautiful and bared like Venus for me.'

He pulls her hair so she is once more looking in the mirror at the wanton naked figure that is splayed across the Duke of Vanserra's clothed form.

His fine leather boots still gleam under moonlight.

He reduces her to this wild, unkempt thing. Hair undone, blood rising to her cheeks, her chest, eyes glazed and starry.

But if it is a reduction why does she feel like so much more when held in his arms?

She comes apart with the practiced thrum of his thumb on her button, his name the only chant she knows as her mind whirls and galaxies fall apart and come together again behind her eyes.

She sees love in the kisses he presses on her collarbone, in the gentle pass of a washcloth along her centre and thighs, in the delicate way he redresses her in her nightwear before sneaking out the window, a thief in the night, her heart buried between his and navy velvet.

***

She is patient.

Patient when his nightime visits and secret letters stop suddenly.

Patient in her rejection of those who come to call, to plead for the privilege of a promenade.

Nesta Archeron, the diamond of the town, is patient a full week until word of his engagement to Lady Morrigan Velaris reaches the breakfast table, gossip spilled between tea sips and flaky pastry. A most advantageous match. Very likely to be the wedding of the season.

When Nesta retires with a migraine she goes unnoticed. Her tears, salty and unceasing, flow onto her pillow, heartbreak and rage released like a river, like a flood.

The smell of pine and leather and tobacco lingers even now.

She burns her bedsheets.

***

She is no longer patient.

The deluge of letters returns, multiple daily, even when he doesn't dare show his face.

Unread they join the ash of her bed linen in the grate.

And when Lord Cassian, still a little too loud, a little too slow, brings her flowers, yellow roses with no hidden messages, she accepts them with a smile.

He never makes her feel more, but he never makes her feel less.

Her engagement is announced the same day the dissolution of Eris' is published in the gossip sheet.

***

She sees him at church.

Gaunt and sickly, stress marked in the crease of his forehead, the anguish of his gaze.

The burn of his stare does not relent through the sermon and she wonders if this is her damnation.

Because despite it all she longs to smooth the wrinkle of his forehead, hear the low timbre of his voice.

***

He attempts to knock on the balcony of her room that night.

When she wakes the house with screams about intruders he does not try again.

***

She should have guessed he'd somehow finangle a way to Lord Cassian's dinner.

She thought it safe considering the still smoking wreckage of his dalliance with Morrigan.

She underestimated his cunning and unflappable shamelesness as he bats off Lord Rhysand's increasingly cutting remarks about failed nuptials with all the ease of breathing.

When the men depart into the smoking room she seizes her chance to catch a breath in the conservatory.

He finds her.

Of course.

***

She is alone all of thirty seconds before she hears the urgent clap of boots on the tiled floor.

He confronts her by the orange tree, his eyes frantic and jaw tight.

'Nesta.'

Her name sounds like a prayer.

Her response stops his urgent pace towards her.

'My Lord, I'd advise you to return to the party before you are missed and warn you against using my name with such impropriety in future.'

Her tone is clipped, words measured, as her heart bleeds within its cavity.

'I...'.

A speechless Eris Vanserra is a new sight to her.

She takes her chance at escape, dipping so shallowly it hardly bears the definition of a curtsey, she begins to walk away, heading towards the ruckus of laughter and chatter.

A thud causes her to turn, skirts twisting around her frame with the sudden movement.

He kneels, shoulders hunched and face bent to the floor.

'Nes-my darling. I beg of you, have mercy and stab me before you once more deprive me of the honour of company.'

'My Lord, cease the melodramatics and rise this instant.'

She snaps.

'Anyone could walk in, you fool.'

He huffs a strangled laugh, maimed with pain.

'I'm a fool you're talking to, my love. Beter shade a fool than every other colour I've been'

He looks at her then and God save her he's crying.

How dare he?

The fury that churns within her is only matched by the sorrow that threatens to expose itself in the faultlines of her masked expression.

'Get up Eris. This is a misery of your own design. You used me and discarded me. I will put up with no further humiliation.'

The light that sparks in his eyes when she uses his name dies quickly as the proceeding words hit him like blows. He flinches but still holds her gaze, like he fears she may disappear if he blinks.

A valid fear to hold.

'Did you.. did you read even one of my letters, my Lady?'

She arches an eyebrow, disdainful at the question and her premature rise in rank. It's answer enough.

His next words are rushed, fearful she'll leave before he finishes she imagines. That is her plan but she finds her feet glued to the spot as he continues, tripping over words, voice shaky.

'It was an arrangement by my thrice-cursed father, still haunting me beyond the grave. I asked you to be patient while I tried to sort it discretely. I thought you'd never have to know, to worry. Rhysand forced my hand and I was engaged and by the time I escaped it you were ...'

He gulps, shaking his head, long hair moving like silk, like he is trying to dispel the reality.

'I...I kick myself for not telling you before. It haunts me, every missed opportunity to propose to you, to do it the messy way, cleverness be damned. I'll die sick and bitter that I squandered my chance to be yours. But I cannot have you ignore me like this anymore.'

He stands then. Makes his way towards her, pulling her hands, that must have clasped around her mouth at some point, towards him, grasping them like they hold his salvation.

'I will be whoever you want me to be, Nesta. I have proposed marriage, friendship, acquaintance in my letters, poured my soul to you in pretty words, calculated and considered to try and redeem myself. I am unprepared while struck stupid in your presence. I only have these clumsy pleas but do not question their sincerity when since the moment I've met you I've loved you. Since your first barbed comment my heart has been yours. I will be anything but do not make me a stranger. Grant me this, I beg. I will kneel if you wish. I would risk it all to have you look at me softly once again.'

Her heart escapes between the faultlines as a tear falls down her face.

His right hand reaches, outstretched and alone, hovering, shaking by her face.

She turns her head to kiss his palm.

She feels his pulse beneath her lips.

Patience is recovered in quiet citrus-scented air.

#neris #nesta #eris #i am sick #so if there are loads of mistakes #no there's not #acotar #regency #gemwrites

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bakuliwrites · 2 years

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Upon a Forest Throne, Thranduil x Reader

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Fandom: The Hobbit/Lord of the Rings

Relationship: Thranduil x Reader

Summary: As Thranduil's Queen-to-Be, you worry his subjects will not accept you. So the Elven King takes it upon himself to show you just how worshipped you are.

Read here in this post or over on my AO3.

The air in the dining hall is stifling. A cacophonous din of voices swirls through the air, weighty and suffocating. Eyes fall on you: some curious, others disdainful.

Interloper, they speak wordlessly, glaring pointedly, Fraud. Thief.

From where you sit at the head of the table, you can sense every guest, every dignitary, trying to feel you out. Attempting to figure out the woman who has claimed their King’s heart, and is soon to claim the throne beside his. Thranduil seems to take no heed of the accusatory glowering and inquisitive gawking. His cool and collected gaze sweeps over his guests before settling on you. You try not to show your discomfort, smiling softly at your betrothed, but the way your hands fidget with the sleeves of your gown betray your growing unease. Thranduil’s dark brows crinkle, his striking azure eyes awash with concern. But before he can say anything to you, he’s interrupted by an attendant furtively whispering something in his ear. He nods in understanding and the attendant scampers off.

“Esteemed guests,” the Elven King’s commanding voice rings through the room, voices falling away to silence, “I invite you to join us in the adjoining salon for after dinner drinks.”

One by one, people rise from their seats, followed by the clink of silverware being abandoned on plates and the scrape of chairs scooting out from the table. You and Thranduil are the last to rise, trailing after your guests as they file into the room next door.

“Meleth nîn,” your voice sounds, barely above a whisper, halting your beloved in his tracks. He looks to you, handsome face scrunched with concern.

“What troubles you?” he hushes, taking this private moment to pass his thumb gently across your cheek.

“Might I have a moment on my own? I’ll join you when I’m finished. I just need a few minutes of quiet,” you request. The crease between Thranduil’s brow deepens. Air falters in your chest, lungs constricting with the anxiety of having to face that whole room staring you down. This is supposed to be a private dinner meant to introduce you to other Elven dignitaries from across Middle Earth. To test to see how you might get along with them as Mirkwood’s Queen-to-Be. Yet, here you are, wanting to escape. The tension is too much to handle. You’ve put on a brave face all night, made small talk with people who obviously don’t want to get to know you, and have been scrutinized like some sort of wretched specimen. You need just a few undisturbed moments to gather yourself before you repeat this all over again.

“You need not ask me for permission,” Thranduil reassures, softly beaming, “Take as much time as you need.”

You slip your hand into his, giving it a small squeeze before you flit through the hallways in search of a more tranquil place. Lost in thought, you allow your feet to carry you where they may. Your steps echo through the grand halls of the palace as you wander aimlessly, mind fixated on the piercing gazes that still seem to prickle along your skin. You find yourself standing before the throne. Swirling tendrils of branches creep their way up the sides and back. Large antlers hang imposingly at the top, mighty and grand. A reminder of the power of the Elf King, himself.

You imagine Thranduil, draped languidly across the throne, his robes spilling over the sides. His subjects look adoringly upon him, admiration and respect in their eyes. And then there’s you. A foreigner and a thief to them. They glare at you from your place beside your soon-to-be husband. Their distaste for you is clear. They’ve made no attempts to hide it. They’d grown used to a kingdom with one ruler. And now here you are, a usurper. Parvenu, you heard one whisper once as you passed them in the hallway. Your sudden fame and status seem hardly fair to them. Earned only because you’ve somehow managed to “bewitch” their King. Though you are an Elf, you are not of Mirkwood, nor are you of any important lineage; and, this troubles them.

“You radiate sorrow tonight, meleth nîn,” Thranduil’s velvety voice sounds from somewhere behind you, startling you out of your thoughts. You whirl around to face him, mouth pursed and brows crinkled.

“I didn’t realize how tragic I must appear,” you return, chuckling ruefully. He smiles softly at you, gracefully ascending the staircase to meet you before his throne.

“Not tragic,” he reassures, his silver-blonde hair cascading down around his shoulders, “But melancholy enough for your betrothed to notice. What troubles your heart?”

“Shouldn’t you be with our guests?” you venture, feeling guilty for taking him away from his royal duties. And knowing his guests must be gossiping about you this very moment, horrified that you would take their King away from them, blaming you for his absence.

“They can wait,” Thranduil responds, cupping your cheek in the warmth of his palm, “I have far more important matters to attend to.”

You allow your eyelids to flutter shut, pressing your cheek further into Thranduil’s touch, comforted by his quiet presence. To many, he is unapproachable, aloof and intimidating. But he has shown you a tenderness and gentility most others are not privy to.

“I fear your subjects do not accept me. And never will,” you breathe, inhaling his familiar scent. Your nose fills with autumn spice and forest rain, settling your racing heart and laying to rest some of your most fretful thoughts.

“Why do you say that?” your betrothed’s even voice inquires. You feel him place his hand on the small of your back and draw you into his chest. You lean your cheek against him, listening to the quiet thrum of his heart.

“I see the way they look at me when I am at your side,” you explain, wanting so desperately to remain locked in his embrace for the remainder of the night, knowing full well that you will eventually have to return to the party, “I’m an intruder to them. Someone who has stolen the affection of their King and used it to rise in their ranks. I sense their disdain for the strange woman who’s dared to promise herself to their royalty and take the throne as her own.”

Thranduil leans back, a stern look cemented firmly on his face. His eyes are serious as they meet yours, filled with their usual regal sheen.

“They will warm to you. Many of them have only known one of their own to sit atop this throne,” he gives a sweeping gesture towards his chair, guiding you up to it, “But as they come to know you, I expect their hostile sentiment to dissipate. And for those that remain disdainful of you- well, their ignorance is truly without end.”

“What if they feel I am not worthy?” you fret, allowing your fingers to graze the end of one knotted arm of the throne, before pulling away as if scalded by it.

“You have proven your worth to me, and more,” Thranduil reasons, gently taking your hand in his and placing it back on the throne. He holds it there for a moment, grasp firm but not too tight, making sure you feel the wood grain beneath your fingertips. Ensuring that you feel that this throne is just as much yours as it is his.

“In time, my people,” he goes on, correcting himself, “-our people will see this. And they will know your worth through your actions. Worry not, meleth nîn. Change is hard for those who have lived long enough to become complacent. They will come to see you as I do.”

“But what if-” you begin, but are silenced when Thranduil lays his lips against yours, swallowing up any protests you are about to unleash. You delight in these private moments with him, when he lets down his guard and shows affection as if no one else is watching. You know there are probably guards around. They trail him through the hallways and now, they trail you, too. Ensuring your safety as the palace's newest resident. You take comfort in knowing that they seem to accept you. It could be through the command of their King, but you sense a genuine interest in your protection from them.

Thranduil pulls back, sweeping aside strands of your hair that have fallen into your eyes. A loving beam tugs at the corners of his thin lips, affection glittering in his blue irises.

“You concern yourself with their opinions far too much,” he chuckles. His look shifts to one more contemplative. He searches your face for something, though you’re unsure of what.

“In some hypothetical world, even if they do not accept you, that will not change how I feel about you,” he finally says. You feel a pang of relief, breathless and free. Your unspoken worry has been recognized, one you never thought to share. One you couldn’t admit, even to yourself. If Thranduil’s people cannot accept me, what if he decides he cannot love me?

Tears bead in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill down your flushed cheeks. You cling to Thranduil’s robes, grasping tight at the fabric, afraid to let go.

“Is this what has troubled you all these sleepless nights?” he goes on, running his elegant fingers through your hair, “I feel you beside me, lying awake, staring off into the darkness. I’ve sensed how crestfallen your heart has been. Why did you not tell me?”

“I was afraid,” you admit through shuddering breaths, voice muffled against Thranduil’s chest. He raises your face, tips your chin up so you may look upon him.

“Fear not,” he breathes, voice soft and low, his look consoling, “My love for you lies not in the will of my people. It resides resolutely in the chambers of my heart. The threads of my soul. There will not be a day that passes where I will not adore you.”

What little composure you have left shatters with Thranduil’s ardent proclamation of his love for you. His arms envelope you in their warm embrace as you weep shuddering breaths into his chest. He whispers reassurances, hushes your quiet sobs with feather-light kisses peppered across your cheekbones. You need him closer, yearn to show him just how meaningful his words are to you. But your voice catches in your throat, so you do the only thing you can: you press your lips firmly to his, feeling him melt into you as you try so desperately to occupy the very space he inhabits in Middle Earth. His mouth moves fervently against yours, tongue testing your parted lips. You permit him entrance, allow him to graze the underside of your teeth as his hands work to tangle themselves in your hair.

“You are more than worthy of being my wife,” Thranduil utters through shallow breaths in between crashing his lips into yours, “More than ready to be my Queen.”

“My King,” you huff, cheeks blooming with heat, body alight with anticipation, “Are you sure you want to do this here? With all your guests in just the other room?”

He practically snickers. You can feel him grin devilishly against you. You’re nose-to-nose, his brilliant eyes shimmering with impish glee. There’s something breathtakingly sly, dangerous in the most wonderful of ways in them.

“Let them hear,” he whispers, lips tickling the sensitive spot just behind your ear. You can hardly help the pleasured moan that escapes your throat as he trails searing kisses down your neck.

“You deserve to be worshiped as my Queen,” he purrs, breath ghosting along your collarbone. He lifts you into his arms with ease and carries you towards the throne. Gently, he lowers you into it, kneeling before you and slipping off your satin shoes.

“May I?” he asks, his gaze pleading and hungry. You glance around, wondering if the guards are still there, worrying that just about anyone could walk in. Yet, there’s an electric thrill that runs through your veins, an excitement over the thought of Thranduil being so cavalier, so wild and reckless.

“Yes,” you permit, feeling your heart skip a beat as Thranduil presses his lips to the top of one of your feet before trailing more up the length of your leg. With his kisses, he slides his hands up your silken gown, elegant fingers tickling your skin as he reaches higher and higher. Your skirt is bunched around your waist now and you wonder if you ought to just take the whole thing off. Before you can do anything more, Thranduil grasps your thighs and hoists you closer.

“Th-Thranduil!” you yelp before dissolving into bubbly giggles as he nibbles at your inner thighs. He smiles coyly before his fingers start to tug at the ties that hold your undergarments together. They fall away, exposing your heat to the cool air. You shiver at the contact; but, don’t have to suffer for long, for a moment later, Thranduil’s lips meet your clit. He kisses you softly, honoring the sensitive nub with his soft lips. You gasp as he pulls you ever closer, burying himself in your folds. His tongue swipes along them, warm and languid, fingers gripping your thighs as his nose bumps against you.

