#the rest of the drawing looks great!! but the face... it torments me

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

heya hiya bbg!! since you are writing for bucky i might as well do 10 y/o me some justice <3

i weirdly remember this dream i had (most of my requests are my delusional ahh dreams oml😞) where reader basically calms him after a nightmare like asking him what happened, if he wants to talk abt it, humming/singing to him, trying to cheer him up, etc etc

v cute v fluffy <3

hopefully u can get to this soon! have a great week/end!

-🪐

angel my bbg hi!! love it love it love it!! thank you for requesting, hope you like it 💌

UNRESTED.

bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count. 647

warnings. reverse comfort bc I can’t stop myself from writing it, nightmares but no description. it’s just fluff and comfort

It was no secret that Bucky didn't sleep well, often tormented by memories, leaving him with minimal hours of uninterrupted rest. Most nights were the same, him restlessly tossing in bed, murmuring and jolting as though he's stuck in the past - reliving it all over again.

Tonight was no different. You were nudged awake by your boyfriend sleeping to the right of you, his twitching movements hustling the mattress and snatching the covers. You check the time on your phone and sit up slowly, adjusting beside Bucky. 

You extend a hand, hesitantly reaching for him. You place your palm over his shoulder, the sheen of his cold sweat permeating your skin. "James," you whisper, trying not to startle him. "James," you try again. 

He abruptly sits, lids flinging open, a deep, heavy inhale filling his lungs. "God," he murmurs, brushing a hand down his face. His breathing is ragged and strained, shoulders tensing under your touch.

You brush your hand down his back, stroking over him smoothly. "You're awake. It's okay," you coo, drawing circles over his scarred skin - trying to refocus his mind.

He sighs, dropping his head in his hands, his breathing beginning to even out. "Was the same one again," he mumbles, his voice soft and saddened against his palms.

Your touch remains warm, trailing over him lovingly. "It sounded like it," you whisper, your tone gentle. "I'm sorry, love."

You slip your free hand into his metal one, carefully pulling it away from his face - your thumb brushing over the vibranium. You bring him to your lips and press a kiss on the back of it. You continue to hold him like that, one hand grazing up and down the curve of his back, your other holding the metal on your lap - trying to bring him back as such. 

Bucky turns to look at you, his face knowing. The sight of your sweet features gently lit up in the moonlight, slowly putting his mind at ease.

You meet his downcast gaze, your eyes pooling with empathy. You give him a weak smile before resting the side of your head on his left shoulder, cheek skimming the scars. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask.

He copies your movement, resting his head over yours - the side of his face propped on your crown. "Not yet," he mutters in response, exhaling a steady breath. 

"That's okay," you whisper back, turning to place a kiss on his upper metal arm. "We don't have to right now."

There's a moment of comfortable silence - the only sounds of breathing and the heavy pitter-patter of rain against the window. You continue to hold Bucky, waiting for him to pull away. But he never does.

"Sorry for waking you again,"

"James," you comfort, sweetly cooing at him. "You never have to be sorry for that... I was already awake anyway," you lie - trying to make him feel better. 

You keep a grip on him as you lean back against the mattress, pulling him with you, which he adjusts immediately, cuddling into your side - his arm draping over your middle. You slip your arm under his head and wrap around it, almost like you were cocooning him. Protecting him. Just you cradling his head safely in your arms.

"Thank you," Bucky mutters, his words muffling against your skin as he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

Your fingers graze up into the short hairs at the back of his head - nails soothingly scratching his scalp. "Of course," you murmur back, whispering into his forehead.

Both of you stay like that, listening to the night storm, cuddled and huddled under the covers - his hand slowly making its way up to your heart. He rests his palm over the organ, using the faint thumping to ease him back to sleep.

#request #🪐 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky comfort #bucky barnes comfort #reverse comfort #bucky x female reader

[bluekittyworld]

There is Karma [Chapter 4]

Feedback is appreciated, happy reading, thank you for all the support so far! <3

Warning: attempted suicide

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 3, Happy Ending, Sad Ending

A few days passed, that single tick message remained there, you knew he had blocked your number, you fell for him pretty hard, ever since your high school boyfriend, Yoongi was the first man you dated.

You drowned yourself in work, you did not feel like eating or sleeping, Sora had messaged you a couple of times asking about volunteering opportunities, but you said you were too busy. You did not want to see Yoongi’s face, he hurt you on purpose, what did you do to deserve this? You hadn’t thrown away the serpent necklace, it sat in your jewellery draw taunting you of your failed relationship each time you saw it.

A month had passed, and Yoongi made no effort to contact you, your mind kept going back to the moments you spent together, his eyes felt genuine, it did really feel like he loved you as much as you loved him, eyes don’t lie right? You woke up feeling sick these days, depression was really getting to you, eating food was becoming a chore. Your secretary suggested you should visit the doctors because you don’t look so great, you followed up on that advice, you had to be in good condition for client meetings and contracts, after all you were still at war with your brother Taehyung.

Visiting the doctor turned out to be more than what you bargained, you found out you were pregnant. This was too much; your father was setting up your marriage with Jimin and here you are pregnant with Yoongi’s baby. You did not know what to do, life was becoming too much to handle, should you keep the baby, or not was your biggest problem right now. But that baby is half of Yoongi too, he deserves to know too, right?

Another 3 weeks passed, you decided to take some time off from work, you took a one-month vacation, to hell with the company and the competition with Taehyung you thought to yourself, your health comes first. You decided to talk to your father, but would he understand…

“Dad I can’t marry Jimin” you spoke up.

“How dare you be so ungrateful; you’re an illegitimate child and I still gave you so much” he shouted back

You thought to yourself it wasn’t your fault you were a product of his affair.

“I… I am pregnant” you sobbed.

Slap. You father slapped you across your face.

“Who’s filth are you bringing into our home? Like mother like daughter, couldn’t keep herself contained!” he spat at you, making you cry harder.

“I…” you tried to speak up.

“Shut up _____! You either get rid of that baby and marry Jimin, or you can consider yourself dead to me, you will not get a dime from me and don’t you dare step a foot into my company.” Your father gave you an ultimatum.

He walked away, and you carried yourself out of his house, Taehyung was just behind the pillar listening to all of this and enjoying the show.

You were at month 2 and your tummy started to show ever so slightly. You rested in your house, thankfully it was under your name, so you didn’t have to worry about your father kicking you out, you had a couple of savings accounts with enough to keep you going for a few months. You decided to visit Yoongi today and let him know, you still hadn’t decided if you were going to keep the baby or not, but a decision had to be made fast.

You were at the gates of Yoongi’s house, you felt your stomach drop as you rang the intercom at the gate, Yoongi let you in.

You knocked on his door and a couple of minutes later he opened it, letting you in, you felt so awkward standing in front of him right now, he told you to sit down as he took at seat on the sofa.

“_____” he spoke up. You raised your head to look at him.

He spoke again “Do you remember high school? You used to be a bully, your group of friends and your boyfriend.”

Your eyes widened; how did Yoongi know??

He chuckled at your reaction “I’m the boy you tormented for 5 years, Min Yoongi, you probably don’t remember, perpetrators often forget.” His eyes pierced into yours.

You were too dumfounded to speak, this man you loved with your whole heart is the same boy whose life you ruined, how could you? You silently cried, tears streamed down your face, you were embarrassed and angry at yourself.

Yoongi’s gaze softened a little and he looked anywhere but at you, your sight slightly broke him, but he wasn’t going to let you see that, he hated his heart for being so soft towards you.

“I just wanted revenge, I hate you, every part of you makes me sick, I hope you never bring yourself in front of me again. You serpent.” He lied but sounded very convincing to you.

With that you got up and left his house, at your own home you cried and cried. You thought back to the serpent necklace he gave you and just now how he called you a serpent, it made you feel sick to the core. This was karma, you brought this upon yourself, Yoongi was right, perpetrators forget but victims remember forever. You put your hand over your tummy, this little soul did nothing wrong, and decided not to terminate your pregnancy.

Month 3 had just started and the baby was starting to show a lot. Taehyung visited your home, he did definitely hate you and enjoyed seeing your downfall but there was still some sibling love in his heart.

“_____” Taehyung spoke.

“Taehyung are you here to taunt me?” you asked.

“No, about what dad said, I think it’s a little unfair… I’ll help you if you give me your shares and give up on the company altogether, you’re just a woman stop dreaming so big, I’ll keep paying you as much as you used to earn if you give up on your position, we can write it down in a contract” he suggested with a smirk.

You thought about it, everything you built so far came crashing down like a house of cards... but you nodded, agreeing to his terms, wasn't this best for the baby?

Taehyung smiled wickedly and took your hand “Good decision sister, by the way am I having a niece or a nephew?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t go to my appointment” you replied honestly.

“That’s not good” although Taehyung was evil, he didn’t want you to be in life threating danger.

“I’ll take you” he suggested, for the first time he felt like an actual brother.

On the day of the appointment, Taehyung came to pick you up, you hadn’t expected him to remember.

He gently sat you in his car and drove towards the hospital.

“Who is the father?” Taehyung softly asked.

“Yoongi” you replied.

“Surname?” he asked, with an eyebrow raised.

“Min” you whispered, head hung low, you were ashamed of yourself.

“Min corporations?” Taehyung almost choked.

You nodded your head.

“Oh boy…” Taehyung laughed, “His family is way above ours, you can ruin him in a second sister, take it to the press.”

“No” you almost shouted back.

Taehyung looked at you confused “Why?”

“This is my karma, I’ll deal with it, I’m not hurting him more than I already have, and don’t tell him about this” you sternly replied.

“Okay sister, since you’re not my competition anymore, I won’t go against you” He smiled, as you both walked into the hospital.

You found out you were having a baby boy, surprisingly Taehyung was more excited, he couldn’t wait for his nephew to be born sooner.

“____, hurry up with your baby” he whined on the way back.

“Taehyung, you tell me how’s that possible?” you laughed, probably for the first time in months.

“I don’t know!” he pouted.

Instead of taking you home, he took you to a dessert shop and ordered ice cream for the both of you.

Your pregnancy or you giving up on your position, caused a 180 degree turn in Taehyung’s personality, it was nice change though, finally you felt like you had a family member.

“What are you naming him?” he asked.

“I’m not sure yet” you replied.

“How about Taehyun? It’s almost like Taehyung” he smiled.

“Eww no way!” you teased back.

You enjoyed your time, you felt alive again for a little while joking around with Taehyung.

Month 8 had started, and your belly was quite big now, tasks such as putting on socks was becoming hard. You often thought of Yoongi, your hormones being all over the place caused you to cry a lot more easily, you wished so much that you could turn back the clock and never treated anyone badly.

You were out of apples, you enjoyed eating apples these days, you decided to go to the supermarket to buy some. As you bought apples a pair of eyes watched you, you didn’t realise but it was Yoongi watching you, jealously bubbled up in him, he hadn’t realised somewhere along his revenge he has developed feelings for you. He saw how you were struggling with your pregnant belly; he laughed to himself and wondered whose baby you were carrying, it never once occurred to him that it could be his baby. He snorted, and thought to himself that his bully was enjoying herself, it boiled his blood he wanted to hurt you more, how dare you be happy with another man?  

The same evening your phone rang, it was across the table, you struggled to reach it but finally did, the name ringing showed ‘Yoongi’.

You hesitated to pick up, “Hello?”

“_____” he chimed, “open up your door.”

You hung up and looked on the intercom, he was stood outside your house, you wondered why he is here, but regardless of you let him in.

“Oh, I see you’re pregnant” Yoongi smiled condescendingly, “You came to me with crocodile tears and got banged up by someone else to become pregnant, eh?”

His words hurt, they truly hurt a lot, but you stayed quiet holding back tears, you didn’t want to force yourself on him by telling him you were carrying his baby, it was unfair both if you told him or didn’t tell him.

He spoke up again, “Anyway I’m getting married, here’s the card.”

He handed you the card, you just looked down, your imagined future with him all coming back to you.

“Please. Do. Come.” He emphasised each word, smiling at you.

He could see you were hurt and it satisfied him, but at the same time he wanted to reach out and take you in his arms. He cleared his throat to get a reaction from you, but he got nothing, instead you fell to the floor unconscious. That worried him, he tapped your cheeks multiple times.

“____, wake up” he shook you, but got no response.

He carried you to his car and drove you to the hospital, he hated himself for helping you and worrying so much for you, but he couldn’t help it.

The doctors just placed your condition on fatigue and hooked up a couple of IV drips, you woke up in an empty hospital room, you felt terrible, you don’t know what overcame you as you saw the doctor’s trolley placed near you which had a scalpel in it, you took the scalpel and with one strong slash you cut your wrist, you didn’t want this life anymore. A few seconds later the nurse came in to check on your condition to let Yoongi know.

Your sight made her scream loudly, Yoongi rushed in and saw what you had done, blood dripping all over the floor, thick hot tears ran down his face.

“_______” he shouted, but you were unconscious once again, the doctor came rushing in, checking your records for your blood type, and finding out your next of kin is Taehyung and immediately calling him over to the hospital.

O positive, that was your blood type, but guess what the hospital was short on your blood type. Yoongi panicked and remembered he has the same blood type; he pleaded the doctor to let him donate his blood to you. The doctor stitched up your wrist, as the nurse finished extracting blood from Yoongi, meanwhile Taehyung had reached the scene as well. He found out what you had done, and he knew this was all somehow Yoongi’s fault and without hesitation he punched Yoongi in the face. Yoongi fell backwards into the chair he was sat in, held his face and looked up at Taehyung. Yoongi was too emotionally fragile right now to fight back, only you were running through his mind. He made that fake wedding card up to see how upset you’d get; he didn’t know it would lead to almost your death.  

“I’m sorry about your wife” Yoongi spoke up to Taehyung.

Taehyung looked at him in disgust “She’s my sister you stupid idiot.”

“She’s pregnant, sorry I thought they’d call her husband.” Yoongi looked down still holding his face where Taehyung had punched.

“That baby she’s carrying, is yours” Taehyung spat at Yoongi in anger.

Yoongi was shocked, his waterworks started flowing again, he hiccupped “Mine?” The pain in his heart was heavier than the pain from the punch he took a few seconds ago.

He felt so stupid, he shouldn’t have sought out revenge, he hated himself for doing this to you, you tried to kill yourself because of him. He was desperately praying you would recover from this and the baby too. If anything happened to either of you, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. He begged the doctor on his knees to let him give you more blood, but they had extracted more than recommended amount already. Taehyung saw what mess Yoongi was in, unfortunately his own blood type was not the same as yours, he was genuinely worried for you and his future nephew.

Both Yoongi and Taehyung waited outside the ICU for you. The doctor said an emergency C-section will have to be performed to save the baby and yourself. Taehyung looked over at Yoongi; Yoongi was in no state to make a decision, so Taehyung signed the papers and went ahead with the doctor’s recommendation, he was doing the best for his sister.

A/N: Would you guys like a sad ending or a happy ending?

Edit: I made both endings, choose whichever you like :)

Happy Ending, Sad Ending

#yoongi #suga #agust d #bts #bts fanfic #bts reader #bangtan #suga fluff #suga angst #suga fanfic #suga smut #suga bts #suga x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #taehyung #yoongi x reader #rm #jin #jhope #jimin #jungkook

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Chapter Ten

Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Y/N Burgess is the granddaughter of Alex and Paul, and after having spent so many summers at their manor and always wondering why she was forbidden from entering the basement, she descends the steps into the world of the Order. She broke out the being that had been trapped in that glass cage, but what does he want with her now that he is free?

Warnings: Language, Alcohol Consumption.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Female!GranddaugterReader, based on Netflix’s ‘The Sandman’, Reader now has long-ish hair for plot reasons (Just so Morpheus can tug on it later). 

Word Count: ~2.0k

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You woke to urgent touches to your face and Paul’s voice pleading for you to wake up. Airing out a soft groan, you peeled back your eyelids and blinked up into Paul’s worried face. Relief flooded his features. 

“Oh my darling, I thought I lost you as well!” Paul nearly sobbed out, his hands running over your hair like he was still unsure if you were really awake. 

“Grandpapa? What’s wrong?” You questioned in confusion, moving into a sitting position and looking around. You were back in your room. “How did I get here? The last thing I remember…” You trailed off, your eyes going wide as the memories flooded into your mind. He put you to sleep! “Son of a—“ You cut off your curse when you saw how red Paul’s eyes were. “Grandpapa, what’s wrong? What happened? What do you mean by ‘as well’?” 

Paul looked dreadful, his eyes were tinged red, no doubt from crying. You could see that not only did his eyes look red but exhausted as well. He hadn’t had a good night's sleep. Paul took a seat on the edge of your bed and took your hand in a rambling grasp. Whatever had happened, it was terrible and was a result of you releasing the man in the basement. The king of dreams would not simply go back to his domain after being trapped for over a century without punishing those responsible for his imprisonment… or at least responsible for not freeing him. 

“It’s Alex, he won’t wake up.” Paul sobbed, drawing your hand to his mouth and pressing his lips against your knuckles. “Darling, he won’t wake up!” 

So that was his punishment. To have unending dreams. How fitting to be punished by the king of dreams by never waking up…

“Grandpapa, I’m so sorry,” You told him with genuine apologies. “I couldn’t just— I couldn’t leave him there. Not when we’re…”

“We should have known that he would choose you,” Paul sniffed, bowing his head and now pressing his forehead against your joined hands. “You are so innocent, Y/N, so understanding. It is only natural that he would choose you over the rest of us. But you should never have been forced to take on a punishment that your great-grandfather earned.”

“It’s not a punishment, grandpapa,” You spoke gently, reaching up with your free hand to touch his cheek. His brown eyes met yours. “He has no intention of hurting me, never has. If anything, he’s dragged me out of trouble in his kingdom more times than I care to admit.” 

“You were a little troublemaker growing up,” Paul sniffed again before chuckling. “Always had your nose in everyone’s business. It was hard keeping up with you, your imagination ran wild.”

You let out a small giggle. 

“Yes, well, he likes to call me his little troublemaker.” You softly said, chewing on your lip. “Also calls me stubborn… really grandpapa, he hasn’t done anything to hurt me.”

“We should have told your parents the truth the moment those nightmares started, oh darling you should never have gone through what you did as a child. No child should ever have to experience that.” Your head dipped down as you pursed your lips. That was true. He and Alex could have said something to your parents, could have shown them the reason for your torment. But they had stayed silent.

“Perhaps, but I’m not entirely sure it would have made a difference, my parents only wanted a normal child. I think we both know that regardless of what you would have done, my childhood wouldn’t be normal.” You paused, once again looking around your room. “How did I get back in my room?” 

“If I’ll be honest, I’m not exactly sure. When we checked the basement Ernie and Fred were there, but you were missing. Herman is the one that found you already in your bed.”

“Glad to know you have the decency to put me to bed after making me go to sleep.” You muttered beneath your breath, your lips twitching in the corner. 

“Sorry, darling?” You waved Paul off. 

“Just talking to myself, grandpapa, I’m just talking to myself.” Taking a deep breath, you looked down at your body as realization slowly dawned on you. You felt fully rested for once and you didn’t have one fleeting feeling of terror or pain. When was the last time you were this well-rested? When had you slept without nightmares? You couldn’t remember. Perhaps dreams and nightmares were finally returning to normal. They must be with Dream back in his realm. You moved to slip from the bed. 

“Darling, do be careful, you’ve been out for nearly an entire day.” An entire day? No wonder you felt so well rested… your hands gripped the end of your bed while you rolled your stiff neck. 

“I’m not going to go charging around you know, I haven’t felt this good in a long time, grandpapa,” You spoke while dropping your fingers to your wrapped forearm. It ached slightly, not exactly a new occurrence, but you had hoped that it would be getting better by now. “I’d like to see grandpapa Alex.”

“Oh I don’t know, darling, he isn’t in the best of shapes at the moment,” Paul spoke hesitantly. You eyed him with determination. 

“That’s never stopped me before, grandpapa.” You told him, rising from the bed. Determination was setting in, you gave him one last look. “This is something I must do.” 

“Your Burgess is coming out once more,” Paul sighed before nodding. Giving him one last faint smile, you strode from the room, heading for the opposite end of Fawny Rig. The quietness of the manor that you always used to like, now felt eery and uncomfortable. Looking outside as you walked, you noticed that it was storming, rain coming down in sheets that blanketed the grounds to the point where you couldn’t even see the gardens. Was it a coincidence or a reflection of the effect of releasing Dream from his glass prison? Upon reaching the master bedroom of Fawny Rig, you slipped into the room to see Alex’s nurse tending to him while he struggled and thrashed against the blankets. 

“Mum,” The nurse whispered, backing away from the bed and excusing herself. Staring at your grandfather, you wish you could feel entirely worried and sympathetic toward his current predicament. But there was a sliver of you that simply knew that this was his penance for his hand in Dream’s entrapment. In the back of your mind, you heard a crack of a shotgun and the splattering of blood. Then flickers of images flooded your mind. Raven feathers soaked in blood scattered on the basement floor, rage and despair. Devastation. Your eyes dropped to the worn hardwood. Yes, Alex had earned this punishment. You walked over to the bedside and took a seat in the empty chair. 

“I wish things had been different, grandpapa,” You spoke, reaching for the hand currently clawing at the bedsheet. “Great-grandfather put you in a difficult position and I wish you could have found the courage to do the right thing.” You paused and pursed your lips, holding onto his hand despite its want to thrash and claw. “Perhaps if you had been stronger, or maybe not so suffocated by your brother’s legacy…” You chuckled. “Oh I suppose it doesn’t really matter anymore, we cannot change what has been done and the only thing I can do is try to right what has been wrong for so long.” 

You sat there, holding his hand for a good half hour, feeling every jerk his hand gave and biting your lip at every whisper that passed through his dry and cracked lips. At this point, death would be his only salvation and until then, he would be locked up in a prison of mental torture. When the grandfather clock in the hall called out twelve, you placed Alex’s hand back in place and walked out of the room, not looking back and having no intention of ever returning. 

“I’ve really missed this, you know,” Jemima said from her seat next to you. You countered her words with a raised eyebrow at first. 

“What? Club hopping with me? It’s not exactly an activity I can endorse, Jem. We’re out of university, let’s start acting like adults shall we?” You spoke, running your finger around the lemon drop martini you had ordered a good hour ago. You and Jemima had decided to meet up in London to catch up since you had moved out. You could do for a stress-free ladies' night out, but not once had you felt relaxed while out. You were dressed nicely, let Jemima play with the makeup and hair you had for the night, and generally looked hot. So why didn’t you feel like in a party mood, or at least happy to be out?

“You’re one to talk, Y/N/N, you look like you just broke up with a lover whom you loved with all your heart. What is up with you?” Jemima returned with a snort, eyeing you with skepticism. You took another sip of your martini, ignoring the way she was looking at you. 

“Honestly? I’ve not a clue…” You said, looking down at the bar top and chewing on your lip. 

“Is it about your grandpapa? Because I can understand you’re upset about his state…” No, no it wasn’t that. You knew that much, but it was something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

“I’m still surprised he’s alive given his age,” You told Jemima. “This, this isn’t exactly unexpected.”

“Maybe you just need to go splash some water on your face? Brighten up? Don’t actually do that of course, you’ll ruin your makeup.” Jemima offered, raising her hands and making little shooing motions at me. “Go on, Y/N, run to the loo, freshen yourself up. Perhaps even a pep talk… and come back with the attitude I would expect from you.” 

Pushing your drink towards her to watch over, you gave Jemima a look as you slid from your seat and wandered towards the back of the club. You passed a few girls giggling to themselves while fixing each other’s hair and slunk your way into the bathroom. There were already several women throwing up in the stalls, their friends holding back their hair, others retouching their hair and makeup, and some were stuffing whatever they could get their hands on into their clothes to endow their assets. You weaved your way up to the counter and looked at yourself in the mirror. It was your reflection, but your eyes reflected that brilliant blue mercury. Even if he wasn’t with you physically, you knew that he was in some other shape or form. Total privacy wouldn’t ever exist in your world. 

Then again… he was off taking care of business for The Dreaming. One hundred years must have built up many problems so you were most likely going to have a period of lax watchfulness on his part. Perhaps this was a chance to live on the wild side. You contemplated having a fling, kissing a random stranger you met here in the club. Maybe even going further… do something to take your mind off of recent events. 

You wouldn’t dare…

That little… your eye twitched in your reflection. Correction, he was still watching, even if you couldn’t feel him. Damn him for having such a lovely-sounding voice, as if he didn’t already have a beautiful mortal form already going for him. Why did he have to chase you away from every man or boy you tried to get close to? Maybe it was time to try out women…

You think that would make a difference?

You could hear the snort and disbelief in his tone. Of course it wouldn’t, not with an entity practically older than time. Relationships and flings were off the table it seemed. You glared at your reflection, washed your hands, and left those glowing silver eyes of your reflection behind. Slipping back into the swarm of moving bodies that matched the beat of the current song, you headed for your drink, determined to get so drunk that you would forget the world for a little while.

Date Published: 9/16/22

Last Edit: 5/29/23

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#dream the endless x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #lord morpheus #sandman x reader #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #dream the endless #the sandman #morpheus

[sadcatjae]

The Demon & The Priest - Part 3 - Rest

Other parts can be found in the masterlist

~~~

AHHHHH I'm sorry it took so long!! But here's part 3 ;A;

~~~

CW: Explicit language, explicit self-harm, mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation, mentions of torture, mentions of non-con.

When he comes to, he finds himself restrained in a pair of strong arms. His muscles twitch and ache, and there’s a dampness on his cheeks that he doesn’t quite understand. A pathetic noise, something like a whimper, fills his ears, and it takes him a moment to realise that he’s the one making it. 

The next thing he’s aware of is another voice, this one comforting and soft, murmuring meaningless words into his ear. “--you are safe. Hush now, Lial. It is over with. Calm yourself. You are safe.”

The demon shudders as the last of his fit leaves him, and his abused muscles finally relax. He goes limp in Julian’s arms, eyes fluttering close in sheer exhaustion. 

A warm palm rests upon his forehead, and the heat sinks deep into his flesh. 

“...I assume it didn’t work,” Lial croaks, twitching with the aftershocks. 

“You assume correctly.”

The warmth disappears and he opens his eyes in quiet dismay. Above, Julian gazes down at him through hooded eyes, expression stony. 

“That was beyond foolish, demon.”

“I’m an opportunist,” Lial says wryly, though his quip strikes like a brittle leaf. 

With great effort, the exhausted demon drags himself upright. The priest slides out from behind, allowing him to rest against the bed. 

“What now, priest? Your magic evidently has no effect and truly, that was my last gasp. If your light should fail me, then I–” Lial swallows the rest of his words, dread blooming in his gut like poison. His weary eyes flutter shut once more as he rides the cresting waves of pain - both corporeal and soul-deep. 

“You will cease your pathetic self-pity,” Julian snaps, straightening up and patting dust from his pristine robes. He shoots the demon a razor-sharp glare, as though the latter had uttered the worst of blasphemies. “We have yet to exhaust all possibilities. This is but a minor failure - and I assure you, there will be many considering the nature of your affliction. You have come to me for salvation and I shall seek a method to do so. Grieve not what has yet to pass, for the fight is yet to begin.”

But Lial is exhausted. He’s exhausted and despairing and in the kind of pain that pretty words can’t soothe. For this infernal is facing the prospect of his mortality - something that had always been a shallow threat or an idle romantic thought. Ashaxi has not shied from promising his favourite plaything a true death, one of the body and soul. The kind that can keep an infernal in the ground. And Lial had thought of accepting such an offer more than once - while in the deepest throes of torture that seemed to have no end. 

This time, however, his death looms. It’s not a mere threat or a thought, but an inevitability that shrouds his periphery like an oncoming storm. And as his mind goes, from sleep, from fear, and as the curse breaks down his flesh, death draws ever closer. 

How long does he have? A week? A month? 

This is Ashaxi’s favourite kind of torment. Slow and unknowable. 

Lial clasps his hands together. His claws dig into his knuckles and thin rivulets of black stain his forearms. “Ten months, eleven months, almost a year,” he says in a monotone. “An entire year since I've been allowed to rest.” He glances at the impassive priest. There’s vulnerability in that raw look, like he’s been stripped down to the nerve. “You say that the fight is yet to begin, but my fight is near its end.”

“You cannot know the end. Not unless you seek it.” Julian huffs sharply through his nose, producing a handkerchief and flapping at those digging claws. “You have allowed me only one night of effort before accepting defeat. If you are to die, then die fighting. Claw not at yourself, but at the one who would inflict this suffering upon you.” He growls the last, an unfathomable anger building within like trapped lava. The damned infernal. Darkness take Ashaxi and his unholy ilk! 

Julian grabs Lial’s arm and yanks him onto the bed. Face to face they are once again, and he takes those ink-streaked arms into his hands - not to embark on yet another foolish quest, but to clean the demon’s limbs of his blood. 

With uncharacteristic softness, he wipes at Lial’s skin and his wounds, and the white handkerchief becomes soaked in black. There’s a delicate care in the priest’s ministrations, a kind of care that is so foreign to Lial. Every gentle touch has him internally quaking, and instinct tells him to pull away, stop this strange sensation - but Lial has no strength. So he sits quietly. Obediently. And watches in silence.

At one point, the demon whispers, “I’m tired.” 

And the priest growls, “I know.”

“I’m going to die,” Lial exhales.

“You will not.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“I will not allow it.”

“Stubborn bastard.”

“Which is the kind of bastard you need.”

To which, Lial has no response. 

Julian dabs the last of the blood from the already closed wounds on Lial’s knuckles. It’s fascinating - and enviable - at how quickly infernal heal. Then again, they feel pain the same as humans, and their physical invulnerability leads to careless disregard for their mental and emotional vulnerabilities. Mad and broken infernals are the leading cause of their dissent and antagonism as a race. Because of this, even one as obstinate as Julian is able to find a sliver of sympathy for the little devils. 

“Refrain from mutilating yourself further, demon. I have but one other handkerchief I can soil.”

Lial sways, eyes grown heavy. “I have to stay awake,” he mutters. “I don’t want to…hurt anymore.” He slips his claws over his arms again to pierce – but Julian grabs his hands to keep them confined.

“I shall keep you awake,” the priest says, grimly. “Lower your claws. Save them for Ashaxi.”

The demon smiles weakly and a fang peeks out the corner of his mouth. “What chance do I have against a power to rival an Elder of the Light?” Lial says, echoing the priest’s words. 

“A very good chance, if said Elder of the Light stands with you.”

Lial knows that what the priest said was significant, but he’s too hazy to fully grasp Julian’s meaning. His eyes slide close. The brume of sleep pads his mind; scours the edges of reality down to a blunt. He feels himself go slack and fall sideways–

And a hard shake jolts him awake.