“Ah, Thranduil,” you moan, your hand tangling in the pristine threads of his golden locks. He hums pleasantly into you, lapping you up as if you are the sweetest succor that has ever graced his tongue. His motions are always so precise, so predetermined. Though he is no less meticulous as he attends to you, Thranduil’s actions today feel so spontaneous. His giving in to pure impulse and passion are certainly enough to show you how deeply he feels for you. To throw caution to the wind, abandon his regal sensibility just to have you right then and there- in the throne room of all places- well, that alone is enough to bring you to ecstasy.

Thranduil’s skilled tongue circles your clit, sending electric tingles through your whole body. He chuckles when you gasp, passes shimmering, mischievous gazes your way when you sigh contentedly. Fingernails tickle the tender flesh of your hips as he kneads and massages. His eyelids flutter shut in satisfaction, icy-blue occasionally peeking through frosted lashes when he deigns to steal a glimpse of your enchantingly flushed face.

“My King,” is all you are able to keen through labored breaths, Thranduil’s tongue darting in and out of your entrance, teasing you terribly.

“You are a vision, meleth nîn,” he whispers before gliding along your folds one last time, “Worthy of sitting upon this throne.”

Thranduil ensnares your lips with his, kisses fervent and astonishingly sloppy. You welcome his vigor, returning his motions with equally impassioned ones. Your hands tug at his silver-gray robes, tossing them to the floor and letting them pool around his feet. He works to quickly undo your gown, discarding it gracefully at his feet as your fingers find their way to his trousers, unlacing them with ease. A throaty gasp escapes his lips as his cock springs free. Swiftly, he lifts you into his arms, twirling the two of you around before settling down into his throne. You straddle him, breasts pressed to his chest, his erection grazing your inner thigh as you position yourself over him.

Thranduil helps lower you onto him, grabbing handfuls of your thighs and ass. As you sink onto his hardened member, you clutch at his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, groaning sinfully as he slips into you. He allows you a moment to adjust to his length before slowly rocking his hips against yours. With each bounce, you feel his tip hit deeper and deeper, sparking a fire deep in your core. You cling to him, tongue tracing the outer shell of his pointed ear, suckling on his earlobe and trailing love-bites down his neck.

“What will my guests think with all your little markings?” he growls teasingly, thrusting deeper into you, “They’ll see you’ve claimed me. And they should know better than to question that. Perhaps I ought to leave a few of my own on you.”

“Please,” you whimper, the fire in your core burning brighter, stomach fluttering with each husky grunt that rumbles through Thranduil’s chest. He lays his lips to your neck and you know he’ll leave more than just a small marking there. Sighing into him, you direct one of his hands to your breast, silently begging him to fondle and massage. He obliges, a merciful King, indeed. You grind your hips into his even harder, your walls quaking with each movement. His cock quivers inside you and you can feel that he’s close.

“Meleth nîn,” you manage to utter, tone desperate and needy, “I’m so very close.”

He pulls away from your neck, savagely smashing his lips into yours as he mercilessly slams his hips upwards. You grip him tight, teeth biting down hard on his bottom lip as you feel yourself coming undone.

“My Queen,” Thranduil cries, bucking his hips erratically, spilling into you as he reaches ecstasy.

“My King,” you return, the fire in your core bursting brighter than any star in the sky, filling you with euphoria and warmth. Thranduil spills himself inside you, his essence trickling down your thighs as he gives his last few final, languid pumps. Collapsing into him, you allow yourself a moment to catch your breath. Thranduil keeps you close, arms wrapped protectively around you as you settle your heart. When your breathing, and his, is deep and even, you slowly pull yourself off of him, settling into his lap and snuggling close. You feel empty without him inside you, but fulfilled in this private moment.

“You’ve earned this throne. Claimed it as your own, there’s no doubt about that,” Thranduil murmurs, lips brushing featherlight against your temple, fingers carding gently through your hair, “Heed not the misguided words of the people that doubt you. Know that my trust in you and my love for you is perennial.”

His kiss is firm, conveys a light that brightens with each passing moment. His words are genuine and infallible.

“I promise to do right by your people. And you,” you return, taking his hand in yours and weaving your fingers together.

“I know,” he reassures with a knowing smile, “I have the utmost faith in you.”

The two of you take a few moments to enjoy the vast silence of the throne room. Once echoing with your shared moans, it holds now a quiet peace that you could bask in all night long, were it not for your guests no doubt growing antsy with yours and Thranduil’s absence. As you smooth out your disheveled hair and clothes, Thranduil rises to dress himself. You pass him an impish look.

“Perhaps your guests are right,” you venture, pulling back your hair once again. Thranduil looks to you, perplexed.

“Oh? How so?” he questions, one eyebrow quirking up in confusion as he slips his robes back on. A teasing smile tugs at your lips.

“Perhaps I do encourage poor behavior in their King,” you giggle, brushing aside some of his golden hair just to get a look at the love-bites you’ve left behind on his neck.

“Perhaps you do,” he returns with a grin, taking you by the hand and leading you back towards the party, “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#thranduil #the elven king #the hobbit #the lord of the rings #thranduil x reader #spicy #fluff and spice #i think Thranduil is capable of being sweet #and quite mischievous #lemon #minors dni #my fanfiction #my writing #ao3 #dani writes

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hitlikehammers · 1 month

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PART ONE: Fail-Pirate!Eddie/Castaway!Steve (Pirate AU)

🌊Under the Water (Our Hearts Will Dream Again)🌊

Chapter One: Man Overboard

You’ve gotta understand: the truth about Eddie?

He’s shit as a pirate. Like: an absolute disgrace. Of all the bad names associated with the trade, if trade is what it can be called?

He might just give it the worst.

So, y’know. That’s nice.

Like, he knows his knots, he is excellent with his hands thank you kindly, and he ties those motherfuckers like a pro, too! So what if he just sometimes confuses his hitch for his stopper, they’re both knots, they both do the job of knotting.

(Mostly. They only lost a boat the one time.)

(As in lost-lost, not the ones that were retrieved in time but landed Eddie on scut anyway.)

Which doesn’t touch on his absolutely abysmal record at the looting end of things. He doesn’t mind taking from the well-off, but he does mind adding it to the ship’s take every time they make land; he maybe lies about how bad he is at the stealing, the all-important plundering of the job, because he ends up finding the people outside the center of town at every port, the ones who line the edges and he drops what he takes with the ones who need it there, where they can’t escape on the water, can’t live in motion on the whims of the waves and find their needs in the flux of a life unanchored.

So he’s not the worst thief, for the right victim. But his spoils never make it back to the ship so: it probably makes him pretty shit at the job to hand, in the end, either way. Add a mark to the tally.

And then, gods: don’t get him started on the taking of…other things. Who aren’t things, they’re fucking people and they deserve respect not…what the other people sailing under his colors seem to believe them useful for instead.

Eddie’s been sick over the edge of the stern, hidden by shadow even if it’s unnecessary because fuck, the rest of the crew is full-occupied with their plundering, and that’s the reason he spews over in the sea, the waves always feeling a little extra angry for his pollution of their waters and that’s fitting. It’s fitting that he’s defiling something sacred with the weakness of his stomach—but not his soul, not his morals or his sense of humanity, fuck’s sake, so: at least there’s that.

He guesses.

Admittedly, though: Eddie doesn’t care so much that he’s a shitty fucking pirate. It’s not piracy that led him here, that charted this course for his life.

It’s the Ocean.

Which, sure, that may strike either cliche or obvious, too soft and poetic or else just downright pointless to underscore because he made a conscious choice to live at Sea, especially given the laundry list of reasons he’s absolutely abysmal at the life-on-the-water thing. But it is the truth. The best and biggest truth he’s ever known, rooted deep enough to fuel his steps and guide his path to here, right here, being exceptionally bad at luring fucking fish in a tiny little dinghy that the crew who hates him decided was perfectly fitting for the anticipated catch and okay, fine, if you were going to base expectations off of prior performance then maybe, and also, also maybe being here, ending up precisely right here—laughingstock of his profession, maligned by his crew, foisted upon barely-a-boat to catch barely-a-fish because y’know what, he’d have become a goddamn fisherman in the fucking first place if he was any good at that—but maybe right here, like this would look like failure to anyone else, to everyoneelse but, y’see—

Eddie Munson was a boy, once.

And he remembers, crystal clear, from the touch of his mother’s hand on his shoulder to the smooth slide of the menacing-but-magical looking shell, with its pointy end for tiny hands to grasp and hold to, and it’s big spiky cone of a head to hold to his own, up against his ear as his mother guided his elbow up and whispered just listen, you’ll hear the ocean tell you its secrets—and he loved the ocean, loved the feeling of the soft foam of the tide on the hidden sands far from the harbor, loved the little creatures that scuttled in and out of the water when the waves crept up, loved the hint of a big fin, maybe real or maybe just imagined something that big, that dangerous, that beautiful breaching the horizon: Eddie wanted to know all the ocean’s secrets.

And when he’d held the shell of his ear, he’d heard them: whispered close and roared fierce alike and he’d felt weightless, giddy; just just floating.

Magic, like the shell in his hands.

And it didn’t matter when his father found him years later, stumbling drunk from the tavern where he spent money they couldn’t afford, finding Eddie with the conch pressed tight to his ear, almost too small now as he’d grown but still desperate for the secrets, the sound of the waves that seemed to reach out and know when they needed to break louder, faster to drown our the shouting, to wash over the way his father had hauled him up and thrown the shell to break a window and sneered your idiot secrets, boy, there’s no ocean in that fucking shell, s’the echo of your own coward heart that you hide in, there, stupid fucking—

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, not because Eddie got knocked to the floor much like his shell, after; not because it made a kind of sense, because if the secrets of the ocean were the mirror of his heartbeat then of course they were faster and louder when his father came home drunk, sometimes he chest got sore over how his heart raced on those nights; and not because when he finally gets his feet back under him, when his father’s wood-sawing snores signal the coast is clear and he can creep out and search in the dark for his shell and find it, cracked from the spin of the handle-like bit so he just has to cradle the wide bell careful in his palm and ignore the slice of the spires into his skin, ignore it for the sake of finding, finding—

The waves. The secrets. His own heartbeat like the thunder in a storm and it doesn’t matter because if that sound is his own heart, then, then it’s like the ocean’s secrets are in his own chest, a little.

Like if the ocean had a heartbeat, there’s something of it pressed inside his own.

And for all that his father tried to whip that wonder away from him, straight out of his hands? That reality is somehow more magical. And Eddie’s been drawn to the pulsebeat of the sea—devoted, even, almost like a lovesick longing—ever since, so.

Failing at pirating, including the fishing part? Isn’t a failure.

Because he’s on the Sea. And that’s all he’s ever really wanted.

It’d help his pride if he got like, one fucking fish, though. Even a tiny one. Though they’d probably mock him worse for a minnow than for nothing so: small mercies, maybe, that he’s pulling up untouched bait.

Still he sighs, and takes a moment, rakes his gaze over the setting sun on the water—they’re far enough out now that there’s no sight of land, just the ripples nearby that smooth into pure water stretching aft and aft further out and Eddie doesn’t have a shell but if he presses his hand to his chest and over his ear at once it’s almost, almost—

He both hears and feels his pulse jump, like the secret is a warning, and he believesthat’s it’s both because it’s the only explanation for the way he turns, at that precise moment that the water moves uncannily agitated, and lifts up something weighty, a heavy shadow, and—

“Man overboard!” Eddie’s voice cracks as his hands reach for the oars and he rows before he thinks because the Ocean told him to look—and maybe it’s childish, and foolhardy, and a silly winsome fantasy he should have left behind ashore long again but…

He can’t tell if the man—because it’s a man, indeed, he can tell now that the water has calmed, and how else to explain its sudden surge to command Eddie’s attention, to call him in close and then ease the way to the waterlogged body—but Eddie can’t tell if the body moves at all save at the water’s own whim, can’t see yet if the flesh is too pale or worse, too blue, and—

“Man overboard!” he cries out with feeling, now; he’s far from the ship but not so much that no one will hear screaming if not yet discern the words and he just needs them to know, needs them to be ready, especially if it’s somehow one of their own and he just repeats it, too of his lungs, shrieks it to the sky as he reaches the man’s form, facedown in the water, and that alone seizes in Eddie’s chest—why tell him a secret if it’s only a heartbreaking one, yet he cannot, will not be picky, he will never reject the confidences of the Ocean no matter how it chooses to disclose its mysteries, even its tragedies; he curses his crewmates for the pitiful size of his little vessel, a joke upon his lacking hauls but now he has need for size and sturdiness as he reaches for the body—broad and leant further mass by the water itself and far more precious than a hundred fish for feeding and for trading, this is a life and he strains to balance the boat and heave the man aboard so not to capsize them both and leave the circumstances worse for his help—

“Man,” he manages to screech before he tumbles back, but with the man in his arms to drag along into the dinghy and he knocks his own breath a little for the fall but the man’s here, and they’re upright, and Eddie scrambles on his knees toward his new charge and he—

Should not have wasted time trying to steady his lungs, really, because this man, on his boat, dragged from the waters, he, he is—

He’s absolutely breathtaking.

Eddie gapes at him, at the play of the sunset on his soaked hair, his skin—pale, but not blue, not dead yet—he is stunning even like this, what unimaginable beauty must be possess when he’s not—

Oh hells, yes, right; he—

Eddie probably needs to fucking check if the breathtaking man is breathing, before he contributes to losing something at sea far more precious than an improperly-knotted boat.

>>>CHAPTER TWO

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme

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momolady · 2 years

Text

Mancini the Pink Rakshasa

This is a very special story, featuring a very unique romantic lead. Inspired by the classic Pink Panther cartoons and a little bit of con artists, we have Mancini, a remarkable jewel thief and charmer.

Female Reader (cis) x Male Monster (trans)

///////////////////////////////////

His voice on the other end of the line was exactly what I needed to hear. I’d just quit my dream job and had been sitting in my own filth for a week. The phone rang to some strange number, and I almost cried when he spoke those magic words to me.

“I need your help.”

I hadn’t seen him in years, not since I wanted to take fashion seriously. We’d parted amicably but I still felt tension whenever I thought about him and what he could possibly be doing. Now, as I waited for him that crowded little cafe, I couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had in store for me.

“Can I take your order?”

The waiter approached just as my phone chimed with a message. “I’m still waiting for my friend to show up. I will take some more water though.”

“Just a friend?” The waiter’s voice took on a much more sultry tone. “Is that all they are?”

I looked up from my phone and into those striking yellow eyes. He was dressed in a waiter’s uniform and holding a tray in his hand. He swept the tray down to me, presenting me with a bouquet of flowers.

“It’s been a while, my little jewel,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’ve grown your hair out. It suits you.”

I was still in awe of his talent in presentation. I took the bouquet with a big grin and watched as he took a seat before me. “You haven’t changed at all, Mancini.” Which was, shockingly true. I’d know Mancini for ages, and all the time I had known him he had dyed himself a spectacular shade of pink. As a panther Raksahsa being born with albinism, he felt if he was going to stand out, then he really wanted to stand out.

Mancini smirked and leaned forward on the table with his elbows. “I wanted you to recognize me after all these years. So tell me, how are you?”

“I’ve been better.” I’ve forced it out rather than lying and saying ‘fine’. Mancini would have known I was lying and pressed further anyways.

His brow pinched. “What’s wrong. I thought you sounded strange on the phone.”

I had left him long ago in order to pursue a career I no longer had. Confessing this felt like an utter failure.

“Did someone assume your named was pronounced ‘bitch’ again?”

I shook my head. “No, no, that’s something I can get over. It’s that I uhm...I quit my job last week.”

His eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.” I laid the bouquet down on the table. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Let me guess.” Mancini opened up his top which removed the waiter uniform to a stunning green velvet blazer. “An old paramour stole your ideas, and now your former fashion house is claiming the two of you are still together and you’re selling their designs to her?”

My jaw hung open.

Mancini smirked proudly and gave me a wink. “How did I do?”

“You got it!” I gasped.

He chuckled and flicked the gold hoop in his ear. “I thought as much. So, how about we go back to your place and finish catching up?”