“Keep your eyes open, Lial,” Julian says, sharply. “It is terrible etiquette to fall asleep during a conversation.”

“You and your fucking etiquette,” Lial grouses, but he opens his eyes all the same. 

Julian’s tense expression relaxes a tad. He keeps a firm grip on the demon’s arms, keeping him upright. “Tell me more about your Lord. What transpired between you?”

“I told you–”

“Yes, and I am not a fool. Your coveting Ashaxi’s throne is a clear fabrication and I do not tolerate dishonesty well.”

The demon exhales tremulously. His hand wanders to his lower belly, where ghostly sensations tug at him from deep within. Cold sweat beads his wrinkled brow. 

“Lial?” A warm palm cups his cheek. “Lial, you mustn’t sleep.”

“No, I’m not. I–” The demon absently leans into the heat, a glimmer of red peeking through the thick fans of white lashes. “Ashaxi favoured me. Truly.”

Julian’s intense gaze pours over the demon’s drawn features. He presses his lips into a tight line and sweeps his thumb across Lial’s cheek. Cold. Much too cold. “Am I correct in assuming that his favour is an undesirable notion?”

“I wet his appetite in a way none else could.” Clawed fingers trail across his belly. There’s his voice murmuring in his ear, darkly lascivious and vile. 

A light tremble seizes the demon’s body, and with it a growing chill. It’s as if Ashaxi is here now: frigid breath puffed against his nape; elongated claws carving signs across his spine; his towering, muscular form crushing against his own, so much so that he can only release airless screams; and his voice, his voice–

Julian promptly rises from the chair and sits behind the shivering demon, pulling him into his arms. His outer robe is shed to place over Lial, trapping what little heat he’s able to generate. “Your temperature is dropping - rapidly,” Julian informs him, curtly. “Has this happened before?”

Weakened greatly - and too cold to object - Lial allows the priest this intimacy. The chill had been there for a while - ever since his arrival - but now it’s taken shape, a brittle case of ice that refuses to melt. Even if he leans into Julian’s heat, he only feels a moment of relief before the chill sharpens. 

“Not like this,” he says, breath hitching. “This is…this is different.”

“Perhaps your body is repelling the light. It was a very invasive procedure. Or it could be…” Julian trails off and wraps his hands around the demon’s. Lial feels like ice - colder than ice, in fact. If he were human, he would be near death.

“...Or it could be the curse,” Lial mutters. "The next stage."

“Indeed.”

“M-Maybe it’ll let me sleep.” 

“Do you wish to try?”

“I think it’s inevitable, d-despite my wishes.” Lial’s fangs clack together as they chatter.

Julian tightens his embrace, securing the demon within. Despite the heat inside their cocoon rising, it does nothing to affect Lial’s plummeting temperature.

Infernal are born from the cold fires of the underworld, so they are by nature cold creatures. However, they still have a limit that when breached can cause severe harm. Harm that they are able to heal, yes, but a needless suffering nonetheless. 

Lial’s eyes slide close and small noises of suffering fall free from his pale lips. The sheen of sweat upon his skin crystallises and glints like scattered diamantes. Julian knows - with a sinking heart - that Lial might be right after all. That he is not long for this world. 

“Rest, then,” Julian says quietly, hugging the long-suffering figure close to his chest. He holds Lial like he does the dying - an intimate embrace to ease fear and suffering; and the last human touch before they return to the light. “Rest easy, my friend. I shall watch over you.”

Lial must have trust in his words, for he goes limp in the priest's embrace. And though shivers continue to wrack his body, he is thankfully unaware of this discomfort. Sleep, finally, steals the demon’s senses, and for the first time in a year, Lial rests.

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @pattonvirglsanders @wolfeyedwitch @whumpsday @whump-blog @whumpnonny @extrabitterbrain

~~~

Part 4

Masterlist

~~~

#whump #whump writing #villain whump #hero x villain #villain whumpee #supervillain whumper #hero caretaker #demon whumpee #demon whump #julian tries to be all stoic and gruff but he's panicking the entire time #actually a big softie #lial sadge julian madge

[blackiraven]

Can you please write about how sale!scriddler draw each other?

As you wish!~✍

Once upon a time I drew. It was my only hobby and the only way to separate myself from the real world. My ridiculous dreams could exist on yellowed paper, fantasies splashed out on the pages and overshadowed the uninteresting text with their colors. The few people I liked could only be with me in the form of beautiful portraits. I could imagine and portray their joyful, loving faces, when in fact they looked at me with disgust and hatred every day.

Once upon a time I gave up drawing for many years. My talent was torn apart and trampled by those who admired my drawings. They only had to find out the artist's name... But now I want to remember and bring my youthful hobby back to life. For all the torments endured, fate as a reward sent me a muse and the only connoisseur of my "paintings" in one person.

Oh, my little frog, I like to draw you so much. It calms me down, I want to really smile. And finally, it's not my imagination that emerges on paper, but reality. Juggling shades of green every time fascinates me for hours. And it saves several lives from my hellish anger...

This time I decided to draw Edward sitting in his comfortable and soft chair, in which he likes to spend time reading. Nigma's hands were complicated on his knees, he himself leaned forward a little, as if greeting someone who would look at this drawing. He was smiling. This sweet, warm and kind smile that fills my heart with life every day. This gentle and caring look, for which I want to wake up and continue to breathe. I always devote the most time to these important details. The rest is easy. A slightly bulky suit with question marks that Riddler always embroiders by hand, a lush bow under the collar of his shirt and a funny bowler hat on his head. The colors were applied with light shading.

"Hmm... something is missing..." I was biting a colored pencil and looking at the drawing from different angles. Background? No. Frogs! The hand grabbed another pencil and began to quickly draw small amphibians. They were sitting on the back and armrests of the chair and on Edward himself. Their eyes were big and just as cute. The last, finishing detail of the picture - on the head of each frog was the same, but a tiny bowler hat. That's great! That's exactly what I wanted! In the lower right corner of the sheet I left a small signature "My prince of riddles and frogs".

"Edward."

"Yes, Jonathan?"

"This is for you."

"Oy, it's as beautiful as all your other drawings. Thank you!"

"Really?"

"Of course, my dear. What gives away a good artist? His doubt in his works."

"Edward, you... Can you draw me?"

"But, Jonathan, you know what... I don't know how to draw."

"It doesn't matter to me. I will value even a blots from you."

"Well... I do not know..."

"...please, Edward..."

When Scarecrow that frightens many Gotham residents whispers and barely says "please," my refusal will be the biggest sin in life. Jonathan wanted to watch me draw, but I was able to kick him out of my office and close the door. This is too exciting a process for me! A stack of paper plopped down on the table, a tall plastic cup filled with pencils and felt-tip pens. An empty white sheet made me sigh loudly and tragically. I drew only as a child, but it turned out badly, like all children, but my parents didn't like it. I haven't painted since...

"Where does each picture begin? The answer is an idea." fingers were tapping on the table, then they took a black pencil and unwound it in every way. In what setting should I draw him? At home, where he is calm and feels good? Or in the maelstrom of Gotham crime, where he has a share of power? The first sheets with the wrong lines were crumpled up and thrown into the trash. Each time I stubbornly sharpened the pencil, as if it made a significant difference. I could draw Jonathan without a mask, but in my performance it will definitely turn out terrible.

Sometimes I looked at Crane's new drawing. It's so beautiful, naturalistic, I appreciate and keep each of them. I'll never be able to draw the same way. After agonizing minutes, the crooked strokes began to take shape. The night sky, consisting of primitive clouds and stars. A large circle in which dense layers of white and yellow were superimposed on each other. Moon. I hope he understands. The whole sheet was painted over, I randomly drew pencils on the white surface, as children usually do. But to some extent it was fascinating. In the very center of the gray-black space loomed a Scarecrow. Angular and sometimes disproportionate. Is he soaring through the clouds? Or just enjoying a quiet night? I don't know... His long hat wrapped around and held the moon, and his mantle rushed down and covered the supposed city. Behind Scarecrow of large and five-pointed orange stars, my author's constellation of heron was lined up. Graceful, majestic and dangerous. To have the trust of this bird is a great honor and achievement. What happened was already a pity to throw away. He should like it, Jonathan never reproached me for mistakes, as absolutely everyone used to do, even when I did a perfect job. My drawing was also completed by a small signature: "My heron, bringer of night and terrible dreams."

"Please, Edward, show me this."

"Okay... um... here."

"This..."

"Jonathan?.."

"Amazing. I'm loving it. Very."

"Are you serious, dear?"

"Yes. Can I watch you draw next time?"

#scriddler #riddlecrow #scarecrow #riddler #salecrow #saleriddler #jonathan crane #edward nigma #Blacki's fanfiction #Blacki's ask

[uroborosymphony]

"Calista," Sarang breaths against the palm of the Lamia's hand, and it sounds like a prayer. It is, in a way. So rarely does she speak her name, avoiding the entirety of it all together, that whenever she allows the syllables to gather on her tongue, they spill over her lips like blood out of a wound finally liberated to heal... or kill her. Calista shows weakness by dancing around her Huntress. Sarang shows weakness by bowing before her executor, or the one who should have been an executor, but is now wielder of her heartstrings, the bow of her life energy. She nuzzles her cheek further into Calista's hand and smiles up, a vixen vowing allegiance to a dragon, sharp-toothed and with a glint in her eyes. "Do you speak a language that would grant me the words needed to describe how much I've missed you?" ((no context, just me choking about the immortal terrorist girlfriends, hope this is okay~))

"Yes?" The Lamia answers. It is rare for Sarang to voice out her name, it sounds like a prayer when she does, a prayer Calista answers to, religiously. She is sitting, while her huntress is laying down on that couch, her head into Calista's lap. Her fingers have been gently traveling through Sarang's dark locks, over her temples, sometimes resting down her shoulder as they have been reading, both holding a book. The atmosphere is silent, soothing on the soul for a sunday afternoon. Her attention is never divided when it comes to Sarang, and so, she places her read down, closing the pages meticulously, to listen to her. Sarang's cheek is nuzzled into Calista's hand as a fond facial expression draws on the lamia's usual harsh and severe features. A rare sight, of pure adoration from Calista as her eyes rest on her huntress, her fingertips caressing the apple of her delicate cheek, her eyes meeting hers when the other looks up. Naturally, the timid smile of the creature mirrors Sarang's while she listens to her words, carefully. "I do." Answers the Lamia on a tranquil tone. Being the erudit she is, after living 600 years there was no languages she did not master. Even the forgotten and forbidden ones. "My Own." She then adds, her fingertips now following the lines of Sarang's features, light, cautious, as if her skin is made of glass and secrets. "The Lamias, daughters of Hecate, communicate in their own language. A secret one. Yes, that is right, I do have sisters. Sisters I regularly crossed path with prior to the Great War. A sorority of eleven ; I am the twelfth. The Lamias aimed to chain me down for my disobedience, my refusal to bend to Hecate, the chaos they knew I was euphoric to cast on both the Immaterial and Material realms. I could not possibly let such obstacle stand on the way of a world I still am planning on reshaping. Hence why," Her eyes change colors, as they always do when her head wanders in territories only the creature is aware of, from golden to black, to bloody red. The tip of her index finger, tracing Sarang's jawline, then lifts the other's chin slightly and keep on diving into that undying, untouched, untainted beauty of hers. The creature's eyes switch back their nominal golden again, losing themselves into Sarang's even more. "I remain the only one left speaking the language and I want you, only you, to hear it." She whispers, leaning down, closing the distance between their faces.

She whispers, the depth of her voice on a light tone that seizes the air, with her mother tongue, like an untold secret, a pandora box. "It means : The skin off my bone, the blood out of my veins, until you return to be part of me again." Her smile never leave her lips. "Is what I have felt as well, in the years that separated us, through the loneliness of my tormented soul, my Huntress."

#셋 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀 / the immortal. #셋 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀 / interactions. #YELLSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS RUNS AROUND #PLEASE IT IS MORE THAN OKAY #I'M OBSESSED #MORE OF THEM I WANT MORE OF THEM #LOOK AT THEM #JUST LOOK AT THEM IM?? MY GIRLFRIENDS!! #Calista really out there terminating everyone's existence even her own damn family or whatever yall can die for reals #But Sarang?????????? #She will cherish and care for her

[princeofgod-2021]

LIGHT OF LIFE 322

John 1:4

WHERE WE MUST DRAW LINES 4 – OBEDIENCE 4

1Pe 1:2 You are not forgotten, FOR YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN AND DESTINED BY FATHER GOD. THE HOLY SPIRIT HAS SET YOU APART TO BE GOD’S HOLY ONES, OBEDIENT FOLLOWERS OF JESUS CHRIST who have been gloriously sprinkled with his blood. May God’s delightful grace and peace cascade over you many times over! TPT

About travelling out, the first consideration for any Christian is: “why did God create me a citizen of this nation?”

If you can’t answer that, but you “resolve” that your country is “hellhole” and you must leave it, you are foolish.

But if you have answered that first question sincerely, you’d be able [easily] to know if God wants you to relocate. God moved Joseph to Egypt and he even married a priest daughter, why?

Gen 50:20-21 You plotted evil against me, but God turned it into good, IN ORDER TO PRESERVE THE LIVES OF MANY PEOPLE WHO ARE ALIVE TODAY BECAUSE OF WHAT HAPPENED. You have nothing to fear. I will take care of you and your children." So he reassured them with kind words that touched their hearts. GNB

Joseph was predetermined to be in Egypt, by prophecy and design. He didn’t even make any move himself because he wasn’t sure of how his future and dreams will play out, but he “kept his fingers crossed”.

You must remember though, that before Egypt, Joseph was living very fine in his father’s house, right?

Gen 37:3 Joseph was born at a time when his father Israel was very old, SO ISRAEL LOVED HIM MORE THAN HE LOVED HIS OTHER SONS. JACOB GAVE HIM A SPECIAL COAT, WHICH WAS LONG AND VERY BEAUTIFUL. ERV

So, in Joseph’s case – unlike in the cases of many Christians – he actually had no reason to desire to leave his father’s house.

So, maybe that was why God had to arrange a kidnap and slave-trade to ensure he met up with his destiny in Egypt.

Therefore, beloved, if you must travel, you must. But the point is Obedience to God’s purpose and will, must [always] be your “thrust”, not desire for comfort and ease.

Jer 45:3-5 You said, 'I'M SO MISERABLE! THE LORD HAS ADDED GRIEF TO MY PAIN. I'M WORN OUT FROM GROANING. I CAN'T FIND ANY REST.' "Say this to Baruch, 'This is what the LORD says: I will tear down what I have built. I will uproot what I have planted throughout the earth. ARE YOU LOOKING FOR GREAT THINGS FOR YOURSELF? DON'T LOOK FOR THEM, BECAUSE I'M GOING TO BRING DISASTER ON ALL PEOPLE, declares the LORD. BUT WHEREVER YOU GO I WILL LET YOU ESCAPE WITH YOUR LIFE.'" GW

Beloved, whatever circumstances you are facing, you must not take these things personally.

There is a world program and prophecy for war, famine, earthquakes etc. we can’t change those things.

No way!

But if you suddenly got caught up in it, don’t presume God doesn’t care about and will abandon you, or you are suffering anyhow.

God’s covenants will still preserve your life and testimony. You just obey God and do your work.

Act 1:6-8 While the apostles were still with Jesus, they asked him, "LORD, ARE YOU NOW GOING TO GIVE ISRAEL ITS OWN KING AGAIN?" Jesus said to them, "YOU DON'T NEED TO KNOW THE TIME OF THOSE EVENTS THAT ONLY THE FATHER CONTROLS. But the Holy Spirit will come upon you and give you power. THEN YOU WILL TELL EVERYONE ABOUT ME IN JERUSALEM, IN ALL JUDEA, IN SAMARIA, AND EVERYWHERE IN THE WORLD." CEV

The Christians hoped the advent of the Holy Ghost will turn the economy and relieve Israel of the Roman rule, but Jesus told them it was a program subject only to God and His timing; nothing alters that.

But they were told to travel all over the world and preach.

The “crux” is Obedience to that command, not the quest for comfort. If you are abroad but are not under the direct mandate of God there, you are lost!

Psa 137:3-6 For there, THOSE WHO LED US CAPTIVE ASKED US FOR SONGS. Those who tormented us demanded songs of joy: “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!” HOW CAN WE SING YAHWEH’S SONG IN A FOREIGN LAND? If I forget you, Jerusalem, let my right hand forget its skill. LET MY TONGUE STICK TO THE ROOF OF MY MOUTH IF I DON’T REMEMBER YOU; IF I DON’T PREFER JERUSALEM ABOVE MY CHIEF JOY. WEB

The only foreign land for a Christian is the land that God did not send you.

Like Naomi or the Prodigal Son, please return home.

Your spiritual Jerusalem is the House where God placed you to serve Him. Go back there and join the obedient ones, so that you may experience the real joy of being one in Christ.

Luk 15:17-19 But when HE CAME TO HIS SENSES, he said, What numbers of my father's servants have bread enough, and more, while I am near to death here through need of food! I will get up and go to my father, and will say to him, FATHER, I HAVE DONE WRONG, AGAINST HEAVEN AND IN YOUR EYES: I AM NO LONGER GOOD ENOUGH TO BE NAMED YOUR SON: MAKE ME LIKE ONE OF YOUR SERVANTS. BBE

Sufferings opens people’s eyes to truth. The boy realized the benefits he was enjoying, which he called Suffering before.

Many however, out of pride and shame, won’t ever return to their “assigned bases”.

Do you know what was said about Men of Issachar later? It must have been results of lessons from suffering.

1Ch 12:32 From the family of Issachar there were 200 WISE LEADERS. THESE MEN UNDERSTOOD THE RIGHT THING FOR ISRAEL TO DO AT THE RIGHT TIME. THEIR RELATIVES WERE WITH THEM AND UNDER THEIR COMMAND. ERV

Years of hard slavery under the [double] yoke of strange countries must have shaped them well. Now they had returned with wisdom and vision to lead all the rest of Israel.

Good outcome, don’t you think?

The long and short of the matter is: if you are a child of God, in His house, but you are neither subject [unconditionally] nor obedient to his cause, you will be a stranger and alienated from the “sheepfold”.

Mat 12:30 IF YOU ARE NOT ON MY SIDE, YOU ARE AGAINST ME. IF YOU DON'T GATHER IN THE HARVEST WITH ME, YOU SCATTER IT. CEV

Obedience puts you on Jesus’ side because that is what He is to God. If you are not, you will only always spoil God’s work.

You will break an edge and satan will use you from time to time. This is true.

May God expunge every struggle from our hearts and help us commit to Him totally, in Jesus name.

Join us on Monday for more digging into scriptures as we proceed with this intriguing subtopic.

Keep Shinning!

Brother Prince

Friday, March 03, 2023

08055125517; 08023904307

[libidomechanica]

Each failed its wreaths of

A ballad sequence

               1

A third time passed—A rebel storm,     somewhere over my left the wealth, sae ye wi anither     your sight. If you were my

arms, like Nature to her from his     old teacher’s woe. Their kind, when every limb, what once again.     To save, where my civil

comeliness fade as well alive     or die. Built, in the murmurous vestibule his youth.     Which begat distinct

hiveward, found what you gavest, thy     own worth gives them hither and his own native shore. Where you     are. My heauy cheere; but, wo

is me, the larks on wing, while his     eye, with piteous eyes, ere seen I love, I could not mean falling,     promartyr of our

causes, sleep. When last I lay trodden     blaze, comes the beauty may cloy when pleasant right. Each failed     its wreaths of smooth and perfumed

sea, the wilderness, and half-     consented to write there, like a weird seizure and trust me;     virgin bosom sits that

rose and the loads and thy gay smiles     but since first was silent sympathy. When Juliana     comes, and sure, not for me.

And you will dare to be true. And     when there in thee more. And around is buoyancy afloat.—     This is no woman who

was combing out from childhood     situation meanwhile, that the rank mist that I would lie outside     and hymns in the strong,

to show! No more, my darling     valentine, summer breathe one I carried my brothers, sweet, with     other care those stars would

God to me like the river. Like     a fly, in a vine, did seem to tell her, tell her that which     seals up all in the

hideous roar his gory visage     down my face, poised feet of a surf-tormenting jealous     pilgrimage to thee in all?

               2

Arranged the hues of promise! Your mantle blue: to-     morrow morn we hold a great night till the valley, come to suddenly signes must we     too be dumb? But full of tender parents kiss heart breaking either more where Lycid lies.     Where I sleep not in some divine. By Loues indeed we two will stay: and winning easy     grace of life, misled the twilight of

desire you, some sweet pride. In our own despite     of all the lily will not know. What for an Hermitage. Her waist is just a dream within     thy hand of it to ourself have our thanks: better have deserted me—where all minds     outrun their heart the sun, in so good to write, as from off each other’s running shorts. By     all things serve them till the glass and rills.

               3

Height has not ask’d the wind and down     the breath may call that love yon Lilac fair, or if it spring     storm; burned with her is

not dashed with sorrow, is not the     rich to-come reels, as they rose a hubbub—you and you—I     know i’ve no excuse! Shall

he that soon it will, and lonely     tree the watching and wounding Jealousy from the inwardly,     and went out with music:

’ and a marriage-bed. Best wits     thinke upon that wastes her husband’s shape in filmy veiling     dressed their bells and fell; but

I, deepening breath, her hand that it     looked lips and go as traceless as my tears from myself     to one goal, stays blank. That

so much; if only I saw what     we mean, we say, and heated of some few favour, which she     called her dearly; that asking

look about on death, from the     fluorescent orator. But sings. ’ Falsehood hast too much a     kindlier days, but diverse:

could follow them I loue and those     stars, twilight gloomed athwart the night; flush’d were born for sometimes     I heard the voice will

finally find it, when thou my     vertue servitors. Since my sad heart with a kiss, I lose express’d,     desiring through

the underworld; ah me, o my     king, glance I gave you full of orphans of the masks do not     enough to paint the gnawing

at my heart draws its boughs more     strong at my bones are green, yours is a lower, and to the     eyes and the death; ’ To horse!

               4

I take away, leauing me with her     long-lost child, who is my deserve that swoons and wailed about     the mused beyond her face,

and nothing hinder wrongs, from the     inward from it be all in haste me to disturbance to     unsay. Into the rest

with denial vain and no soft     bloom misted the Princess where your witchcraft or art. Fanning     they’re new deckit wi’ bonie

face a moments before full-waked     sense; or fail in it. And sweete Art can show, that no day     would have tried these meadows

where it lies, attends but dearth. In     Sylvia gay, they endured, long-closeted with merry     was she, Blythe was let you

graunt to vs. I’ll counsell me     from barren deeps to consuming the mind. Since in the bottom,     such a thing by all

their heads with Loyal Flames; when first     love, lord, was not travel both and blissful cloud of melancholy     into a rage.

               5

By Sences priviledge, beat her feet sent out with     it eternalize: thus by your breast rear’d on lips that are. Upon the green thrill of trumpet     in the digits, and through her beauty

on the poet tuck away his pocket-book     and speak of other shriek you are no morning on with all complete and came they draw, rot     inward from thinking as still relented

not, and the rose is a falcon, and both twain,     and now the woods; the leafless timmer of evil? Sphere. Bout the happy sleepless maiden     mild! Your eyes may swim into forgive

the content, mission’d him to obey, even by     what life I can’t fathom the first began, there haunt my dreams, and string, floated to the rocks     once-a-boy pilfering gyres, but

some conceit of the other valentine. And tis     my head cool-bedded with her the love strikes, but that was she struggle still have a word.—No,—     she has done—how soon maun be my dwelling

your sleep with Cassiopeia, or the larks on wing     are dropping to your orange tulips are animals of your true eyes open. Those winter     brings a greater wonderful; it

is becomes a truth: and strangers is the painter     and force in their heart while his eyes a boat sliding hip to hip Their feet the white pink, and     rainbow grac’d, and queuing up for hours

on that poor Ambition! No natural heat should I     rove, ne’er reply and, yet, I cease to frame but that your ungracious times. To the crystal     clear spirit has fetters—the charter

of the traces and lonely tree the minute found     at length to feel it strangled—what to think of the tree; all sighing, dumb despairing the     sward, and rainbow grac’d, and often after,

I love heaven, in glade and not a joy,—at     least in thy lasing power to kindled incense burns, seeing this my lord’s kingly     sunflower these effect. Her bed: I am

the level feet, and what we see or seem but     a dream of clouds. And keep my mind I practice dying I throw myself with profit, you,     know no azure gloomy Winter of

all thy shadow’d which upbraid the lassie, kind love     her host, that early shepherd’s phrase, that, Virtue, thou art; for unremembered o’er the     first touch of earth could be, enlargèd Winds,

that thro’ myrtle let Foreign to us, or by     my name—lo, there bursts into my bed there was one minutes fledged with her. Was never lov’d     I not reason, and look’d the string, in

lordly sunflower, would God to me like a     celestial canopy, with new spangle here. She stops of various quills, whereto all     our best frights, and sold for all her the

bride withers their tents. But there. But thou, to ourselves     to gain the day for malice show no face, and called the screwball rocks. And seem to be told,     perforce am thine, and brief the many

mountain, shade, out of place and saw thee woman’s     trembled; she nothings were leaning on the perfect musike giue. What for the motions of     men conceal’d they would not: should lord you.

               6

The air it breath that the proud man     apart cleft from bed and friends; yet must I do to the grass-     green sod, soon my Lucy’s

cot came near, and go as traceless     as amber-coloured to her hard and make an egg in     a moment of you, eye

and like a bell in low tones, she     was not all unauthorized behold you close my mind is     changing, straight, and she what

I tell you; found the women die!     And me none told: not less takes long as we climbed the mark, the     photograph from his eyes.

               7

And in the field-mice are abroad.     You ain’t watched a man lean into a shade. And what good does     a cheek, like thy flowing

ships; over blown, in fragrant bosome     clips, that he kils his own native to prove the casement     press’d, how many? Scarce

had leave you more than a cubit     in its embraced them passing, so as some know that when we     played, my brothers, little

maid replied, twelve sphere. The air was     the maiden daily at morning and shut the maiden most     unmeek,—I knew the life,

a thirst touch, and with thou my vertue     may betide with lucky words And twilight dawned; and meet and     lost, but feed on flashes

from running they come: if not, then     ask of me you and yourself so sad as I, thought and fall     upon her, my friends or

kinsfolk on the shrunk shuddering     way. Now see where you more than how to common rules, and stooped     to updrag melissa

clamour great yearning, languor leapt     a cry; leapt fiery Passion’s tongue when a person passes     me on the world without

divulging it; moreover     seize the streaking; so thy thoughts and me. Look up, and to gaze     in this Plight The Shah

Salámán saw, his Soul was all his     beam must return’d she tenderness, and makes my head till     mimicking a carcanet

of maidens came, the heart, and that     grows less and intrude, and plump. With shrills. Therefore with music.     Three years ago. That moment

of you, sweet birds on the last     of thy greatest treasures which are Holy Land! I didn’t fall     and Meg, and pale and my

discourse I take! ’Ning our flocks with     came to live no wiser than yours: my nurse despair and anguish,     him that figure out

how to forgive them well, saw that     Love were threefold thus a nobler seat then me? Gives them hath     been deep-ordain’d! Drenched it

is with the next are such a thing     do, that every hoof after to thy life permittent wet     under cloud cover, and

fragrance on your wrongs, from     carelessenesse did in no maner grow; the mysteries by     her sister and then when

dead, and having spokes. And bid them     passing, turn’d and shook, and thwarted us—i wed with words:     this mother&father—how

the rural loves her, my friendly     shadowings of the damn’d would have her worse for lights are we;     two of us in the

bosom brake off from a dewy     breast in the while, I liue in Sorrowes night doth these twain,     upon her breath is here!

               8

Alas! Which, erring peace. Wool-woofed     carpet or between each side bowed on her breast, whom I     would have made a sudden

turn as if to spend, nor lies beyond     express’d, the leaves lie huddled and point it at all. Of     more esteem: yet so well.

               9

A fragrant bosom of the future.     Yet I should my heart. To keep from those roses growe, which     is also her thing. No

lessons I doe a Devil turne.     Still mimick’d as they. His passing breast, when labour is done,     with a knot. She ceased, and

loved not be love affair which, though     she gives light as ours, when some higher mood tore open, silent;     closer or farther

away until your mom did no     good. The space to burst and quiet pain for only words so     blackened all know it seemed

that hath my duty stronger faith     is such, so kinde my sleepless Eremite, this truthful. At     gates. A child in me now.

               10

Possesses Whitmanesque urge&     urgency boo Bear, the times of other set, making his style     I’ll removed from me, what the Grates; where thy widow well may     keep by children and bad, on the sea, between her texture;     she crusted bodies in

my mother&father—how the hurt     is nothing but dust what shall lean her e’re. Shall be its name.     The drunken with eye severe, and pensive tendance find ourself     are hateful to us: and hushed we sat as lovers     powerless to an evening:

silent meteor on, and     thoughts, from the expansion. Then came a moment, while through anchor’d     in the bus, the wrestling trees. Our eyes, that hang the     world; approaches my moving water-smoke, that do not love     that seals them on to way,

I doubted if I should love. Of     the plough, strong when I answered, Seven are we; and could     understand me that would sweet name thou art the dough, alas, none     ever more will have allowed you too short of Hercules     furens; so that until

ye try them, tho’ they seeme my heart     is calm and plantains, and sweet societies, the room     another delicate asylum, I ate you up. What may     the world till now. To sullen surges and broader-grown thorns     this they see, know thee. Plastic

ice chest; the plaintive cry jarred     on her long-lost child, who is as a thaw of bygones be,     when some higher mood tore open, silent in the cattle     of their better equipage: but since my sad bed of her     kind of him If you ain’t

never had a tempers my ways     of honeysuckle that morning peeps so gaily, contents,     I am from the branches there.—No pulse, or breath, and tried,     she showers of passions leaue the songsters twitter twenty     years, to steal a blink, by

a’ unseen; but gleg as light, no     hopefulness and flute fantastic tender is the cottage     bent my life’s first with all those ribbed wind-streaks running into     it and master here? This Hunter’s cot, from life, misled the     high treasure: weightless as

the palace of Prayer in Weal     or Woe, nothings thereupon twould wildly fling, then to bring     foil set off to th’ most, if not,—myself I cried, if     Lucy hould be all that was struck him: I’ said he, last of     the prophetess; for one

to surrender the yellow breakers     plunges at me, bending me, thou hast nae mind to say,     but Juan looked, the Princess cried; Forbear, ’ the Prince. Who would not     sing fork deep in the sophist’s spleen. No quiet scene; the fierce     and vain; till a clamour

great appear; no, the lambs before     the scales with Roses bound, and intrude, and were born for so     many years I send you of her hard and could run and again,     and no spurre can show, that she that I may never a     word. It is snowing and

thou my blessings add a curse, being     fond on pranks of war, or, falling. Scarce had sown; in us     true friends; but pushed and dark as night. It was too late, either     give some higher chance that shrines in flesh so true forme of     Lovers are enamel.

               11

To put fair tho, the victim to     the glowing survived ever could make a butter fire in     the hall, and the light upon those boughs more tongues—and out of     my love, and draughts go free,

let him but come; for Blanche had gone,     love in woman’s tremble the white or argentine, all in     death. See how they came a thrill of life have bands of pearl and     strings I know what birds sang,

and deserts where not. I see the     strange experiences unmeet for ladies, each other’s     letters—one her spicy forest’s maze; the next, like fairy-     gifts fading rose; for thee.

               12

Strange tulips are animals of     yours you’d have tied her lips, your voices with tears, to warm me     through and thoughts that to do

he knew not. I shall never could     we make life advancing, life and gold to bind her, and folded     idleness; nor is

it wiser than men, huge women     blowzed with all Danae to the forests, and I remain grounded.     The nightly, with you,

we share is ane; come forth, not vassals     to inspire me, no one little puffs of wind, without     breath, and wonderful, but

of languor leapt a cry; leapt     fiery Passions leaue to reach the heart no less thread, and yet     thou to her, and a

happier St. Was ever every     hoof after seen that my doorway? Render him fast the tale     half turning cleared again.

               13

Without their fair with me the Girl, in rock and call’d     each muscle and sing on it hard in the morning and this genuine self, all in death.     That everything for it I came not

the perfume; far dearer to me. Poet, Singer,     Necromancer—I cease to follow’d after hoof he raised, and take a look cross the thoughts     and men’s reverent each and all thine

for hours on that rose and trembled into her eye     was on me, descending; once or twice I sought to kill. Kill a heart. Upon the airplane     moves pictured ever cheerfuller? We

are here. With shrilled it. And maybe kissing, drunk     as a piper, kicking a carcanet of maiden banner of our breast in the cliff,     when dreadful guests; but if you lingering

it all, and fight you are fed with lucky words once     I am a man’s babe leap, beyond the world anyone ever did these things of the     rosy couch: twas icy, and throstle’s

lay; On one knee kneeling, to base touches me. Tell     her, if only now I take, nor Iron bars a Cage; minds innocent and plump. Dian,     that Stella must be kill’d for being

sick to me. At will more prevail than men, huge women     blowzed with a fright of everything as the fretful, I haste to his aim: beside     the worst of all but that have been on

many thousand time, your favour, and ye’ll crack pipe—     the attention it takes to resign thy dear Converse submit, since wit still small intricacies.     How is it, there stirs against

ever trod the dead leave the misery in fit     magnificence. Weep no more can be such a rate to tye thee wings and blythe in Glenturit     glen. Plunged; and whole; nor are mine eyes;

my doubts could any meaning on the passed—A rebel     storm, or starving take here; but love, and she far-fleeted by thee. Stared in her eyes, the     ground. Yoked in azure robe I did no

good. I came to time, since her hard and me. And pressing     from the sky, seres Spring against ever could not blushing notes dost travel both and     blown to inmost soul. I have wept with

the ring. Her eyes, and to the waves; when first did see     its hopes of her came a thrill of life I graced; Where were ye playing as necessary     as I am within you back, and

every like: the nails are kissing thus: you have learned     how to comfort Him. The guests discoursing low at first that the wurst, but, like figure     out how to switch #1 with #3. Even by what

indeed, not in my thoughts more grievous torments thou     when to me. Whence doth live. But thee, fury, woe, i’ll send such a thankful meadow-crake grate     on the child of Chancery, that for

thee. A boxwood shutter encloses our outrageous     luck, our chain of dames: well if he cannot prize? Sad as plover’s head where, other light,     teaching Wisdom help Thou Me fast in

thy shepherded down starch halls with her glad Lycius     star we call they that lid, full-sloping like those orbs. As mighty woes. For weakness, blent with     curses dark, that which it wasn’t making.

               14

’Eclipse, and at her silk-saft faulds     to reveal! There she, ’ but it calls forth thee and now we reaching     that the buried in you wrought I must be so from mine     own land, ’ she sat high in the second suit obtained at first,     but well-nigh change, ladies,

each other worse and fight your from     that seals up all in love. Kissing again will turn thee are     all dead of night, you lying in thy quiet in their Lords     through the parted silks the new deckit wi’ bonie lass, gude nicht     and knowing and the moors—

no—yet still renewing smart. Your     great passion at her harp, and found a small sweet beauteous blessings     add a curse, being fond on pranks of Earn, and such a     sad and shriller throws his head. From my mother&father.     Wallowing or a light or

the yellow wood, ye’re like the sea     in me sings: for Nature said, they see? Which precious time and     she held rustle: at once or twice you kiss you: but fortune     may be as was the day- star in that love is it?—Then he     rose up whole, and laid it

barefaced at touch she to     her, I do but tend upon the forests, and seem to be     invited to an evening in their state is out of Lethe     scales with the dead human, so the churchyard laid then ye are     one: accomplish thou a

thousand years ago. Go not, happy     you may be constancy is such that be kill’d this growing,     comes home to bleed and pure as they! There is of my wailing     child; and on your hair. Thus, with deeper down. Distinction     is the blissful palpitated,

her half-possesses     Whitmanesque urge&urgency boo Bear, the dark world my spirit     and pleased her arms and fleet I was young: the petals, that     abandoned arm toward it anew, and louing lay apart as what     the door stands apart, like

flowers that zonulet of smooth,     so sweet new warre vpon my brows; forbear to that where bright wilt     thou that just once again. If she wears as trophies home and     guilty shame, I grant in furrow-cloven falls to roll the     passion, and my dizziness

won’t be aged, or at length     of itself, but shoot not at me in her hand in her e’re.     Pursuer, with eyes this thou art gone, I only known: my     parental tenderly i’m guessing you do not love or     a satin dome and wayward

them with them out at gates. I     heard the voices? Monsters blazoned what good does a like     slang. To roll the waves, and to and free, let all the eyes, least     flowery way, but she was no place where you list invited     to an evenings at

home I never come forth, no life,     to live no wiser to wet a widow’s eye that figures     dim, and let the church but fire sparks, it may chance, but, ’tis na     love like an end, and maist thou wake the past on; but each assumed     the holy rite for

the rich in hope no redress; where     blowes both wound like a cherub cease to run away, because     you’re psychic no one piece is yet unlevelled. Or     whether heard of your melancholly mind. And vital feeling     of love, to whom a

hyacinth is dead, for tears even     love, but thought no crime, Sir. If thou survives even Sappho’s     flame. Deter a seconds, knows its breath; the street and morning     equally lay in leaves are fancies hatching ghost. On     nights are we; and I believed

that other lived over: lift     thine own land, part made the woods and creeping over. On tiptoe     to reach up the skies, making world the womanhood is     cast down in those halves you worthiest till my hope is, that     soar above thee not, when

the wild peasant tales of Neæra’s     hair? Among the lintel of the day, but me who am     dumb as are to give Perenna, wilt thou but one, and themselves     in disguised pleasures of tomorrow to forgive them     both in aiding her face,

counting but that when he sets, but     ask you now, to keep the sage, let spear-grass and in her right,     their causes, sleep. That swoons and this palace; but work no more.     Lady, I must be kind; nor thine to her fast. The happy     news, and a heavy change

that way this sore sweetest sweetest     striue all miscounted fair, and for my mare, my mother propt,     half-drooping heart, in the flowers! And yearns to themselves in     immemorial elms, and thyself; lay thy hand, as well     night to night on my lips

have done that once there are the basket     and beauty’s a flowers. When I remembrances of     my bruise against his brows had sprouted, and they were at peace.     With blush it thro’ the burden in themselves; hardly had skill     to the distance lies turning

came, and what good does a cheek,     like to it. It may escape their orbit run, found to shame     to think and smile. ’ They seem fair, and I prophet of smoke from     him keep my drooping eyelids of tomorrow to hold a     sheep-hook, or have laid up

like a spangled ore flames in rejoice     amid the youth, quickly, before making worse and strok’d     the skeleton shadow of death, or what class we find but     dearth. Their groves o’ sweet dreams, before me; careless heads with the     throng in wheeling of light.

               15

With the couch, or through the rush and     gathered either guilt. That film so finely spread; with golden     woods, fly to her, I put

on nature to death. And like a     tree breath, I tie the Knot; and art not Thou the Wisdom help     Thou Me, for love itself,

but soft the ponderous breake in     mine arms; they cried for they in thy sweet love, without you; with     a flush on its petal

of the heaven and barbarous     laws; these effect of a soul with a cardboard guitar, a     map of thee as he

pronounces that have wended; I have     made a serpent! I fell throughout, as fearful the world. But     had a system I shuffle&

shift Her throat the bodies can     create mischief done; and then how I by the day you had     gone to have named her lips,

as waits a river level feet,     and the street and molten on the dark. She is no woman     His eyes. Fight’ she said, o

Bulbul, any rose or a     psychologist. Gruff with clov’n heel, from careless, as they may present     the heart, the nail in

it. Though Ioy her selfe, doest stratagems     sweetest stratagems sweet violets sicken, live chattels,     mincers of the times shalt

call me call; and for myself had     made, what once that sitting, in chief place, forc’d fingers good-bye     and thirty years old, she

new in all that it look like hollow     out all to speak he bursts into her face the constancy     and virtue of young

to marry yet; I’m o’er young, I’m     o’er young, ’twad be a sin to take and triumphed, or cooled; even     by what is for me;

with reconciled; nor end of mine,     and broader-grown thorns this mighty cost and saw thee woman     whose brains for they knew not.

               16

Stutter tuning forward drew my     burthen from wall to hear our son, on the glad and smile. There     underworld; ah me, o

my soul had before; ye shall drop     its golden sand—how few! Seeing better prie; what blushing     brooks, on whose chace from his

fingers to enrich the fretful     briar will you they moved. And down the victim to thee impart;     nest of your meeting

melodious world, sad as they     are thou sprung in deserted me—where ages and ye’ll crack     your frown, or clear elements

so slow but he that was she     single selves to the real and peer on your berries harsh and     surly Winter outside,

which from West to reveal to one     deep tone of their arms round that flickers where she, shee could not     mean falling wave mid-channel.

Was one pursued, a woman     through thou consumed with mews. But still fragrance on the passes     me on the rough kex break

your proffer of; you left me, some     pendulum soul, which I can say or lose. And chiefly you     weren’t real, I would ever

along, with children’s feet. Man     shores, or trots by hazelly shaws and thereon it musk from     him and you off, trembling

earth was never spoke against the     tinkling piano appassion from thee; till the larks from     thence would make here. And does

all the many heard, at which chokes     and nighttimes with the smoke of burning into its wounds I     will kiss you: go. Is gone,

embalmed even this fair gift in     the fact that I follows the anger would come back when my     hope is, that she hung the

leafless timmer o’ yon rotten     woods, and though all this maiden banner of your way, we know     the porch, that Stella dearer

to me. That I hope she would     not die. And cheep and infest with any please, might have     uncommends to feel for ever

swell? He shriek’d; and mov’d trick’d in     a yellow guineas for me; with doing, we will swell that     clustered by the most despise,

when weariest way who is weary     all the great black piano our guide. No marigolds     yet closed with shrilled in

such a countenance, and in will,     invisible. Summer in her hands and gives the Earth all     their equal, nor unequal:

each disclaimed him. The sea, between     your hair was throwing its spectacles and thou my very     saul, the every sound

would pipe and turn to scold me. And     burning age, a dearer for the eggs both times shalt be good     to all things rare so let

our friend! The smiles are always touch     some fire and perish without form or breath is here! Their griefs     of thee? Who is it then?

               17

What fear ye, brawlers? Or if it     were nurs’d upon grey skies. Were, merely to imply love still     I do. Let not Woman e’er complain.—This is proper to     the feast and sinless way, that thou dost stay. When time should lord     you. Bring me like enough.

               18

Starch halls with toil, I have cost my     tremble the whole world were a room of the vales await thee     forlorn, from eating yet it did ache; but thou’s for eyes shineth     so. But Phemie was an hour, within thy chaste breast I oft     has fallen mask of snowy

shoulder of a man hold you     so For Juliana comes, and all the record player     skipping in his hands, and heave, as if he had fallen dumb.     She said, o Bulbul, any rose of Gulistan shall die     tonight head, and paint my

way, beneath the hunt sweeps out upon     her fixt my face, and tree, nor find him dropt upon that     blows from thee. Today we are learned to me too such a     little maid, how he would moue; not them, O no, but living     in the citied earth, to

show me worth then houerly the whole     world almost when this his heard them paused hortensia spoke and     the distance remains sharply crystal dropt; and here he was     of a kindlier influence of myself respect, that the     wretched a vulture their

griefs in the churchyard she was swaying     with a fervor born of murmuring of his legs, towards     something they cried she lives away, so blind with pervading     bright, rosy is the tumult and think of thy great convention:     twice she crushed among

the trouble my silent we with     kings. That doth these lady’s cheek trembling so, from the main, and     who were her cheeks, and use your reserv’d! There was an hour and     built a house or even as you trouble you pour teares,     but came at play last moment

thought: had my friend, that dark breast     I oft has fetters—the charter of the record played, the     jest and eyes open unto dying I pray to mute despise.     To their hissing against the throne: and the tear, the wisp     that fine air I trembling

dotage touch your hands upon his     turn comes in this Plight The Shah Salámán saw, his man no     more; but work no more be rack’d with layers of the Polish     Rider occasionally anymore believes till death breath     so sad, so fresh, the dark.

               19

Nor did her cottage girl—she was     of foot: before than power in knowledge, beat her side moments     after that have I had a long look? As light’s a bird,     that so often she came from barren deep-ordain’d! Phoebus     light of destin’d urn, and,

in its misery in fit     magnificence. Since my appeal: more, my heart, in the Hand of     it my fill; but ah! Wind constantly I bought there is almost     a prison where I often after the distant land,     and lone supporting joys

have love: the devils might be filled     up, as vainly spend, nor lies beyond it, whence wit becomes     a truth than power to kindled incense the common ruin     fall. Drink Me I say it to our modern dames: by axe     and enter’d marveling:

for the autumn press’d. Duty so     great god Love, what it takes long enough. So sad, so free. For     a moment’s thought where you like a Druid rock; or like—nay     tis that they draw, rot inward sunne in trance, I would but as     a bee sucks from running

shorts. Go, happy day, till the river     among the trees branches there on me, do I not seem     strange the musk-rose, and cease to glide a sudden-opened at     her feet like to think what man? Love thee more of a thousand     wreaths; and I neglect, each

at each, like to thee impart as     what they decked her too. The ladies. Because it was the vista     of year thou found his own native shore. Stays all the torrent     out with sight and love it all; I could tell her, because     I do so—as we are.

               20

Time your old bards, the street, remember     in a day, in a vision rests with cowslips wan that     so free as any he; sma’ siller will I, as well done;     and down one as far as in dark summer in her e’re. Than     the outward honour’d flood,

the agate lamp within me wrought     by Loue were ye, Nymphs, whose dreadful images here represents     in the banquet-room shone again. A rich man might keep     from either side the hideous roar his gory visage     down thy refulgent thrice

told of younger brother John and     I. All Danae in a palace; but woman living in me     a little maid reply. And both together? As her use,     and look so. To my darling, fill my heart out of the hour     when first—my head away.

               21

Temperate now approve her grieve, Deare Heart, no mirth,     pleasure such be Nature to tell Amynta, gentle stir about thy knee; the ball: it     is this countrywoman, I your credit

wi’ bonie Bell. To tye thee Dear so much waits in     the first moment what man’s scope, without breath is six days long enough for thine Image which     at thy brow, to lack no natural heat

shot to his heart as true! Dearer being want to     know whence doth shiny promises light well too in your need, through the love-poem! There she,     ’ but it was ill counsell me from base

desir’d, and given in another cast their manhood.     People in the sophist, in an unbudded rose is a common sense, or sunk enerv’d     ’mang heaps o’ clavers: and no place

and perspective it is the only five. He cried—     and no spurre can smiles as sweet spell o’ wit and sad occasion lost, but those who look’d there     gratefully divine Althea brings.

               22

For in your beauty on this far     we are her back, Elsa holds dearer being told about     the letter. Nor find him

dropt upon us, crying to     marry; i’ll be as you can see, my funny kin, as you     can be; little maid’s reply,

o master the children’, as     the grass could not be dieted with her, easily gather     looks are coy and cold and

goblets, and this kiss upon the     bright, and act our hidden rills float heart out of all. Union,     will die tonight. Your

several million loves. Being pent     in though some aboue me sit; nor hope, life, and it will bring foil     set off to th’oaks and reverend

sire, went footing slow, his     mantle hairy, and lustrous, scented wood, ye’re like to mine,     and nothing issues from

hue to hue, now thou do’st dwell; for     pity let a tear, the petals, that oft saw thee, I did     not there. Kind love may try.

But thee’ I said from yearlong poring     on my sleepe, to mone! To ravel them on the floor. On     mine. But sadness o’er the

winds, and by sweet Ida: palm to     palm she spake, an affluent orange shape of the Past so     sweet, I weep like way, when

the ground with wonder at having     got it, there burst forth creeping out over my left the weary,     wayworn wandering

rill that next inheritor and     then a monsters blazoned what all to speak, but, fury,     or no firebrand to

say, and through our breasts hanging sound     of theirs be sounds convey a melancholy into the     clouds their budding want to

groan for that gladly thee am     ouerthrow, i’ve all the white yowes. Old studies failed in the     digits, and my distress’

brows I crept into clamor with     the same heart’s short of Her, salámán have I not say what     is Love? That but a dream

remember’d it from thence ought to     be more sweet but vnfelt ioys, exild for ever in a     sentimental farce! The sea.

               23

” “The star, I paced the Prince your hair.     The sun, because than ere I die. A deare, how green bower,     when we played, my brother

John was force in tracking out our     true eyes and seeing jets blacke but in black. You own your head     moving Universe: could

hurt her cruelly! They might take me     in, and now was dry together for nightingale and lift     my madness, madness off

like a flowers, with Sylvia     they meet; so unhappy am I! But there is ane; come     forth, suffer me in whom

the result will be to paste of     those who loves but scalding tell, and, couches, wonder by Nature     to the breeze in the

mirror on a sail, that Stella     hath, with eyes these women up in paradise, and so my     patent, and spiced woodland

air and quenching love. There is a     falcon, and trill, and like enough, O girls, to unfurl the     man whose dreadful guests, you

no more. Lean and yours no more. Whose     brow had not shew my blisse. You that knowest each, as he passage     cast a glow-worm shone

the Shepherd’s ear. This is sleep had     been ere, it bore not break; till back I fell, an erring her     sweet suburban girl, she’s

witty, bright, while each one congeal’d     to pearl of our buried street and lonely tree, it’s a’ for     the edge of our breast rear’d

on lips that green known, the likeness     I will fall. And tricks his skill, to find where, other groves and     thirty in the swift Hebrus

to the waterway against     the great black piano appassionate one. The Hunter’s     Daughter make everything

for weight of heaven? The bloody     vengeance on that died was sister Jane; in bed she gazing     upon mine when we hope

to find him; by the day, but me     whom radiant beauty hath not leaue to reason is past that     the wurst, but failst thee fair

charities joined at her female,     moving the tree; all sighing, dumb despair, but is his     If this fair gift in me.

               24

I lost my wallet into one.     Far-fleeted by the fables through with one full lips, yours, I     that has made myself respect: then sudden blacknesse bright: garlands     of silver tongue; and

found the horrible fall: a glances     at my foes choke, and left his peer. And leave the mystery     of thy sweet’st friendly part must be his guard; thou seest the     sun delighted shepherd,

in the yellow guineas for the     heart. Come down to give disquiet, which the Head! Thy voice hiss.     My way where the childlike into it and show it, but they     moved. She, ending, while we

can jest, we know how to common     fate of almonds turn’d she that I shall drop its golden foot     of May is past; for in your own way, I have put a padlock     on you, and shriek’d; and

tossed me from sweet sin, his spirit     closed with me the Girl, in rock and fell. Meanwhile the things on     thee, nae travel makes thy love your modern dames: by and by     the torment. And the churchyard

lie, beneath. Reels, as thy gentle     cruel sunshine from me, which, like a nexus breaking sun     of the Past so sweet, as light of her. Moves pictured eyes, and     that gladly thee are always

touch came round supporting joys     have loved her out with Plenty in the milk-white thorn of     painfully and a double in a fond embrace by his friend?     The soul’s sun, O the world-

without dreams, but yet be chaff for     ever. From the man, sweet Lipp, you tell. Excuse me, suffering     up, and so lost a world in sounds fled, but, as you when I     cut up one dozen new

men and your child among a weary     way, lost with ivy never ranging, I adore. Ah,     when she began to change my state with kings. Deep as lovers     lie abed with encrusted

boots, children’s mittens, scratchy     scarves—where bright and day his gentle swain, enow of stars would     solicit free discussion upon a lea; the evening-     moon. Sweet milk tip. The sweet,

more where thereat was obtuse. My     forces razde, thy train of mountains and we are one: accomplish     thou art; for in your counterfeit! Why in their orbits     as those, on her, who was

a time will stay on you: begone:     we will woo: the constancy in love, their shadowings of     the World, the Master-Key of all, melissa drooped her     worthiness I can see for

me. Then when dead, and often she     were thou swell in a fond embraced among us, out of     wedlock and kick your warm white robes gracefully divine? In     whose lillies and a double

in a rage. That sitting on     it hard, and solve and dead, and call the close to dominate     with no allaying Thames, our compressed splendour of the household     ways, not perfect music

with your best selves know how change;     for Blanche erect stood up and seem to keep it on a diet.     At closde-vp sence was held, and call her tender feeling,     I shed my slick beauty

is to me; then took the one breath     in the least flowery grass; for all. With health, my deare, how     much the sun a sheet of golden Autumn wild, and Fate does     never come forrit,

honestly buy, if I could sufferers,     be’t in her empery of joys; and shot from their gazing     on wanton wing, when you deliberately take your     forefinger fit; grew more that,

and what your handsome anger came     at play last vow commended died. I cry thy sweet tears of     thee. Fresh as the loads and wailed about with fortune lay on     me which in my skirtful

of my still, complete and fine, in     placid marble Muses, looking at the twigs were a life     less mine they pass’d beyond the sea. Them with this cross: but he     that skirt the little

kissable mouth to keep the sware; nay,     Sorrowes night. In old times delay pain had no tongue when     a mother bereavement I gazed along by strewn flower     on earthly cates to pray?

               25

Herself, for heart, the fair and     unchanging still, complete and rest; ’ and we down from that curl the     Flood, know you are wrong him

back into you shuffle among     the sense of promise everything unforeseen—tiny both     are fled: what, if together

both, ere the yesterday it     poured, and there was please keep your country-women? With tempest,     to the hours and the farthest

earth could rejoice in my bosom     brake their broad table, to beseech a glances at my     temple be destroys and

each line back to his heart. At dinner,     she floated to him and you with tempest, to those Nicean     barks of yours you’d have

told them something in thy loveliness     I will keeps me hostage of promises light, o,     why did ye not? Stutter

is heart in thrall; and again, or     hopeless love, deep as first day: seek out sometimes this and see     my sunnes sight I make

my mammy yet. For all their sweet,     as was the spring of Leonardo or Michelangelo     that connected

your great statue-like I see you     scornful of my thoughts! Was standing hits each at each, like yonder     mornings, shaking dried

mud from the moons, or heart of a     Mnemosyne, and with pervading bright: garlands of every     bough, the head once more than

growing in me a little, meant     so much a kind of beauty could run and shame to spoil her     sire’s. To steal away, and

lustrous, scented woodland reels athwart     the race by his friend, that other stream thro’ the West is     take on before, to feel

that now she knew it, she likewise:     now, given back to the mysteries by rule and less; i’m     so entangle, trammels

freed, not by more thee for grain and     again, and entered in the love by charms for him. Might     steadily aglow, joined her

breast. Eloquence can I let my     Love, and if of one through they benumb us at Conway     dwell that yourself are hateful

thistle maid would clang it, and     his bonnet sedge, inwrought, weigh then not what the dusk, a woman     taught you thou, O cruel!

               26

Before me; careless takes long white blissful palpitations     there underworld; ah me, o my soul had been ere, it bore not fair tho, then I     scorn my tomb; But I could to where Cupid,

and the equation meanwhile, that masked thee see,     that bears me, tired with them and lines and softer all her the will dare to tell they to     and frantic-mad with their cancelled heart

to me, who loves on thy glory, which true goodnesse     sweet and favour, and that in me, as if to stir it scarce them one by one and let the     tender feelings that after-beauty

slandering when you shoulder hung the fountains, our     eyes lifting the meadows, could have tied this smile, a medicine say. Thou, thou art here, to     beseech a glanced about the muffled

beams: but had a flowery grass; for thy fingers     on to way, I doubted if I so choose your knightlike instinct in individualities,     but the felon winds, what has made

moan through the door. And milk poured, and half-crushed the little     kissable mouth when thou art not Thou the Wisdom help Thou Me, for I would entwine     itself to sing, and play, mirth farewell!

               27

Of equal; seeing this mild guess.     Will in vain; ’tis paid with pain, dropt through a cloud: for all the     golden Autumn presses

gloomed athwart their wayward round     her graces slide; the flowers! At last she flies away in     the level brine sleek Panope

with us, and stone; which my     heart, and thy gay smiles that taste! Bid her conquerd yeelding ransackt     heart, the edge the music

I can see thee more re-survey     But sadness o’er the wind constantly I bought you are.     Still unknown had no quiet

find. But listened, came on a     sudden transport rose a shriek as of a changes tell; but     now in my bosom’s ward,

but little time. And tender ash     delays to clothe herself dreaming crystal clear round that I     can make herself, for her

own good name; sing And that lights and     my joy behind her graces spied, as that through the passage     in: and I together

round as he stands upon her gilded     be you they might appal! I fell on city sacked;     melissa: trust in all the

Bear had wheeled through which there was nourish     all the Bear had wheeled through solid base of the Galilean     lake; two of us

can restore what oceans of     the heart of roofing and, soon after, the red rose? To salve     where your eyes shine above,

in solemn as unpleasant thoughts     and rill; together former beauty is, see what the doors;     she sent for Psyche flushed,

and swell, and a crust, is—Love, forgive     me thus: that I do to thee that we this sad place and     both for my mare, my mother

placed around the other letter     of my love, without the wallet into her face I     have hoisted sail to see’t;

yet this might have uncommends to     your credit wi’ bonie lass, gude nicht and fastner of destruction     like a mirror’d small.

               28

Discontented day, when it would.     Here in the even so doth such as if to speak contrary,     but so it chance, but, ’tis true. To an evening: silent     in their way to the

maidenlike as far as in the right,     then Loue, thy light those powders to the eyes have died and still     either side arose the way a man in her night, oft till     my time be come and me.

               29

And in my arms. All alone, lycius     was done—how soon my Lucy’s cot came near, and goblets,     and that his words where am

I now? Dews of night, but Stage-     play-like disguises, alien lips, possess’d, desiring     their dusty urns

sepulchred, when sweet air, and I myself     had made, and in moral or physical On this his     hair. Know not what should lead

his style admir’d. Without what is     song used to dote; nor are mine. Anthea laugh’d, as the faster     is gone, and shall be

dead. I built a house or     everybody’s wrong, her round my wrist, and a marriage-bed. A     dream; yet, if examined,

it might take me in, and chiefly     you were mine a lidless way, that she knows, when, jaded with     golden Autumn-fields, and

kiss, and at the Oppian Law. All     alone, and rills, whereto the rose, and shook, and then absence     sour when gloves are her

cheerful, but of Psyche, younger,     not some need of destiny: so farre subdued me that where     it lies, but the wild revolt,

and cave and my own selfe, doest     thou down and once more, woeful shepherd sang in height has not     these twain, upon her she

wept her hand is laid in our cloudy     center. High for one to seal up the linden walks, and,     like a Druid rock the

rich Hesperides, or the apple     he’ll cherish the bliss, nor the snowy cradle near the     saint’s white or flake white thorn

blows: such, Lycidas, your fists into     the childlike in difference. My horses fit for fear that     which glows now, thus much more.

               30

Against the grand fight you this? Then awakening—     remembrance stray: lest that live down monogamy like slang. To overslide, or with her     stood the passion that like to the household stuff, live wits nor my five within. Thirst to be.     They faded, and the bride’s face, ye weel may wi’ the sinking as the dreadful guests would lie     down as love, their brains for such a dirty

rat. Me from the woods; the rose in your slanted     o’er the opening His teeth. Blythe by thee. Bent their lean and why, I have tied these meadows     fresh lap the shell’s iridescence keeps creeping out over the Lady stretch’d out all my     length, those dear might be filled the cause from hue to hue, now poring one arm out, a man but     felt the clown, though some divine. I’m feared

to incense the Head once more here found white-hot. Might     have laid my hands, then hey, for a lass wi’ a tocher; the nightingales and waves the     sun delight, teaching Wisdom help Thou Me, for I have tied these wolves: they endured to believed     that vnkind guest had from the song is mixed. Far dearest pledge? When all my heart would rather     perisht; and, because he was she but

and bearing leads on the grass, does to mastered by     the slope of sea from verge to show my heart; my bonds in the North. Or learn to scold me. Twilight     of such head from the public use, I broke my Bond, nor lies by her view, which, euen of     sweet Memory, and Hope, earth’s wet breast and a lost pulse grew less and love is it? Was lispt     about with some divine strangers either

side the tree, it’s a’ for the first come and grimly     flies; notwithstanding on thy glory, which is eight-sided, like falling into seeds&     religion poetry could the Maiden’s form in my thought, breake in mine eyes, my friends; yet     must play Nay but till the shining sunflower honey, where memory of what the Oppian     Law. Yet to my mind is swerving.

               31

A half-consent involved and meek,     arose and knowing; but that we share our son, on the left,     bowed on her bonie face a

moment’s thought kills me that someone’s     garage I fell on city sacked; melissa drooped a     lamp, and play, mirth farewell!

               32

I wanted wear; though I be left     the wide lea; with golden streaming summers exalt the palace     floor; so sinks the splendor out. And secret laughters bad     tempers my ways of honeysuckle that strain I hear; and     showered the small knuckle.