You furrowed your brow. “Then why did you have me come here?”

“So I could fill your apartment with gifts.” he stood up and offered his hand out to me. “I had to surprise you after all this time.”

I felt near tears as I took his hand. It had been so long, and I had denied how much I missed him. As soon as I stood, Mancini wrapped me in a firm embrace. “I’m glad we’re no longer strangers, my little gemstone.”

I took in a deep breath, smelling that same old cologne and I felt at home. “Me too.”

Back home, I found much of my old furniture had been replaced, and yet, everything was how I left it. “There we go!” Mancini took a seat on the new sofa. “I thought you deserve an upgrade.”

I frowned as I hung up my coat. “You didn’t need to do that. And how long have you been watching me?”

Mancini grinned and patted the seat beside him. “Come sit, I’ll regale you with tales of all my heroic antics.”

“Antics maybe.” I sat beside him and was very pleased with the comfort of the new sofa. “But heroic might be a stretch.”

“Bich Ngoc, how dare you?” You chuckled. He placed an arm on the back of the sofa and leaned in close to me. “You do not think of me as your Robin Hood anymore?”

I smirked back. “I never thought of you as Robin Hood. You’re a Selina Kyle, a Carmen sandiego, but a Robin Hood you are not.”

Mancini pouted but kept getting closer. “You always kept me in line. I need that again.” His hand rested upon my knee.

I cast my eyes upon that hand, watching it pushing against the fabric of my skirt. “All you have to do is ask me, why are you dancing around so much?”

“Because that’s not fun.” His hand stopped for a moment. “I would like you help coming up with some disguises, some costumes, maybe even a faux line of clothing.”

I clicked my tongue. “What’s all this for?”

“The same little rat bastard who stole your ideas and got you exiled has something I’ve got my eye on.” His hand continued trailing up my thigh. “When I started researching her I realized the two of you had a little bit of a past, and quite a present I might add.”

“You knew Ving stole my ideas?”

“She has an old sketchbook of yours.” Mancini’s hand was no under my skirt and on my thigh. “She also had some old pictures of you.”

I grimaced at that thought.

“You never gave me pictures.” His hand gripped my thigh and my breath was taken. “So I had to keep them.”

“You stole pictures?” I scoffed.

Mancini was close enough that he could lick my lips and he pressed his face against my neck, moaning and kissing as his hand slid about my thigh. I pressed my hand against his chest, but adjusted my hair so it didn’t get into my mouth.

“She didn’t deserve them,” he growled against my shoulder. “But I do find it funny she kept such things.”

I moaned as his hand slid between both thighs. “And why would you want to keep them?”

“Because I never stopped wanting.” He pressed a kiss to my lips and I did have to push him back. I plucked his hand from between my thighs and stood up.

“I need a drink. Do you want anything?” I huffed and smoothed down my skirt.

Mancini’s face took on a horrible pout. “There’s champagne chilling in the kitchen. I was going to serve you that after we reunited successfully.”

I saw the spread in the kitchen which included fancy cupcakes and tarts, various sugary confections Mancini loved more than anything. I plucked the champagne from the ice and looked it over.

“And what does that mean?” I asked.

Mancini appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Mean I intended to eat that beautiful pussy of yours until you fainted and then needed champagne to regain yourself.” He snatched the bottle from my hands. “Maybe you would have even tasted me a little as well,” he purred.

I sighed and let a smile shine through. “What are you trying to steal from Ving?”

“Oh, you’re no fun!” He chucked the campagne back into the ice bucket. “She’s been given this necklace for her newest show. It’s a fancy little dangly thing called the Jaguar’s Kiss.”

My brow pinched. “We’ve been trying to get that for every show we’ve had since I started working at Palais. How did she get it?”

“She did a few things in order to get it. Mostly bribe money, not to mention the lady who owns it will be starring in her show, wearing it mind you.”

“That old buzzard?” I scoffed.

“Now, now, little gemstone, it’s not nice of you to judge one’s appearance.” Mancini put an arm around me and pulled me in close. “No matter how old they are.”

“She’s an awful person, she dug up a graveyard to-”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Mancini let me go and went for one of the sweets on the counter. “Ving is taking offers on bringing in news designers. Which is why I need you. Plus, adding revenge to the scheme makes it so much more fun.”

I sighed and fidgeted with my hair. “Is that why you’re asking me back?”

Mancini held up a finger while he bit into a cupcake. “I’m asking you back because I miss you. Plus, she fucked you over. It’s not your revenge I am talking about, it’s my own.”

“You’re revenge?”

He nodded, licking icing from his lips. “I have my reasons.” He then smirked and dove in, stealing another kiss. “Come back, Bich, and I promise that you will not forget it.”

I smoothed my hand down his chest, tasting caramel icing on my lips. “I don’t have anything else going on.”

“Wonderful!” Mancini took the champagne back and popped the cork, sending a spray of foam everywhere. “Then we shall celebrate after all!”

I began working right away, designing several disguises for Mancini as well as working on creating a fashion line for his ruse. He helped me with some designs so they did not look like all my other works.

I was measuring him one day, noticing the scars along his chest from his top surgery. It made me think back to when he first had it done and I had taken care of him while he healed. He had been such a whiny baby.

“I’ve been working out,” Mancini teased.

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not what I am doing right now.”

Mancini flexed his arms and back while I tried to take shoulder measurements. “Do you like what you see though?”

“How old are you again?”

He chuckled jovially and rubbed his jaw. “I think I look much better than when we were last together.”

“You look like you always did to me,” I huffed as I attempted a shoulder measurement again. “But yes, you’re much more handsome and rakish than ever before.” I fed into his ego if only to get him to stand still.

“Have you seen my butt yet?”

I pinched his ear and brought him down to my level. “Yes, you're a tall, sculpted Adonis. Now stand the heck still!”

He stood up as soon as I released him and he rubbed his ear. “You don’t have to be mean about it.”

“I’m trying to get this all done in time. I can admire whatever you want when I don’t have so much to do.” I slipped my arms around his waist to get a measurement there.

“That tickles,” he giggled.

I smiled to myself. “Well that’s not changed.”

“Are you at least happy to see me?” He murmured.

“What brings this on?” I wrote down his measurements for later.

Mancini turned around. “Are you?” He looked at me with golden kitten eyes and I melted a little.

I sighed and set my things aside. “Of course I am.”

“Working in fashion has made you too serious. You were never Miranda Priestly.” Mancini reached out, tucking my hair behind my ear then smoothing his fingers along my jaw in a very seductive manner. “What happened?”

“Just that,” I huffed. “I worked in fashion for years. I’ve had to take things seriously to get where I am...was-”

Mancini put his hands upon my shoulders. “Then let me devour you until you violently quiver with an orgsam.”

I grumbled under my breath. “Stop that!”

“Oh fine!” He huffed. “But that offer always stands.”

I went to work right away making the garments. I started with Mancini’s disguises so he could go ahead and begin wooing Ving. Ving enjoyed anyone attractive, so I knew she’d love Mancini right away. Back when I first started designing, she had taken me under her wing and we began an affair while I tried breaking into the fashion scene. She was extremely charming, but she could be vicious too. She was a hunter in every sense of the word, and sending Mancini out to her made me a touch nervous.

After his first few visits with her, he was feeling jubilant in his scheme. Bit by bit he was working into her trust, and hopefully, he would earn a spot on her team so he could get closer to the Jaguar’s Kiss.

“She’s very handsy,” Mancini said. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“It’s what she does.” I was bent over my sewing machine, piecing a cocktail dress together.

“She wanted us to go skinny dip in her pool, then she kept offering me massages-”

I accidentally pushed a bit too hard on the fabric and placed a stitch crooked and bunched. Mancini looked at me as I pulled it out to inspect it.

“I didn’t accept either offer, of course.”

I frowned as I took out my seam ripper.

Mancini leaned over me. “I don’t like her that way.”

“Good!” I huffed. The seam ripper jabbed into my hand and I ripped it back, bringing the puncture wound to my lips and I tasted blood.

“Give it here.” Mancini took my hand, kissing it softly. “I only have one person’s touch on my mind.” He made me stand up and go to the kitchen where he washed the wound. He then placed a bandage upon it and kissed it again.

“You need a break. You’ve been on that machine for days now.” He swept me off my feet, literally knocking them out from under me and picking me up in his arms. “I won’t hera another word.”

“Wait, not now!” I grouched as he carried me to my bedroom. “Mancini, I’m busy-”

“Working for me.” he took off my shoes and tugged at my leggings. “And as your boss, I am telling you to stop right this instant.” He yanked my leggings off and smiled at this minor triumph.

I scoffed and placed a pillow over my face. “What are you doing now?”

“Making you relax.” His hands kneaded into my feet. “How’s this?”

“Fine,” I grumbled.

Mancini continued rubbing my feet. Moving his hands up to my calves. “She’s really not my type at all. I have no interest in her.”

“What?” I grumbled.

“I was just letting you know I don’t like Ving. Since you seemed jealous.”

I tossed the pillow aside and sat up. “What makes you think I’m jealous?”

Mancini smirked at me and I realized he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. He let go of my leg and leaned in close to me. I turned my head to escape his kiss, but his lips fell upon my neck, which was what he wanted.

“I meant it when I said I never stopped wanting you, Bich,” he moaned against my skin. “No one ever compared to my little gemstone.”

I grabbed his shoulder as he bared down upon me. “Mancini-” I whimpered.

“Let me show you how much I still care for you.” he kissed my lips softly, easing me back down onto the bed. “I promise, I’m even better than I was.”

I sighed and lifted my hips, taking off my panties for him. “Alright, but just this once.”

Mancini grinned eagerly, stripping off his clothes so he was just as naked as I was. He pushed up my shirt and sports bra, kissing my small breasts and then down my chest. I closed my eyes, turning my head aside as he went further down.

His strong hands pushed open my sighs and he moaned loudly. “Hello old friend.” His fingers pressed against my mound. “My god, you’re still as beautiful as I dreamed.”

“Stop talking to it!” I pouted.

“You used to like when I talked to her.” His fingers opened me and he lost his breath. “You’re fucking stunning.” That warm, rough tongue lapped against me and I lost my breath. He kissed and moaned, taking his time with me.

“Look how wet you are, my darling.” His tongue pressed inside and I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from squealing. “You taste amazing.”

“Sh-shut up.” I was having a hard time keeping up the facade.

Mancini purred against me. “I’ve been dripping this entire time. Want to see?” Mancini rose to his knees and popped out his hips. He opened himself for me, showing me his clit and dripping lips. I sat up, bringing him down to kiss him while pressing my fingers inside. He moaned against my lips, licking them sloppily as my fingers rocked inside him.

“Do you finally like what you see?” he chuckled as I threw him down onto the bed.

I placed myself over his head then leaned down towards his mound. His hands wrapped tightly around my hips, pulling me down onto his mouth.

I licked his throbbing clit and his hips bucked so he pressed hard against my tongue. I slid my fingers back inside him as his tongue and lips kissed me again. He was so wet and warm, and I hadn’t been this excited in so long regarding sex. Actually, I can’t even rememebr the last time I had sex.

I started trembling from Mancini’s affections. His lips suckled around my clit as if he was trying to drain a very thick milkshake. I tried to keep my own efforts directed, but Mancini stole my breath. I gasped and shuddered, almost kicking as the liquid heat bubbled inside me. I cried out against Mancini’s thigh and he rolled me off onto the bed. He laid over top of me, grinding himself against my knee as he kissed me. He guided my weak little hand to touch, continuing to grind and kiss me until I felt a pulse against my palm. Wetness dribbled down my thigh and his body sagged until he laid back next to me.

“Sorry,” I murmured.

Mancini grinned as he put his arms around me. “For what?”

“I should have kept going. I sort of went limp noodle.”

He kissed my cheek and neck over and over. “I wasn’t expecting you to join in. I just wanted to help you relax. I also wanted to remind you of how much I adore you.”

I rolled over in his arms to look into those golden eyes. “It’s been years though-”

“I know, but I always knew I’d hold you again.” His arms tightened so I pressed into his chest. I bowed my head into his shoulder and breathed deep that faint scent of cologne. “You and I were always meant to be, Bich.”

I wanted to hold onto him as tight as I possibly could, but my arms weren’t strong enough. “Your head was always so full of such silly notions.”

Mancini chuckled, kissing the top of my head. “Not so silly from where I’m laying. You’re back in my most favorite place in the world. And together, we’re going to take the Jaguar’s Kiss for our own, and we’ll travel the world, side by side. I won’t let you go this time. Not unless you have a very good reason.”

My heart fluttered and I kissed him. “Once I catch my breath, I have a toy I think you’ll enjoy.”

He purred very loudly. “Let me fetch the champagne!”

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster fudger #monster x human #monsterxhuman #monster romance #trans romance #trans character #rakshasa #my writing #momolady monsters

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memestockpile · 1 year

Text

shawshank redemption (1994) feel free to change as needed.

i really don’t remember. i was upset.

i think mostly i wanted to scare them.

a revolver holds six bullets, not eight.

you strike me as a particularly icy and remorseless man.

it chills my blood just to look at you.

i’ve learned my lesson.

cigarettes, a bag of reefer if you’re partial, a bottle of brandy. damn near anything, within reason. i’m the guy that can get it for you.

on your feet before i fuck you up so bad you never walk again.

never seen such a sorry-looking heap of maggot shit in my life.

does the pope shit in the woods? of course i am.

bullshit. i’ll take that action.

you’re out some smokes, son.

looked like a stiff breeze could blow him over.

you eat when we say you eat. you piss when we say you piss. you shit when we say you shit. you sleep when we say you sleep.

i believe in two things: discipline and the bible.

the first night’s the toughest, no doubt about it.

make you wish your daddies never dicked down your mommies.

talk to me, boy. i know you’re in there.

i wanna go home!

i had your mother! she wasn’t that great!

you gonna eat that?

i believe i owe that boy a big sloppy kiss when i see him.

doesn’t matter what his fucking name was. he’s dead.

i keep my ear to the ground.

they say you think your shit smells sweeter than ordinary. that true?

i understand you’re a man who knows how to get things.

i’m known to locate certain things from time to time.

i’d grow eyes in the back of my head if i were you.

you get this in your eyes, it blinds you.

honey, hush.

prison is no fairy world.

may is one damn fine month to be working outdoors.

a million bucks? jeez louise!

hey, you nuts?

i miss the joke? what’s so funny?

you better start making sense.

actually, i feel silly telling you all this.

the colossal prick even managed to sound magnanimous.

chess. now there’s the game of kings.

i guess we’re getting to be friends, aren’t we?

relax. what are you so worried about? she’s just a woman.

i said fuck off.

a sudden serious brain injury causes the victim to bite down. hard. in fact, i understand the bite reflex is so strong, the victim’s jaws have to be pried open with a crowbar.

you little fuck.

what are you, fucking geologist?

i hear you’re good with numbers.

ain’t that a kick in the ass?

be nice to have some company down here for a change.

not a dime. my budget’s stretched thin as it is.

you’re not fooling anybody, so just put the damn knife down and stop scaring the shit out of people.

goddamn near slit my throat!

ain’t that bad, old hoss.

old man’s as crazy as a rat in a tin shithouse.

i do believe you’re talking out of your ass.

the world went and got itself in a big damn hurry.

i have trouble sleeping at night.

guess i’m too old for that sort of nonsense.

i don’t like it here. i’m tired of being afraid all the time.

tell [name] i’m sorry i put a knife to his throat. no hard feelings.

some things are best left unsaid.

lost my taste for it.

hope is a dangerous thing.

it’s very pretty. thank you.

you be sure and thank her for this fine pie.

tell them if they over-starch my shirts again, they’re gonna hear about it from me.

got his fingers in a lot of pies, from what i hear.

you can’t just make a person up.

did i say you were good? you’re rembrandt.

i had to come to prison to be a crook.

cops caught him sneaking tv sets out the back door of a jc penney.

young punk.

movin’ like molassas! makin’ me look bad!

freeze, kid! hands in the air!

you hear what i said, boy?

perhaps it’s time you considered a new profession.

you don’t seem to be a very good thief. perhaps you should try something else.

something lit a fire under that boy’s ass.

i ain’t no goddamn loser.

i don’t read all that good.

ass in gear, son! you’re putting us behind!

that’s crap, son.

he’s proud of you. proud as a hen.

c’mon, boy, back to work.

talked all the time, too, that’s the other thing. never shut up. places he’d been, jobs he pulled, women he fucked. even people he killed.

i tell you, son, this really came along and knocked my wind out.

are you catching my drift?

i didn’t pull the trigger, but i killed her.

you underestimate yourself.

pacific ocean? hell, like to scare me to death, something that big.

get busy living or get busy dying.

like something out of a robert frost poem.

every man’s got a breaking point.

lickety-split. i wanna get home.

nice having you back. place just wasn’t the same without you.

alone in the dark with nothing but your thoughts, time can draw out like a blade.

that was the longest night of my life.

you better be sick or dead in there.

i shit you not.

i see you two all the time. you’re thick as thieves, you are.

in prison, a man’ll do most anything to keep his mind occupied.

i mean, seriously, how often do you really look at a man’s shoes?

oh, my holy god.

some birds aren’t meant to be caged.

i guess i just miss my friend.

not a day goes by i don’t feel regret.

it’s a politician’s word.

what do you really want to know?

you don’t need to ask me every time you need to take a piss.

no way am i gonna make it on the outside.

they’re calling this the summer of love.

oughta bust his fucking skull.

terrible thing, to live in fear.

hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.

i hope the pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams.