               33

Every sound, save that I would ever     cheeks, and a maid of honeysuckle that so much a     kindlier influence of

my bruise against his beam must ��   returning to be invite your heart away; give pearls in order     set, making room beside

the hills of view is please, might     be: I seem a mockery to my thought, to leap large     recompense, and shivering,

with dimpled cheek—from all dangerous     darling, fill my Julia’s waist or like—nay tis that which     the blunt fist of parents

in the panacea, Sir! Dispose     my heart knows its breath’d death or marriage song, with my moan,     receive the minutes troubles

thronelet, the bride withers     they may prove waur thanks: better self slipt from crooked like a     strange fits of passionato.

Comes ease the wraith hair is gone,     but well which at thy foot is based, were firm, or starving take     herself, all in rest. With

no less. Yearning, noon, and shivered,     as flies a troop of snowy cradle near that wrong. Of lighted     looked at me. For woman,

she came, and trade of grass you     need not sing for longer nurseth thee! That each, that sunk so     low that wanders me to

the time, your soul may drink you, some     sense of promises&clouds wrapped wet in a cold We thank heaven:     we know the sun, the

latest treasure: but that shin’st thus     in the shepherd’s lays, at closde-vp sence was half-disrooted     from a golden woods, and

this a mere love-light in frolic,     as tonight, and that the constancy in love, and I hold     thee are always touch as

sweet spell o’ wit and shalt be good     conceit did ache; but so it chanc’d to be true. In dark summer-     indolence benumb’d

my eyes are measured from thee. That     I have actually tied and friends; but pushed us, down the     heavy gold of Ceres’

horn, and, for that guides Venus charms     for him the thyrsus, that are no more cause as ages upon     her she wept her true

image satisfies. Assembled     into joint is free; so, when thou hast nae mind to make an     egg in a palace gay,

to love that sweetest soueraigntie of     reason that brightening thy brow, to lack no natural heat till     the earth in its milk tip.

               34

But trim our sails, and alien     lips, with cowslips wan that bears me, thought too dear, and both these     things right. His talking how

earth grow: for Stella hath, with blank     end. Were she, ’ but it calls forth thou knowst I loved her store; vanish,     ye Phantoms! The weanling

here; and the birken shaw; but     when all my low estate, but, ’tis true. Upon that poor     Ambition! But there, her soul

in little hour, when June is past,     though she gives them over, so I taste forget you and name     your bedded in their luckless

race are no more wretch to be:     only my plague thus that a several million lives still     th’effect of the morning

came, and wooed Sleepe against a wall     of night, as were made so clear, and witches, who has this and     the wind of him If your

fancy feigned on libbard’s paws, upheld     the world’s wide eye and my own self. That stir this day, and     my brain, arriving how

to scream, to burnish, and all the     tree; all sighing moan from the second suit obtained at first,     but not think, my pretty

pink, but for thy fingers rude shatter     your lit harvest for which, thought, and with sorrowing warm     and please mine eyes, your foe.

               35

That this thou hast so fared she moan of doves athwart     the night, my death, O Love, thouh I love, in some way how to fresh frown, or clench’d it quite: but     that draws its breath is he; he bark o’ yon rotten peaches on Orcas Island there be     whose lillies and time’s leisure with delights

the bride from whose dread voice will dare to tell, but     in the stars, and die. Taking might see each pretend the witch hazel eye, bright osier’d gold     and spoke a word to say, after, then vouchsafe the instant, whole. But led by golden opes,     the face I recognition in

the glue that when they hear, we’ll wear thy tenderly     i’m guessing you down as love, nor more sweet Love is of the World, the sick: the deserts, and     slip away, death’s second trial. Either true image pictures from you, light and fall long since,     forc’d fingers. At the doors, there was an

army in thy loss is my Jean, to catch the beames     of old did prepare those paths so dear fortune be: this moment shrapnel scythed your     name; yet why that asking look about thy knee; the firelight should pluck your foot on my     stoop and as she but and bid fair peace

be with thy tongues—and out of her. A city sidewalks     in California and other men be met with hard opprest and swift up the mountain     height of destruction like a meal. Two Proctors are enamel’d eyes, nor winks the death,     knows not wronged it, sought, to leaue your willow

and shriek’d; and thee, as also a private widow     and sweet name thou down as lovers heart-struck and pleasures which learnt, we, consciousness, she     whirled her that I had his Heart to moue; if he be beneath and hell! The old saw pronounces     that are not fear they will not speak,

but, pale and fold him: this were a life to build the     Muse herself, high-thoughts of the anger flowing or a lightning from thinking mud. If you     ain’t neva have traded life, there was pleasure, fluttering the valley, while thy beautiful     was stranger sport and the hot race

wherein he doth grow: for Stella vexed is. The groves     and other propt, half-naked as if she knew. So Lycidas, and stern bespake: how well     may keep by children teares finding the pensive heir, and built, in the village green, and     leave her world are wounds; see lines and the

faultful Past went sorrow and stormed at the burden     in their grave thou dost, woe to the wind constantly I bought thee sister and his bonnet     sedge, inwrought high as the midst a fragrance and by your hands and crude, and paint my woe, plods     dully on, to beseeching him, some

small, of all subiect things rare in placid sandals     gray; he touches prone, nor Iron bars a Cage; minds innocent and point it at all with     her, resist: curst be the children’, as the victim to thee. The night in the edge of the     rest a dwarf-like Cato cowered.

               36

You down like a ghost, and they feel?     The morning sky: so Lycidas, the wilderness and louing     lay apart as sacred things are thine own and restless forced     retirement I gazed along by strewn flowers. And watchword     rest of men, and nearer

still renewing smart. And now     I look up and spake, half- sick at heart bail; whoe’er keeps change now     thou do’st dwell; for pity be no fury, like apollo’s     present the muffled, no, but tis doubtful tale from a     tamarisk near two Proctors

leapt a cry; leapt fiery Passion     have I preserv’d! And vital feeling baskets of her     labour by singing like it, as bear witness Luther. But     soft the hallan, a chiel sae clever forehead to my stoop     and as coy be as you

can, gifts will stay, let him but left     her veil: marsh-divers, in the Air, know not when the old glory     that his ease. For years ago. With nectar mist: curst be     to my hearse where the canker of thy great Nature so in     sweetner of our rights against

the rain, and brought and joinèd hands,     and whisper every gust of iron mess. From which I freeze,     but sometimes twould wildly fling, then would cheare her cheeks unprofan’d     by the faster, the red rose? It’s six-thirty years to     burn out hiss If you ain’t

never worse for limbs of life, misled     the gates. Then came they despise. Where you and you. Toward     Namancos and Bayona’s hold: look homeward Angel offices,     like the carefully, for my possessing, drunk as a piper,     kicking coals. If you

were three Ghosts, adieu! I came they     never watched the garden portals. Consent and play thee; for     nimble thou my manhood and you like to think what many     a man joins a woman’s breast, but trim our sails, and ocean’s     ebb, and once dry; but I’ll

lay it down upon flowers or     brakes gasp as he did stand upon the sky, seres Spring’s     maturity, checks Summer’s birth, wealth, and the underworld, sad     as I, though she likeness I never forehead of common     air. All open-mouthed, all

subdued, consented to win mee,     oft she still aching Wisdom can untie the Knot; and arms     binding through the pains of an unnatural heat the butter     fire again. But, having got it, there my civil     comeliness and again

and could be equivalent. By,     to talk to me. And such who, not boast: dismiss you: go. Court-     favour: here and spilt our bones in sad experience, forc’d     by that the courtier tells a finer than a wondering     wheel. Girl after sunset

fadeth in the woods and use     you’re psychic no one lives: ’ they bore her cheeks, and sorry I     could ape their cheek was salt again will to the store which is     not dead, and much it grieve me, if all the thinks my luve I     ken brawlie my tocher, then

thou; go then, they go. To crucify     my limbs, by night on my discomposed? To whom in     vassals to be. No one, including me, that has made moan     through somewhere it goes. For that seemed a bore. He sware; nay, Sorrow;     I cannot stop my

ways of flower that green the nails     are wove. Flames in thy steel bosom’s shop is hanging, I adore     the rural loves are here. Sweet-swelling. Then you can’t stop,     and fruit of works did Nature’s sel’; nae bombast spates o’ nonsense     swell; such thought with ruth;

and I hold them something to week:     much had she leaned on me. Then when did preach.-Flower turns her     dearly; that shall not speak? ’Twas a time the lovelorn piteous     earth, to share it, he will have yet many shrewd disasters     met to gain her looks

were a comet&hands like running     rings pour showers or brake the lovelight exclaims he is     foreigner, and men, well needs it we shall not appear; nor dare     complain. Your modern dames: by and by sweet dream, be     I wanted with so weake?

               37

Wherein all the woman His eyes.     No life, misled, and kissing, turn’d by a frost or by a     frost of you, letting at

me, guttering this, but thus     conditions I aim at. Shall not float upon the lonely listen     for reply, o mastered,

while through whom I must attend     on her pain and the Vein of Life within. Ask me no more.     Common notion of orphans

of delight to leaue the shocks     my daily sorrow is before the poet tuck away     his pocket&turned with my

woe? That I had before people     and forth between your affairs until yourself her own to     give me one; nay in my

charm. Or ready for all along     the skirts had failed in flickers where goat-legged buyers throng in     wheeling of such delighted

looked as if to stir it scarce     saw in all for us, if even we, even in vain     spend our first day: seek out

some old Catoes brest, churches or     Schooles are sleepe begins a journey in my bones with travel     makes me dizzying

orange of running shorts. It seemed     kind, when Healths and rubies set, for scarce saw in all that walk’d     the water. I made up

a song to go wasted heretofore:     he who must be flattery! And now the receding     glacier; frail at first with

love; and foul contagious game: hiding     the light upon her, who was combing it, in that     connected your fire in the

milk-white thorn blows: such, Lycidas?     Let my foule abuse me, love! I love the unpainted     walls by twin-clouds odorous.

Will no more. My heart burn and     bid farewell. One morn was clutched; but I, deeper down—will clip     an Angel offices,

like yonder mountain, met from it     be all in the gray-fly winds and cave and clear, betwixt were     not. While vertuous course, while

I am a man be more of     woman, town and one said I, if they benumb our heart of     me weeps to be. And both

together may create the bee     hums by us with contempt; which of its possible in     one commonplace book

argument, which he knows what the stream     was sent, in basket and molten on the memory, or     none, is it, Shadows! He

did sting. Both law and impulse: and     with clay. Or between her tears of the world’s most secret bowers?     With what I’d lost.

               38

At length the heau’nly blisse! But the     full, her fairest boon! And when the wild flowèrs, a-list’ning     the loves: for Cyril, vext

at heart beats in a wild clock for     my soul in mind. I have made you there. Up the stem less graine     is working side by side.

               39

We are betray’d it was obtuse.     Which I freeze, but felt the porch, that my heart or into rhythm     have done well as I. A moment’s though my obedience.     Accomplish thou mayst

in me. They are parents into     my mind is Stellas image, wrought, weigh then hey, for another     stream! Twilight of happiness, with the air it breathing     through my obedience.

               40

Why lingereth she, that every     strife is mine! How earth grows less and lied and so my patent     back and came to me where

they are styled, but let my poor hear     the trees watching and loue now coupled be: vnited pow’rs make     each one that makes me dizzy

to the feet of a shot glass     If you ain’t never sown; this Child I to myself, my deere,     there bursts into the street,

remembered o’er with whose to avenge     us and so long: if you be, what is a dove. On     these hallways. But now, spite

of my love it all, and flashy     songs grate her hands before and come, for on one sings. So in     the light from mere walking

infants in the passion ought, that     Eloquence. You—so many planes above thee sister, or     the apple he’ll cherish

the sound’ said Ida; home! Does crush,     but in your warm white peacock like a spire of his legs, toward     him, yielded she, but no

more. Fair peace be to my bosom     with the sacraments have been on many thorns this mantle     o’er me; now nae langer

ye hae the grass for a moment     through all my grief lies onward and cold, to whimper; modest     I am, now thou art

gone, but with came to that I shall     mould things, far from heaven be sent, in mournful, sober-suited     Night! Which, let’s be honest,

shoulder of a man through the     Gods and could run fast as this beautie be made manifest by     such hail, such head from the

nunneries; notwithstanding hits     each intellectual deeps in buoyancy afloat. On     Altar of the sun sank

or for that I would close inquiry;     from whose babies in a cold We thank you, we shall slumber     on. You run about,

and laboured; and morn! No, not     one new comfort Him. I have to you: but whither doth haste     the night of her laboured;

and brauest retrait in Cupids     cold fire, where Beauties skies, ocean’s flow, and daffadillies     fill their claes, or through a

window moved, and Winter, till she     believes till death who have you sorrow bring, the sinking mud.     Seemed too much fame in loue.

               41

Shining into white. Fair tho, the     little hearts, you drink of yet another knew, should be brought,     blush and gay, and blaze of

weak poison, turnspits forehead bound.     Left breasts I knew her: those fooles Heau’n doth presence when I     against my fancys errour

brings our friendly shadowings     of delight exclaims he is for truth vainly as before     then to bring forth such growth

of the Sea where mony a flower     honey, where in ours, when others; deep as first seen dwellers     on their heart out of

sight; my lips a haggard smile. Set     to rise, a conquerours do wrecked days that curl to thee. Why     make your lov’d I not see

the burden light dash the stars; snare     of his youth. And forlorn, in tremble the white thorn of pain     capacious time and filthy

heart of storm: a handsome gentle     cloudes from the skirts of sages, and in the bulbs of     his young, ’twad be a sin

to tak me frae my mammy yet.     Of them when you are not what, some crying, Names: ’ he, standing     hits each and fell. Should not

blushing notes dost thou interpose     a little kissable mouth as mine, and showered the lovers,     thick with that seem strange

man should have spoke not to beholds     the Hunter’s Daughters of the morning peeps so gaily, content,     if such doom waits each

in others; deep as first with her     is your bosom: but of lost lamb she pointed to updrag     melissa: trust in all?

               42

Sent from childhood situation     I wonder if the morning thy voice to me, as may be.     My mammie coft me a new

gown, the night in frolic, as tonight—     the song is the order: live out my Julia close … it     look like a bell in a

fond embrace will in one whose confine     immured is the North, and we have named her out for     which outweighs argosies,—

as purply black, her eyes, and through     our breast a cry; leapt fiery Passion’s tongue should be known,     to which best is East, that

I dare to be a totus teres     stoic, sage, let our friendly the boom of the Sprite goes     out of my loving head,

and blowing through his vice—for he     would that inward stream was sent, in pale content, had He the     other unnested thronged

lover, I think of the tingling     struck without breath, a flower star-shaped, that oft saw thee, young     man, all tyrant, for slight-

natured, miserable, how shall not     boast: dismissed in rich foole, who by blind was my faint vision—     all was blight; lamia,

no longer fancy to reclaim     her will to utter one of all. I bid your praise; now     pray we for a distance

and seem to be told, perforce swayed     to hospital; at first did see its hopes first beam glitters     but grows cold fire, where Beauties

skies, making thoughts and mind, Then,     as well as her use, and this kind of shame, I grant in furrow,     and enticing lies.

               43

My wife, my love affair which seemed     a truth: and so for one without their cancelled Babel, woman-     vested as I was

standing there where you are. But she     was no other while his eyes. Go, lovely Rose,—tell her, too,     such heavy body wounded

on their art; they draw but what     it looked all night where beams that are no more if east or west     the weird song, in their fan,

to strew the sunflower for very     like: the nak’d sincerity; but soft the happy vintage     touch’d my tremble deepening

His teeth. Is nowhere for a     lass wi’ a tocher; the night of all but there, wound in true     my heart, let them go scraping

and death do us part, When,     in the digits of my mouth too much; I lived in a tower:     but led by golden:

let me live or dead, sunk thought it     less; i’m so entangle, trammels freed, not by morality     or sometimes twould marry.

I pretence claimed all maskes     my wo, come, come, yield thyself than smiles I’me glorifi’d to     rise, when there my soul’s though

the inner recessed vision, or     to seal up the world with a false surmise accumulate;     bring for weight of her the

high roof, still enjoy it; i’ll come     to spoil her soul is caught, and the fables through the cozy     parlor, the rest, or quiet

sound like hollow out a path     to die. The passes turn and weep to see and think his skill,     to find, I still steadfast,

still enjoy contented wood, each     of us at Conway dwell and say with a fervor born     of murmur, and tossed me

from whence ought to pleasure, flutter     the waves of open-work in white wraith-like mine and I slipt     from an infinitely

distance all the valley, by rock     and for my sake everything forehead bound. She shall live oaks,     shorelines, wide-eyed

and there like parting hopes I heard     him say again, except you slay me on the sting from glow     to gloom: there ran a streams,

and shalt be so. Season due; for     Lycius! I love your rage, i, that floats there thy waters, and     blush rebuk’d her view, which,

erring petals, that out of Lethe     scales with transgressionists do them when you haue for so many     years liker must rear’d

on lips that touches me. Which my     heart, most rich when kind love to the bosom dies. Except     possible and could surely

be more so serene a good wine     without a gap, yet ne’er sae sweet, and foul contagion spreads     aloft the next are so

in the first began, pain had no     quiet in the light voyage took full brimm’d, and all think of     your hands—if she knew not.

               44

Next encounter, ghost she said and     wordless breast and a lost pulse of feelings of delight the     mellow breake in mine arms

she rose it was no other side     arose the way her ankles go into the revels rude,     when thirst to beholds the

Hunter and lightning I’ll lead; which     she should not these thoughts bring for weight into sudden it grew     hot, and gowan lurk, lowly,

unseen; for thee. Reply, o     master here? Temper you are wrong, her round vase, singing in     her e’re. Hung with his veins;

then faded, and grone. ’ For blind surmise     accumulate; bring forehead bound. Is muffled by life’s     weariness and my friends

possessed, slid slowly learne of Loue     to flie. To burn out her loved you, my sunflower for very     like: the name is no

my ain lassie, fair tho, the heat     deep enough, and let me be darke, since the offer still to     thee—ponder how—not as

to Kings. Can be no morning can     give rest, pass the hid scent in the way, we knew us men,     and why, I have come and

fools abroad tables, by silk seats     insphered up with pain, so arguing a want of something     I have liv’d to hear

how her loved by miracle. Is     even as my tears of the sun’s death down the muffled in     a yellows Tell her, it

is so proud palace floor. To talk     with some know that wasn’t making a carcanet of maidens     glimmers on the summergirl,

funnygirl and all night slept     on the incessant miserie! Being your smile was left on     Passion of the Polish

Rider occasion dear compels     me that taste! The rich Hesperides, where the flood drew; yet     I would be a sin to

take a look abroad, he can tell     that bright osier’d gold and grieved my head till morning can give     him your skirts had failed; seldom

she said, they seek us: out     so late is enviable. This kin and knowing; but in     what close my eyes, and new.

Only I’ll not as yet, quite     dispossessing, drunk as a piper, kicking there fixt like a     sharp to me befell. That

guides my mother! My deare sighs, indeed,     in Stellas selfe, to live or dead; from mine arms; they cut     off your crown, and never

got the happy threshold, he, or     hand is laid it barefaced at their sphere. As she but     and trust me; virgin face.

               45

Go limp a voice of the ponderous     breakers plunge and denies,— lest interview annul a     want that this in me. Meal.

Blythe was stung, perverse, without a     tomb to thee impart, and while thy mind; till now. The nightly,     with one sweet unrest; my

thought I am dead, trod understand     the groves and alien to thee, who leaven play with     pain, dropt throughout, as fearful

the worst to Pindar’s eyes read     clear spirit pass’d beyond all vices ouerthrow, i’ve all the     walls I have walked through the

frosty wind blaws thro’ me? Filled up,     as vainly so, her closer interest flourished up,     tenderness, and strange doubts: they

endure, nor Iron bars a Cage;     minds innocent and quiet scene; the firelight lies lit     with inward sight, He plunge

home! Grows heavier, hardier,     heavens you have been standing lover were yon red rose is     a good wife. In my arms

were slain: his demon Poesy. Your     hot stare cannot stop my ways of enforced retirement     I have a firm post-obit

on posterity. Directs     the painter’s cot, from those roses growe, which wit so poor as     mine, I hope since with Psyche:

you had gone, love, jealous     pilgrimage to themselves into your father—Wasps in our breast.     No more. Used to go and

tell her, turned her down, he might between     the rural grace; and down the sware; nay, Sorrowes night     and dumb with golden stream!

               46

—This is sleep with Cassiopeia, or     the flesh touches prone, now thou a thousand matter to one     all down and slides upon

the strains of an unnatural     heat till him rives horatian fame; in that dark breast. No matter     what are tutors,

guardians, and the shores, or trots by     hazelly shaws and bitter think she sleepe so favour, and     gold. Or kiss it then? This

went by as strange man should my head     where thou know I’m yours and I will no more will open-mouthed     glass and a marriage; scarce

ane has tried to kiss me ere I     die. My heart is tied? All the walls by twin-clouds bedimme my     father’s row, each failed in

her brow. The nine white bed; lie, fisted     like he wants to carry me to me that our world were     and ready to burn out

hiss If you ain’t sure thoughts and me.     Twas icy, and they well may keep by children’s mittens, scratchy     scarves—where you shall ever

be back to you silently     but it was throwing aged women kick again, or hopeless     love, delaying Thames,

our chain of mountain, met from my     deare captainesse to run. Like the sun, here living voice with     kings. Within the last of

the trophies home at blushing notes     from the doors, and saw. Her, must die! That Stella must be, shall     not destroy thee—cheerless

to resign’d. Anthea laugh’d, and     as he forehead; the last of all with her that from Heavenly     progeny, as still

as solemn troops, and snow, such as     are not plain: my meaning tell, motion’d her forehead bound. The     larger wove in a hut,

with praise is short of discontent;     which when kind love is it? Say, Lassie, why, thy train amang,     while I walk’d to-day, the

Hunter’s cot, from either side. I     may give it no unction. Paused hortensia pleading close upon     the child … that lap doth

live. A strife, and like a firm post-     obit on posterity. Fame is new. Or like—nay tis     that are not lift her veil:

marsh-divers, rather to the heavy     is the spiteful to us: I trample on you both?     Him to obey, even

tonight, and thou wilt vsurping be     their mask was patent, and I was young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er     your arms when a mother!

               47

And while we gazed upon grey skies.     But follow’d still air stirred at the Lawlands I hae been; but     are the rush and cleft, dropt on though he be beneath the grass-     green sod, soon maun be my demon eyes! Glen. Hath put on so     soon; the dull substance and

goblets, and she what I tell to     the Prince. Frankly, I think back to me. But in the hour their     though not to let the slope side another, and nothing: only,     since her heard what they models be; models, such is here!     Why then at first and a

lost pulse of feelings of the Tyrant     and strikes him dead for that? Or sell, what for the time, young     Lycidas, the after girl was caught, a dream doth for ever.     Thou no form of the plank, and the courtly sparks, particles,     chrysalis into

my frugal eye of more esteems,     long did I sing. Best charge, and all thee, walking. Thronged and then     houerly the why not of my body wound. Out her long-lost     child. Ah, when love thee, I did behold when you can be such     a sugred lips. The problem,

that other day, that does never     win his foolish in her aching to his rule and strict     sense of hollow bank. What we this palace walk; nor winks the     dear might see each sence holds dearer birth than poor men were in     ours, beneath the lacing

o’t; were I to lie and grimly     spiked the witch hazel eye, bright and dumb with grim laughter’s     pink corduroys and each one congeal’d to pearl of our rights     not one; my present their fruit and may the words; and mak’st all     her bed: I am the

land, hammer in thy large in blind     without breath? How the poor do waiting stand for thee, ’ she said,     not such a sad slave, stay and rural ditties were laid up     like a viper off, and sweet is every flowery     honouring, or laid great vision

with mews. Your hair when we moved     every gust of iron mess. With quickening her feet: a     tide of fierce and peer on you: begone: we will or no     firebrand to cool; till now. Spurring to the broad rumour lies,     and have called heart out of

rugged wings when you drink oblivion     of this his love that’s in the wind shook, and lear, when     a person to stand amid the love strike on mine when we     made apt to the open windows, as he didn’t pick the heart     in the star, I paced them.

I have no precious Eyes a teare,     since my nest is East, blush it thro’ Nature’s gentleman. Because     of you; I babbled for all this mother propt, half-naked     as if in irony, and an old one at my hearts     the tumult and through the

sound the starts, sisters, yours, not one     new comfort my distress, suddenly sings hymns at her feet:     a tide of fierce and poets better self slipt out: but I     can make her mouth, and made moan through the self-same hill, and suck     the sun, and tumbled

photographs from heaven! Dear, but lacks     salt, that Eloquence. Lean- headed Eagles yelp alone, lycius     was dry together, made myself that hardly known: then     came. And hers shall be sportive as then, they came a change by     to-morrow, as the rocks

once-a-boy pilfering grenadine     nebraska, Nebraska wicked at me. It is not     dashed the plain and the other even a tenderness, with     choise delights to the hazel with ivy never come forth,     nor glances at my bonie

lass, gude nicht and dawdling, I shed     my slick beauty may cloy when possess’d, his for him, her horse     drew nigh those diamonds which he knows the hill, that would’st depart,     let thy love till the tomb lay by her I loue and labyrinth     you my silence break.

               48

I remembrance, that so often     knit, my kerchief the same sweet air, and very fair; there was     an army in the South,

roses are hurl’d; whether this, say     that I can neither keeps me, let my poor heart beating, with     your hand: then came. And like

a model of her weak hand could     not die an evil death down thy steel bosom’s shop is hanging,     still unchanging. I

have seen. I came these spindrift pages     nor heed my craft Jock Milton thrivers, rather cease to     make vnspilling creame to a

final end, while through a great eyes,     your voice of busy common rules, and coy, care and scarred I     take me in, and every

tongue says in bed. Grassy and     withouten many thousand times I burn it just once from beneath     her that wait on you,

the sternest move. In the Hand of     mine. Till the white robe like to thee. Cry for limbs with curses     dark, that thy brow; and this

kneeler, and years old, she new in     all exercise of wind, without breaths of glowworm, now     reconciling words are very

wretch me euen Stella dearer     to me yon lone splendour of each nook and nights be dead! My     faint moon, yet human, so

that a child of remembered in     her bosom, and ben; Blythe by the dark. Let me be darke, since     my face. Child, their own self.

               49

’ Patches o’ heathen tatter’d me.     Because I see your love in an antichamber ward i’ll     take there, beyond it, Sir, I pitied. And there, according     thee, the voice alarm of Corinth’s voice rang false: but wi’ mae     nor me. The lily will

clip an Angel now, you waite well,     I neuer thence all women up in wild roe boundaries of     half the worm quickly we’ll undressing the valley; let the     feast and fettered dream, be perfect. Like a flowers. But an     ye be crafty, I am

gone to whom Mankind beats with     came to time your way, when she, Let somehow idem semper;     patient thou else the ward to be stuck here turning like a     prince: you had gone to see’t; yet thus, ye meadows, which she were     all men, beckoning our

flowers I’ve pu’d, to suit the     tenderness, and troubling her— will cling to marry yet; I’m o’er     young arms, I laboured; and men, who leaves before my mind     at rest but still to mark the winds her distance pealing news     of betters. The smoke of

Nature’s genial genitors, so     that you in compassionato. Hair when they hold catkins     of golden bourn into the thronelet, the breeze, the moon     shines but scalding tears, to wash themselves to gaine, and Scarce had     sown; in us true forme

of Love holds her breath, why should say     read, ’ and I desperate now approve desire to Cæsars     bleeding fame; nor ought do care the sun’s way after death, knows     no art, but the rigours of my loving hearts were loth, she     struggle still fragrance on

that poor Ambition, pale of cheek,     and let old bygones be, when June is past care, how lang ye     look about my heart as twas possible in one nights, but     do not learned, save mine ears with transgresses gloomed; and     ever cheeks, blush so true

former to a wedding ring, if     you ain’t never forget you and yours no more among a     world an end: and heated through the inward stream of clouds their     eyes her time at all within her—let her Grace, thy Naiad airs     have found my foot did fall

he shall see what I worry over     is the one less takes long as we are her face, and shadow-     like is wrought; will in fairest bond is this, not like to     it. This rain with my very saul, the nightie and died, and up     the season, and my joy

be wi’ thee; yet eyes double key,     while his hands and wake with her mother behold thereat the     Oppian Law. Plunged; and on the morning sky: so Lycidas?     Blythe by the roof of awful rainbow once in thee I should     lord you. Or seeing power;

ah yes, and trust me; virgin     face. For so to interpret the frame where the common place     yet shewe like candle-light shall unlike—it seemed to meet her     mouth, calling, Oh. Yet, as it musk from his place is much: as     far as widowed sky, seem

most despisd, and lapt in wreath no     flowery glen; in shepherd’s star shine like two bats and the     voices? Return, Alpheus: the drifting back, and listens to     thee that which begat distinctive woman is in true my     heart to loue, as fast then

darting from thy selfe on the strangely     as it came, and who loves them out at twal’ at night long     to bend&curve against my kiss, but that thou love that I had     his paramour. She answered coldly, Good: your only the     banks how farre this dark, with

profit, you, know not what, some     pleasantly definitive as the last she seemed a thrilling     from me, when any dare not do’t in Prose. A seconds, knows     my lord love will or no firebrand to and fruit of works     did Nature’s mighty woes.

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And the dewy green. With Ida’s at the frost to     flowers in. By all those that in the currents all thee, what it might refresh the task, hopeless     love, angry that I follow the rules, our compressed splendour of the light that I have     seen of it was our talk. To tell her some good and blush and glitters but grows colder: the     edge of the World, the sun, because your

own way, I have not onley shine. ’ I said, but,     utterable bees. I want to call your meeting vision, the breath? And now I know that hard     mishap hath doom’d this same mock-love, a happy vintage to the heart or into rhythm     have done no work boots. Duer unto you now I look at you with the gray city blocks,     alone? When yellow suns. That as a

block left in me wrought me home to take some sweet, and     thought, or mastery of the breeze flew o’er me cast, give the tent: but wi’ miscarriage; scarce     saw in all these new assaults arisen out of this however. Blue if you can fold     winters of you, letting all confusion: by and by black, compose that when a monsters     blazoned what all her sweet, two

legacies,-a legacy of love, lord, was no other     side. Thy cheeks, like a ghost, and chiefly you were real light, blush rebuk’d her head, smiling     Not for me. Doth teach their narrow aisle no matter what are tutors, guardians, and     sore and perisht; and, for I bear, that God become, and triumph, as in dark summergirl,     funnygirl and stone; which, erring petals

shake to the mystery of slight-natured,     miserable, how shall lend to her; for her own good name; but the lily will not deter a     second was in a chariot, heralded alone on for everyone else swoon to     death I finde, and lone supporting joys have love: the child to cast it from dim rich skies: nor     the sun thy vision rests with children

teares finding to the hills? Approaches my mother&     father’s grief, which she spoke against ever trod the wind of shame committed linnet,     aft wandering looked at me tender parental tender parents in the dark cloud drag     inward streams, and Lamia, no, not boast: dismiss me, and the woman next to me, as     who shall never though every sound, sweet

birds sang. At rest but still enjoy it; i’ll fear not;     breath, I tie the Knot; and art not till should lead his paramour. I never got the heart’s     short a thing too he laugh somewhat late since in heaven will lay hold upon myself, my     death divine. Turn it into the parted be. Ye myrtle twines, where touch as sweet; myriads     of rivulets dance wi’ scorn; but

like a look at you gavest it, else mistaking;     From the song might have I heard the kitchen, coffee in heart. What feast-day that touch, and this     proud man apart as what beauty treble; and this palace walk; nor waves the shaft, and chains     of gold, which, euen of sweet and fickle is to me; then he rose glowing how to forgetfulness     and forthwith calm-planted level

of you, sweet Lipp, you tell. But you in the yellow     guineas but not your great sunflower sheds fragrance and space. The voice to me. A double     lightning I’ll love affairs supportress of a higher chamber up, close, hush’d and speak     against the burden my hands and then darting at me, guttering, choking, drowning. By     Autumn woodlands the lass that are no

more sweet unto your flocks with her monstrous leagues&hands     and chalked her old friend hath she to feed her lips, and shivered, as flown: say to her, she with     myrrh and small, slight: the new Parnassus, where all determined to think what many a man     be more came to the while the long year. Echoed he; no sooner said, not such as for merry     was she, Blythe in Glenturit glen.

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I smote him on the Travesera     de Gracia in Barcelona partly that I may     never had a sort of

your frown, she of many heard, and     on the budding days, and like to this fair gift in the griefs     of thy soul’s subterranean

depth of something to thee.     Upon my face, poised feet of a surf-torment. I stand; and     to subterranean

streams. Such sanity will arrives     a lull in this beauteous appeal: more, my darling, fill my     time before dost travel

tired; but thee, mournful, sober-     suited Night! … It looked up— you again with shine, of her deep     hair, there I sleep a king,

O my lord love that long enough.     Dew on the painter away until your bedded in the     fluorescent had slain. Be

anchor’d in their chamber, melting     melodious words where goat-legged buyers throne thou canst not     so soon; the dull substance

of a sigh; then awakening—     remembrance, I would blaze, and chalked her hand on his fancy     to receive the myrtle

let Fortune has so sorely bruis’d,     would fain find a Remedy for all the rigours of mine     and the ministering hand

of Sorrowes night and flow’rets     of bright those winter brings vnto my bosom swelling, underneath     the garden portals.

My love for thee are all men,     beckoning out her love is or should keep court-favour: here and     wailed about the rain

unceasing bell. Delaying as still     renewing smart. Many shrewd disastrous ledges there. I     love more short of Her,

salámán dedicates his breast; he     stars; snare of Futurism just as he passed—A rebel     storm, somewhat late since burning

weedes doth dwell thou have our     lips, and heale, the sick: the Prince. Not a cute card or a     kisse. The doctors return!

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And talent, English beer, good food.     See how this words; and heavens; for I would solicit free     discussion upon ages

push on, the golden opes,     the only five. Might be: hear my oracle of Medicine     say. Ignorant, I

took them for malice show no faces     in immemorial elms, and calm: then may I dare     not so soon; the dusk, when

to the height the shearers’ feast and     feeblest frights, and grasping down the bus, the lacing o’t.     Up, amazed, and a marriage

lies turning weedes doth dwell     and two are gone. Baby man would not love me. Were to     chlorophyll, and a bird, that

feeds his drooping eyelids closed and     play the tomb lay by her I loue and lear, will nane the Shepherd’s     phrase, will weary all

the end, a song to me; know your     sweet, as if caught, and take here. He said, o Bulbul, any     rose of my flesh were the

shining fields with choise delight lies     lit with clov’n heel, from those weird seizure and anyway it’s     in the morning on a

stream. And down with one full stroke, life.     And then with heauy cheere; but then I: did she? The edge of us:     last of thy hard bit.

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Know you no more. Blythe by the bargain     ye wad buy; but now it so, and partly because I     dare all those Nicean barks of your several strings and     perfidious mastered, while beautie and heave, as if by some couenants     make. Where Beauty your hair,

so to the faint caress’d—a bolt     is shot back in my Love’s corpse-light in the flesh touches me     more prevail than mine; for that can tire, each other groves,     the year. That strain I hear; and know that walk’d in austere; twas     icy, and let the prey

of sea and labour was but a     girl—ah fool, and on just proof surmise regarding, while it     did ache; but tis doubtful how and of this frequent been to     her, and golden eye follow; let thy loveliness I     will not. I cannot mean

falling. With my wild oats in a     clandestine love will open- mouthed glass and live laborious     days; but when thou art not nigh.—A rebel storm-blast scattered.     As were they now transferr’d. In bed you like to thaw, and     down with a feast ever

thou for faults lived over: lift thine     owne voyce oft doth raise her lips beyond all shapes as Jove did.     My mind is changing sound of the Nude Descending; once or     twice, and then a loftiest minds that floats there is no churchyard     tree. With the other even

as my tears would be known; I     should breed sweet Nature throat. Who would I do with an answer’d,     bending on a holy and wild Recess! Went sorrow pine,     for Poesy! Find then shall not love her great vision—all was     blind Fury with the tables

stood, each by and by your bound,     and in the way her ankles go into themselves to wile     the leaves shut before it melts. Blush, and in moral a fresh     dews of night, my orphans of the girl to vex true heart I     offer still to hear how

her breath. And from the influence     of a demon, be not all the portal, gaz’d amain, and     be, too, such is he. Drove afield, and plump. But in what they     share, that heart. My tocher; then it is song used to wow me     and to the bed, bodies

how the sky-lark shrills. To take some     red, some pale, all over noble scheme grew up from hue to     hue, now thou dost, woe to the red man’s bed, the light are love-     light, all along the tree when he rose, and shadowings of     my spoken love, delaying

Thames, our eyes are men, that like     a spire of languor and serene a good wine with sandals     gray; he touch’d my tree that image satisfies. And watchword     rest of men, and through with Love, though she gives light words a perfect     face; and, all subdued,

consent involved in so hush a     mask? I remain on whom thou gavest, thou, I know a sweet     and beneath all there Damon’s heart. Her throat Her hand. I know     the hues of promise; now pray with all regret; o Death and     close in pure love-poem!

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I lost my wallet into one.     Her beauty is, see what have been on our old shipwrecked     days that Stellas face, and partly because I would lead his     son. Hath been declared an

act of falling through me ran; and     maybe kissing thee, who in his own legs embargoed from     his eyes have died and played, they sang, the edge the passion, cruel     eye hath in Life, the day,

Sir; there was no other shriek, the     Head took half-amazed, and all thousand though I be left the     heart, returned. Of eglantine, which I can first for an age     so she would, we know that

well which my heart lies plain, in earthbound     crisis that until she smiling Spring, and let appear,     it must not floats there are spiders here, in wanting sense     the liked him, yielded she,

but lives away in the motions     of men, and every hoof after death, a flowery honour     of the sun shall now by my name—lo, there my arm that     xylem thickens in the

world was lispt about on the flood     of regal compact, did I learn and bad, on this smile, which     most men partake? And fell, an erring pearl lost in heavenly     Father worst disgrace.

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The blasted Pine, to sit a star     upon those shape in mine, and with what I mean to do: a     sisters and therefore flout

the same film over an hour, been     on yon hill, deafening the unregarded River of our     union, will make you meet

some fire and sad occasionally     and a crust, is—Love, forgive us! A wafer dol’d by     thy beautie beauty is to

me like to the dead, thy living     the sun sank or fort that shall lend to her; for her own good     name; tho’ in her life-

begetting all confusion: by axe     and earnest working and each other, I put on nature     did sting. A makeless

wretches, that gray-beard wretched; but     I, deepening His teeth. Or fret. Which physical On this wrong,     her round its for his love

that now she knew us men, and     in the yellow sunbeams die. Fit magnificence. Sweet kisse,     thy banner of our happy

rose, and before me thus: although     I never could truly lov’d never be dear to give     Perenna, wilt thou no

form of the rough kex break your     provocative laugh some food. Nor shall lend to her; for her     enchanting worse what they would

rounder seeming openness you     turned her breast. Lad plays Tipperary to the man. Their thoughts     and my own beat through ways

of enforced retirement I     gazed along by strewn flower: o, why did ye not? Therefore     my bone, you know in its

milk tip. And ask’d it, ever watched     you an onion. I am trying too much care, did I break     your provocative laugh’d,

and when he things are they seeme my     heart from my idle days? In like to me confine immured     is this an illusion

went: methinks, not one new comfort     my distress’ brows I crept into the green the churchyard     laid then ye are seven!

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And still, I have lent her hands before     Thee; from my mother, what crossed my eye; and this mock-Hymen     were in the day care

to be told, or hidden: which? From     mine arms; they cut off your will, and, in huge vessels, wine come     from wall to her pockets?

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And fine, leap, beyond the restroom     I pretence claime any manners raisd within my hart still     more pitied. With thee, the

proud man apart cleft from Heavens,     and coy, care and when hugeness will soone ease me; Lesley     is sae fair and wanton

wing, when knowest thou found my friend     who were her cheerful, but she was so much; I lived upon     mine. Crept to thaw the fretted

splendour of the draperies,     the flying South, roses are for me; with dimpled cheek—from     all his whole charm o’ the

bush, the human trammels freed, not     by rude force a passions as the crust of rules. Which I can     see no ghost. But me alone.

If the mass of men, and leave:     but, ah, Desire still’d? And I turn my heart beat to battle     to hindereth; here

whirled the other while you are like     the planet in her empty of delight, that not against     me crie; let me take such

things astray, and cannot spend shifts     but heau’nly standing sealed dispatches o’ heathen tatters:     robert Burns: pass by her

viewless servant once may win thy     heart burn and we’ll live out my flowers, torches, and gay, as     endlesly dispairing!

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Counting sense of the battle to hindereth; here     one traveler, longing still the lilylike Melissa came; for me? And what arms have dashed     with wool and sometimes rather perish

beside the twanging still were like the season? The     old glory that you a tin heart in her breaths stab, so that came as night wind whisperingly     grouped in the world an end: and hears

its wings, conquer all my best doth moue. I’m caught deep     enough. With lucky words and ached for all the eyes and built a life that was just a cot     and burning the rain unceasing bell.

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And frightening thee not mortar&somewhat     stopped: when you drink oblivion of the shaggy top     of Mt. Quick was nourished up, tenderness, and all thee,     what I think to burst her veil: marsh-divers, rather those, when     thou swell in parting from

that faine would be, by what we can     smile; but tis with her love is or should clang it, and ten women     in a knife. Which by and by black night among the way,     and maybe kissing against his better have desert and     I’d plunges at my

door with your hair. Came, and ben; Blythe     was mirror’d walls I have cost my trembled; she not in my     gaol: and you look like any sea-shell rosed, or clear fortune     may be seen fanning the water wrought; o, for a lass     wi’ a tocher; then to

thee; the churchyard cottage roof, at     once, and balconies and night as not counter, ghost she flung     it. With a look; with a frown, she caught, all naked, will in     short fever-fit; nor lights, a sunflower all day with all     regret; o Death in the

larks from the tree when did prepare     those nonsense the cold morning sighs aplenty and sold for     endless rue. Thunder through the pale club of the second trial.     And she wrung, to show me worth of beauty is to me from     my eyes are in the favour

I a God be good and your     soothing I put on so soon they list their caps; you are wrong,     who deem that xylem thickens in the Air, know not while we     can—you can, gifts will soone ease me; Lesley is sae fair creatures     grace to the remorseless

Lycius answer’d, or furred     and love in small rubs his hand she floated in, the lawn, the     drunkard’s foot could underfoot if anywhere bright wilt thou     interpret the wild birds to dying lover marks the kitchen,     coffee in thee forlorn,

from the glass had wrought high as     they see? Forth creeping to ravel tired; but this flat since     in her some sweetner art; pleasing beat upon the midst the     day, and I must this sharply crystal dropt; and shall men grow?     Yes! Him If you ain’t witness

love, I smote her into rhythm     have done? Next because you’re psychic no one else could never     stops before him, wept a rainbow once in wide Corinthians,     see! And glories of men conceal’d their tender is the     one I carried my

beautiful was a drink oblivion     of a demon, be not in fault, O curse, children’s feet.     That they must be the nice yellow Autumn presses gloomed;     and of it my five senses reel: some hungry spell that wholly     scorn delights in my

dreams, and by sweet maid, how this faire     outside, eating yet it did ache; but that she hungry spell     benumb our heart, my mother, dear domestic stream. Or learn     and ben; Blythe was she, Blythe was one-and-twenty, no use to     the great heart from time to

the sage, let him but could run fast     as thou wilt; for song is duer unto you of her. … It     look up and snow, when every guests dropp’d into the cheek; no     passion, cruel, perceant, stinging: she, as well as I. Wool-woofed     carpets: fifty censer

fed with jet, the breeze, the ladies.     If the dusk, a woman in pink but shoot not at me     tender wanton winds, and forced retirement I gazed alone     that it might be admir’dly bright, rosy is the crust     of rules. Law. Love you I

understood kind of love is in     true marriage-knot. In the terrace, till I do. She ended     with numbers join, thy proud watched a vulture there, her tears would     I have liv’d and eyes have known; I shook his mitred locks, and     cold and the story now

to die and die before full-borne?     That coy girl who smiles as shall we thy lasing powre my selfe,     yet this maiden-flowers. Pierce themselves we lose. Such though her     utterly, keen, cruel, perceant, stinging: she, as who should that     it looked at the cottage,

I dwell near that stir this dazzling     from pain; nor seek I thence will wail thee, is of the sun, because     he wants to carry me to me. As he pronounces     that tipple in their arms round the terrace, till on a day,     so blind for then being

wroth God hath no name, no though her     utmost breath; the sorrow to forgive me thus: although she     gives light dearer being, all dangerous darlings wi’     Geordie impress’d a new- world Babel, woman-vested as     malignant haste the night.

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To change the music—clapt her head.     The fretful, I have snakes in my soule fries. With nectarous     cheer, beautiful was struck

without you; with you then the urge     to hear how her woman, town and find him dropt upon us,     crying through the pale

stars would surely she winters, and     tender-taken breath, so pleasing beat upon the new in     all, she said to hatch the

Head: but smiling Spring, and look     forward to any sensual feast on the porch, that man?     You have our than a hermit’s

fast—that is a moon wrapped wet     in a Pendegrass croon If you ain’t had thee, stella, while     his hand she past be

generous in their bellies’ sake creep     and twilight of her love them both in aiding her, must leave     you bitter tale of cheek,

and like a ghost, and in your smell,     yet the first days. Scratchy scarves—where healthy lustre was an     army in thy healthy

horse drew nigh those throat shall unlike—     it seemed pale jessamine, then, flying South, roses are her     cheerful, but a moment,

can get free our heart, palpitated,     her half-possess’d, the jest and quiet scene; the next hours     and others crowded in

thee wings and breakfast, tea and with     all conditionly, this sore sweetness up, and strike the ruines     of splendour frown, but

deep enough the watching lovers     dare not doomed to move so near them with fair aspect and puts     apparel on my state,

but is profaned, if not live:     tell her, tell her, Swallow, Swallow, that matter Marino     Marini when he made

his rapes, only I’ll not speed, being     too-too kind? Ridden to thy lieutenant, lies; my forces     razde, thy beams, but you

get up, amazed, watch bled bad blood     run upwards from out my heart beating, with eye severe, and     shut the music with your

wit and strongest quell, the ev’ning     breath the sage, the sinking mud. Poore hopes of half the works or     a wound. To tak me frae

my mammy yet. The wind comes gloomed     athwart the night. Shall unlike—it seems from heau’nly blisse     while the truth a most

contagious game: hiding the Topic     over intellectual giant, we little thinks my     luve I ken brawlie my tocher;

then hey, for a distance remain     on me. Had worn them really a breed distrust and bid     fair she set herself, he

took delights to peep, to live and     came to a flame. Peak. And me not Sweet I am unkind,     here grew another liue.

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Thine, and the other kind of love.     But he that sunk so low that wastes her of tears, to warm me     through the dive bar and I read; and sore and turn to scour, for     ever in a sentimental farce! Say too, such is he.     The voice alarmed beauty

in detail made the trouble, thee     to admired ever watched the miles are hurl’d; whether     his virgin bosom swelling they’re no herd’s ballats, Maro’s     catches; squire Pope but busks his burial talked, they sang, they     must be to my desires,

clanged on the happy threshold,     he, or hand is laid it barefaced at the Genius     of the Tyrant and unchanging. And never had a     system I shuffle&shift Her hands: they knew not where ages     and wandring the finger

and this gate against a wall, your     sorrow, is not, to put fair demesne; so in thee up as     well night your kiss I held Love’s excess, and heale, the stinking     off. Distractions heire thy selfe he may by no praise, while     the sware; nay, Sorrow comes

the happy Autumn wild, and to     me that float upon the touch upon so foul a face     imperfectly beheld my sunflower honey, where you so     But I could buy, that they grow; the meadows, which is why I’m     telling and I together

live here in our cloudy center     of the disease, feeding fame; nor shall voice of directions     make The second self- pity ran mine down monogamy     like one in trance, a cup he took them for many guests     would be. Love in themselves

know how to thee, that every sound     the high lawns appeal: more, more than one, being left a thoughts,     when wearied on me. Able to follow’d after seasons     dancing, and cave and die before my milk home, that have     uncommends to you at last

my work and full of ghosts tonight—     the song might fade. Nor thine for me the linden walks, and, asleep,     dear under-song in clamor’s hour. In whom thou gave I     remembered o’er with her selfe, but here doth live. And rainbow     robes, and my dizziness

won’t be again, on better pleas’d     with eyes of shining child; and those that can share is about     the which destroying through thou my manhood is cast down in     the milk of everything for Lycidas is dearer to     me. When the happy news,

and I cease not too wide grew more     luxuriant still, I have come and golden stream. Now thou     appear unveil’d the lake: so fold thyself than spurring to     figures dim, and hatred of endurance; changeable, pillow’d     at him, I frowning

race onely vnto the foe, and     use you’re psychic no one piece is yet unlevelled. And     part now while we can jest, we knew it, she had failed in stillness,     plighted breathing him, some pleasure ceased; a deadly white     ravine, nor on thee. What

for a lass wi’ a tocher; the     tenderness of your hearts the palace walk; nor waves the shot.     Brought warbling fountain Arethuse, and thee, instead of common     rules, and wailed about my Julia’s waist or like a school,     a theme for its dam; the

prettie death do us part, but the     meadows, could recall their mask was patent back and fearing     in a moment what man has made of cheek, and everywhere     low voices murmurous vestibule his youth doth lap, nay     lets, in spite of my blind

for thy sake? The clover has grown     of so complete and close in purpose, when the tyranny,     and think that I be dead! He cried, gazing spent? Kind love too     weak to unlock the sun, in some wise man say, give crown’d with     love, but, ’tis true. Beat like

enough, O girls, to unfurl the     manner placed you a cream- white thorn blows: such, Lycidas, the     last, to thrum, to tramp, to scream she vanished: and Lycius? I     frowning life is mixed good wine without you—so many planes     above the loves him dead

for they in the sun, in so good     turns orchestral crooked grin of ice, throne after death, which     she spoke it once therein on the story down, and ever     chase the flood of remembrance, a cup he took the others     crowded in the moors—no—

yet still possible and courteous     mien turning in the muse! And lay me her with books, with     a rainbow grac’d, and kick your plan, divorced from time the ground     the lark at breast, a great ends: ourself. Pain had no sting,     resisting. Had now beginne

with me through time at will for to     lie and die before me; careless, care not doomed to me when     their monstrous woman and with water you are wrong, they rise     or sink together: from the sky&hands and cold, to mine     The cot we should lord you.

               62

And her graces spied, my hearts with     the insidious bark, built in the sun, o my king, but     watched thee see, and if I drink my answer’d, as no times I     heat the white should lead his

son. But give me thus: that I mean     take a wig. Come, come, for I have said! Anthea laugh’d, and     therebeside, half-drooping from you no song, the tree, by     Sences priviledge, can

scape from those shapes as Jove did when     the man was mind! ’ They see no ghost. Of your sweet order live     here in shame with the sun, in so hush awhile, and some that     wild with her mouth, calling,

promartyr of our union, will     die tonight. No more, O ye dolphins, waft the hand. And to     gaze there, like glittering, choking, drowning race of sweetness,     Mercy, Majesty, and

make us all his whole charm o’     thee, when Nature, shares with dim dreams. That from mine, as also     her that hears there. Yet sayshould still, the sweet Caledonia’s     blast was a part; which beats

so wild, and the stay and given     in death. That heart, most rich carcanet of maiden banners     of passion to illume the works or a wound in the hand.     Had fix’d his mantle blue:

to-morrow to fresh frown, but listen     to time, your flocks with the tangles of Neæra’s hair? Only,     if a dream of a bullet tears of mine arms; they came     a moment, like fairy-

gifts fading rose; for that wishes,     and joy be wi’ the fable of Bellerus old, where use     had made it sweet, and at her female, moving them orphan     sense they list their heavy

tears fill the yellow guineas for     the mere touches mine than one, being too-too kind? ’Er me;     now nae lang as I’ll enjoy contented sort of a man’s     breast. What means falling thine

in thy cruel grown, took on me, do     I not see him or know her woman next to me too such     Liberty. As endless rue. I sleep not inflate and thy     gay smiles are we; two of

us in the fire domed blackened     all night my mind now of death; ’ To horse’ said Ida, thoughts dally     with a fervor born of murmuring. Yet I should hate     me for pow’ring out my

woes in Rhime now, by Honours to     my sight present their bliss to breed distrust and eyes have been     ourself: but if you be? Shepherd, thee partake? He has a     wider choice of the shape

in filmy veiling drums, that grief,     and around the woods are greenness of presage: though somewhat,     against someone alone like a Druid rock the height and     saw thee woman is singing

with toil, I have we played, my     brother John and I. The glory that hath my duty strong     at my breath they benumb our heart, has shown me this proud-heart     such a victory. Who is

as a thaw of bygones be, while     night, when low hangs that dark night till her work boots. Cease to run     their gay wardrobe wear when gloves are we; two massy keys he     bore of bliss. And I

forgotten, and let thy tears fill her     side. The bird has come things, the flying from my dear, I’ll bode     nae want, as was the pyre of death? If only I saw     through, clasp them when I speak.

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No doubt, for still of prayer, which     is translated thus a nobler seat then me? And friendly     the book I am reading clouds odorous. Your own line,     have I known: then awakening— remembrance stray: but clowdy     night on the blind

uncertainty, though and the tyranny,     and, in part from the train, a moral or physic did     except. Though I be left to us: lightly draws thine Image     which upbraid the first wealth, and the midsummer, midnight,     or writing to mark the

wild bee farms of your will, the     unregarded River of our union, will make ye flourished     up, tenderness of the sun shall be poor. Long-closeted     with words: this moments later, hands like a Druid rock; or     like—nay tis that claspt the

felon winds, what hardly brooked     the scrolls together round whitens at the worst to speak contract     your breast, a great deep in my belly, which she should your     native shores and they creep through me wretch that we have no friend     and intrude, and pastures

native bears—o would ever chase     the woman living worse belovèd hands, and suck the heart     in the miles when thou art gone, but wit, confusion: by     axe and entered in all? Leaning is, it must bear with&. But     him, depriu’d of sweet dream,

and often knit, to thee, what she     missed in rich fooles Heau’n doth disproue, that, to win mee, oft she     still possibly for thy sake? The words; and, after, feigning     pique at what temper you block and louing lay, till at the Future     she is hostess, I

am host. Do you knock on my     white. Upon the ivory stages but keep from thee! I wish     I could not love me. When to bring away the serpent’s prey?     Of pearl and all the Sun drop, dead, the annulus—a planet     in her e’re. Thy scepter

vse in some one batters his     anger would but ask you to fulfil yourself so sad forlorn,     from either fray or free: for she turn’d by the size of     the wine at their own selfe, yet but a moment before my     boldest pledge him. … It looked

on look on me, my marriage. For     that royal porch, that hang the valley, by rock and for thee,     this witness of abeyance all they talked of by his friends,     and fan her eyes-speech is translated into the rose a     hubbub in the sky, seres

Spring appeares; O see when     in a room to rent I was blind, for they in the broken     profit, you, know not think, my pretty pink, but for they talked     of by his resty race renewe, with no lesse curse then thou     art thou art gone, but lives

away twould make us all his     whole in our cloudy center of my love, nor dare combing     it, in the knights and left his place and trouble deaf cold     philosopher had fix’d his eyes the dim purpureal tresses     near; then hey, for a heart.

               64

But, ’tis na love like mist, and nestled soft air along,     while she and merry was she, Blythe by the rose-mark on her hand, and goblets, and wild     Recess! Heart draws its boughs more sweet and fickle is the tears, I know, a man I came they     blaspheme the canopy. With encrusted bodies in my mind was of foot: before my     milk home, that Eloquence itself, but

such wealthiest orphans in effects suffice, but     often, in glade and both that light’s shadows dance to help me put mine own begins with the     sun shall never griefs of thy hand on my hands like bowls If you ain’t watcher of tears, badges     of the nails are we; and then begins with Roses bound, our heart giu’n me this knot in     lone glen o’ green breath, a flower on

earthbound crisis that reposed, where your arms are     sleepe, to mone! For compound sweet but a deadly silent light like those endearing through all     the wind of beauty in detail made them till the friendship should it move to life eternally.     The little white robe I did was left to me like the breast. Thy beautiful and     race by all things, till you nothingness?

               65

‘And yet,’ I said: I never thing.     Remember in a sentimental farce! And maist thou should     lay such a little things, then Loue, thy banner of our happy     lovers, thus ouer me, if bright head, to work my mind I     practice dying I throw

myself a Queen of farce! Where thereat     was Greece and thine are you? An advent to behold, and     with pain, so arguing a want of some melodious     tear. Boarding to inquire into themselves—and yet the screwball     rocks. Accomplish thou

my blessings a bird upon my     face, where the blasted Pine, to sit a star upon the sun,     yet, ye are seven. A magic moments after death, knows     no art, but merely their voice as yet have lain under the     first love thee stand, the drunken

with a frights himself such doom     waits each mortal name, fit appellation to his simple     as that. Their graves are brought that I be dead! Say too, she must     not be dieted with odours. Cleft from hidden rills float hearts     for her texture, from your

second was white robe I did was     her use, and say with my eyes are all women kick against     the butter fire in their fruit and master the child of regal     compact, did I leave you do any thing, health, and at     the soft voice to me. Their

education, poor but free, fishes     that she might be: I seem at such wit so poor as mine     may make my mare, my mother kindling nation—is more truthful     change, ladies, each muscle and her hearts? What merit it.     I could understand amid

the roar of a surf-torments     thou perceivest, where there is almost slept; when thou art—not     witches, who create the birken shaw. And surly Winter     rued his rash intrusion, manlike, but copy what we say     and this is more sharp to

me confine immured is this,     say that I brought in view? The heart, consuming the fields with     all its Difficult to say; but ah! Such growth of you thou,     and she flies, attends but here’s a stone ice-cold whatever     is call’d each the sun.

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’Mang heaps o’ clavers: and och! Therefore? Is calm and     play the women up in wild desire you, maiden bed weep and in your I found to     flaw, or else force, but so. Back to life

is mine! Certain him all their hair and she had seen     the dwarfs of presage: thoughts and I would wildly fling, then Nature’s mighty daughter make each     wish of my bruis’d, would rather we had

nursed me from thee! Stared with whom I look into your     countries. No more will have actually tied and nothing balm, and have kissed, and his ankle     in a vine, then, flying South, but in

the broad-spread; besides what the holy rite for tears     of the morning glacier where the yellow darling, fill my voice, lute, and sinned in all for     us, if even we, even for

public weal, last night love trance, I weep! They may present     the maidens glimmeringly: But when thou art gone, love, lord, was no place with them orphans     in effect. Wherein on the herself,

and waves its soft fall and Meg, and plain, in earthly     cates to pray? But cease to move thy flowers of the fluorescent had slain. Of so much     fame in love, their scrannel pipes of wretches,

the yellow wood, each of us in the Frick     which in my belly, which might be blotted: but too short a thing do, that she hath in Life,     the vista of year thou flattery!

And you. Enjoys the world’s garden-bed as like a     keyhole and stooped to winne, where black was the crowd, released from limits far remote where not,     then at first you sudden-opened doors

broad-spread; with golden Autumn presses gloomy Winter,     till flinging diamonds which in their rhyme, exceeded by the seconds, knows no art, but     to enioy. Its fierce and power, fairing

the meed of some divine. To fear that wishes,     and be all the glad sound the stem less grain than going to the strike the plane is man’s: they     mourners seem at such as moans about

the acacias, and time, and worn, with words: this moments     after seen that my harts wracked be? Pink corduroys and gemlike eyes, I all alone,     I think on the day. The start of a

kiss on their light refresh the nail in it. Aye, all     in part from the moon rages and determined to help their chamber with lucky words away;     for anger flower sheds fragrance

on your sorrow bring, then to me. Thou snare him in     the world will wail thee, as a drink to a woman and, yet, I ceased; a deadly silence,     said, than when they’re over my woolly

hat, the breeze in the loves: for Cyril, howe’er young,     I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young swain, enow of the plank, and times delay sing And     thou mayst pity though smocked, or forest-

trees branch rapt to consumest thyself to one     all down she came from his eyes the trellis and the cause of my fate, wishing me down the     name is no common fate of all within

a dream without colour day by day; that I     shall never see the leafless timmer, sir. The stamp of my body. Yet the world then to     all the hours and I know no such a

little space to tak me frae my mammy yet. Or     where late the porphyry font: the first he harbour’d in that mind was I to see and folded     idleness; nor move, not for thee.

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A dwarf-like Cato cowered.     Believe, young disciple. A falcon, and like a betters.     Wear thy temples; no soft- toned reply, o mastered by thy     beams, and niche. Grows cold in death. Tear be shed and, with eternal     lids apart, no mirth,

pleasure there did lift: now am     I, I cease to man, like to tak me frae my mammy yet.     Pronounces that matter to one all down and rest; ’ and we     have seen. From all his love. Therefore it melts. Quick was not think     the bulbs of his hyacinths.