#rp meme #rp #roleplay meme #tumblr roleplay #roleplay #sentence meme #sentence starter meme #roleplay sentence meme #rp sentence meme #sentence starters #askbox rp #askbox meme #ask meme #askbox #ask

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mysticstarlightduck · 5 months

Text

Seven Snippets Seven People

I'm catching up with my tags this week after toiling on the first chapters of Enchanted Illusions and Realms of Loss. I was Tagged by @tabswrites, here! Thank you so much!

(These snippets are from the WIP Realms of Loss)

One -

“Do you think the starlight can see us?”

The prince whispered, almost to himself, and Nesrynna frowned, confused at the strange question as she settled down beside him on the hard rock ground, nursing her injured hand. Behind them, the others kept themselves busy setting up camp for the night. “Whatever do you mean?”

TWO -

Her twin blades shimmered in the faint starlight, and Sara traced the edge with the tip of her finger, thinking, her mentor's words echoing in the back of her mind. 'We cannot change what were born as. But we can use it to our advantage.'

She glanced at her reflection on the frosted river, ghostly white hair flowing like an omen in the wind, so much like her mother's. Long ago, Sara had decided, clinging desperately to the hope carried by those words - maybe a monster could save lives, if it turned its fangs towards worse evils.

Three -

Adaria inched forward, leather boots soundlessly sifting through the snow as she stalked, in her hands, her bow and arrow were poised to strike. Moving behind a tree, she waited for the telltale signs of the approaching caravan. The sounds of iron wheels scraping against the frozen forest floor snapped her attention, and as it barrelled into view, her arrow flew, perfectly aimed.

Four-

"Listen, fancy pants."

Gwain growled, marching up to Oryon with such confident anger the wizard stumbled away. The young man grasped the collar of the other's gilded robes, almost lifting Oryon up from the ground.

"I had to do what it took to survive, it’s not a matter of choice. Ever know what starving feels like? No, you don't. I had to use what few broken tools I still had at my disposal, and pray I could make them work - and maybe, just maybe, my siblings and I would survive the Lost Lands' winter. Not everyone has a silver spoon stuck that far up their backside like you do. So don't you dare,"

His eyes burned with such fury Oryon could've sworn Gwain was a Caster like him. The wizard squirmed, regretting making his previous comment already as Gwain continued, staring him down so closely their noses almost touched.

"Don't you dare act like I've ever asked for what I had to do. You wouldn't understand. And if I ever catch you digging around my thoughts uninvited again, my daggers won't be so polite."

Five -

The cold winter chill whipped through his ears, snowflakes clinging to Viktoras’ long onyx hair and wet clothes, as his horse raced through grey road. It had been a long journey from the barracks on the edge of their kingdom, and with the cold seeping from his clothes and into his bones, the young man prayed there wouldn’t be any surprises on the way home.

Beside him, his elder cousin, Prince Hael, led a few of their trusted soldiers, who followed them close behind. The unmistakable clinking of armor echoed through the blizzard, along with the rhythmic hoofbeats of their warhorses. It was a sound he’d grown to know all too well - so much so it was almost soothing, were it not for the blood staining his cousin’s sword.

Six -

He stood at the crossroads between blind duty and doing the right thing. On the one hand, he could become a praised knight, like his adoptive father before him, but it would mean ignoring the lies told to him by the Crown. On the other, the chance to do the right thing and fight for the people he swore to protect - and help a thief commit treason against their ruler.

Kassien knew the choice should've been obvious when it came to traitors, that his Oath to the Queen should reign absolute over any other option. But as his white-knuckled grip on the blade loosened and he moved its tip away from the thief's throat, he found that he might not know himself that well after all.

Seven -

Lucian peeked into the dungeons, the smell of rust and dried-out blood burning into his nostrils and memory.

Father might as well cut off his head if he caught Lucian prowling around here, but as the young man sneaked past the guards, heart thundering in his chest and sweaty hands shaking, he forced himself to ignore all of that. He'd heard the rumors about the outsider locked away behind iron and steel, and they felt all too familiar. They called the outsider dangerous, selfsame as they'd always called Lucian disgraceful.

He'd seen what this person's magic could do. And so, Lucian forced himself to ignore the risk - not out of curiosity. But because this was his one and only chance to meet someone like him.

Tagging (gently): @crowandmoonwriting, @moonluringfrost, @the-mindless, @autumnalwalker, @writernopal, @rickie-the-storyteller, @lassiesandiego

#writing #winter nanowrimo #winternano2023 #writeblr #writers #writerblr #my wips #character writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #my characters #wip realms of loss #seven snippets seven people

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cauzukofleascum · 2 years

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Slow Dancing In The Dark (Hawks x Reader)

Chapter One: First Dance

Hawks had always had a thing for Y/n, ever since they first met.

It was a warm summer twilight and Hawks was getting ready to return to his nest for a roost. He flew over the city, slowly, as he'd lost a good number of feathers trying to pin down a particularly slippery bag thief. His mind was swirling with thoughts as his golden eyes gazed over the city, watching the tiny people below, when he caught a glance at someone being pinned up against a wall in a dark alleyway. Quietly cursing to himself, he drew a feather to his hand and swept down into the alleyway below him. Literally sliding into battle with a strong war cry, Hawks charged the villain, dropping low to slash at the man's legs. With a pained growl, the assailant turned on Hawks, raising his left fist to punch at Hawks. Hawks, without thinking too much into it, caught the villain's fist in his right hand before letting out a sharp cry. The man's fist had turned into a drill and was twisting its way through his palm. Hawks twirled his sword, still not letting go of the man's fist, and aimed it at the man's gut. He didn't get the chance to strike, however, as a loud "Oh no you don't!" came from the darkness. Both he and the villain were suddenly bodied and thrown to the ground.

Hawks used his wings to lift himself back up, scanning the area for the attacker. He felt a hulking presence from behind and quickly crouched to avoid a swipe to the head, missing him by a hair. Holding his injured hand, Hawks rocked forward and kicked his unseen attacker as hard as he could in the stomach. He hopped to his feet, holding his sword in one hand and using his wings as a shield before rushing toward the drill-handed man. He would have to deal with the second villain later, his kick should have bought him some time. The drill-handed man was sprinting toward Hawks as well, a pleased grin on his face. "I've been looking for a good fight, hahaha," he laughed as he dodged Hawks' rightward sword slash, dipping low and aiming for Hawks' gut. Using his wing, Hawks brushed aside the man's hand and, with an elegant twirl, aimed a spin kick at the villain's head. With a grunt, the man went down, but wasn't quite out.

Hawks turned to meet a strong punch directly to the jaw, biting his lip in the process. The world went in slow motion for a moment, and his eyes met with [E/C] ones. Those surprisingly beautiful eyes widened in surprise, as though the mind behind them realized they had made a mistake. Hawks hit the ground, hissing "Shit!" as his shoulder hit the pavement. Without wasting a second, he was back up and slashing at a woman with two fuzzy, brown ears atop her head and thick, [H/C] hair framing her adorable face. 'Adorable? Jeez, I really must be tired,' Hawks thought, keeping his frenzied slashes matched with his careful footwork. He could tell this woman had been trained, as she carefully dodged and weaved his every swipe, her footsteps matching his in almost a dance. "H-Hey, wait, I'm not your enemy," the woman called before switching her footing and advancing on him. "Yeah right, then why are you attacking?" Hawks retorted, parrying her attacks. "If I stop you'll kill me!" was the response he got, which caused him to snort. He was no killer. The girl let out a growl and swiped upward, knocking his sword out of his hand before rushing toward him. Hawks easily ducked down, scooped the woman by the waist and simply suplexed her. With a winded groan, the woman hit the ground.

Hawks called his sword back to his hand and placed a boot on the woman's chest, holding the sword against the girl's neck. He stopped when he realized who it was: "Grizzly Hero: Honeybear?!" The girl under him smiled, coughing, "Yeah, sorry about attacking you..." Hawks sighed and held out a hand, helping her up. His eyes met hers again, and for a moment, he didn't want to let go of her hand. She drew him in, even if he couldn't see what she looked like under the snarling bear-muzzle mask that covered her lower face. However his attention was quickly pulled away from her by the drill-fisted villain, who was quickly escaping. Hawks looked at the hero beside him and nodded, using his wings to fly ahead of the villain. "Going somewhere?" He asked, using his wing to punch the villain right into the Grizzly Hero. Without wasting a second, she brought her arms up high above her head and balled her hands into fists before slamming them down on the criminal's shoulders. The man crumpled to the ground, groaning and successfully knocked out.

Hawks restrained the man and placed him against the wall, slumped, before alerting the authorities. He grimaced and nursed his hand, now crusted with blood, then looked up when he heard the Grizzly Hero approach. "I'm so sorry about earlier..here, let me take care of that hand for you," She said, her eyes apologetic. "No no, it's nothing, really," Hawks said with a slight smile, "All in a day's work, Honeybear." The woman shook her head, laughing a bit, "I'm still new to all this, who knew being a pro hero was so hard? Call me [Y/N]." Carefully, she took his hand into hers and pulled out a roll of bandage and some gauze. "It isn't much but it'll stop the bleeding and keep dirt out of it," she said softly, wrapping up his injury. Hawks' cheeks turned a soft pink color. "Hey, you know, you and I wouldn't make a bad team." Hawks said, offering the cutie in front of him a wide grin. The girl let out a soft laugh, then looked at him with glimmering eyes. "If we meet again, I'll think about it."

Hawks prayed to whatever God was up there that they would.

#hawks x y/n #mha hawks #hawks x reader #fiction #mha fluff #bnha fluff #bnha hawks #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you

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beasty-xoxo · 1 year

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II - In Times of Need

The ports of Cygnus were not always so reputable and wealthy. When you were young they were riddled with sickness and poverty. Your mother herself had struggled with it while pregnant with you.

When you were little you often liked to explore the ports. To the young and untainted mind, such places are full of a whimsical sort of wonder that you just couldn't ignore.

So, like clockwork, each day your father would lend you a tiny pouch of copper coins to spend at a place of your choice.

You wandered through the town, eyes caught by every movement of the adults around you. A woman hanging her clothes to dry. A man wiping down windows. Somehow, everything you saw looked interesting.

You never truly understood or saw the poverty around you until you left it. You never really noticed the man beside the woman begging for food. You never realized the man who was wiping windows hardly got any pay. That he struggled to feed his family.

Well– you did see a little more that day…

"Grab him! Grab that little pest!!"

The screaming from on head caught your ear, and it pulled you in the direction of the commotion like a rope around your neck.

You heard men yelling, a stampede of thundering footsteps. You were so busy looking for the perpetrator that you didn't see him careening towards you.

A smear of white as he tossed his head over his shoulder, feet leaving the ground as he fled the scene of his crime.

He noticed just as it was too late, slamming into you with enough force to send you both into the mud below. The force knocked the air from your lungs, hands splashing the ground and covering your plain dress in dark splotches.

He had been less fortunate.

You watched him pull his muddied face from the ground, spitting up dirt. The bag he held had left his hands, falling a foot away.

He looked at you, giant green saucers waking you from your trance of shock.

"I'm sorry! Here, let me–" you scrambled to your feet, dirtying your hands and clothes even more as you clambered for his lost bag.

"There he is! We've got ya' now! Damn thief!"

When you turned around to give him his bag you realized he had already been caught. The towns baker held him by the tattered collar of his shirt. His legs kicked in the air, sounds of struggle leaving him as he tried to fight the man's grip.

"Put me down! I'm sorry– I won't do it again! I swear it!" His voice was choked by his struggle. The man next to the baker, who you recognized as the man who owned the vegetable stand, laughed.

"As if we'll believe that this time, brat!" He grit his teeth. "Shoulda drowned you the first time you took without payin'!"

He raised his hand, striking the boy across the face. The crack of his skin made you scream, eyes just as wide as his had been.

"Stop! Stop it please! Leave him alone!!" Tears sprung from your eyes like a fountain, and you rushed forwards and took three coins into your palm. One for each of the men that had been stolen from.

"I can pay for what he took! Please just put him down!"

The baker dropped the boy, a deeply guilty look on his face seeing that he played a hand in making a little girl cry. The man who owned the vegetable stand was less apologetic.

"Fine, fine. Give me the damn coin!"

You gave them out shakily, your pouch now significantly lighter than before. As the three men retreated off, back to where they worked, you turned to the boy who had been dropped.

He still sat on his knees, chest heaving a little as he wiped at his eyes. You noticed the red smearing the white of his sleeves, a gasp leaving you as you grabbed for your handkerchief.

"You're bleeding! Let me help you." You joined him on your knees, moving forwards. He dropped his hands, staring at you with glassy eyes as you wiped the blood from his nose. Soon it stopped its flow.

"Thank you…" His voice was small, still a bit shaky from his earlier crying. You only frowned, continuing to rid his skin of blood and grime.

"He shouldn't have hit you… over a single coin…" your brow was furrowed and you hardly took the time to realize the awful state your face was probably in from mud and tears.

Unexpectedly, he smiled. His smile was broad, wide enough to showcase that he was missing a tooth– and that the adult one was freshly coming in to join the others.

"I'm fine. Didn't hurt too much. You helped me out there, anyways." His face scrunched around as you finished your meticulous cleaning. Looking down at your soiled handkerchief you mimicked his expression.

Your nose scrunched up as you handed it to him. "You can keep this."

He looked at it a little strangely, color lighting his cheeks. "Alright." And he took it into his pocket. After it was safely tucked away, he looked back to you. "My name is Lev." He stood up, holding out a hand to help you to your feet.

You smiled, taking his hand and letting him hoist you up. He stumbled a bit, and you giggled.

"My name is Y/N."

You handed him the bag of goods he had stolen– the goods you recently covered. He took them, rather abashed.

"I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble, Y/N…" he looked away from you. His face had gone red with his embarrassment. "I should have watched were I was running."

"It's okay. This dress needed a wash without the mud." You dusted yourself off and he laughed. It was true– the both of you now certainly needed baths.

Lev looked into the bag, satisfied when he saw that all of his things were in tact. He had taken a loaf of bread, two carrots and a butter stick. It felt like weird things for someone your age to take. Didn't his parents handle the cooking for him?

"Hey, why did you take that stuff anyways?" You couldn't help but ask.

He looked at you again, frowning as he thought out his answer.

"My Pa is sick. He's been stuck in bed for awhile– my Ma and my sister are struggling to keep things together." He rubbed at the nape of his neck. "People only pay so much for them to clean… I try to help out with this when I can."

He gestured to the bag. You felt a little shocked.

You couldn't imagine what you would do without your father being able to work and your mother being home to cook. After all, the both of your parents were healthy as horses– hard workers too. You never had to worry about much, other than your chores.

You wouldn't know what to do if you had to resort to stealing.

"Uhm- it isn't much…"

You started very quietly, still catching his attention as you reached back down for your coin pouch.

"But, I want to give you these. Maybe it could help you out?..."

You took his wrist, placing the pouch into his now open palm. There was a huge chance your parents would scold you for handing out your allowance. You simply couldn't let Lev go on with his dangerous stealing.

He stared at you with wide eyes, the flush returning to his cheeks as he struggled to form the right words.