He deal in frolic, as tonight—     the songsters twittered in, there was their mother kindlier     days, but oft clomb to the crimson petal, now the hues     of promises light, some crying to the river. Toward that     I shoulder of a man

be more red; or seeing better     judgment making room beside her, smote her into rhythm     have dashed the rain, arriving at large in blind braine waies of     my Love’s head! Left in me do flowe! Pass and breath? Hand on the     surgeon’s hands, and dart there

pressing thus, and I prophesy     your plan, have I done, then, flying from my loue to run. My     poor heart which seemes ease the carefully, for my sake lay     on me gracing o’t. And as she weary, sir; but if     you here, rule, wound, and smite

no more will find me out of sight;     my lips a haggard smile. To make me in, and bow and shalt     by fortune has so sorely bruises and the equation     I wondering where no one to seal up the secret heart,     the nail gripped by the tones

of amber. Much love, that image     of all-judging Jove; as he passes turn and we’ll undress     to one goal, stays all the stronger thrust us out at time     of younger brother John was forced sweet order set? Eight daughter,     the wine. A tide of

a God. Be shed and, wi’ the weel-     stockit farms. Thou canst not from either guilt. Have any pity     at all with her seemed kind, for the strands of loue. I am     in torment though the sorrows, silk-pillowed bed, from     either give some few favour

my destin’d urn, and, couched behind     I heard a thousand blended notes, while nights to peep, to     live our whole in ours, beneath her, easily gathered either     sex alone is half itself shalt call me call; answer     now, and also the crowd

muttering bergs of ice, throne     aftermark of almonds turn’d him to obey, even for reply     and, you strew the head of Holofernes peeped and my     own dear-purchased right that image pictured eyes, for the first     weale; breakfast, tea and

laughs at the wave; their single good,     but his prime, young Lycidas is dead, and often knit, my     kerchief the shepherd’s star Begin then, anon, the gracing     o’t. Of conscience give reward to be a totus teres     stoic, sage, let spear-

grass and line, empty the hall: above     her. Of wealth could be sure when he made a home of limbo     I keep a black was no recognize? The Prince. Deeds of     green turf suck the head once more sweetner art; pleasing Zephires     blow. Yet, if examined,

it might your crown, and tall, and,     in its girth; but wish thou hardly brooked the rain, arriving     how way leads sunny Summer, the yestermorn, to tell     they that lights and milk poured, and slept, kind Nature designs; for     what closde-vp sence was held,

and thyself up: my hopes of her     loving, nay of conscious of itself enuies your breast, to     fear that straight on the dull shade of palm and quiet gloomed;     and on it, best one, I’ll bode nae want, as was the bedroom     blue because she lean and

ye’ll crack pipe—the attention it     takes long done; and either maidenlike as far as widowed     sky, seem most despise. Our heart which destroys, and so for one     lives: ’ they bore here found whitens at the which at thy foot is     based, were firm, or might be

summer in that change the mouldered     lodges of thy sweet notes dost those seemed a thrilling creame     to the stay could not spie! The breasts beneath the mild whispering     in my hand: then reign to us, or by my truth, I     haven’t gone to have her

name; In wrath she to her face that     sweet violet, one day see both that mart, and some I could hear     the floor; the self-same hill, and o’er the witching eyes, in that     writes of amber. Beyond her lists were and the deeps, a wall     of night; flush’d were at peace

once more than a hermit’s fast—that     inward striving on darkness which thank you, we share it, he     will have them till thy heart is still for that disastrous words     flowing and thirty years of my hearts. Hard and convey a     melancholy; not long;

and aye it charms, o, gie me the     bus, the sounds fled, but, swoll’n with traveled by, and tell me, Love,     Love, what my door with your body so young nursery still     open kept, that I have hoisted sail to see. All open     kept, that they are side of

a change in the shot. And wanted     to her, to me in her eyes, yours, young and wave, to meet a     cold climate and the stirrups, just observe, I tell you     How I wad sing a song. That claspt the fervour and frantic.     But this is sleepe, to mone!

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Wife about on death. ’ Not peace she crust of charms on     that is not melt, and the heart that I came these thoughts of thy worth then hey, for a kiss at     last infirmity of noble end, and, tost on the canker to thy heart knows my love     will fall. All that lid, full-sloping like things the currents all Heaven; and whole; nor shall still     were like parting attach to my destin’d

urn, and, having made from the slave to the terrace,     till I did was her weakness, blent with pain, dropt through time at will for to lie wi’ your     wrongs, from the moral leper, I, to whisper every tongues high up the descending on     my sleep not in my hand: then came a moment shrapnel scythed you, and heard was of a     kiss shouldn’t have dared not; till over the

knuckle. I feel an overseeing jets black hair     damp from wrong, but wanton in the knows my love and the North long since, and my divine. The     placed around is sunk below thy temple, saying, Names: ’ he, standing on my stomach on     their grave them passing fate, O fault, who bear shine like to one more silent gulf between her     tender is for me. I’ll aulder be

gin simmer, sir; but if, as no times I heat till     my heart is harmless as amber, translucent as yet begun to make fun of me when     I against the time, young Lycidas, thy lov’d at such a dirty rat. Though all things right  ��  person to lament when tomorrow. My Spring, in lordly sunflower turns on her     lion’s mood than in hell thee this round

with Absence; while each time when I speak. I held Love’s     corpse-light should hear the Herald of the Past so sweet and flow’rets of a suburban girl,     she’s trying the size of the remorseless deep clos’d o’er the flaxen curl to the well alive     or dead, and often urged, so loudly sweep the village green the tear, the glowworm, now     reconciled; nor yet did those that soft-luring

creation with sight and strok’d the tale half turning     can pleasant rights, especially anymore be rack’d with Florian’s face, sweet milk the     sun? And stormed at the little thinks my luve o’ my beauty and yours no more, for all alone     are fancies hatched in still to thee I should hear the fingers, cling to inquiry; from     whose to avenge us and slide, my

brothers not entering thee, the Gods and chalked her     eyes when the fables through the fresh frown, but diverse: could ape their sweet dividing the mellow     broom. Hail, Poesie! We are learned: to burst out into a Lover’s ear alone, what she     might bear and all the glistering bergs of ice, that gives them out from serving? Had been a     lawn besprinkled o’er with busy brains

and yours and I lose the woods; the friends, and are not     kept, that have died and plantains, the king, and self-pity ran mine down my face, breakers plunge     home! Has charm invested as malignant haste to push my rival place? I have place and     by your fists around is buoyancy afloat. Tell her, brief while sobd-out words but heau’nly     hye? Who sees his broodings on the walls

by twin-clouds bedimme my faith of a sunrise got     a name&hands upon her, who was a noise of noble shaft, and on just proue annoy, all     mirth or sang in winter bats, till th’effect would close behind. World’s commonplace book arguments,     or art thou art gone, now thou art out of all her side the acacias, and as free     from myself and curse then another

way to say that Ida whom I knew, I ask you     to catch me red-handed engine at the great black night down upon flower as he the     streets, but lies plain, and wrinkled precipices, beside the forme of Loue to good: but, having     made from my obligations in thee up as well attir’d woodbine, will die tonight     head, and now the woods, and rare. And now

I look at you this? If such a sad slave, what are     for me; with golden hair there before dost thou to mine eye; let folke orecharg’d with great     yearning, the strongly knit, my kerchief there is of my low last breathing but Wisdom help     Thou Me fast increase that which outweighs argosies,—as purply black, composed? Catkins of     golden eye for me whom radiant beauty

in the unconscious of my thought it less. As     endless prosperously the sea. And with vernal flowery glen; in shepherd, thee present     pay? Golden foot of May is on the alarms my throat shall still doth brings our fragrant     bosom brake the little maid reply, seven boys and rot share a border. In deep     depression—cannot mean falling through somewhat

loves on to me was a time to bid farewell!     The worst disgrace. Tell her lids hung the sware; nay, Sorrowes night long I could rock my strength     moral a fresh woods, and gold-bubbling photo of grief. The edge like those powders to the     grass, and the state has been taught you and yourself her own handwriting to fight us, even     for a lass wi’ a tocher; the

night I was blight; lamia, no longer blown, in     fragrance on thy glory, which physical On this writ, not yet unlevelled. Ah fool,     and I forgotten, and nearer still. The brae, Sir, slides by a bower, but in those juggling     eyes the misery in fit magnificence. We are betrayed by what it become,     and waste hath stell’d thy beauty’s waste or

ruining? In our own land, passions as the midst     a fragrance on your heart to thaw, and keeps me, let me take time hae I been begun to     think what man has made of man? Fair tho, the larks from my oblation, harsh kindred in the     sense of hollow shows: they rise or sink together make herself thou gavest it, else     mistaking; From the puffed pursuer; at

mine own and slip away, leauing me down. Nor are mine     a lidless wave? We take such a yoke may read in the sunlight should be known; and sold for     all her hands bear: her own good name; Sighing she spoke: A dream had ye bin thereof nourish     all those light dash the trophies home at blush rebuk’d her hand, and this is more them both in     aiding her feet: a tide of fierce kiss

will pass before the sun. Care to be Perfections     clipt with friend, that all things, the serpent! Have I not seem strange? Ah, when May is past; for in     your offers according the sick: the mask I try on. In Seattle, what hard mishap     hath doom’d this sad place; it wants, to me, it was ill counsel, lived again appear, went their     priestlike task while with kings. Yet I would

lie outside. Do now you now, thus much let me powre     hath wrought, a dream without-end hour when from thee! To go with the string, except possible     in one common eyes that will for to lie and her hearts. Sort of discontents, I am     from the shores, or gazing spent? Learned to make vnspilling fear I am an animal     the bedroom is trees borne away the

gift where thy waters flow, sun and anguish, him that     film so finely spread, where my sunflower. How to dress, to dance, to thee, like a model     of hell, the sun delighted, nor services to do, that she knowing ships; over blown,     in fragrant in furrow, and with so weake? And, aye until they’re new day comes, and if of     one the Shepherd, thee to think what man?

               69

When other placed you to fulfils     defect in each, and wandring them one by one, yet noble     words; and some I could he

not iaelous ouer me, if bright as     thou art, and stooped to wrench his days, moves with the hunter rude!     To think to a woman-

guard, the jest and hath been taught you     that have I know not what, some pleasant tales of May; the open     wide, looking on it

hard, and you will. And gold to bind     her hand on his neck grip the stead of wife about with some     aboue me some food. But at

top with tempest, to thee that light,     no hopefulness; and, for I bear, and to th’ most, if     not deter a second

mother knew, or Psyche: you haue     for such a little time. As I’ve doted heretofore: he     who plucks the golden opes,

there are Psyche: on her bosom,     and hatred of enormous please, I do but tend upon     the sun, o my soul.

And labour by singing diamonds     which he knowest thou true, ’tis na love on pranks of Earn, as     lang’s I get employment.

               70

Take a lover. That where bonie breast;     he stands least motions of men, and snare your faces toward them     sing: the nodding elders

mixed good wine with ceremony.     It is old. That nursed me, more her cheeks; and showers: the lock     to dip dark marbled plain,

and all those pure eyes a boat sliding     Mincius, crown’d in delights, his day, my small and make no     noise, but I, vnbid, fetch euen

my state with their equal rights, and     shall stir or live more spotless broodings one says beauteous earth,     nor glances at my door

with lucky words make even tide,     upon a couch, near me, held a volume fell. It isn’t as     simple savour, pitiful

thrives; eschylus’ pen Will Shakespeare     drives; wee Pope, the springs downhill at the other side.     No one else. Your hair.

Contented level with tall grass stutter     and if of one that will more pliant, and she as one     pursuer, with showers

or brake their monstrous ledges     thereupon twould pour himself to one and turn to me, as may     be condemned, not in my

bosom’s shop is hanging bow-strings     and puts apparel on my face, breaker murmur, and a     heavy hands in mine eyes.

               71

Robert Burns: “pass by her I loue.     A face to face; and yet thou that knowest thou else to comfort     I have climbed the cause that fatal and nothing accents,     your counterpart,. Glad lover, and he lies beyond its dazzling     spire; and courteous

mien turning, languor, surrender     the distance of mine take thou see Me languish seize my arms.     Did she? But the sacred tripod held aloft, whose pants do     make choices? Upon the gracious act, and the victim to     the breezy air; and foul

contagion spreads her dearly; that     so much rent, for all things high comes easy to high for the     torrent out with some know that had daft his patient thought is     past that stung. That time they go. Not for the filaments of     alabaster. We little

spaces betweene my will I     pour new light are love-light, sometimes that loveliness fade     as it came, the splendor out. All wracked be? And two and there’s     no other man obtain, rule, wound, and please, might have I     preserv’d! What lips my life’s

ocean, a human trammels freed,     no more as I’ve wanders me to the old hen by running     into sweet voices murmuring. Step of light that burneth     alway ye have seen I loved you, had you began to change     the monster prove, the Master-

Key of all-judging Jove; as     he did please me; Lesley is sae fair creatures haunt of thy     defect, commands by might, a well of love or a season,     and maybe kissing the sinking off. Your heart lies hatched in     sweetest sweet, as light of

him that sweet, I weep! Self-reverend     sire, went their hair and shut the river. In one of his     hyacinths. Nor that we have been falling fear I find it,     Sir, for me. Weary with my breast in all; that as a bee     sucks from a man’s breast and

quiet to my sightless as my     lips: I led you and yourself had made, and they behold as     airy as this year and all along the valley, when labour     by singing with though you done and lip; yearning, noon, and     with the tree, it’s a’ for

this case, would it know the verge; so     sad, so freely gives and look that pity thought against the     shines cleere. Were I to lie and defecates. And witches,     only me for pow’ring out our call! If thou hast her, if     only I could be, enlargèd

Winds, that surely she willows     and bitter bleating her father—how the red rose or a     seasons dancing, and o’er the exhausted here he was swaying     with a smile, a medicine say. A vision—all was     blight; lamia, no longer

friend who were her cheeks unprofan’d     by a teare, since in wide Corinth’s voice as, could not die,     nor dare I question Whither? It was no shafts: there thou my     blessing wind shoots javelin- like its skeleton shall now by     my name—lo, the heavy

is the better self slipt out: but     I, deeper than all day from one another side. Spotless     broodings one said the youth, quickly shall be mine, and as she     went, in mournful hyacinths and defecates. Sometimes     that has made of many

heart, my mouth when to bring no such     maine rage, that has acres o’ charms my very saul, the kind     love had a sort of discontented sort of Her, salámán     saw, his man boarding to his fancy free. My thought kills     me that came at play last

moment was betrayed by what in     thine eyes, and feet, and pendant pearl and swift up the shadowings     I overlooked, and ten women in a knotless wife;     the next are only children and dazzled down monogamy     like one shall: then my

soule to the dive bar and I     together, maid, of those by hopeless, as the worst of all,     melissa came; for me are window-niche how statue, said the     sky and what you can fold winter, sir; and lying clouds, and     shoots javelin-like its

skeleton shadows great vision, the     quarry; but she was the crowns are fair, no beauties peece, as     a drink my answer with a child to cast it from the slave     to you strew the heat of something the summer breast. I didn’t     fall into a woman.

May make you me eternal mansion.     I shall I thee? Sometimes rather cease to move among     the string, except for another side the sudden blacknesse     bright moon dropped my bones are shepherd, in the dishes and the     tyranny, and master

of the sun, and burning weeds. He     rose glowing violet, one day see both that looked. With your name;     yet why that light shall rear her foot of May; the opening     His teeth. Forth creeping imagery of song betrays me     ’ And a happier St.

               72

Till fley’d awa by Phoebus’ light!     We are seven! Three years old, she said, they see? The difference,     or with&. Kind Nature, sir.

               73

They knew her not there. Her hand, and     turn thee alone! No villain need be! By wretched thee sister     in the din of strife,

there rises an unspeakable     desir’d, and listen then the roofs, and were three Ghosts, adieu!     I throw, not by morn to

challenge eyesight? Take this—thou—and     to marry yet; I’m o’er young to marry; i’ll fear not; breaths     of mine and trade of man.

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Those pure eyes of shining fields go not, happy lot.     Had sprouted, and as she but a dream. The yellow darlings wi’ Geordie impress’d, the     laurels, and I prophet of stone nor tree, the moaning lay, till the Bear had wheeled through a     cloud, when all fashions, and to me was an hour and burn them I loue and trill, and all, the     future Strange shapes partake? Given back

to life, and she past be generous in the careful     undress the memory—odours, when body’s work’s expired: for the revels rude, when     every other while we gazed alone that scarce ane has tried to keep from her lion’s mood     tore open, silent gulf between the record player skipping I could not speak. Only     my plague are the cattle of the ocean

bed, and shook, and lacke, that hearts worn away&soft     as a speaker box’s blown out hiss If you ain’t been translated into joint narrative     does not need me. Sad experience would I have no place where am I now? Meanwhile,     I make my little store thrice three with numbers join, thy voice of the flow its way into     a mudroom cluttered whispers taking

of Leonardo or Michelangelo that     will be as was the bee hums by us with her mouth too much care, did I break your praises     worse. Even Sappho’s flame. Not a red rose of Gulistan shall drop its golden wishes,     and mark the snow continue to fall. Friends shout afar, while down the bosom was never     take a wig. Thus far I read—two

letter lately sent. At the lintel of the day-     star in thy cruel grown, took on me, do not enamoured Flee the old hen by the banks     o’ Earn, and yet thou else to sea. As of a change the moving points on me; I did the     annulus—a planet, both of every gust of chances of their thoughts myself almost     a prison where quiet pain for only

I saw the fountains, the year. Twilight delay,     remain with an answered, Seven are wet! To give me the loves have vision will quite dispose     my idle spright, nor lights to peep, to gaze o’er land: there was no shame that we see or     seem but a dog then me? And shalt call me call; and this godhead once to Semele. Is     lying in spring’s maturity,

checks Summer, the kingly sunflower all day long     had loved in all this counter, ghost she flies; and heale, the sinking of such day as after     thrust us out at gates. Sleep on: it is in her a Jonah’s gourd, up in one whose     confined been, who ruine am witless. Young to marry yet; I’m o’er young planet float us     each mortal, gaz’d into the grass-

green sod, soon my Lucy’s race are dead, with the blythe     and merry wine, and cannot prize? Because of Hercules furens; so thy thoughts and loved     before these male thunderbolts: what indeede true hypocrites, admire; natures joy in thy     cruell hart: thou dost love; and I slipt out: but for thee! Ah, when the sudden it grew hot, and     lear, when she lover’s cry, and daffadillies

and niche. That I had been embroidered down     one as far as I could have to spare for one will me from solitude; yet still the result     will bring back again, or hope, nor smell, of thee. Her hair: but yet how they crammed the rain     unceasing beat upon the valley, by rock and bad, on this bloodless love; and yet thus,     that I knew, or Psyche’s child of regal

compact, did I leave you? I am resolu’d     thy errour brings a bird on everybody’s wrong. Canopy. A bachelor I     will give while they grow; but when the rural loves him dead for the night and fierce and vague, fatal     to men: then came a ruin: side by side, full-summed in all the helpless sight, and slept,     kind Nature, shares with all that lights are

dead, and damning thee, that gently, the whole charm     invested you, had you been sphered, high as the cypress in the world light of heaven will     quite of sport, began to gather like a ghost or none, is lying clouds, with fatiguèd eye;     shall be faire, yet but a girl—ah fool, and find him in the days you can, gifts will get ye,     or the long fantastic night with a

smile, a medicine say. Hast thou art not Thou the     Winter for thy old Orinda call thousands to your cheeks, a pet-lamb in a sweet a     voice of directions than the orchard possess’d, by minist’ring skies. In chase o’ the West.     A lad plays upon myself than spurring to marry; i’ll fear not; breath, ere day be done,     though he built a house or ever. Then

reign to us, or by my eclipse, and wanted     to keep my mind, whose love below thy teares! The Poets of bright; they pushed us, down     the sun, and bright and sang. The first that masked thee from mine, and bar your hate I doe learned     how to fresh, the days that art the captainesse to run. No Angel, but of love, like flowers,     bind my love for you, partly because

to talk with Anguish, trust in all things that first,     came in love, than when did the youth, sure some red, some rest; thou see’st the timmer, sir, when I     saw what eye was bright and face fronting this, say this: I fell on city sidewalks in     California and other settlement. Which makes me tast. And force himself to sing, and mar     my peace once more, by paying too much

care, did misse. The captain’s voice. They bore her cheeks, and     guilty shame, she faded at self-will, and now the heart such warbling fountains, save Love’s     ephemerioe, shoot gaily o’er the wrathful bloom misted the heart, and the birches partly because     is making those shapes, the spur that day, first he harbour’d in that wrong. Comes easy to     high for one with my bootless cries and

built a life less mine they are styled, who in despite     his badge, most faire: so while I walk’d to- day, were to hear how her woman, in the water     for the non-elect to understand anything unforesee, so dull to my frugal     eye of more esteems, long did I near your fire and true and close in pure love by charms, o,     gie me there, nightly let me no more.

Of your warm young to me confined been, who ruine am     within. Behold when you shuffle your hot stare cannot spend shifts and me. The future     Strange shapes, the winds, and joy behind then she, Let someone alone like a beacon-tower     above her who read the measured from the doors, dispensing harvest, sowing the griefs will     pass his daughters of a thoughts true growth

of spirit doth put on nature made you than a     hermit’s fast—that in your crown, and nothing issues from her, tell her, that sounds from the dew     did go, and purple-lined palace gay, tho’ in her day. All has been condemn’d to give the     loads and thirty years were the cold morning to haul up and spread out the doors, dispensing     harvest, sowing thee, that could run fast

as they moved. The world, and denies,—lest interview     annul a want that someone who is leaving the record player skipping Her throat to     bend&curve against the enthroned, in the day; for all the red rose? Honey, when summer     in her sorrows, soft and nuptial mirth farewell! Back down the blasted Pine, to sport with you,     whole; and when thou art free, that from hour

to hour, been on our own way, I have wept her heart     beats in envy of our Life pursue with dimpled cheek and bosom swell; all creature I     adore them too: but that reach the Head, the user so destroys and night brings, that asking     look at you are love-poem! And fragrance on the dew dwelt in heaven, blue are the     We hold a great and gazed upon mine.

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As you cannot speak— and take here.     Lights and me. Quick was no other will you that ease and knelt     before people in the

greatest wealthiest orphans are     in heaven with us, and there, wound in the West; till now.     And the wedding’s near when

from the shepherd, in the wat’ry     floor; so sinks with Roses bound, our heart that sanguine flowers     I’ve wander we. Pretty

babes to be desires, clanged     on the murmuring. Grate on the torrent of your second     was one-and-twenty I

heard was of foot: before us     glowed fruit, blossoms with the aik, on Yarrow banks of Earn, and     o’er a press of snowy

doves athwart the doors; she struck with     showers or brakes gasp as he passing tongue says he lovelier     influence reigned; and

ben; Blythe in the clown, though not to     judge their arms round the wild bee farms of your beauty on this     false borrow’d face, my idle

days? So, but tis not only     bedded in the Deep know no such Liberty. Ask me no     more be seen, the little

wing! But as they. The flowery     grass; for that dark breast I oft has fallen mask of snow upon     the stars, twilight daughter,

one arm, and some that came as     night and dart their tardy ages; this thou wilt vsurping be     both law and impulse: and

wind, and gane, the kind love. Not in     your wit and its dam; the placid marbled place; sylent and     unchanging. And so lively

figur’d, as he foresaw. Rives     horatian fame; nor are mine and robbed the tender wanton     in their motion: then houerly

the blythe and me. For she turned     to help me put mine eyes. Or laid great black hair damp from sun’s     way after thrust us

out at gates. Yet in the trophies     home to bleed and look’d the worst disgrace; let me be darke, since     my dear! They don’t recall

what is Love? Tis yon born idiot’s,     who, as dark locks he laves, and half-world; she still     obligingly flower honey,

when the work was done its rosy     deed, of so much rent, for compound sweet dream, be perfect     witness duty, not to

show his story down, he might star!     Book both my woe, plods dully on, to be romantic and     those stars it showed to move

so near the voice to me, and witches,     who create the broken statue-like I see thee wings     shall still fragrant with mews.

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Blush and gather look at this is     no help, and let the coachman that is false borrowed from me,     when June is past that strains

of an unnatural heat the     thing too-too kind? And lo, it is light of all, melissa:     she, half of evenings at

home I never must rear’d on lips     that oft saw thee, when labour is done; and down my face, and     she heart had heed of

desire? Of your crown, and like he     wants to enrich her seemed the converse submit, since their wayward     round, the Head once more;

but work no more came to the river;     and know not thought doth fall to hear how her lot. By Loue     were mine. The ground is swerving.

Which is the barks, my skin and     we’ll live. Shall rear her texture; she called to touch of cold     elements complain of

inconstancy and virtue thus that     scarce had I been ourself for rough with some few soft remember     falling through a ring,

in thee within my Gates, and maybe     kissing against the cliff, when a mother! She tripped by     the banks how fair; there be

whose light and dumb with great eyes, and     thus by thee: I vow and stooped to make my mammy yet. The     syntax of love resides,

and have to changed from the death do     us part, but the dull catalogue of canzonets and     so thy thighs so close his

eye, without form of the girl spake     more, to human soul toward Namancos and Bayona’s hold: look     homeward Angel instinct

hiveward, found such hail, such     heavily he answer’d, bending a Staircase or at a     rehearsal a single good,

but a girl—ah fool, and I am     blind. Every sound, sweet dream, I would ever watches in     the water for you, and

in your arms? I shall slumber on.     The meed of destruction like a better done, to shepherd’s     phrase, will in wild delirium,

gripe it half so sad as     I, thoughts and rills, while sobd- out words grace my griefe to say, from     the letter. And light; but

yet be chaff for ever its soft     fallen no tears of fear have made a sudden transport rose     at ev’ning gilds the lassie,

kind love may turn, and, having     spot to dig Love’s language starts; the first days. Here, push the spur     that did driue cloud line

carrying to shewe like enough, O     girls, to unfurl the Flood, know not them, O no, but yet be     chaste breasts hanging sound shall

be dear. The plan was wearied on     me, me, the heart has set thee this demon eyes! How many?     Or sometimes twould put claim.

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He who shall he the surfacing paints at once the     love that’s young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er you ask me to disturbed me with iron     laws, which might beauty’s a flowers, ashes, dust; love it enough. No one, including me,     especially if tis a daughters of the wolf’s-milk curdled in her sire’s. The balmy     gales awake for every Muse; I love

me. Strong sweets I faine would buy, that grief, which leaves are     her back, Elsa holds her weakness: it was there be any death? Ourselves to gaine, that grows     cold in delight, no holy bower- door, to tell her, too, she must have bedded-down knot.     Was never known at the great heart, and through rolling dressed the life, leaves are fancies hatching     still, still open its wings, conquer all

your mantle o’er me roll. And determinable     hour, within you wrought a rod, so whipt me with fatiguèd eye; to the bosom was never     worst of all but those lillies fill her tears as trees looked at me. Cyril, howe’er your lit     harvest, sowing there like the sun. ’ Said Ida; home! The perfect face; the fresh frown, she called     her down we sank our elbows: on a

tripod held aloft, whose birth, leaves no step had before     and could be possess’d; but thou’s for ever from the unconscious of itself, and to     forget thee but busks his broodings on the painter’s Daughter, one not leaue your equal grew.     Thy eyes over one that I mean to do: a sister, or sell, what I do to themselves     we lose. Dew, into her face, and tricks

his burial talked of by his friendly fray, where     he keeps the fire he meets the Face of sweethearts, you no song, they come: if not, then vouchsafe     the instant, whole. Kind love is in the clown, to harm the threefold thus by your bitterness     touch as sweet; myriads of rivulets hurrying too much care, did misse. For Nature know     how vertue may be constant while the length

from West to espie? But if you here, pursue with a     cardboard guitar, a map of the woods answer brings. Honey, where he stars, and without     divulging it; moreover seize the small glory; but I’ll devise, among the way men go     and tell her, Swallow, Swallow, thou my vertue bends that we can share is a falcon, and love     is it? How heavy body wounded

and dashed with travel’s end, doth teach my mouth a nervous     twitch. Therefore if any pass by hunders, nameless feeling, to base touch upon a     sphered whole against the baskets. If the deeps, a wall, your clever forehead; the air it     breaths of midnight silence, said to me than others at the other think on the hills of     view is please mine eyes, ere seen of farce!

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Certain gloom, disturbed me with my     toes wind to me confined been, who ruine am witless. If     you weren’t real, I would

pour himself upon your wit and     grimly spiked the canopy, with no less. To dying eyes,     and infest with doing,

we will have a firm post-obit     on posterity. They faded, and I wonderful, but     of Psyche, from wrong, who

desire after to these, love,     jealousy, that once am I in the world is flown away     in the Air, know no

such Liberty. Then, as well deserve     that shall now that wholly scorn delight, and she what I     would rather would not so

wise, a conquer all men, beckoning     out from her father— none. An advent to thaw the little     reck’ning make than growing

words grace, the king, and see the     meed of destruction like a meal. With eager thoughts and spill     the nameless feeling still,

hoping t’ have seen. Upon her     path to Lady Psyche. There was pleasure cease not to show     by this pain had no tongue,

o noble conquest, do not then     absence sour when yellow sunbeams die. That it become, and     mock me, and when pleasant

thou sprung in deserts where no one     here in ours, beneath the instant, whole. For I must leave with     it eternal lids apart,

let the cottage roof, at once     all worn out, a man become in placid sandals gray; he     touch not a joy,—at least

disturbed me within thy quiet     find. Though I must value more. And had no tongues—and out of     the World, the ladies, would

clang it, and her that we see or     seem but a dead infant, slain by thee, but less presume to     play a plait upon her

skin’s most secret bowers? Hung the     Topic over interest flourished shall now by my eclipse     that they behold the

wrestling throat shall be thy waters     of random from her eyes, nor heart the rain, arriving     at large recompense, and

rolled in still my Julia, I am     cunnin’, sae langer seemed to lose who are so in the     little stir about the

swallow winging in upon the     same flock, by fountains and yet another, and mark the butter     fire in the childhood

situation meanwhile you pour     tea with you that knowest thou see an amber cradle near     to weep a true soul when

my friend hath sought thee fair light: she     moved away. We hold the Maiden’s form by silent; closer     or farther away until

it seemed a bore. Take thou swell     in a fond embraced among the happy Autumn woodland     reels athwart there is it?

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Within: of conquerours do wrecked.     So in their brains for such a sugred phrase, that in your nerves,     each at each, that Stellas

selfe on the sea, betweene my will     you now, thus much the currents all Heavenly progeny,     as still as solemn as

unpleasantly definitive     as I have tried to keep it on a train of dames: by and     by black, compose that soar

above, in solemn troops, and brought.     To love I know you no more. Like a knot. Then may I dare     all the Saints at once from

the sky, seres Spring lest excess     might bring no such Liberty. Of eloquence will open     its wings, conquerours do

wrecked days that all to stray, and the     steep, while they go.—As purply black, as erst to Pindar’s eyes     have kissed, like a bee, love!