"You're sure about this, Y/N? You… you don't need to give me anything."

You shook your head.

"No, I want to. Besides, I don't need them… it's just my allowance– I use it on silly things. I'd rather you have it." You smiled, closing his fingers around the coins with your own hands.

Lev swallowed hard, laughing a little nervously as he took the money from you. Even with his awkwardness, you could tell he was deeply grateful.

"This will help to pay for my Pa's medicine. Thank you!"

You giggled at his sudden enthusiasm. "Of course!"

Then, he frowned.

"Uhm- I'm not sure how I could repay you…"

You hummed, teasingly placing a finger to your chin.

"How about this- you can pay me back by being my friend!" You stuck out your hand. "My Father's always working and my Mother’s always busy, too. You can keep me company whenever you aren't doing chores!"

Lev laughed, taking your hand in his to shake it for your deal. Even for such a young boy his hands were already becoming rough with hard work.

"Sure! Best friends!"

That smile returned to his face, eyes scrunching with the rising of his cheeks.

You nodded, somewhat proud of yourself in your acquisition of a friend. You weren't very good at it. Your father's friends had kids– but many of them prefered to tease you. Especially that no-good scoundrel Simon.

You spent the rest of your day in the company of Lev Haiba. The two of you roamed town, sharing your favorite spots and learning more about each other's lives. You learned his father was a carpenter. He learned yours was in the Navy.

You learned his mother wasn't native to Peregrin. You learned that she had fallen in love with his father and migrated across the world to be with him. Somehow, they ended up in Cygnus.

The two of you were together into the darkening hours of the day– and until you could hear your father calling for your return you stayed together.

"Y/N! Young lady, get home for dinner!!"

Your father's voice boomed and startled the both of you into quiet.

"That's my father… I need to get going…"

Lev frowned, taking your hands. "I'll see you again, won't I?"

His eyes were hopeful and bright. In fact, they never seemed to lose that shine. You nodded.

"Of course, don't be silly!" You locked your pinky with his. "Best friends, remember?"

He smiled, going bashful from the tenderness in your voice.

"Y/N! Hurry up or I'll eat your helping!" You could hear his deep laugh following his warning.

"Ah! Oh no– I'm coming father!!" You called out to him. Quickly you looked back to Lev, wrapping him in a quick hug before you pulled away.

"I'll meet you in the market tomorrow! Promise!" You had started your walk towards home.

Lev stood in a stunned silence, face beet red and heart beating in his ears. He soon remembered how to speak.

"It's a promise then! Tomorrow!"

You giggled to yourself as you reached your doorway. One last look back to watch as he started his own walk home. You stepped inside.

"There you are darling– oh, you're filthy!" She gasped. "What happened?"

You shrugged. "Fell down. I'm okay."

She shook her head with a sigh. "Hurry and sit before the food gets cold. You'll bathe after dinner." Your mother placed your plate on the table across from your father.

He was already eating, humming happily after a long day of hard work in service to the crown.

The current war, while in Peregrin's favor, was still exhaustive and dangerous. To return home for dinner with his wife and child was a welcome privilege.

"Sorry…" you hopped into your seat, quickly getting ready to eat.

Your father watched as your mother made her helping, and he frowned.

"Martha, my love. Have a little more than that." He stood, moving over to scoop more food onto her plate.

"Arthur– the last thing I need is more food. I'm already like a giant barrel…" Your mother busied herself with cleaning up before your father stopped her.

"You are with child. You're supposed to look like a giant barrel."

She gave him a look, half-offended. Your father scrambled to save himself.

"Of course, you look like a gorgeous– er– refined barrel." He kissed her upon the head. "Now come and eat."

She sighed softly, giving in as she hobbled over to sit next to your father. He placed her plate in front of her.

You had already stuffed your mouth, scarfing down your meal as though you were starved. Your mother lifted her brow.

"That good, hm?"

You looked up at her, a little embarrassed, before nodding quickly. She laughed.

"It's delicious, dear. You're the greatest cook in all the realm." Your father kissed your mother again, and you scrunched up your nose.

"You only say that because you're stuck with me, Arthur." She ran her fingers through his dark hair. He hummed.

"Shackled and chained."

She smacked his chest as he laughed, and allowed herself to start eating. You smiled as you swallowed the food in your mouth. Then you asked the question burning in your mind.

"Father! How was work for you today?"

Suddenly things got very quiet. Your father pursed his lips.

"Well… I'm told they'll be stationing me soon. I'll be deployed on the front lines."

Your mother froze, turning to look at your father.

"Arthur. I'll be having this baby any minute." She suddenly looked very serious.

"Wait, what does that mean?" You chimed in with a small frown. Your father tried a smile.

"Means I'm going into the big fight, sweetheart." He clenched his jaw. Your mother shook her head as she continued eating.

"If you even think about dying out there…" She looked at him. "I'll find you and kill you myself."

Your father laughed. "I wouldn't expect any less from you, honey." He laid a hand on her shoulder. "You get so angry this time of pregnancy. You're like a hurricane."

She rolled her eyes, slapping his hand away. You giggled.

"So, what happens in the big fight?" You finished your food, taking a sip of your water. Your father hummed.

"Well, let's see… I'll protect our kingdom. If I do well…" he leaned forwards, as if to whisper. "The king intends to make me a Duke."

Your mother almost dropped her silverware.

"When did you find out!?"

She was a strange mix between ecstatic and shocked.

"Just today, honey. We'll have a Dukedom. Guaranteed comfort for the rest of our lives, hm?"

Tears welled up in her eyes. You didn't understand why she had cried then. You do now.

"Oh… Arthur– this is great news. Such great news." She leaned against him, sniffling just a bit as your father held her. Then, she looked him in the eye.

"Take Cygnus."

Your father was surprised.

"Martha, you want me to take Cygnus? This place is…" he frowned. "Well, it's not my first choice."

Your mother shook her head. "Which is exactly why you should pick it. Make this place better. I know we could do that together." She smiled brightly, and your father wiped the tear streaks from her skin.

"Alright, alright. I just can't say no to you."

The pair shared another kiss, to which you turned up your nose. Your parents were very affectionate with one another– still, it wasn't any less strange to see as a child.

Your father then seemed to remember something.

"Oh, and on another note– did you know the young Prince Tobio is the same age as our Y/N?"

Your mother hummed. "Really? I could have sworn he was older. Hasn't he already learned to shoot?"

Your father nodded. "He's good at it, too. His aim is impeccable, I hear." He continued to eat, pausing again to speak. "The king still hasn't arranged any kind of wedding for his eldest granddaughter, either. The Princess has come of age and is still unmarried. I assume her little brother will also remain out of engagement for a while."

Your mother nodded. "I sure hope so. I never agreed with all of the marrying off children before they can even speak. Status shouldn't have to take freedom…"

Your father agreed, but even as they spoke you could hardly listen.

At the time your mind was elsewhere, on your new friend.

Lev had seemingly stumbled into your life purely out of chance– but you were certainly grateful for the gift of his friendship. A friendship that you hoped would last you well into your life.

Now, you had a chance of reviving said hope.

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libidomechanica · 8 months

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Untitled Composition # 10393

A Meredith sonnet sequence

The sacred ring what rang with thee, Cogniac! No skill the fair hands and where the third is neither throat. Was Juan,—who, an awkward she can seuer. That of the involuntary powers conspire, and drop at will not enjoy. So that to shines so in spite of deare delight. Summer’s day will notice as steel? To favour sought not perforce me liue and rough. The crew with her hart. If thou in this dubious sign proclaim’d her not dissolu’d through all or parch her face. You of the book to mind. Whose lofty lookes delight; dreaming heart gazing upon a hill, so brimmed with his victory. They meane degrees prepare a face with stirrup, saddle-bow; if thou hear’st me thus beseech thee, Cogniac!

So he says, Tis so: ’ they are pale; young Frank is chief flower was interrupted by a simple pin—they will for because the world encompass, and striking? Moons changing diamonds should have been bound the hart, a pretty price must harbour of the dead, and long in her flash’d that they talked, above the race is slight substance. Ne any the first relicks to be discharged of the tidal dark, and in anger not the moment before her hart-thrilling my key to true calm. By the vain kind which are not in darkned be. Paying what rang with the dusky parts his tenants pass’d away too fast; his snout digs sepulchres where lay sweet hue, which would praise deserts scorch the fierce triumphant, and me.

Had pressure, and fro with shame. And here was not last receives. What is mine; this fathers rose to blast their tongue cannot love, ’ quoth Adon, you crush me; let no thoughts bedecked her, one not learned ladies,—who but satiated at length to helpe his breath, or lend your hair. Were dabbled with a grove, and like awe, that theirs, made a hundred dollars for Jock of Hazeldean. Brow’s repine; where the should I haste she goes who had given away her thorns, nor stain thy beauty dead, black and unruly beast: and they burr, burr, burr, burr, burr—now Johnny well, yet from paradise; and being cold, dull and vnto me she stroke of two oaths’ breath goes, and so these, a lady friendly sighs are taxes on our knees.

Now I am waiting till you when ye behold two Adons dead! And here I give the cared the hermit’s carnal ecstasy, till human power to smell, and once and quench’d heart shall tell ye how smooth than nominal, and retossed, aloft, where they should be very instructing, desolate, doth bring, ere Cuckow end, let her, both court and seen in safety to the roofs, and hearken if his friends begun, end with this chaunges to be moved by the praetor bent, nor brag not of so sweetest son, and nuzzling makes me like arrowes, which you to an oak, where your face at the fair unhappy maid, while thy selfe and dying smart. Yet, hadst hear two women; they view’d each other flocked tight.

Words; and kisses, thief that smiles with a golden tresses gloomed athwart the outside of her wayes this one on shore of loues immortal hand she hears, which said, our only these blessings which seemed about: Noli me tangere, for the presently beat. Then they should move each passion more sent to clutch for a brook a wordless children still; sweet dream change the playne will say tis very word again! The rock, and left Thee Living and therefore O loue, that things—for I flattering in ischskin, ’ ousckin, ’ iffskchy, ’ ouski: of whom we shall turne to the same against my selfe and friendly sigh for his lips shall the next brooke. To eye those sweet, as if they will, seemd the light slept on the stars were affied.

A thousand double shows when you know despair was Hero, with tempest of all within the spoil, with flashing in the hears the powre of loue, while to all nymphs pursue him was such foul flaws to hear a little ear’s deep joy to London now! The while repenting, and Juan interposing one’s own Heart’s lead, melt a harder heauenly matter is his trouble young girls are performed, the Rhodian state, was it not white? See! Of unknown, and heaving built with pleasure suffered you go. Within her louely fyre, whome throng, this never; tis much more praise of a child but inside my force she spoke, and all the world’s tide is bestow their grief; all enter, healthy Sestos here who on Love’s golden bee.

As ever sheath’d him in the kindlier days, and now should, welcome, but to prove, as hopelessly was so lucky place, and vnto heauen or her said One who ne’er could aught renews; these force, his will may will ne’er had heard your heart. Did sacrifize vnto your moderns equals he sullen, still would scarce a soul that’s the lightened up my head. And, being lost all his tale, as if the pressed be by him amearst without a soundly sleep. Thing but my rude work of glory’s van. Right I came, and to their hearts again-her arm lifted, eyes on fire: sits mourning weeds. ’Er each severance ruled! At apparitions, signs, and upstaring fault I am but a deare exylde longwhile alone can explain it.

Soul and therefore, since for other laws: a kind of granting, ponders over the Border, to bed. Of hardest steep our hearts of telegraph they found no fault cleanly out; theyr wanton talk attended horse than she can no horsemanship of nature stood, tied to make the wind, its pillar, not alone; the change in thine own begin? Own dark garden night, though tame. Till she lies my business is call’d him in some shape suggestion which now his loue: in which the Soul that’s the queen o’ womankind, and cannot lyfe sustayne, and hasten now apace: the strooken, await the world’s art for each other’s arms, which men will not blind his worlds pride bow to a bounch of Counsel—whereby much greater moan.

And look and hauing pine and always is complexion seek, and pensive tendance in this parent is love made at lengthen out thee, drop heavily down,—burst, and kisses in the distance made thee, that aim and his natiue place. That paint a siege, whereon she was, and all kinds of benevolent machines, my loue pined hand and with that may farre in vain she stare he red for a hero lies beneath their day; the tincture of vermilion: and the length dissolved to die, old Susan moans, poor Susan’s life he sought in vain of gold: and warring nature’s error, as to look in it. And now all delight in such art as truth’s annoy to new desire keep a chronicle with pompous roialty.

Sits upright, still hanging like diamonds in water white ponies, can go gallop on force, though long; all ages, though Wilberforce swayed to her frowne me drawes, her to be seen. Drawn in Russian vessel drove before they look’d into all, but death deadlier engineer’s steed and polished by some sweet embracing bushes, a moment at this worlds gladnesse: seeds springs. The ground; if Yuorie, her wrath renew her nose, he gains his causeless, or fourth wife, or victim: all the tree of my hair for love their tide, being put to love to rise. She look’d on as if in prepared of seeming nothing wind and cleaves cover; I knew the envenomed dart, and found to herself too much it grieves.

And when cloudy looks again with Betty o’er a waste it selfe nor other the gilded monsters only by her said One who loved blood; if not worth a copse that awful kind—I have known them their naval matter: we were strapped its applause. Or at the impress’d, they him with one full many a dropping that Angels blessed above. Where is, too, many ages, for, nor in nothing the foremost o’ them all, which the wound, and, for love my military tower heauenly fyre, the gentle queen of love, ’—thus chain’d, each in taking no fair to lose, he strive infection know; nor port they lie upon her tolerant enchanted slope in the middle of the blushing roll’d on, ducks as quick!

Last I woke sane, but well-nigh close awayt to catch her thirling car from Latmus’ mount to half of that? Themselves without sometimes seizes warriors of thy lore to add yet to nestled in the first relief! A minute past, and use good blackouts, do you know a moment—and all her worth him is bearing sun; for much debate; but knowing worse and golden bee. Had held it out; and all things and all the rest by cool Eurotas they been cut, and many seeing the hum of lonely every limb, and set the victuall’d and burden would vouchsafe my plaint to half of that paint a siege, wherein she stops his horse, among the siege to raise, as well, for vice is always signs to tenderness.

By this, poor things immortal butcher in this said, I have known the hour or more to favour and glory might bring a desire, with cloudes is summoned to Cupid. For Jock of wedding cake and never things; so Stellaes ioyful face, some boy would the sapphire visaged good zecchini, but hauing pine, and I dived in a hoard of mortal fingers tying my key to true calm. And in her mangling. Cried Betty put his daring to me. From th’enameled sky all her prayses yet be chaste. Now Johnny to the eyes to seize love of you and sharp, on which I haue lackt the capital, after the first defynd: and euery minute seemed, as if a magic cured. The year.

Wind slow, glazed o’er Longman and Johnny’s near, quoth Betty Foy? Where when this planet point his sinewy neck in turn; and those on what of multitudinous is so fair and spotlesse pleasure and red, and people passions, frantic, I shall the moon decks herself and now no more; the beauties grace. ’ Heaven’s Zone glisters echoed frosty Caucasus; ’ but not drink, lest any tyrant, have lost i’ th’ flower as May never do him harm. Chase; I could be, as soon as her use, and swelling-place, not vsde to fright. In heaping up her breath forth to rest that thrives: save wed along the which her mould celestiall hew, made attonce too short, this white hair of grace; which some promoted couple.

Very fine; which I should sit for men’s reverend fathers smile; then the pavement with kissing brest. Thou hadst hear that deare foe, and scoff at human filth that with the loved rashly led astray? The real world so great is not decreed. Oaths of azure palace and began to gather’d up, in shade to blackened ear. And Lilia There are mystic books, with one blights not it at all. And lament remained, that you’ve heard, what duty to fulfil yourself, and the Dolphin when thou find none other worshipp’d be; and when I feele the springs to stir in. Specks of chain mail one by one. And all the ocean black. That were when cloudy and fair peace, but having no defect; their violently descried.

From sin, may like one that most irksom night; there was controlled, but sometimes thousands of benevolent machines. The broad ambrosiall meat, and former vows, your so happy in my mouth to keep her eyes are fired; love was then be neuter and o’er and hauing hare, or at them the shore; known but talk of college, only longed to see how in his back, his breast; thou art the stalk, and dreads his passed the mere sense by nature or their years. A vast, unless it be a boar, not alone. Its slender bit Beauty may they knew the bed she and, as his mother watch’d, she gazed upon each endearment shapeless as he his public wealthy coof, tho’ I mysel’ hae plenty, making my loue cherish.

I mis, all careless life in thee is slain. Then followed to mar the town, or she tune those discourse of kynd. In great her down—will clear away the mellow, when in hand here was not soundly sleeps well as any mill, or wrap about you might help a little think’st thou wondered at their hollow as the bed, susan, I’d gladly youth, forgive, if I forgot—gentle breast; thou art dead; and wild, even heroes—and such poore captyued heretofore: in his waistcoat, and canst prevail again. Fainting the moon’s in her pale, i’ll be in sport—of that he finds mistaken; few are slow in slaying him, who if living worse than for theirs whose names at Moscow, into rhyme; yet their layes. Oh me!

One full lips, and not much to praise him up and, like to entertayne, and their dress was but changed it, I do not know the very soul believing lover, bronze and rave, and, being stream that in silence, they saw, but each drop they should be lynched in the ocean, though it in a mighty king, that leaders of random sweet warriors of the evening, ear’s deep-sunken eyes, and quench’d heart; to love at all, came lovely boy that nursed of hollow sea’s, mourns for this great; if stars go waltzing out of time, confusion, and all kinds of whom we can it beat, the lassie o’ my heauen vpon your arms, o, gie me thus, my Katie! The Powers which she wished he lay beneath the silent shore awaits at last.

They sought so heauenly beauty doe behold. But there were joined. Knocks at my call; my chosen few with Love to keep it; being slant in a wondrous excell’d, grew kinder, and wat’ry star when truly not let it lay the seat of the bent, and from the eye alone? Burn the flings, all deep enraged, his pony now doth scratch’d down thrall, that soon he rose his choice the dark, cracking vestals and Wills and swallow Venus’ eye; whose nun you are as straight from Venus’ altar, to you, and beauty dwelt. The devil now no more,—her face wherein she stars asham’d of day, for ever,—would it happen’d the Cyclades. And now his brow’s repine; but the vessel of the wooing: melodious dismal knell!

Had she not be, seeing thus, her links of deare foe, and listens, but we, unworthy thou hast made my Lady think I have wrong done but hard hoof he would say, This fair subject of thee thy crew. And pray, and make immortal things; she take except me as he: for yet she complexion shone great white with all frosen cold: but overwrought with languish too, no matter; we should have been near. A bitter is than their first in that day would be—a lioness, to the chin, and thus he cheered: O Rhodian crew, the lovely caves, as scorning wish to appears a heavy head lolled brow and deck thee wronged its little time. Moved by men of more wound and obstinate, and though the blow; and communion!

Rustle the rest on its shelly cave with venture that neuer thoughts the other this fashion I have spoke of midnight so bothers to breathing-while I kiss Anthea’s breasts. Stella, which adorned, he read: come down the arm, the morning came, some love one, what poor old Susan groans I never shall statue- like, her body shaded with all which thou unask’d shalt not reaped there was a maid whom heaven is Cupid’s myrtle was resembling, he went, as tedious, wooes th’ authority. Her nipple learned nature does natural order of our set, five other Sestos every friends me now. For his horn: anon she liked it and Johnny do, I pray you not heare, may scarse be gone!

He with sencelesse bloud defylde, by Fenelon, by Luther, and forlorn. Or a strong, he with smiles, these Angels heuenly with the prison’d in thee for one somewhat green which Neptune’s glass and pondering the field, to see you hardly spared amends forth her three, I feel my flames augmented manifold. When separate: the soprano might head, at night, let her, being spright, the shiny beames darkness lie beneath it strange goddess held and in her feet: an uniform. The head with another was already, known a crib. Although he never told; while Pasimond a lawless bargains may I by no means my wearied mind, let it suffice, but Fortune came in her excell.

Itself, but she holding up herself her own back to me. Sorrow through a wave, walk’d in a yeelded praise if a magic powers above abasement shews, his glance doth show, is to a woman bred: her loathsome limb and other was nine, whose lighteth on his shirt, was drown’d, then can moue her? Their anchor under and by a flea; and the Lily-white Boy is a pond of yielding ransackt hearts and mild the same; whether in this of graves, and all presaging a most luminous, gemlike, ghostly woodpecker, hid in the Danube’s bordered brain, full of powerful god of amorous Leander on her shall have he did lay, he burnt, whose her leaves an index to a ball!

Hot, faint, and my tunelesse bower: wils him awake, and the very prepare you care to prove, and made to sit upon his dark when she was once romantic, and at her: to cast toward things to pearl t’adorn it glistered the power seemed the frontiers he vse all beasts with her that seemed to such a crime. It seem’d absent still; beauty and long lacked it. That Lost with Tears! Dance on the maiden Aunt. Then love, than when thou art all desolate, and kings who laid about to be perchance that I am forsworn, to me resign their naval cells, and Famine, with a boy of saintliness was but late in the rest: some dainties, she traine. More white Muse-brows. To that thou live a thousand wrecks?

And, as she past melts mist-like into her knew what is become of your cruelty. Is it they talked and that broke. So Ladie now to you, the cocks did crave; but ne’ertheless I hope to scale the fox which wander carefully everywhere low voices of the Ages, and the bridal house, its patterns on a boggy walk, he flitted to sink, but we allowed Cupid’s bow she seeks to menage loathsome carries with avarice. No eies be Saphyres plaine, what follow me, then why not a thousand wreath, I tie the sovereign thing were, sits upright on earth I cry for still. Which now there other could trust in her bed, and gaping o’er her naked is, and fading and cry, my meaning.

Most happy date bids them slay, breaketh from your fortune even in the slender was all Enough—we two will bring a peal to shake hands and be blest; foreknowing Hermes prior to cross the curious cooks, your imprimatur’ will you leave her lips be Rubies foundation of the house, without audience, and beauty treble; and if you would an hour come to lead your hands: but base: base in respecting, the loss alone, is swifter the porch with, God forbid! Begin and go, and lonely than all roses nobody, not even the Flame that, passing streight with his rein, and rymes, seeke her goodly light; a thousand men, who loved music swims back to tell. An uniform.

To Venus, but his proud sights, that true heart that treasure: weightless as amber, ancient hand, and seems still at the acacias, and I’ll awa to Nanie, O. That it did, as a storm sometime true news, sometime false alarm; and then run out and to lack her joy. ’Mang moors an’ mosses many, and hauing her owne mysery: but suddenly repenting, he on him thence a half-consent involved in sweet with sorrowes of my purest part: with meeke humility, loue is lyke to a mortal worlds glorie is but drag her down and less night into treat the large dark she lay beside that northern shore and scorne base thong from the sky and then my ioy wil be thine own bent; I cannot endite.

And, as he sprains a blessings whereof the world is shortly he had he not dealt with dearth, before her form, with which her cheeks, she shouldst hunt the middle gardens standing at the table of pirate crew, who came wonder although the room, and scornfully, and haggard with Sisyphus he sport: the sail that the winged affected? That will not sleeps alone; she fort, and sees a great black and unto Colchos borne: her worth! Then say, shall I know of a novel word in my youth, forbear to touch even her kind. Which many a sound she just’-save change in the moment to find the sway of writing with my desk turns what was wont to see em, but none maybe with flashes o’er you cannot guess.

’ Few they both do stand, threatening her fears and to hear nor see, ye shall roll before, if you’d express my griefe with such a guide. More; they once believe in it and being she. And now his words so wise as birth required, for as you will, they can be got a traveller bold, then loosing one, thoughts would condescends upon them smyle: the seasons’ quality; nor can Juno sweetly on his mind is hush’d before was not harms distinct in individual beauty grown, a judge of the many Lilias—played the motion and sire; subject that beauty. To see him—for he hasty hand with a widening sight, they took its stations; and me. Him by the bayonet these twain.

That in each more reflect; three fireships lost or slay the golden pomp is come; for all my heart with one convulsive ground was strook. For our guide, let Heaven, star after where their full brightnesse whylest I be condemned be of use, politics; they bid thee it is the sniffer. I could not keep, release, where I something so mock-solemn, protection; and yet on tiptoe seemes to be discharged with which she essayed, with burning on his instrument, which is the act is tempests sad assay, the wears, by strength, but a girl—ah fool, confirmed and wat’ry star when yawning dragons draw her treason, for sharply he did for the new yeares ioy forth with her height, as dearer, better!

Stuttering dart. She is no need. An image dull and straight he were when there to get her, being put to use more sentimental woodland reels athwart the horse, and brake off his Camel side by side, full-summed in mine eyes, wont to grow unto her coming, and brow. Imperious supreme delight is spent, the more than nominal, and all the women use, or thirst force should say: But how it might be better be appeare, and eke his face the moon that, and chaunges to be Italians, and the stars asham’d of dark. And all amaz’d at apparitions, and then the recognition. Trust to me. And leaves a shining soul on me at last forever; thy baited hooks shall you why.

That sat in that inward buckram, little urn. Then hey, for a lass wi’ the webbing in respects, yet neuer shall grow too close in her arms are compare, not vsde to friends his planet cleare, not gross painting mynd: though she runs apace; leaves out common one, and mantleth most assured doth her of chromatical. Black, as erst to appease, why did theyr shewes but was a Romagnole, but now I my meaning of a tree, by Sences privileged alone like a travelling frowns to kindle thinks his plays an encore. And that which never can fynd: the white; nor why the loose your own, because, which I doe both hart robbing sea, in distresse, but left her charms, o, gie me thus, my Katie!

Or giue leaue me in nights she the present as they rode upon their delight the lectures determined to obtain. A vast, untill’d, and make their banner, so sweetly on his hand; this were once had greater meede at length awakening, Iphigene I claim the works of narration, we know her so good, thoughts not in darkned be. Like to her brest lyke lillyes, ere that it did, as a snowball which sought; and takes him stung their spirit close in her name and ways he served, than he to heaven, nor the cause from a furnace, you never done, what wont on your glasses whereof when the March of old Sir Ralph’s at Ascalon: a good heart is true; as spotlesse to moue, without theirs, made his love.

Over the doctor from his mouth is clay. ’Er the town, and Morning both together care, nor long he lies a bed in passion from their light I have sworn deep drenched in mists at last to fold, birds such lovely cave with full deuyse. Who would best become a tree. And dreads the closed with his victors to the church, and o’er has told the brinks of dewtie, t’ accuse me—Me—the presented a fine boy. Ran upon his still severely wielding, he on the patch. And that on the guide: that death the waves he scuds far off from a farther rough. And that blows, and hope this to me. Against annoy, our chief cities free, do easily know. Glowing variously lament remaines but she could be at!

Her voice to innocence betwixt the window- panes; the room the inner weight comfort Johnny well, nor even Despair and half- wise; susan, we must be so beings to persuade him to a rocky shore. And gins to fear of sad miscalculation about a tree. And hearkens for the town, to bring the pomp of powerful god of fight. And hear behind. Also our hero’s grave. Told a tale, and gaze into spasmatic ecstasy, till without the voice with his braunches rough sweet is the should I begin? Will rayse. On all sides doubts are alone, to punished her face where kingly Neptune, and round about him dight for Day ne’er a ane to the barbarous laws; these fruits do flow.

Great joy to sorrow, and Happiness most pretious they reach’d a spot their great bulletins of sheaves afternoon and death to pacify: but command the gentle, but died unkind, and those which gaze too bold, his very beast, doth friese within a mile, no hand that blow softly said, were I the saddle him whom she lock—and never will ne’er before hath a battle keen’—but aye she loves and then giue leaue like a king perplex to find him in a dreadful prophecies; so sweetly slumbring, ear’s deep-sweet music of the Phlegethontic rill! The heavenly light blown out in boils. According to be born was beauteous fort where the danger by the child of that closed her fair; while our clime!

That th’ uncertain courted for her straight as Circe’s wand; jove might: and now she be smallest hope, her thoughts with an offering bank of their eyes, wont to plead: doe beat on the sun, when done, her wrong—a hundred kisses; and one discuss; and now the voices mixed with skill, and the last of lonely lie round the prey their example pleasance and hauing run, there is past the ravishers remaine. So here’s the nuptial day, prepares, and even he, of catching, were my Chamber— nay, they had none at dusk throughout thy holy fire, as if they are swept by balms of springs, to keep her upper lip they stay. And, seeming not conquerd yeelding heart were for all my vows are ours, for pity?

I feele the bane of all the French in English, saved me not the hope for however dearer than so, presence of it doth grow: but stir she could endure on the conquerings. Love, studious how to moue, one long year link’d in a dream, and the air; yet was her soft and anon a something new love enjoy the light and sharp, on those parts his crooked dolphin from the brook, and turned, while juice she glides he in though the wall, the one I love; and one the strongly part strove she shouts of either of the dark, silently was seen. Were my fraile minds perforce, since my sorrows over the earth would build far off upon a mortals! Whose fruit might presence of my changed it, I do not that.

If cause from college, visiting the To- be, self-reverend father’s arms, while Cymon was a moment of pith and her in cunning aground, was talking sit list apply. Then spring still, her breast. Clapping though the rich attire: his brutal summer blossoms scent they gaze on it the which the same. And while he laugh’d to be, that her faith! Love in this agony of pleasure from end to do with the owlets through my mother chase were alone, whereat amaz’d at apparitions, and the Mauis sings that same though again; they only delights to lose, you never enough. The happy there’s no great triumph ouer euery beauty called it Venus’ temple, where I was my own self.

Bear, or life and shew thy self: cast all, yea, this both use and wan. Had ye sorted manifold. Can go gallops in: I shut my eyes, ears, and I thy shadows of the Christianity: in dread that place the white Muse-brows. The glory ye haue, thus with a ghastly morning it his worlds pride: that their own in uniform to boy, human filth that Learning in a river there than magic cured. For I commander; tis on the shepherds unlike myself in my selfe doth scorn their last by winde, should he slid. That elder look; as if her louely crew: with guiltlesse pleasure, liue with flatter, I am of too much o’erworn, and petty Ogress’, and ungrateful grounds them fray: and Famine.

He long deserts scorch and forced back and but take the maiden Bay, her verdure still. The which made the famous siege by young Apollo courted her, but something so enrag’d, glory in her lips with greater face may they but on the heaven to doubt, if nature’s error, that else both to each. And the hunted boar, who, being cause of a strange termes vnsure, though now arraigned, he moved, the highway too blackens with her lovers say the field: void was her former beautie chastest, best, but other, then truly I have from men a scout were loth, show what thou for fame— a hundred Graces locked at the sons of dried before. Soothing but my selfe with yielding with Hero, with no knowable ring?

He burns in flames too coldly him embrace. And clogd with one loue doth borrow’d all the rest me, but late is placed as to read. The march! By those poor fellows being six foot high, upon the same; serenely listen! When I break of day, which a ship of such worlds pride: least to make hot fire. Sink where lay some sweeter be, when she started up, she says, this night he had one that ship, warm, since I am some strangeness will his past, despoyld of war. He longer to end. Hunts after may neuer was enthusiasm and much I praise if a magic lantern threw unwilling great deeds divine, by common reader! This yeare his tyranniseth then hey, for a while our formal father!

That loues hart, legions full of fear lurk in mine ear, variously, a melancholy undertone was fight breeder that dainty eares, cannot confess, with fixed on her fixt my father paused a moment, the others glory. With light is most deceiving harrowd hell within, and I, ye less he had carefull art: the replied. ’Er was nine, when done, thought can place in: from whom spoke some good notes; and the will to dry; but overwrought, and gazing their most pretious meat is tempred so the hand those small returne to caulmes and all with one wound! And people out in all its amazement lyke a Strawberry bed, his sight be undone, because I caught for tea and conquer all.

And as a Queen of farce! Why then should pull him in the width of a world was not a sin far worse that wont on you thrown, dotting though not in my extreamest paine: with my designs; for the patient to store the bed and Lilia; Why not a theological statement I am pitiful in my head. The morning, did he raised by the foolishly do call it virtuous mind is my brest. Give much better the parentage, would tell her stubborne hart of their ruthlesse then off she hies, and on thy piteous news so much ado the church, the palace and terror to endeavouring gate as those rubies that Ida whom I tried them. Musing thought, but diverse: could decreed.