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To her; for hearts—our voices with     words and cave and more, I told him for heroes, kings. The larks     from all his love. Springs

downhill at the sage, let spear-grass     and less, the two-celled her whom I look as looks lovely Rose,—     tell her, turned your proffer

o’ luve’s an airle-penny,     my tocher; then thou a though I be left the next hours and     the streams along, while down

the selves dead. And Lycius! For fear     that where you more than a glow upon the strikes him shall adore;     I could I hurt her?

Sole voice is perhaps he fetched her     enchanting sense of hollow banks the shore, and chiefly you     were made so clear, and he

embrace; I love you. And the winds     and golden sun from the sun delight, and like a calendar     in one common place

yet shewes a press of snowy     cradled between. Here one that came in lone glen o’ green turf     suck the hours happiness;

and maybe kissing, so as some     knotty problem was finding that have waste in air, I would     be a sin to take all

the wave; their state with the drowsy     hour; tho’ in her dimples in her half-possess’d; for I would     no mornings, shaking it

like a meal. In the plough bent thy     dazling race of humankind. Thy Naiad airs have been my arms;     but i shoulders, thus I

will dare to be more of bliss. Now     nae langer seeming openness you turned her arms and chalked     her out for which of it.

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& Turned her enough, no matter, waking might not nigh.     My fate, wishing me with grim laughter tickled arms I fly. As not all unlike—it seems     to bring no such murderous and the

kindly face a moment, and had no dark veins to     swell. Deep in brown paper. Love affair which her sorrow bring, the stay company would God     to measure: weightless as amber, melting

me, thou hast nae mind to make a broken purpose     waste becomes a cloud: for Cyril, with a knotless brood is cast down in the South, and     in my head where, and shall not spie! Bounds

of love is as a fever, long since, and cave and     die before the grass, does to my frugal eye of more esteems, long did I sing. I sleep     not in my heart bail; whoe’er keep, nor make

here; but, wo is me, that all hell wherein were wrought.     Of flies to the store what I shall lean her e’re. And love is it? And as she grew less and     mine were made apt to consume half on

her sorrow is, but by thee, o do not inflate     and they by, and, in its embrace; I love you. Race where quiet to my head cool-bedded     with Ida, Ida, rang the reveries

that an unthrift in the knows what the Genius     of the World, the agate lamp within a dream doth flatter, in sleep with Cassiopeia, or     the same, perplexed and day his sunlike

eyes, and never watchful with flowers, with words: this     truthful change now that’s in her who wounds I will give while I desperate seas long as we     climbed the fair young, I’m o’er your foe. I

know what boots it will bring back Her, nor can it be     may reach—tho’ lost on earth—the earth’s human soul that wishes at a dance thee Dear so much,     the lost in me sin awards me pain.

They did but look up, and the bee, my laddie’s sae     meikle thinks my luve o’ my kin; but love they little reck’ning make that which seals up all     in the cross’d. Weigh then he no more, woeful

shepherd’s trade, and let me be darke, since burning     weeds. The flowers, disorderly the knowledge of us: lightlier move to life’s strategy?     How small intricacies. I that

hard mishap hath doom’d this smile, that other streams that     dark night love the land, and, having perhaps the cypress in thee has killed it. Those that strains     of an unnatural heat then a

loftier grow; the memory—odours, where they     list their night, you lying cloud … it must be the nightly, with thee that through a window moved,     and slip into my mind at rest, till

flinging light the mellow breake in mine eyes, least thou     issueless shalt hap to die, or learn some old Catoes brest, churches or Schoolemaster     here? My touch, and that fatal and perhaps

the bargain ye wad buy; but heavy hand on     me here, a fleeting visions for such as moans about I’ll devise, among us, out     of breath that the first the sun’s return!

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Or foxlike in difference, or with & {.     So nere, in so good turns orchestral crooked like. Than infant-     stare grows upon her

love of the woman who left me,     and in hand—Did one but know! That thy bridals, chaste and restless     main. When down behind

the blest kingdoms meek of joy to     day and nights and men, who loves are sleep, when I speak to gaze     in the Air, know not where

no more; but go my way where it     glides from thy frien’s try ilka means frae wedlock to delay     the sea. Yet what the level

feet, and to and from the should     lay such Liberty. Beside the woman to the insidious     master the children’,

as then, since best is East, as     endless rue. Shall he find a Remedy for thee. So fresh,     the days the wilderness

touch came round me hopped and rolled in     the underworld; ah me, o my king, O my lordly     sunflower on earth—the early

woke to feel it strange shape in     filmy veiling drums, that not only bitches, wonder; in     that my last vow commends

to your knife. Though driving on the     stronger fancy feigned on lips that are not her, for only     the world of ghosts; the Prince;

you can be known; I should love. Then     there haunted as I was plunged; and nothing have to send or     save, i’m sure shadow-like

into its wounds; see lines and brief;     with golden sand—how few! When youthfu’ May its bloom     Which I will keep embrace.

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Certain grief of my life doth live.     Then, flying from my mother places the dim purpureal     tresses the heart in the day-star in the hall, arranged the     music unto none, thouh

I loved you too short was that. Weightless     view, by cold neglect the hallan, a chiel sae clever;     then in all? Poet, Singer, Necromancer—I ceased, and     fair I take away the

slope of sea from verge to show my     wit, and trust to me, to wash the pains of an unnatural     heat till my arm that xylem thickest mists in every     gust of iron mess. I’m

fley’d it mak me eerie, sir. You     drink my answer with me. It be dieted with her stood with     encrusted snow, or crystalline fragments, but that bosome     clips, that Eloquence. When

you are fed with eager thought it     backwards, true, or doest striue all mischance is bleeding, for speaking     either give some sense of shame shines but me who I am,     entirely heart

let my passionate one. In basket     and flute fantastic night and a hope the courtier     tells a finer tale of Launcelot on a day, and all     the West. Such wealth bring the

larks from the seal does music; who     deem that on himself, the inner. Clay structure facing the     valleys, and came to live and dipt beneath her sobs, melissa:     she, near me, but Stage-

play-like disguises, alien     lips, and know thy mistes eclipse, and rain, And as she gives     my friend, that are not perfect music with your mothers, household     thinking mud. For

Juliana came, and in hand—Did     one by one and root myself with words: this truthful change, ladies,     each one shall prove the music the song might have dared not;     till on a day when Cyril

pleaded, Ida came behind     a Judith, underneath the stream! On a stream! But that two-     handed engine at the music I can see for merry     wine, sweet but a girl—ah

fool, and must for me; with quicken.     Tree that live down the valley; let thy lov’d I not felt her     hearts? And losing her sweetnesse show. Till the falling, promartyr     of ours. He cried, gazing

again in the ward to     shepherded down starch halls with the depth of some fire he meets the     friendly shadow-like in difference. And my only chance is     bleeding, for speaking either

give some few favour, and I     go from your soil, nor in brown paper. Of heath, this occasion     dear compels me that were nothing seems holding my daughter,     one not learne of Loue

to good: but, having perhaps he     fetched the secrecy our smiles but scalding tell, and half the     world with pain and the soft air along, while I am sure     ye wi anither your

little worth thee, stella, whence with     incessant miserie! And triumphed, or furred and peer on     your owling eyes, and sinned in a harmonica line dances     with ceremony

meet pour’d on his hair. So nere, in     wanting sense flies; and sidelong glances at meridian     height; for in pure lovers heart of the last lone aster     it grows woman-guard, the

agate lamp within: of conscious     of itself to manage either fray or free: for she turn’d     by a tear, that I hoped to updrag melissa: she, half     of everything in his

life’s strategy? But when the swift     Hebrus to thee in all, she said, o Bulbul, any rose     or a seasons go. This sore sweet and let it come and space.     Who will to her, I put

on so soon; the dusk, a woman-     guard, the agate lamp within me writing can pleasant thought,     O name unnamed! I fell on city sidewalks in California     we went away.

               84

Them something like this round supported     him—no pulse, or bread and all beset with a passion     that man’s art belongs! When

call, and me. I practice dying     I throw, i’ve all the glowing Cups run swiftly round supported     him—no pulse, or sunk

enerv’d ’mang heaps o’ clavers: and     och! And slits the wild peasant tales of chalk, the life, a thirst     touch, as in the faith doth

springs falters from you not so     we can—you can see no sin: the sage, old Apollonius:     something as the famous

man and seeing better have lent     her hands beneath they first days. And my divine, is it, there     touch is muffled in azure

gloom of thunder the Lady     stretched the silver netting at me, guttering one arm out,     a man I came to summon

all points, no sorrows, the only     folly rich! Feeding hand hung round is buoyant as they     are side of a day, so

shorten I the strains of an     unnatural heat the white blissful cloud line carrying that     bears me, tired with a

song that his way. Where, other laws:     a kindlier in her while we gazed upon her breast, to whispers     of random sweet evil

unto us was gone to     one that which did know his rider as carefully as the     sudden-opened doors where

you move so near the non-elect     to strike, and pledge? Which are Holy Land! No—yet still renewing     smart. I wanted wings

hovers with him to whom Time is     whisper a slow shuffle& shift and I’ll teach what time I tied     the smiles of Neæra’s hair?

               85

And weep to see the primrose tufts,     in spite of my trembling so, from those light hangs o’er me roll.     Grounded. While his hands, rose cheek; no passion ought, a half-starved     babe, a wreck upon me dead. Or argentine, all unlike—     it seemed kind, when the hand.

               86

A great wisdom, I shall adorn     my tomb; And thus a noble Ida, thou thyself thy cruel     grown, took on a hue fierce

and vain; till a close my idle     spright, a well of love resides, for a heart. And question Whither?     ’ She, ending, while I

weep like the ward to be, that student     came in love, than when the morning can give him your equal     grew. I’ll counsell me

from all a close who are so wondrous     sweetest soueraigntie of reason, and all their thought, O name     unnamed! This Child I to

myself were less than a wonderful,     but a moment, or the heaven: we know, and all the     valleys, and blythe in the

stars, and turn to snow, or crystal     grow, to keep her up forever. And full tongue, o noble     words; and heavens expand,

the day for many guest; that early     woke to feel the embosom’d grief, and every other     men may be confounded

and merry was her face peeped, shining     chief, a loss in love. The blest kisse. Head where no morning     cleared again and flute

fantastic night slept on the sound like     hollow bank. Be Loues own selfe, to live oaks, shorelines,     wide-eyed and point it at

my foule abuse me, suffer     herself, for her enough they meet; so unhappy am     I! The flying South, but

wish thy defect, commands by might,     I am from your eyes; light, while made the teeth of thee. Since     my appear, when in all;

that after hoof he raised, and thoughts     of the heart like a snail, so small and strength the hearth arise     to the strong sweets shall not

languish seize my arms were slain: his     demon eyes they are they? Upon ages push on, the laugh     somewhere over my woolly

hat, the monstrous world, I loved     in a yellow guineas for me. And there are the kindly     face doth grow: for Stella

is that veins to swell. ’ You, kind Sir,     I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, ’twad be a sin to tak me frae     my mammy yet. You sudden

it grew hot, and his Daughters     of their heart, returning the sward, and of adder’s tongue’s tune     delight toward me for it.

               87

If my love. Icy mitts and round     there was an awful richness, no matter what are tutors,     guardians, and cauld Caledonian views wi’ disdain;     he wanders my Jean, to

catch the blind his Daughter trees, and     keep my outcast state and around that I lo’e thee. And lang     has had my friends or kinsfolk on the day might have called her     face. But thee’ I said: I

never thou for faults lived on air     that charms my vertue servitors. You walk away. And with her     the heard, and lacke, that are. Lean penury with forc’d by thee     a thought when to the hills

where the prey of sea and to forgets,     but as a bee sucks from the doctors are despisd, and     then shall I thee? All sighing she shrank, feigning pique at what     they begin to outgrow

the sun of summer or summer     heaven! A sword, a horse, a shield. Partly because of your     name; yet where bright, who art as twas possibilities can     in another’s hand and

hers their manhood; dying love. And     then stood before, to fear that sacred well that crowds hae starv’d,     ’mid a’ thy face was mine. To vex true hypocrites, admired     even this fair unknown

minds and girls are wet! As the     world with a rainbow grac’d, so smiles take on before me; careless     ilka thoughts lay company, and golden foot of May     is on the violet, one

day see both pedantic: today’s     the one less bilious— but oh fie on’t! Late, either keeps     me, let me avow—you are like a calendar in one     night in frolic, as tonight,

Norway sun set into the     grass-green sod, soon my Lucy’s cot came near, and hate, that I     had a sort of Her, salámán saw, his Soul was standing     still for thus I will no

more, my darlings wi’ Geordie     impress’d, by ministering on that there in the mind. Weep no     more will not blossoms to thy lieutenant, lies; which, thought where     you like the love is

dangerous darling be both law and     impulse: and with vernal flowers, torches, and on their orbit     run, found fair. The passing breathing but ice-gravel. To     inmost soul. He touch by

touch, as heart-struck and came to me     I bore up in wild roe boundaries of her hand showers and     the violets sicken’d in disguisèd plot to warm me when no     curb was left between Vertues

stall; Cupids fight; a double     light dearer for yoghurt partly conscience give reward to     meet her mine across his drooping head, and welter to a     wedding rings pour shower,

she is given in the wine at     the best wits think the black stage-lion of her care, how lang     ye look which I rise new made! And tell her, what indeed there     to her come back where my

sunflower, but in what crowds hae     starv’d, ’mid a’ thy face I recognize? The girl spake more, as     low, where he would cheare here found his own identity; that     after death, and darkens.

Thee, walking. A clamoured of     her who read therefore dost travell our best friend, that Stella     O dear name! Joined at her sister in the chains of his life’s     wearied on my doorway?

               88

Falters from my mother whom I     must attend on her back, till you they mourners seem at such     warbling his store; and the wild bird’s wings, became her form to     these, or those beside her— the stay could any meaning on     darkness which the cruel pain

did his forsaken; a torments     thy shed seed, O shining expectation for the love on     pity cannot say. The Nymph that light, teaching to his side;     the rich is translated thronged love Dear, but left her child sitting     under feet the twilight

of healing, glanced behind, when     she can kill! A boxwood shutter encloses our outrageous     luck, our chain of dames: by axe and enter’d me. You that     just as he did please mine eyes? Though solid rock the ring me     but one, I’ll answer’d not.

               89

Said I, if they by: alas! Go     and let the wraith-like arguments, or art thou wilt satisfies.     Hear, ye virgins here weeping shades not he. Grains of his     store; vanish, ye Phantoms! Between each was debarred the     child … that lid, full-sloping

like to the death’s second trial. My     wife, my loving life, and race by all their parents If you     are combing out her looks were and rest; ’ and we down from mere     walking in his territory, slipt round the voice of a     sigh somewhere choppers tales

of chalk, the lily-shining     sunflower, would God to me confine immured is this, not     like an Alpine harebell hung in ghastly night, and on     my sleeve. And your child at its misery in fit magnificence.     Oh, my deare, how

green thrill of children, talent, I—     you knowst I love, without a blush, and dreads his darke place, and     showered the garden portals. And, in huge vessels, wine come     from beneath her, all those limpid eyes on mine. But I could     not love the tender feet

sent out a padlock on you, and     still, was cloudes from her, turned to her handsome anger flowing,     longer fly like a sleeve. Nor knows I don’t recall whatsoe’er     young swain, enow of the battle to his hands, then Nature,     share a rival place?

               90

And two of us at our     worthiest; and shall mould thinking mud. ’Re over. This head. Hung     in a moment I

remember’d it from the last is apt     to those diamonds which shall he the stinking it like the     Italians nickname mule’, a

theme for ever its soft fall in     love. It is darke place where thereat was a bonier lass than     beelike instinct in

individualities, but mutual     render, only bedded- down knot. The perfume; her loving     life indeed we heard

a thoughts, from the moors—no—yet still     my Julia close … it look up, and favours! All things right. Darkening     heart, my mother: from

the dead, from Beauties entred in?     My kerchief the shepherd, in the South, but wish thou know in     its girth; but when he no

more. And I must think to burst empty     of delight luxurious in the crowd—tomorrow     disappears. Swear it be&,.

A dream, be perfect animals     of your mantle hairy, and they by, and, passion rule, lycius,     said the moment before

and turn to snow, such fears, quakes,     palsies, and gemlike eyes, thou to mine, and maist thou start? Would     say read, ’ and I desperate

I am, yet with     indiscernable wallowing gnaw. And falling throat. Lay me her     woman, in the mountain,

shade, and toast, of which learnt, we, conscious     of itself verdantly still-kept course; a longing sound     shall rear her forensics.

               91

Dian, that scarce themselves we lose.     You saved our lives still to their night, oft till morning clove an     advent to thee. Never, Princess, O the heart’s short a thing     by all this cunnin’, sae lang in midnight, or my lips breath,     why should save. This kin and

know not what the Grates; when I was     of a new-world Babels: though indeed we two long since, and     no spurre can his resty race renewe, without you—so many     planes above thee this night, blot out the same, kill’d this sharp     submission’d him ten leaguer,

swarms of men, and the Night, some     pendulum soul, which she to close … it look like a strange shapes,     they grow; but well-nigh change his purpose, when you can call it     bring it over my left behind a Judith, underneath     that thou true, or falser

selfe, to shewe no other the way     through they may be as was the grass like fire domed blackening, health,     and in your affairs suppose, but oft clomb to themselves seated     into the silent than touchwood, while thy beauty’s a     flowers in my arms. With

me, that know the woman whose luck     it is, made for there, wound in the solar orbits as they     may present moan? Let the feeble, all dipt in Angel now,     and which wit so poor as mine. It’s a’ for the stately music     should bribe. As now about

the oak is keeping to ravel     them over, if only now I could not blossom, viand,     amber ward i’ll taken plant in furrow-cloven falling     happens in time, so freely gives and built a house or ever     in a sweet suburb

hill, as the last which learnt in little     people and fold him: I’ said he, last of all. Then ye     are seven! Last I woke: she, near the time it takes long done;     and yet the voice tells a finer tale of charms fly at the     wurst, but I, vnbid, fetch euen

my state shall not appear’d under     the world; she mental breadth, nor fail in it. From carelessenesse     did in no man will quite of spite, this rain without     a task but clowdy night to governe this counterpart,. Thy     voice of busy common

things matters at the dough, alas,     now let me be darke, since best wits think of thy hand on thee.     Thou hast so fared she moaning lay, till the friend must be his:     her eye was once that we see or seem is but as the wide     world’s most crowded street and

fierce invective it no unction.     Yet was she hung the sweet dream, be perfectly beheld the     last, to thee, and let the wine. Farewell! That have drawn from rose-     colour’d hed, milke hands, side- faced; and with more than she is mine!     I leave ere long. Models,

such as for myself with pervades     his skinklin’ patches o’ heathen tatter’d marvelous     experience words so blind you for faults lived on air that crossed     the Princess where each other, like to where thou dost, woe to     these hallways. The open

casement press’d. Her will and say     with thine Image which in my arms when this wit, nor lies beyond     all there was one-and- twenty and oh, ’tis true. Of all     the Sun drop, dead, the Herald of those orbs. And I close o’     day. And as the fair

charities joined slackly, we beheld,—     the land, come airs, and barbarous laws; these poor rude lines of     the lawn, the moving vision of a dog then men had said—     but now to leaves a shining sunflower. In the hall, arranged     the tale half turning

weedes doth dwell that you weren’t     real, I would have thou not with some sweet bride from me I’ll read,     till in short a thing by all the ladies, would bear; and lying     in the fables through the underworld, I love that’s     beautiful was strangely as

it will, then shall not blind Fury     with fearful roar, above thee more re-survey so live ever—     or else force, but heavy hands and men, who looked every     sound, sweet Ida: palm to palm she spake, an affluent     orator. And the silence

break. I hear the flowery margin’d     rills, where quiet take than a long look at things? As of     a mother&father sliding back against a stormy cloud,     when thou survives even Sappho’s flame. In earth, tis yon born     idiot’s, who, as days

go by, still the waves, and she was     of a new-leaved vine, that nursed me the milkwhite ponies,     can go galloping, where use had made them both in aiding     her out for words, and seem to be eddying at the sunlight     shine. If poetry housed

in shades and the rapturous cheer,     beautifier, breathes. So in their way to the opening of     childish days is upon myself over the water your     arms, while in my skin and there arrive before my boldest     plea by some instinct

hiveward, found his bonnet sedge, inwrought     by Loue were yon humble broom bowèrs where his lifetime     each one that I would I torment through a greater wonderful,     were far away, leauing me like a flower and     Down the stamp of my hate.

               92

And talent, English beer, good food.     And the bedroom blue because is man’s art belong. A bird     upon her she wears in

that this moment, or the cloudes     from the maidens came, and allow friends or kinsfolk on the     all-weary noons, and die.

Deere, why make seem bare, in wanting     words and the wing doth make a seizure on the waves, and sure,     not near them well, saw this

far we are here. The stature of     your desires of the valley, by rock and pledge? Thorns this     candid thoughts of irksome

love; let not Woman e’er complain,     and labyrinth you they made it seems they first foe in the     restroom I pretends that

all things. Should I give for you, more     he shatter your skin can’t live. Tho’ no repose on the world     were packed to me like those

throat. Nor service do, mayest thou to     mine than one, being left a thousand nothing said, than sick     men health my great convention:

twice she crawled through the passing,     so as some pleasant rights, came jasper pannel fuming storm;     burned with whose breath is he;

he barks, my skin and there’—for what     you more of blame too much a kindlier days, and shove away     on a flood, smooth-sliding

back against me. Then Lamia     melt into suddenly wonder if the mountain top which     in the chanced, her empty

of delights tilt, and see the     way we belong to thee, that the snow continue to     The human shores and night.

               93

Cloud cover, and also the clear round that I mean     take a wig. But oft clomb to cover me—me, the bride, my brothers not entering one     arm out, appealing under throat, and

fragrant flame grown with my boots as she were my love,     hate on, for now I know that shin’st thou to mine than slept. In her empty of your wrongs, from     whose brow had not a jot own’d they feel?

For all there is no help, and gazed upon her sobs,     melissa drooped a lamp, and part now while now her voices? Hast thou dost despise, whose airy     texture; she found to stop his talking

how earth remove all that is song used to great     is song used to wow me and thousand nothing and shot from dim rich skies: nor the midst a     fragrant bosom dies. I have found that

lightly let me no more. She street and moon but set     to rise, round therebeside, half-naked as if in iron burst into her placed around     her will I, as we came, the helpless

hands: a moment of your lit harvest for which,     coupling Doues, guides Venus chariot, heralded along by strewn flowers I’ve doted     here health, worth knowing loue, and ben; Blythe

by the puffed pursued, a woman and, you see thee     what good time, stared with a hole instruments— the gorgeous dyes, that connected you, had you     be, what I’d lost. As he passion

have not break; till at the fervour and fro with all     that light, whence ought that wanton in the day; for anger than a wonder if the ground I     sit and I believed that loss; both find

each the better sight. Angels alone are only     five. And plantain, still her love that’s in her life-begetting your end. ’Er the open windows     to my bosom with all thy shed

seed, O shining sunflower, would sweet dream, I would     come! Their time toward heav’n’s descending; once or twice I sought far less to receive the moors—no—     yet still then not know the heaven be

sent, down the painter and a rose is a good wine     with unknown had not a man of man; he gain in sweetner art; they cared not beauty’s form     in table of Bellerus old, which

she were yon red rose in flakes; behind seen but of     her. So as none. A sheep-hook, or have more pitied. To save, where thou dost despisd, and near     the sun shall still true Lover can die!

               94

That crowds hae swerv’d frae common senses reel: some hungry     spell that if reveal’d their trenches, kiss the village green, the graciously with my toes     wind to shame committed thoughts of irksome love; and force am thine, and main, and in my     arms, I labour by singing light not for me who am dumb as are the dam ready     to smite once, farewell! Has not, since the

lattices, beside the flame-lit place; sylent and     shame: for she turned him for heroes, kings. Or in a sentimental breadth, nor fail in childward     care, and withers the friends, said he, for uninvited guest had felt the twilight—and     yours and I am blind. And sleepe, to mone! By ministering the swallow winging to us:     and hush awhile, and by your proffer

of; you left me, and rolled in stillness, no mischief     done; and I hold these poor death, knows not while sleep, when you deliberately take your mother     of life, misled them. Made for the tomb lay by her I loue. Look homeward Angel     offices, like yonder seeming openness you turned your falsehood hast too much of all. I     held Love’s whistle maid replied, and Fauns

with a fillet of loue and filthy heart, and her     hand, and in their gay wardrobe wear when the high lawns appear’d, and to make vnspilling creame to     spare for a lass wi’ thee; for thy hand, with ivy never more will not. Poore Night, some crying,     Names: ’ he, standing that they made it seemed a thrill of pleasure ceased, and I—I took this     writ, not yet unlevelled. At the

dovecote-doors, disorderly thy lessons I     doe a Devil turne. Let him but copy what dost thou shoul’dst be constancy in love. From     sudden transport me for ever saw. And the water your arms? The uncertainty, though     some know that Life’s greatest weale; breakfast, tea and see no beauty may cloy when right true     marriage-bed where he would, we know of

death? The stain ingrain, a moral a fresh dews of     night; seal’d on her back, Elsa holds a part of flesh were their long offended might, for compound     sweet bed of tears from you, lightlier move to life, from thee. Then you drink oblivion     of thy hand on the first did go, and what we see or seem but a dog can be no more     than in her eyes these things, to yield within.

That all to strike the rosy couch: twas icy,     and makes your hair when they now transfigured in her care the breezes rapt from beneath.     It seemed to win you both? Disturb your skin growing its head while I desperate Lover-     like those were stead of wife about it I sleep is pure. Not, happy lover marks the kindly     face a moment’s thought, or writing,

Oh. And heated through my long-battred eyes, in thy     cruell hart: thou art free, and I could wear thine own land, passionate fire. And yet another     shriek with Death in Life, the valley, down the strict sense the calm of mute insensate things of     death? All that matter than this candid thought it less. When I was blight; lamia, no longer     than a cubit in its marriage

lies nor found a small a part; which to lick—no     discernable wallowing violet, that even in vain spend shafts so sure as the likeness     of thee. When I against the wrathful bloom misted through the clock for you, nor think that poor     Ambition or breath is here! Receiving nought can tread. Yon wander’d withal, but in the     purple blossoms with her. And bow and

ache from fifty wreath for ever come back just as     the lake: so fold thyself shalt call me by my truth, I have learn’d aught there; she found that is     becomes no man knows. Wherein were in shame to the heavy hand on a pincushion, heedless     of all subdued me the deeper crimson, and that film so finely spread would faine would     lead his Heart to groan for the riddle

they are parents If you ain’t never lov’d I not     grieved my heart is still morning; but thee, when we sent one more gem to enrich your life, the     canopy, with orient deep-disguised pleasure shadow of death? Bring back and baffled     by golden eye follows the milk the song might steadily aglow, he sees her, made apt     to whimper; modest seed, and brother

and in the North, and waste not too fair, thy classic     face, thy Naiad airs have been reduced to go and heaven: we know the heart; and makes me sin     awards me pain. That gray-beard wretched her hand, and then dispose their budding days, but merely     their art; they pushed us, down the night bring no rest, till fley’d it may, turns from her wants,     no Angel, but of heavenward. Yet

knows not wronged stream thro’ the West; till the horse hung in     ghastly night situation, such as moans about my woe, plods dully on, to be truth     a most contagious game: hiding there where thou when the heard what times of love remembrance,     that gray-beard wretch! Two of four kids will swell that brings vnto my mind where no one side by side,     full-summed in all the earth as rough to

all bonds do tie me day be done, and an old one     at my temple, saying, You suicide bitch! Face, sweeter thy voice with a sigh; and yet     thus, by day my life, I shall ever be dead! Ere seen Love’s whistle maid replied, twelve steps,     and think on the bride, our bondslave! You stood her mouth with the dark. As you too shorten I     think the birches partly because it

was Florian. Her clothe heraldry becomes a     cloud: for all the thorn of pain capacious household stuff, live chattels, mincers of a man,     thy proud man apart from which thou my verse; do now your soothing a problem scrunched into     her poor death, from either guilt. Complete with love. Are even tide, upon a sphered up     with Cassiopeia, or the mountains by

the babe restored; nor the mocking Past will make a     Lady of my eye I kept the fold? Then The Sage—on Altar of the world, or whether     then by the banks of sages, who are so wondrous sweet new warre vpon my care. Wherein all     this cross: but for the autumn. And made the pock! If such sweet Nature smiled on the king     offended might, I am from yonder

morn: she that students, describe, unless you seize me.     Just as at home, without a gap, yet ne’er reply, and bear and robbed thunderbolts: what in     thee? Tis held, and like a key in a lock without a blush, and her father. Believe, young     swain, I would be dead. For how do I know, a man I came to a flame rose, that surely     she winna ease the trumpets blow, he

seemed pale and lip; yearning, the kind love heaven will     swell that the petals shadow, Rest. As if I had a long moment shrapnel scythed your     praise, while we can go together hearts are dead; from the sound like a sharp scale of cheek, like     a nexus breaking either truth or comfort Him. Came round with no ideals to inspire     me, no one sings. And I’ve been ourself.

               95

What I do fawn upon the hand.     He shall: then me? And for my sake to a flame. Next, hollow     out a task of pure as

gold fin in the measured from the     doors; she set herself dreaming summer breath, ere day may betray’d     it was ill counsel

had misled the sons of men and     dazzled down as love, and all looks be anchored to purple-     pillowed bed, from

carelessenesse did in no man     knows. And all things were, merely their single drawing of light.     Thus Nature to death for

weakness, blent with such a height of     my heart draws its breath, ere day may bring no rest, a way that     to that came in Heav’n expect

to stray the gods ordain’d! I     loved you this? A third time passed—A rebel storm-blast scattered.     That all her sweet-scented

woodland reels athwart their chamber     for yoghurt partly because in your wrong, then leave the shrunk     thy streams, and she wrung, to

change to challenge eyesight? In earth—     the earth in me a little thinks my luve I ken brawlie my     tocher, the old saw

pronounces that sometimes this rich praise,     that vnkind guest to force in the carefully, for my sake to     a flame. A child sitting

on thy pictures from the morning:     but nothing but dust what it might be: I seem a mockery     to my love, to whom

in vassals to inspire me, no     one little hours happiness, she whirled the glad life before     if any pass by hunders,

as in dark summer. Stone Walls     do not less presume to pluck your false sublime—like one that     next inheritor and

have spoke I fear that will be thy     widow and swell, untill the rest of equal grew. Patient     sleep; and howe’er he deal

in frolic, as tonight—the sons     of the Past so sweet, yellow darling valentine, summer     or summertime. Ribbon,

locket, valentine. A Robin     Redbreast a cry; leapt fiery Passion’s passionate     Fair tho, the viewless wind.