Your silly mind to wail his desire, a pleasance, with a sort of their own land battle equal his breast a fairy, trip upon the pony had his comrades to read; and on flower, and yields at last forever. Saying, Let your devouring borough is come, she seeks: her eyes and warmth he might have guess’d his weightless message sent out of sight, and mountain and we go, and the waves about him dight that sort which are not mean, and Wesley, and else could make him, I on her soft peace was by no means were still she says, this was near; to this be so— for framing these beauty in despite of fruitlesse blood of Angels used to be wise; and whisper of his own name in his strife.

When she reprehends her rebellious pride she doth spred with one full many a lustful glanced behind some snow, take some strange stately azure o’er, one in language rather laws: a kindlier days and night, downed with some preferment get; she bathes in this deeper than loves marrow burning back, saving his bonnet crowned with each bird that when my ioy to sorrow, or it malingers beat the singular tune of his effect fell she gazed, but died unkindness, oaths of dawn that fondly lov’d, but by you: your loue lent. Save a few words should liue gladly stay with his sight where I waxed she gazing upon it you did no good. Thy soft kisses, the taking refuge in weak punch, but rudely writ.

Finding sun: i’ll make Don Juan leave me thus, as Fate decree more evil in an operation. Which behold ways, she trampled some bright day-bearing the shades we’ll go, and live when clocks the head. And caught in the daunger of Spring endure, to hint at least wish withstand could look, or speak with those with payne. Slumber-drunk an Arab in the fresh array he cheers their chief cities free, made impotent by power to obey, panting their counted lily white robes, heavenly tune, the owls began, and slips into hell, but love of our joys: but found himself, a brow for truth which thou makest thus the rules by bringing. Work, yet ever, and those with more it still flinging down deeper cloak!

’ Breach should I accoumpt of little heart revenging mermaid’s song no’er pleas’d with his own: the bridle too, no matter, entreats, and haggard with salue of sovereign spells, when myne eyes, true loue to endure on this, and prayed her flesh repose. Cast down is weight consists in nothing out, he on the sounds appeare, yet she has a dreadful hunter heaven would find what thou hast a helpless and more fleet hence, have lightened up my heart and drill’d and children stillness, plighted, that sweet is she takes him brightest colours that overrules the captivity, and quenching like to help poor Susan will keep embracements with the thing which there is therefore mayst mighties iewell, and wan’d the orator.

—But a simple; for know, or very joy. All that vnder her eye; both cry Kill, kill! So let us melt, and what honour is pure blushing to myself to man, that neuer ye entrapped into her look, his mien he fashioned, and surpass the earth or mourned. An impious act with all car, her flesh ensew. But he is no changed neuer; nor brag not oft be staid long with constrayned to view: in vain their prime rot and calm: then came a prison and soon they had light. Langer ye hae them, and heavy day on day, did sacrifize vnto the Mauis sings of her own and fast she spils that loues conquered plate she sits, as seeming rather laws: a kind of air which cunning spring them riding sea.

Women reckon what winters night that might embower the totality of my weak eies admyred, not ayre; for so long times a gleam of a man’s attire, for joy; she darts, as if they heard it is we human clay, disguysing din past whip, past mud, the highway too black! Sits mourning from the apart; years will aspire. She took one tutor as they came like the hears, and I would there was once romantic to bury that his zenith, sweating gold tune; he changed: in a case of me put less in t: and twilight’s herald, Jove-borne Mercury who used such weeping into our Desire, as if in irony, and fro a dancer! For had heard of one of the night he!

The Princess as he with Georgians, Russians with Wisdom’s sight that hauing it his worlds glory. Rhyme; but as she clepes him stop, not decreed, that, shouldst contents, as dry combustious meat is the large, frosty feet, and Admiral Ribas sent were loth, show what is not yet a breach shadow in the terrace, made plain words, or else of the brook. In this prime Death shouldst hunt the body a bundle of the book and hauing run, there his own according to be so bath’d in pithy phrases with louely pleasant mew, that dread the lodestar of my mazed hart before; we will never lost. Not speech her hard heart; or having no defect; their school, the thunderbolt, she watch’d six or seven stayed his back.

Within my heart, him lodging of his bedchamber to be discharged with each other did in some Corner of the women use are like the Damzell doth constrains the corner secret to my youthful years will dignify must see revealed. To pass the cunning on one’s own bent; I cannot take advantage slip; beauty slain, sighs dry her chance the man prevail again. Perforce must still remembers better parts; the violets where let no though Wilberforce were took, to seeming lavish, saved me not the honey bees have pledge, can be got a travels on fire— brake with a sign old Lambro presence; as a ship of nature thou wrongest my poore sought from their spirit closed the winter’s too.

For love makes her stubborne hart through hidden tremor came, and we drop like the cry remaine. In this, the sun did she was done, spread the lightning fyred. Have his heard a lover of his altered Cymon with one said all her Ida, tremulous sob, that the same, even so she at will hold the Winter’s too. And cannot admit of absence, sence of her late Love liv’d still, she refused to touch even his limbs hanging by thee, though he censured by long had heart. This is she in their own liking, yet with a breathe with marble looming visaged good zecchini, but the streets were jacks and frugally resolved, I left the ground for an instant stiffenesse of cheer; then to the bride.

And leave me thus, my Katie? Sweet voice, is pleasure of my loue, my life was done, that loue conuert. And often sought you in mine eyes, how ye what I took half an hour to chide, thy footing fynd, who doth thee. Now sleeps, while with lemon, she was, and her yield, like chaste away is flit, though it is to lead fraile spirit all comforteth with a human bred: her mind; the land it blasted Pine, to punishment that they’ve been ungenerous and stoutly will stay the hand. Suit was our St. Why then she sees, being death and Pasimond, though shadow and, despising mane upon his arm, and sweetly swelling present poem—of—I know not whither: this brutal kind. Man,—and, as he turn?

And on the gods themselves and wrapt him in the thinks! And all things, whiles her cheeks, and all presaged good zecchini, but track me like a silent when a foolscap, hot-press darlings with all the ocean, which way she paused hortensia spoke too long since, Loue, a roge thou a woman taught in silent meteor sunk by floundering day has run but took a short time to suit with a Bacchante blooming like a patient ether horses; here at peace molest. That they betted; made a sign old Lambro bade the first impel, till our own, because I dare to lookes aspire: the love alone, and cheerful hope to set in lead his time for decision: I prophet—and heads: they found mortars read?

That least his lock which sin, kiss and in such the Soul that’s allowed the nighting for me, and now she doth flattring smyles weake harts would for every exercise of a man’s cheek: its onion root the table set for a song to give a notion at their eyes, and Heaven, no second principle of your mind and purling streight revel, plays, masks, and less nights of louers wayt vpon the sword decided that if I didn’t love you because your excels all enemies. Her sale sentence, we remembreth her hardnes blame which the maid whose ridges with torn, in vowing caught thee of my Soul! Excused the features should run into the queen o’ womankind, and neighs, he bound to heauen doth cry Kill, kill!

The dream, be perfect wealthy as traitors are our fortunate! Flame, when like the tardy diligence prevent, she would come back to tell of glee, that tomb already sent did all I know, for war cuts up not on earth her eyes looke louely heat, gallop amain from singing their turn addressed time is gone, leaving that to him best; and all her face, or judge of that smiles with Jove, thy true- telling set, I’ll stake my powres of hot desires and reading hath slept in one band has my heart, as if from a country known the broome-flowre, or looking somewhat unfound, or found the Doctor; you’ve pass’d away with purple tears gone, how can it beat, and tongues were break my heart, ’ saith she on his back.

By kind, and camp salutes him quickly gone? That they go, and know whether it was nine, when as double blue, the longed. So she loot these to any chaunce to me, who bounteously bestowed; they survey’d the close beside. And Susan Gale. But by his fresh bleeding out in exile must stay: for from an evil sprites goe visit our cloisters thus to Betty’s still remaine, prepared of seeming human concert strived with his; to- morrow will I, alas, refraine; loue feares not for his burthens binde. Hoping no hearing up shells and draw the strong, and leaving with thy deare and tempte to the Sultan has a taste is gone not that. Rude words; and not that. As dews o’ summer of evil?

Last I woke: she, too, the moon that’s so trim and high—each breach appease her hard heart forever. Nor even as a dog, as quickly before the live and hauing pine, and aided by desired food, to it doth come, as our St. Steal thing else was their prey, turns her exultation, who saw it follow those tinctures there were bought back lacquered side soon signed tears, thought him self not from her: nor cause of they cannon duly set rose over the tears of useless, timeless, the planet point a churlish, harsh-sounding of a drunken pleasance, which my though a heavy groan, or sigh-tempest born, a goodly table was the report all we must suffer wreck thy spear’s point can themselues did rain.

Now Nature stood still in his arm and forgave them stood upon the sun in all that she in a painter gave gigantic proportioned nose, the drowsy waked; and made them paused a while repent, my lower heauenly spright, loue in gross, and with Soldier-laddie, and without a short as one they seem’d with her mortal kind; excused the nerves in immemorial elms, and everybody sees the floor she hies, but from seeds, and now she cannot be easily yeeld that’s in the kind reade the fighting for to earth, that you’ve done, now will I attempt the swains, receives. By this, whiles my stonishment the holly- tree—the hollows lights, that were immortally: and while youth and try another.

But when homicide, but old Susan cries. And struggle, for its station a borough whom he rushes. Or be yourself you have vow’d to shew the langer ye hae them, poor hearts bleeding as she wakes, is to kill a busy character in the floors, or called on flying stain to raise, and formal father passing bell. And now thy courage, poor souls of death of mail beneath. And next prepared fascines, and raw in fields of harts close against whole and was fight revel, plays, masks, and untethered the ship soon, because there. Addressed, now cursed the hope of asswagement or released, his unguarded breasts and thereof I doe praise shall love may buy, till Cherry ripe themselues did rain.

Yet she ails thy approaching heart, the many cloudy looks into another and choking here reaching forth: beauty I remember A stranger seemed and loue embraced, and all the Fantom of her were his wisdom to annoy; but like a viper off, and takes his crooked tushes never fight. ’ Was said, impatience chokes her stature made him thence that has a servant some slightes. Through sweet girl-graduates in grass; and all that; and the features goodly table spread o’er Longman and high doth provok’st such doe set but light, affrayd. Could look, or speak or shrieking felt the patron with heroes—and succour desolate, sweet kisses; and men; but the heauen most has o’erturned again?

And then said, from each lamp and shiver that dealt with vacant, and to their queen, it will forging Nature wept, he will sacrifice, whose sacred peach in the fire that if I loved you. Give me thus, for pity? And in hand can hold my life for her moans; passionate as Sappho’s songs, yet for court, which joyful Hero answer’d to those twin-brothers wound Leander’s amorous hours, and in his hands his promise of rain and the Doctor, to comfort in heavenly moisture, air of Lugo, but none she love of that lo’es me, as dews of hot desire till they resign, then Iphigene I claim my rightful due, robbed by men; Thou Angel instinct like a viper off, and their violently.

His glance, such my presently be banish’d as night attend that I am afraid; bids themselues suffize, still he stood, sea- bordered brain, sith neuer things to perfect music to the bridals, chaste descent, then he is all in his private institution on his back, his chin, and sweet harmony. And twixt her absens will may leave the loves, the moonlight listened. And quench thy lips with bashful shame; and even his hand, and dig deep oaths but this Fair One but her stubberne with vile adders sting, tis to love, he had sworn that souerayne saynt, the world ought with strict embracements unto the liked poetic arm all other mind was first bones of their showes but shadowes sauing she.

Which colder heauen forget-me-nots, and trace it; for the years could give her senses fail, this second worke of her owne wicket; babies rolled with him. Haidee clung around, he looks do mine, stateliest, instead of beautiful, unanswerable questions; and that sickness, when his neck, he judged the way you want with guifts of body, I all rapt in those on whom Cassandra was he taking Schmacksmith, i’ve said smiled, I shall turne to come, as if he had too long to last, which shal you in beauty from the shouting to you, the cocks did crave the seven stars who, when ye lyken it: the more to sue, ne any mention shakes the native short as one that faire mantleth most assure that stands.

Bend to do it for us. And I, a tyrant his sphere, leaue to fight, the bands of dawn that selfe addressed bankrupt, that like an earth of daughter: the little for summer cloudy night; there Cymon at the slope of sea from vases in thy well-breath’d up in their guns with angelick delights began to sustaine, dayly such death, of having wherewith doe her eie lids low embased. What next? Through I never knowing world won’t examined few pair of the streets of cold which leads beholding could pierce with still the floor she were left with such bad-mixtures the window-panes, licked its spokes fell. She stops, and made him time that, should fetch a pretty personal cupidity, she doth rend.

Whose immortality,— all women here? Her mother is crying Love, and swept, as t were dabbled wretched people far away too fast; but he is diuinely wrought, than thoughts with which first imperative of sovereign of the world in secret soul that’s in the pointed dart. Though in wretches woe, thinck euer to end that shall vnto me a leach them scornfully, and says with a rude embraced her but from heavens, and succour both to each other is your body still, and long we gazed, but never enough.—And what he himself himself when they are, such basenesse of that Angels from thee going to end. I have seen I love you As virtuous mind is my dayes. I know the strook.

Thus, having left the hemisphere; grief makes that warnes al loue hath caught me to rest in close couert of herself at strife of her fast and then no more. That on the fair Salámán and Absál like Straw, died his legacy, and, stand in times to be praysd for damzell broke his flying Time from singing, each mind to kiss you: having no excuse this is the more amongst his burial talked at wine, when we come and glow as in plain house, and chain-smoke cigarettes where my Chamber— nay, the sons of men, and sallow fear, with encroaching, and disdayne, a close implide, is it that I have lingers on the partial immortall things, fanning wind and more mellow plum doth felly him oppresse.

And strange thy boughs to clip Elysium and to her heart with us do dwell.—But no one to promise did he blessed bankrupt, that nothing out. Let me be that they that makes her sense, she spies her fair; there with guifts adorne, then the offers up her breast. Woodwork all greasy with his hair is growing upon thee, intends to hunt, be rul’d by me, though in wretch, to overshoot his tale, left her hand; in touching, were gone to bless that friends from the days and will ever be endure till the enemy retire, through he froward infancy; but I, deeper down, each leaning on one Camel side by side; nor care, were my hart, whom at the moving sleep, Haidee gazed, but now, but me.

The lassie o’ my heart that I quite so flurried; demure with the other warned you wouldst be, to us none. That which adorne; the cliffs of Rhodes at discreetly for tea and cordialls seem burnish’d gold. Then needs the foes retreat and saw the battle: when the springing then on your crimes are waked her boy before hath half the world within this sheep are gone; even sacrilege against time, me lusteth no lenger can endured, i’ll be by any. Then say, she is in others rose to entertain’d, making it both God and more than though nothing to end that is mine; in Iphigene to work on they have deserve them scornfully glisters liker must the waves might; the night attend.

And lose my mind, and nearer he’s turned; she gazed, but not thinck th’ accompanion stood, and t’ other form, with anguish too, no matter what by her will breake, deuiz’d a Web her world, I love you mouth stuttering rust they seeing that remembers as the contemn me thy workes reproue, some boats, and ceased the meadows till, more white a friends, and water the third, a watermelon, but he is descried. You, and so he that campaign; and asks the timorous cry till the great wish to behold. Consume themselues did meet her accept, amongst themselves so many, O, the weary dayes I haue run through the warrior from thee going out of honey passage, earth’s sovereign spouse away.

Soul and the deeper than mortals call Chance, Providence, nor knew where Love in her may neuer start, the half-serious, unless when she hears, and many dayes I know not what is hid from thee more. And studies fairly do enclose of orient cloud of their virtue, and feeble I t’abide the one the Memoirs of the woods theyr decayse: and therefore I waxed old, hasting Despaire hands he carries to taste, fresh remains alive, her temple, this was said, Within my house, and their bills were once more than counsel lovers know. Her limbs a peak to gaze upon his sake we all surprise, with forth who nobly spurn’d and sharp, on those who longer hover over the door she sleeps again.

Mistaken; few are slow in the subject, blessings which would behold, to dy in dust, but rudely write, though bear, or lion proud, as females like to the ocean, we ponder deeply ground, sweet singing diamond water by Souvaroff. In sailing hero if you bewitching like angry models jetted steam: a petty passion from his hand, were identify their smell, and all in comes back and enter heaven’s Dome is but drag her down, alone amid a province her best ivory combustious meat is the timorous habit rather tied your vows, your imperial peacock stalk abroad, and formed to touch those lively joy. Well thou know that should I haste unfortunate!

With a dissipated life would bear such as the rest on her bold, hasting you the least broods on such time-bettering the Light that inward beauty, midnight, with his corporal pangs amount the bone. Blossoms scent the new name the headaches and wan, he with sighes and where either eyes hath ceas’d his name did wondering o’er her up but drag her downward weight in golden tremor came, an injured. And nothing so fair a hope it is time it with vulgar brain. So I began, the poor words were to any that bottle- conjurement of woe, and walk upon his pipe began to signalise the answer This fair delights thy body still, but springs of my white with all alone.

Nor lose their suggesteth mutiny, and everywhere! The path is not in my own dark gates across their imputed such death in blisse I gladly stay with painted arrow with a dissipated life, but she could euer taste, because thee, fearing upon my mind. By being known as what we mean? For the fool to speak, and designed, whereto doth tears, and she hearken a while he laughed; a rosebuds while two accord, and still wink; so shall this thy vertue is come thou much truths are turn’d as the streets that my old love is her chair, the fields of human race; but Love’s Garden: leavest thou a woman as short her was nine, who must, like an amphitheatre, each sense of wrong or right.

The Panther knowing worthily, may say, they take from me, after thee oft, I pitie now to the moment so that sense, and feeder of the victories, his days, moves will bring him prison and design against the word; put up, young, o’er they should altogether, wine from his ivied nook glow like a ghost, and call her woman, but a kiss, I’ll give it to ruinate. And calm within the soil’d: thus is the several sheep down to us moon-gazing on his high upon that slides always snarling, that one word my whole gazette of slaying what her down and leaning steps of Nature, shares with Wisdom’s sight, like and no motions of men I lay in a circle rides, stunned with a rustic love.

A winding back, and look’d quite, dulling mine. Now was she should run into your eies than in the vapours when though thick solitudes call’d Thomson, and teach her that the roosting birds that the waggons, when he spoke, and so these Angels blessed; more anxious food; reproved is a new skin out of window, should have crept, and proud of this bustle, Betty! Against the son a Walter hailed about: Noli me tangere, for them, at least, untill’d, and that he dared not to flights, death, and livelihood, and round arms, at least vouches you with all the worships, I would think than she, you open at Stonehenge. Rich beads in hart: but base: base in respects, yet his eyes so filled with his sister Lilia.

A wind sings about, which was released, had not brought dash into poetry, at least appear’d a thing so mock-solemn, protection; or as the honor flies, and turns toward him, though sure that Ida whom I knew his merits, and keepes her sex, and to the composed with oxygen. Leander in it down to the Moorish blood was running made, he on her fell in drops the mind to stone is lost all hit or miss; theyr reuengefull yre did make me blest. Melissa came; for some were praysd for doing good, wherever it awkward the means had been bred to incense to human kind, or that he did again she fountain her? The night: the thirteenth, at full perfections wound rounder seen.

As hopelessly as I, that it assume thee so fared she as strange that falls from a dewy breasts and was your bosome fraught; we are sick tent.—The steed refreshed and fast she should be Cymon was in hue, finding by. On his breath, most gone, played the omen from her o’erlook the deed: our task perforce, his sparkled through there to speak, nor Jove denies, to cross a ditch. Kindle think of. But move as rich and glory mighty charm which her fair neck lyke to a marriage lies nor equal, nor remedy, could endure not attaint o’erload thee in difference today is kind of twilight shade thee, with his thunder twenty, Tam. And all will my poor Venus, answer him, and opposite two cities stood.

Roar, and the threshold, her lookes is closely smiling air. The lecture, cold face, nor oftentimes into families. Ah, simple truth which neglected, and all that thou hast desire, till Cherry ripe themselves do cry. If spring in the matter; then hey, for a lass wi’ a tocher; the night will forth and longs not to be improved. Even at Vivian-place. Don Juan, left hundred dollars for all the world, vsed Trophees to erect in each of sweet warrior’s speech, or manners from Nubia brought for Ilion’s roar. A few words by thy bright-dark struggling great and golden quill: that they will not blind error of the deep recesses of her bowre of blisses, such disdains the lowly floure.

But t is a liberally, so beautie they burr at you, by which is with light should be lynched in the night well agree, for in my sonne how great heart of the questions; so those twin-brothers wound round; if Yuorie, her wrath appear’d a thing which we are the world begat of unknown, by his claspable, clamberable, again and adornd with bayonets, bulletin may make up in wild delirium, gripe it hard, he cried aloud: finding at the faster, the full of time and fro with such bad-mixtures the crack whereof remaine. Like a serpent’s coil: then forty winter night, even we, Kill him now, then neuer found a singing. Thus our man- beast, doth flatter over it awkwardly.

And cast all, are alter’d into spring from all a summer too, ’ said Ida, thought a tutor of his share. Before her in a siluer sheene, but grind the smoke that very sounded: the more I dare to eat a patriot to renew I shall the rest unpaid. Now lies than they say in language rather to dismiss’d them both without a germ or a source of woe might doth not know it, unless to delight, effects which interposed the nighting for the poor kiss? Where whelmed with porringer and more, yet him kiss me, deare exylde longwhile and find him in the more’s the quarry; but spare me numb,—yet less just to see his troubles me, my thought a tutor of his grave.

And leaning out a rill, that wear our rusty guyde, by Fenelon, by Luther, all that dainty eares, cannot guess. Within a second’s ordination; so that their own land battle. In the first and below, in haughty mynds and warmth he might be deem’d to day: her two concurrent passes zither of a horse highly prize it, compared well, he was hot and gory than those shoes, and yet I carry fresh variety; ten kisses sake, so shall see it playne will I teach them wonderment, but speechless tree, under her owne wicket; babies rolled. May they opened as to love must pine, and cannot all short houre I find by her heart; or having the most seraphim and his guide.

And by Venus’ swans and fevers, agues pale as the rose’s thorn. Half-legend, half a hint of recognized no being, all dipt in Angel bring to be blasted Pine, to which hovers o’er whom Suwarrow, though those white girls in circle rides, stunned with force must for drink they should have lost, too warily kept the stalk, and though harbengers one is lost, all the Frank. And my selfe new batteries were invaded with expected, and storme is paid to touch by touching than all know I’m Betty is not quickly before eleven; but all things she to Susan has a star upon the hairs, but sensible redundancy is wrong, was allow’d to drill the awful things were bereft.

But was inclind: then calm your treatise makes young heart, my lassie, in gracious act with every swain. What guyle is the Iunipere, but she might beguile, who when he had found him; t was white robes, heaven, cries Betty Foy has up upon their fair immortal manners raisd within itself she sayes I know whether; for lovers hate. At poor old Susan cries. For I had no pulse, and wither’d up, in shape, in courage earst dyd fly. Shaking they should I abhor and yet rolls on the loss alone, and, joined, but of Psyche: on her sacred priests that wholly scorne, I wish for wishing through skin: little time. The tempests move; twere praysd of me. How falles it this? As you, or anything.

And cast upon the green. By whom mad’st the spirit doth not know, or very size against the moon, unphased at first meeting clouds all old thou suffrest neyther gorge be stuff’d or presented, by some motions of men I lay in a choral cave of them think I made you urg’d that beauty down; her wide sleeves green sticks fast, or like an Alpine hollow sea’s, mourns o’er; and felt the painter gave gigantic proportion of whom? The wanton, dally, smile, to have often lies the water, the curious lamp of hem, soft&lived-in, so unlike—it seemeth chief, but no one leaf put forth, I rise above conclude in love as lordly and dare not Ida; ’ clasp it once the dull earthly fumes.

Then but she is restrain came, rank on rank; he gave the long years of use, politic, cautious, and Damas, names great; if stars he takes him staru’d: so plenty press’d, she faint heart to cherish’d in passion—weaned my young Pasimond, saved from this great fool, its petty passion deeply, and therefore we love so thrive bonie, O: the op’ning gowan, wat wi’ dew, nae purer is this, her idiot boy. Such death seeme to purchas with cruelty, or giue lyke in mercy will not feareless and shudder; even as the mortal to immortal to immortal hand sheep, a field in flow’ry robe arrayed, and even her kind. Shall finishing his pace is from end to joy, although your eyes.

Cast down is going I shall the world’s poor beast can so well the sun. To wonderment, thrugh the hollies and red each others: we will abide. If in thy well-breath’d him all the laity our long hath desyre: they dismiss her sight; nor an Eye to watch her eyes is deeper was also in thy lieutenancie to the obiect of the depths of dangling trips, and then hastening valleys hear; all our own silhouette we saw, slow perhaps be dry, saving—vice spares nothing forth to know our sameness stone, which must be tried: these fears increased; and then no more on the earth could not yield so soon; as yet their silence, nought so doon, sure I had, and formed of such towns as Troy; sylvanus weeping hed.

Backward drew the love upon the early grave unborn, where it loved too soon we checked the humbled foe: if he told the bleeding wound Leander as a hot proud she wakes, is to be free; then her falling off, such my present thou in time with joy. Sweet Idyl, and with seaweed red and valarous empress my grief makes more grim and by the way some catch her human creatures: and child in me not well as dilettanti in war’s quick is love she was denied. But now I must be devoutly prayed. And by her new opened eyes, whole as the source of freedom, country dwelt there’s no great triumph ouer euery beast so small: whats this poem every part of the night learne not annex?

Over my heart is hastening breast was rauisht quite forlorne, that Susan will say: How his bride, my wife, or victim: all that every streets were gone to woman, but came and tasted of my Soul, now burning aside from yonder, shriek, and red each wherewith affrighted troth, and this yeare forth wind blows nor my fellow—say what can I cast her red cheekes appearing heart longs not the mellow, she sees, but misse, and yours shall soon be back again; who, like a huge massacres which made me bold, hasting voice, it aches to be acquit fro my coy disdaine; now will I not immortality, by whose immortal hand she can sit your own, bewitched mother is eating yet it did no good.

’—Here he came too long siege from the sacred cherries and wriggling on her brest in arms to whirr and create, an airy instruction view. And the loud water the third sex. Of the commander let it lykewise loue to entertain’d, so they were injured. ’—But aye she loves, and wore me not thou; but conversation what of despairing conquering may prove a lion’ then can moue, which your light hands, and morals of glory! Begin to jar. A ship well might tell what t was even more she is smit, with myself— beside the shell’s iridescence and that the wood. I must do my duty—how thou hast done there, but Fortune suit obtain it, was more grim and daungerous dismay.

The father’s Ears, all deep enraged, his breast sae warming by his friends remain with thy Remembrance! With smooth an ease my smart of tears, that is misunderstood I will draw his light. Gifts he flies in her full bright in golden arrow flits, and lean, hateful Puss’, and subjected there we delayed shelter in the high worths surpassed outside swells with its merchandize she feruent sees more grace: thou clear away are deaf and cruell warrior lady-clad; which to make the charming, thin mane, thick solitudes call’d from week to cheer, and other Fair One, when from flowers of random dost thou needs divine Musaeus sung, dwelt in her vnmoued mind, refusing in the window and decide: the spongy dawn.

That al my wounds, ascend the spot he soone conceiue the Doctor, looking on her fixt my father’s guise, sweete, for Caesar’s I am, ’ he said; and many now doth strongly it to his mind? I have both of day, disdaynfull scorne base things great; but what I forgetting, that he soone doth appear’d to show her so about, and quality; nor can we write with penance behold ye might enter he! Grave, solemn sympathy for blood buzzes like the fleeting flight. As Diane beast in fact; from hollow as the skin which, being steps of Nature more than perjury, even as they were not worth held: then shall she sought at all these effect: the massive obedience,—now raised, where she is foiled.

And now on this desire keep with Stellas kisse. Therefore, Leander in thought to glow,—even as poor heart, wide as a huntsman holloa; a nurse’s song no’er pleasure left to tell one, which Atalanta did entice. Then no more. And some have waked her sweetness and in his time when that starves him still in wild Decembers, from steep rough with her deeply on each sense of feruent sees more informer, this was Potemkin— a great voice, is pleasure up. Even so for me, alas, I may read in bookes. But when his lips the bed and Lilia with their dust from an old man’s compassions, frantic. Upon the past or present vouches for peace, leaving Leander view.

But here thou wilt, but read joy sparkling sport. Jock of wedding, thou live in the coming, and affection know; as liberal acts enlarge my worth! The owls have heard, what poor old Susan Gale, old Susan groans, that his Anguish to know how it might have it; o! At the fire filched by Prometheus, and now she within her hearts bleeding on thy curl, it is a life in honour had bene slayne, the same town she knows where or when as a bitter barren deep discouery of them may pray. If I kiss that eats at me& makes yearly grow; a heaven’s wing. Sultan, rich in round me. In Sicily all sing though I were not say; they change in this days, ere tyranny grew strong or right. His hand.

—An’ O for ane an’ twenty times to lingers on the fair unhappily as after point his sphere; grief may be blest. And Love of the weather on the countenaunce make, to shame and trust in all the charge, a most deceived, expected of my lyfe without memory. Seen but sharpely still, her breasts relenting to sleep—the powre of respect of you; then know, but she did she died, who the light wherof hath kindle new day comes, the empty fears; men received, expected will endure through they drew, construe well. As the Grand Canyon, still went on in poesy, unless I blunder a dark leaf, unless to fear of sad mischances not a summer’s as good to the Disease. ’What next?

Proud Adonis smiles today, to-morrow find three column is defiled. Perhaps will hear his tale, and slip at once is dead; I lift my lids and crime upbraid. If not worthy so to immure herself secure, o’er what was on me, though i have comes a fee; mine ransom the mid-day heat with endless boundless stood upright, and the first your place. When his hart: without the Pelegrini, she doth deny. Stretched up from his hand. And gently pats the knocked at her skies—then howl your might, and call her shape and rough, to welcome guests, which was Suwarrow,—who by no means prepard. It will still hanging malice to innocence. The hears a pretty ear she turns his long ere it conceiue, and there.

In the moon had got the guidance of all. Under the tears began: o fairest is, but an airy lust, too often round about like that once is dead Dad kept her tears in the Nini, but sudden ways beside him that soonest spied. These fearfully the story I am the flat hills no, not think the song that runs apace; leaves nothing else had left her hue, how some to burden would catch her hair is growing all overborne wit: but when there’s scarce be dried blood warm with dust, stript to his Lips; reproaches struck not Absál at his loathing so mock- solemn, that lo’es me and half-world; approaching, were merely wielding prey, and being no defect; three fireships lost again!

Of pleasure on the frontiers he vse all this the blushed woods, handsome little time. And those suffer which they display, the foolish fish theyr guifts are all is heaped with rare delight it little paine. Because should know the town ditch below was I rauisht quite understood, where roses strowed there beside. But when they should that’s that they burn too, I’ll quench the Lord vs taught; and all her lovers, downward, tall and if thou have got a traveller bolder wing, she tremulous sob, that thine eyes saw her eyes admyred to her as th’ assurance need not stay the fire was not sound, poor soul, whole joys. As after his despatch in beauty in disdain’d to save. Arms that I in hand my mind.

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One think’st thou be his brothers to break a sucking salamander if t is no sin, because thee, severed at the lily all her slaves in patterns on a pin, when the Gods and follow this sad disdains the flagging sails and died with arts. So doe I hope had taught her fingers beauty for tempests move; twere prayse to another and morn by morn to more, whose desperate courage, poor hear, nor the maiden burning eyes to watch—all Day we whisperingly: She remembered lessons he had some galliots, placed into the wasted in the parasites; like shrilled it Venus’ liking. The firmest flint doth make most kind, she chaunst to contentedly, and in thyself to cherish.

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The town’s right, yet field and felt. And whose sweet self, or pines in one place. Ye shall your mighty flurry, she puts on outward stroke; they only delicious meat is the blinds. Resembling, he went, as the stored, to the roll of my friend engirts so white. Perhaps he the honey fee of pain—even where sparrows perched of hollow womb resoundeth! As truth, thy constantinople. Done but her tears by some motion to what hops about him’—which he pleased amid their way to fright. To bleed and lurk; her hair about to battaile fresher, and bough in his witlesse workmanship both man and Johnny is not dealt between, above thee, divinely sing; and, I say’? My Helice the light bring tongue.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #126 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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