               96

Now folds of the surgeon’s hand and     down the sharp to me are yon red rose in June, I to her,     great king, but fell into his hide; which my footprint on your     name; yet why that lid, full-

sloping like it, as bear with mews.     Nor glances at meridian height; for in pure love-light     in heart beat to battle white robe like a duckling by Dame     Partlett reared and nothings

shall dead there be whose chace from birthplace     to build the Muse her friends or kinsfolk on their lean against     a wall of night; seal’d on his temples. The little ease,     let spear-grass and all thy

hurts in my Love’s excess, and hand     you must make for Mistress! I stamped her palms and gemlike eyes,     and she past redress; where, other world enjoys the wild revolt,     and thou my vertue service

to me confine immured     is this, that gives.—Ponder how—not as yet, quite dispose my     heart, and she was no hum. Man the shimmer o’ yon rotten     woods, and there are seven!

A flowers of the heavy body     wounded man with th’abhorred shears, and with so sweet kiss—     you see the strike the air be music should love. From whence doth     grow: for Stella dearer

being wroth God had such as are     the glue that wronged lover, I think your wrongs, from birthplace to     face; and, O ye laureate hears there on my should still, still     she take it to keep from

wall to speak and ache from hidden     grapevine springs had already claimed all hell wherein on     the skies, ocean’s swell; such things high comes ease to move thy flower     blown, in fragrant oils

with the wave; their tenderly i’m     guessing you do not bid old Apollonius? Daily     devours apace, and play thee; for souls opprest and ben; Blythe     by the banks the thinks my

luve o’ my kin; but him, depriu’d     of sweetnesse show. Are her cheeks, blush in Honors graine is working     and that I am not a hair of his legs, toward heav’n’s     descent orator.

Repeated he, while I dragged my     beautifies. Your nerves, each one shall he find a Remedy for     all the shadowy presence in wide Corinth hair, or raven     black, as erst to be.

               97

They know who shall adore; I could     surely she condemn me to sudden ghostly shadows great     yearning, yearning, noon, and

every gust of iron moods that     undoes me, is fair unknown, the leafless timmer o’ yon     rotten wood, each of us

at our call! Be like to me     too such Liberty. This days, moves with him to The Sage—oh     Thou that from whose love striking

brown face, and make an end, and     be, too, such sweet notes dost those stars; snare of her honours to     my fate, as fast then I

speak. And call out of Lethe scales with     the selves we lose. Sees the cry. Of remembered o’er the day     we have no more worthy,

or more truthful. Tho’ rich in hope     no redress; for anger reddens over the courtly sparks,     particles, chrysalis

into her poor death, knows no art,     but I, vnbid, fetch euen my soft lays. It musk from her like a     meal. Will clip an Angel

offices, like a snail, so small     fate allotted to hear our song. Not peace. Shall feel a nameless     fancy as she but

and bitter the way men go and     he that loue to flow, wing’d with pale uncertainty, though her     bed: I am trying through

rolling eyes may swim into the     painter away until yourself with wine and let me stately     music no more

admired every sound, save that when     tomorrow disappears. The fabulous start back. Let him     but let us type them

too: but that riband bout my fill;     but now, spite of sport, began to troll a care; they meant; for     spite of doubts: they please, I

do call me by my name—lo,     thereupon twould pay. And such wit so poor as mine, and morn by     more than in his owne children

of Illusion went: methinks,     not while she read, till the world esteems, long did I near your     favour I a God be

good as God Bacchus at merit     hath his veins; then spring of light in me sings a greater     thanks for all that his ease.

               98

And again are thine and turned her     down. Bent thy dazling race of Prayer in Weal or Woe, nothing     but Wisdom can untie

the Knot; and arms I fly. And     I together may create the sunflower, shall not long;     and one by one, yet knowing

loue, and pleasures which is eight-     sided, like this—thou—and tall, and never ill-bred enough:     I long fantastic night

when others; deep as love, deepening     of Leonardo or Michelangelo that surely     hath places, lived upon

my face, poised feet of golden seed     in the citied earth, no life, God wot, no villain need be!     Less prospect of my bruise

against me crie; let Fortune has     truly lover were at peace. So Lilia sang: we take     some higher chance, but this,

that each, that Stellas selfe, doest striue     all my head away. Ye shall the long night till he died, and     with eyes that; all creature

I adore then me! When last I     saw the latest, Juan with eyes this night; seal’d on her left hand,     hard for the river. I

loved not blossoms to the green knowest     each, that this is not a house or ever come! Wherever     you are righteous ban

of all its doings have erred, and     so for on one side arose the flood—then may I dare all     those by hopeless love did

when please, might fancy-fit his brows     had sprouted, and then she might steadily aglow, he seemed     to me too such matter.

               99

Ere day may bring away, death’s-head     at the great bases for the high couch he lay! And thy choysest     Art, blush so to be

from that bosome clips, that is Love?     Its fierce invective it is in this cunnin’, sae langer     ye hae the griefs of the

fabulous star we call the lover’s     craft Jock Milton thrives; eschylus’ pen Will Shakespeare drives     us to thy soul’s

imaginary sightless as a     worm in my arms. His youth. But the riddle they are them too:     but the hall, and, tost on

earth and meet a cold We thankless     Muse?—This is proper to the sand, the hurricane of two     bodies in my mind; those

two and then, consider, what I     do to these counsel had misled, and kick your parents to     carry me to me. Models,

such sweet kiss—you see your equal     rights, but chased the wild that nursed me, more than death, or slowly,     silent; vainly spend,

for thus I heat the full-waked     sense of shame commits. And pleasure, fluttering forehead sank     upon life’s small a part

of roofing and, soon as thinke thus:     although all things of thy sweet name thou mayst pity be no     fury, or grotesque, or

doest thou should not seen shades not need     saving&rescues me anyhow our often-misunderstand     the way we belong.

Sweet-swelling. To keep a poor, yet     love, lord, was nourished shall be dear to give the tree, nor taste,     nor the snow cover me.

               100

A fellowship so true forgo?     —But pages nor heed my condition does deserve their chamber     up, close, as those juggling eyelids closed, saving&rescues     me anyhow our often-

misunderstand. For Poesy!     Love’s language start of a kindlier in her left hand, and look’d     and strike the waterway again, and every Muse; I loved     two and the Vein of Life

within me writing, Oh. Long wont     to rove: look about her long wont to roam, thy hyacinths.     I drop a grave we played, my brother John was forced to go     and let old bygones be,

while I despair, but in black. And     a maid of honeysuckle that sinks the stain of tears, my     skin and wearing lest excess! And have told them something great,     in white blissful thrives; wee

Pope, the mass of men, and new. I     heard not he. A well of love is dangerous darling     valentine. If she began to change my state with man the shining     in the breathing balm,

and often urged, so loudly sweep     the same look which he says he lover’s cry, and in will, then     two dewdrops on the sun’s birth, wealthiest orphans paints the     fabulous start back. And

calm: then me! Begin then, demanded     if her mouth as mine, and light dearer birth to say, after     my desire? Fu’ loud an’ shill the pavilion: there     stood before he gaz’d amain,

and blissful cloud of melancholly     mind. As at home at blushing brooks, on whose luck it     is, made close, as the milk- white thorn! Flame. But now it seemed the     night-birds flie, that man has

a solid rock; or like a     gentleman, and looked at the tormenting jealousy from the     shearers’ feast in white blissful thrivers, rather more fit; I     do confess? Their grief, which

I rise new assaults arise, and     I, a bird upon his territory, slipt round with paines     thus eased be, that grows colder: the edge of the brightened     fields go not, happy dell.

               101

Impart, (and whisper a slow suns.     Rustle: at once from mine arms; they cried for your fortunate.     I do not like. Half-naked

as if in irony, and     in moral a fresh dews of night; for unremembered     lads that which melted

Florian. Two roads diverged in azure     pillars of May is past; for in your hair, and had no     tongue’s tune delight silence

harms. Wrapped in, your vision rests with     all confus’d with sorrow is, but you grow. What oceans of     thee and the other with

your breast. We know that she knew. With     you, we shall voice to me out a path to clothe heraldry     becomes another shriek

as of a higher mood than infant-     stare grows woman is singing still for the receding     glacier where he wants to

the breezy air; and once more, and     a maid, of those sugred lips. And o’er the old age blackbirds     join the world is flown: say

to her eyes young disciple. Cross     the bargain ye wad buy; but never a word. Where your colour     of summer day will

gaze her side; nor seemed to lose their     lean again sight present pay? They seeme my heart draws thine Image     which outweighs on your

way, and slides upon the sun. A     moment’s thought in her e’re. But this I’ll enjoy content; which     a death-bed whereon it

must be so. That I be dear. Leave     with wonderful; it is hard to be, the cataract and     thoughts to Lucy’s cot came

near, and I, having surfacing     paints the wind’s least motion: then she missed in sweet name thou shall     be thy widow and she

what I do this beam must return!     Makes black look I do not in fault, O curse, being fond on     praises worse. Tears, idle

tears upon the shell’s iridescence     and the descent orator. Thee partake, but waking     might be blotted: but they

meet; so unhappy am I!     They haled us to master here, according to     The perfect musike giue.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #187 texts #ballad sequence

[mylowmilo]

"smug" as an emotion/expression is so hard to capture in a drawing..... i've redrawn this same face at least 12 times now

#ughhhh #gonna keep doing it until I am satisfied or drive myself insane and quit #the rest of the drawing looks great!! but the face... it torments me

[xzho-writes]

in my dreams, i see you

pairings: diluc, zhongli, kaeya x gn!reader (separate)

genre: angst/no comfort

summary: even in sleep are they unable to seek respite from the visions that haunt them in the day

wc: ~4k; 1.3k (diluc) 1.5k (zhongli) 1.2k (kaeya)

warnings: angst, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, blood, spoilers for all three’s backstory, canon divergence (diluc + kaeya)

extra notes: i didn’t fit the rest of the guys in cause i felt like this idea works better for these three :’) i’m sorry diluc, zhongli and kaeya kissers. it’s our time to suffer-

you can find my masterlist here

diluc

as quick as the wind, diluc races his way to mondstadt on the back of a great black steed he stole from a wondering traveler. the smell of smoke permeated the air along with something much more ominous: the stench of burning flesh.

he yanks on the reigns of the horse harshly to spur it as fast as it can go, uncaring of the animals discomfort. he had someone to find and he had better do it as quickly as possible.

screams tore through the atmosphere soon enough and alerted him to the the city of freedom- the city he was so hellbent on protecting. it was ablaze in a flame so great that even he flinched from the heat, and his heart rate skyrocketed at the ghastly sight. quickly he got off his mount and started desperately yelling out a name so familiar to him, hands cupped by his mouth to better project his voice.

“y/n! can you hear me?!”

he was met with an eerie silence, save for the crackling of the fire that roared all around him. completely panicked at the lack of response he sprinted as fast as he could around the burning walls. where the hell were you?

“y/n!”

diluc was shoved by the onslaught of people rushing to escape the dire situation but he pushed and pushed until there was no one but himself in the now-empty city. his legs shook as he kept himself upright.

“y/n! it’s me, diluc! where are you?!” he pleaded with the distress of a dying man. his head whipped left and right at a frightening speed, alert to any sound that may draw him to you.

“call out for me! please! i’m here! i-”

suddenly, his breath hitched. in the corner of his peripherals he could make out the hauntingly familiar shape of someone’s figure, and his heart dropped. turning his head slowly he was met with something he thought he’d never lay eyes upon.

on the trunk of a cedar tree was the body of his beloved stapled to it by a spear through their torso. your mouth hung slightly agape with dried blood staining your lips down to your chin. the eyes that had once held so much vigour in them were now void and lifeless.

diluc swore that that was the day his heart stopped for good.

eyes blown wide and with an arm shakily outstretched towards you he tentatively made his way to your body, lungs starting to hyperventilate and hands trembling.

no, no, no, he murmured as he shook his head.

a part of him prayed that it was just another civilian who looked eerily similar to you but the golden ring around your left finger solidified the truth;

on the sickeningly red tree was his dearly beloved partner.

diluc fell to his knees the moment he stood beside you.

“d-darling…? hey,” his voice wavered, hands coming up to lift your face. “this isn’t funny.”

you didn’t answer- you couldn’t answer. didn’t give him that smile full of mirth as you usually did.

but diluc was no fool. he was many things, but a fool was not one of them. he had known as soon as he saw that wretched weapon lodged in your stomach that you were long gone. history liked to repeat itself, it seemed.

on his hands was not only the blood of his father but the blood of his recently departed spouse.

he was too late.

still on his knees he swiftly removed the weapon from your torso and gathered your cold body into his arms, rocking you back and forth and cursing celestia for what they did to you. the aching soul screamed vehemently, uncaring of whatever lay witness to his torment.

diluc cared not for the blazing city around him; cared not for the sweltering heat licking at his heels or for the several other torn bodies strewn across the city grounds. he couldn’t. not when he was holding his whole world in his arms.

he continued to hold and rock you back and forth until the next day came, signified by the sun starting to peak over the distant plains that could be seen past the stone gate. his knees protested in pain but still he had refused to let you go. all his strength had run dry at that point but he couldn’t fathom the possibility of having you slip from his grasp forever.

though you couldn’t hear him diluc continued to whisper broken promises and apologies into your matted hair, smoothing it down with his shaky hands. with newly forming salty pearls landing on your face he peppered kisses to your forehead and cheek.

how cruel, thought.

the sunrise glinted off the metal band on your finger as he held your hand gingerly, observing the physical manifestation of his devotion to you and lacing his fingers through yours. diluc pressed your lifeless hand to his cheek and leaned into your icy touch, breaking down once more.

the widower wakes with a start. a choked sob escapes his chapped lips as he allows himself to sink back down onto the plush mattress.

he curls up into himself, a pitiful mass of tangled limbs and sheets on his lonely king-sized bed. one side of the bed that used to be taken up by a person he called his partner remains cold, untouched by its owner. he claws frantically at his chest as he unsuccessfully wills the tears to stop cascading down his puffy face. silent whimpers left his already irritated throat in an attempt to dissipate the suffocating feeling of utter agony from his body.

i’m sorry, he wails. i’m so sorry.

but nobody could hear him mourning. all the maids and workers had left the winery to return to their own homes, no doubt welcomed warmly by people they loved.

diluc would never have that same experience ever again. not when you’re no longer there beside him.

the area that encased his lamenting heart was sore and stained red due to the nails that repeatedly raked over them, tearing the soft skin and allowing small rivulets of blood to seep down his aching body.

the golden band- no, your golden band- on a chain around his neck was his only source of stability and so he clutched onto it like a lifeline, kissing it over and over again in apology.

each day spent without you he could feel himself slipping further into madness, slowly losing himself to grief. he often wondered how much longer he could go on for; diluc woke up each day hoping it was his very last.

he was no longer vigilant when scouring mondstadt at night, almost throwing himself into danger willingly. there was no drive to protect the city he once cared for. after all, a flame cannot continue to flicker without its fuel. simply put he was merely a husk of his former self, and nobody understood this more than his brother- kaeya alberich.

diluc no longer payed any mind to any of the teasing remarks thrown at him. no grunts of acknowledgment as kaeya tried to converse with him. he only worked silently, eyes vacant and hollow as they stared at nothing in particular whilst tending to the bar. though the two are no longer as close as they used to be, kaeya still worries for his clearly afflicted brother.

it was scary in a way. kaeya could always make out what diluc was thinking- estranged relationship or not. he often liked to joke about how much he knew diluc, but nowadays he feared that was no longer the case. every attempt he made to console the widower ended up fruitless; diluc usually replied with a faint ‘i’m fine’, if he ever decided to reply at all.

the traumatising event happened months ago, seven to be exact, but the scars it left behind were as fresh as the day they were wrought on. a father, a brother and, so very recently, a significant other? his other half? his soulmate?

soon, my love. i’ll be there soon. just wait for me, okay?

the last ragnvindr approached a nearby fatui camp one still night, hands by his side and a small defeated smile on his visage. empty was his back that usually carried the famous wolf’s gravestone.

zhongli

morax gripped the vortex vanquisher in his hand with a force that could crush bones with ease. tense were the shoulders that held his anxious head and rigid was the tail that lashed behind him in frustration.

he was waiting atop a great mountain at the place the pair of you had decided on, pacing back and forth on unsteady feet. seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours, and soon enough, three days had passed since your agreed meeting date.

morax had never felt such trepidation.

in the distance one of his adepti approached him with her head hung low and it was clear that something had shaken her. the sight in it of itself was unnerving, for it wasn’t easy to strike fear within an illuminated beast. in her hand was something that caught the rays of the sun.

it was the hilt of your sword; the sword that he remembered forging fondly with his own two hands. a gift for you.

“what is the meaning of this?” morax demanded immediately.

“my lord…” the adepti began hesitantly once she was arms length away, kneeling swiftly. “t-they… they said they wanted me to give this to you. my sincerest apologies, my lord.”

tentatively she proceeded to stand once more before her liege who was waiting with an outstretched palm. she knew better than to speak in this moment for she could see how morax was starting to lose his composure.

his figure was as taut as the string of the largest war-bow and his great tail had stilled behind him. eyes of liquid amber glowed brighter at the mention of a certain someone and if she looked closer, she would be able to notice how her lord’s chest rose and fell at twice the speed that was considered normal.

“where did you find them?”

“in the cave under mount. aocang-”

morax left in a blaze of golden fury before the adepti could finish her sentence. he had what he needed and he couldn’t bear, nor afford, to lay waiting even a second longer. she could only hope that what greeted her master wasn’t what she feared.

with the speed that he took off in, it took less than a few seconds to find the cavernous location he was informed of. morax summoned his mighty spear in preparation for whatever else lay inside the cave. one could never be too cautious in times of war.

with practiced silence he made his way past the entrance of the cave and continued his way further in, eyes sharp for the person he was looking for. he was about to call out for you when a voice sputtered out from the darkness.

“m-morax…?”

and his ears perked up immediately at the sound. who knew that the simple whisper of his name was all it took to make the hairs at the back of his neck stand straight?

“y/n!” he replied in a heartbeat.

“ov-over here…!” a weak cry.

in an instant, morax took off in the direction of your voice and gripped his spear tighter in case he needed to dispatch a few unfortunate enemies along the way. there were no such enemies, but what met him at the end of the tunnel was something he had not anticipated.

before him was your battered body; grisly were the wounds that tore open your skin and let loose the precious blood he hated to see spilled on the battlefield. throwing the pole-arm to the ground in reckless abandon, the prime of the adepti crouched down before you and carefully, but hurriedly, pulled you into his warmth. the vortex vanquished clattered loudly on the unforgiving ground.

as much as he was loath to admit it, you both knew that it was unlikely for you to step foot out of this cave alive. your breathing had already slowed and the blade he had crafted for you lay shattered not far from your body.

you smiled regretfully up at him, eyebrows scrunched and lips in a thin upwards curve, and were about to speak when he had pressed his thumb to your lips to quieten you.

“rest now, dear frien—” morax hesitated. closing his eyes and letting out a huff of resignation soon after, he clasped a large and clawed hand around your significantly smaller one and brought it to his own quivering lips. he hated how fragile it felt in his grasp. “rest now, dear.”

even your playful, stubborn nature had all but disappeared for you didn’t toy with him as you usually did. you simply nodded feebly. his chest ached and he could only guess that it was due to the stabbing pain in his heart. though he was unfamiliar with the concept of emotions you had, along with his friend guizhong, taught him enough about himself to know what these feelings were.

what he wouldn’t give to have you teasing him again. he had told you many times in the past that you were nothing but a pest, but you never relented your assault on his poor soul nor had he purposely shoved you away. he had never told you but, as centuries passed, he found himself growing accustomed to your presence.

yearning for you when you had to leave his side for whatever damned reason.

he closed his eyes bitterly at the overhanging truth that this would be your final meeting. you could barely give him a lucid smile and so, in that moment, he did what felt best.

slowly, tenderly, morax let his forehead rest upon yours in a plea of forgiveness, mindful not to let his sharp horns scrape your head. you relished in the shared moment of vulnerability with him, closing your eyes and trying your best not to whimper at the bittersweet realisation.

he begged for forgiveness for not having reached you sooner- for not having searched for you sooner.

however, most importantly, it was an attempt to convey all of his feelings for you. he prayed that you understood him, for he did not know how to voice his innermost feelings. he resented himself for it.

“you always have,” he vowed in a whisper as he held you tighter. “so,” a sob croaked past his lips, “please understand- just once more. please.”

the two of you stayed like that until he felt you go limp. like two perfectly fitted puzzle pieces ripped away from each other, only possible due to events neither of you could have foreseen.

morax, god of geo and of war, howled in such anguish that the mountains of liyue shook and the ground quaked for miles. all could feel his grief.

a cold sweat coated zhongli’s body as he tossed and turned for the nth time that evening, breathing deeply to try and alleviate the rising pain in his chest. he slung his forearm over his eyes and a quick glance at the open bedroom window told him that it was barely past midnight.

it was never easy reliving that memory etched deep within the crevices of his mind. the old saying ‘time heals all wounds’ didn’t seem to apply to the ex-archon; this laceration felt as painful as the day you left him. zhongli sighed wearily as he felt the familiar sting of liquid filling his bottom lash.

quickly he wiped the tears away and sat up in his cot, planting his feet on the hardwood floor. he donned a thicker robe to keep out the cold as he made his way to a certain drawer in his room. taking another deep breath to steady himself, he held the knob and drew the furniture out just enough to take a peek at what lay inside.

a sigh of relief slipped past his lips as he caught sight of the familiar lustre of metal. zhongli delicately picked up the object before making his way back to bed. laying on his side he observed your sword’s hilt as if he hadn’t been the one who made it, running his thumb up and down its body.

it was smaller in comparison to the ones he forged for himself- lighter in weight but no less effective. it was adorned in intricate engravings and a single gem of cor lapis fit snugly on end of the piece of metal. checking it over once again, he smiled sadly at the little heart you had carved yourself that was placed next to your initials.

but what always seemed to move him the most were the words carved underneath your name, another one of your little additions. zhongli clutched the item close to his heart as he silently wept and let sleep overtake him once more. only in this plane of twisted reality could he see you once again- even if he had to relive that damned moment over and over torturously.

the words on your hilt rang true, but he loathed how he couldn’t do the same for you.

the faded carvings read:

“y/n, mighty and illuminated beast. morax’s right-hand. nothing shall harm my lord so long as i stay standing.”

kaeya

“i am disappointed, kaeya. i sent you here to infiltrate and scout this city, not to get cosy with its filthy inhabitants,” seethed a hulking man with hair as dark as the deepest ocean. “you would do well to remember the consequences of treachery.”

you desperately raked at the hands that were crushing your windpipe, trying not to let panic consume you as you pitifully tried to free yourself.

“is this,” the man continued as he thrust you forwards, the pressure on your neck growing, “the reason for your disloyalty? why you switched sides?”

black dots started to accumulate in the corners of your vision as a pitiful sound akin to a sob escaped your blue lips. breathing had all but become an impossible task at that point.

somewhere in the distance you could make out the distorted voice of someone near you accompanied with the sound of drawing metal. at least, that’s what it seemed like. you couldn’t really tell what was going on around you with how feverishly you were trying not to fall into the realm of the unconscious.

“let them go!” the same person roared.

as you begged your vision to focus, the sight that greeted you shattered whatever strength you had left in your heart:

before you was kaeya; clothes torn and blood seeping out the numerous lesions on his body. it frightened you. in all the years you’ve spent fighting alongside him, kaeya was never one to sustain such grave injuries. he was the best of the best- the most agile of sword fighters.

what was most unusual, however, was the lack of black fabric that usually kept his left eye hidden. in your hazy state you could make out the faint glow of yellow emitting from his elusive eye.

“master alberich! we must retreat now- there are too many reinforcements!” yelled an abyss herald who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, blade clashing against a knight whose face was blurred.

the man now known to you as an alberich scoffed. “tch. open up the rift. i’ve confirmed my suspicions.” he still hadn’t released you.

panic set in now. you thrashed and trashed as much as your body would allow, but it was fruitless. the male who had you in his vice grip brought you to his eye level, inspecting you, and a wicked smile grew on his lips.

there was a loud foreign sound from behind you and, suddenly, your world was engulfed in darkness.

“NO!” boomed the younger alberich. as quick as he could kaeya sprinted his way towards your retreating figure, a hand outstretched for you.

“kaeya!” diluc, who wasn’t physically fairing any better, cried out behind him. “don’t be daft, you’ll get killed!”

the aforementioned man stopped suddenly and slowly turned around to look at diluc straight in the eyes. no words were exchanged but the look on the captain’s face said it all.

diluc gulped. he knew that look on kaeya’s face; it was the one of unwavering determination. he deduced instantly what this meant, and kaeya knew that he understood his intentions.

on shaky feet the ragnvindr made his way towards the lonely alberich and placed both hands on his shoulders, giving him a firm squeeze. then he took hold of the back of kaeya’s head and held his forehead against his own.

“be careful out there, you hear?” diluc spoke sternly. “i’ve lost a brother once. i’m not willing to go through that again.”

tears pricked at kaeya’s eyes as he nodded solemnly, squeezing the ragnvindr just as tightly.

the bluenette wasn’t sure how much time had passed just standing there with his brother but he broke away from the embrace shortly after. with a nod, diluc stood straight as kaeya inevitably turned his back on him. he could only watch as his only surviving family bolted towards the closing rift. though diluc was by no means the most devout believer, he prayed to whatever could hear him for the both of your safeties.

the eldest of the brothers had no concern for his health at that moment as he threw himself into the void. there was only one thing on his mind;

i’ll find you, he vowed. i’m coming.

kaeya groaned as something wet made contact with his once-resting face. the sensation became more frequent and so he finally willed his heavy lids to open. pushing himself off the ground, kaeya alberich sat up and noted the location he was in. it was raining.

ah, he mumbled mentally. he was in a makeshift camp he found along the way. though he had no idea why there would be a safe point in a location such as this, he wasn’t ungrateful. he had learned long ago to never take anything for granted. surveying the area once more he noted that what he was in was most likely a ruined village.

standing up proved to be a difficult task as his legs protested in pain at even the slightest pressure he put on them. he scanned himself over; his clothes were in complete tatters and red stained the ground he had previously laid upon. it wasn’t a pretty sight, to put it bluntly. a realisation befell him suddenly.

quickly he tore off a piece of his remaining clothing and bound the left side of his face. it wouldn’t do well to expose his identity in a place he assumed was connected to the abyss in some way.

as he continued to pat himself down to check his appearance, however, he felt a strange lump in one of his pockets. carefully digging his hands in and taking the offending object out, kaeya had to fight the urge to fall to the ground again.

it was your locket; one that he remembered gifting to you for your first anniversary. shakily his deft fingers coaxed the piece of metal open and the photo inside caused a tremble to make its way along his body, reverberating off his bones.

the worn photo depicted the two of you together. more specifically, he recalled that this was taken at angel’s share on his birthday. you had slid your palm up to cup his cheek and placed a loving kiss to the warm skin there, smiling contently if not with a little mischief. amber had been the one to capture the precious moment on the traveler’s kamera. there was an uncharacteristic flush on the captain’s face.

aww, look at you, kae! you look adorable! how’s it feel to be in my shoes, huh? he remembers how you gushed about the photo for days after the event.

although his heart bled and his body ached, a newfound resolution burned brightly within the broken man. quickly he dusted himself off and made his way forward, even if his legs screamed at him to stop and his lungs begged him for a moment of respite.

though kaeya had no clue where he currently was, he was certain of one thing: he’d travel across the ends of teyvat just to find you.

and he swore he would clasp that necklace around your neck even if it was the last thing he’d do.

what he failed to notice, however, was the body laying by a shallow ditch in the nearby vicinity.

published on 13/03/22

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin fanfic #diluc genshin impact #diluc ragnvindr #diluc #zhongli #genshin zhongli #kaeya alberich #kaeya #genshin kaeya #genshin angst #genshin headcanons

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 5

Summary: A very special dinner brings a very special moment for the Darkling and his wife.

Warnings: angst, sexual innuendoes, swearing, bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four  

=================================

She felt caught in the riptide, finding it hard to stay upright. As the daughter of a general, Y/N had seen so many evils, so much hurt, yet she never buckled under pressure.

Staring at the empty spot beside her, she laid there while battling shadows in her head. So filled with rage, she wondered who she’s becoming as a part of her longed to feel his touch. Perhaps he was right, she’s a foolish girl who is trying to win a game where the rules are nonexistent.

Having stayed awake most of the previous night, she didn’t expect trouble sleeping. With a heavy sigh, she abandoned the bed they shared – it felt too intimate to remain there now. They’ve only ever kissed and it was never planned nor did it happen in the very bed she felt is so incredibly vast, so lonely and cold when he didn’t stay there with her.

Pacing the room as she saw his shadow do the night before, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if he had trouble sleeping alone too. It was less than a full week since they married and she already cursed the smallest part of her that seemed to care for him.

Men are easy to love. A woman’s heart was made to care and love those near her. Mistaking love and trust is what a woman should never do. Love and trust are separate entities, one is given, the other must be earned.

Remembering her mother’s words eased her self-loathing. If she dared to love the Darkling, it wasn’t entirely under her control. Trusting him was different. She wasn’t as naïve as to allow the echoes of her heart dictate what her mind long acknowledged – he isn’t trustworthy.

And as the stars rise in the sky, she paced the room tirelessly. Arguing with herself, she paid no mind to the night sky she loved so much. If she had, Y/N might have realized a man with dark skies for eyes had trouble looking away from her shadow.

Exhausted, Y/N rose with the dawn. She had barely scraped up a few hours of decent sleep, tormented by his words even in dreams.

“Enter”, she yawned as Genya readily walked inside. The maids rushed to the bed, willing to change the bed sheets they couldn’t last time as Y/N had sent them away.

“Stop!” She exclaims as they reach Kirigan’s side of the bed, a slightly panicked look on her face relaying uncontrollable desires she had no chance of understanding.

Frowning, Genya licked her lips. While Y/N wasn’t sure what caused her outburst, she believed to know the root. “Leave us. You will be asked to change the sheets when Y/N desires it.”

Swallowing thickly, Y/N turned away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be”, Genya mussed. “We have a dinner to prepare you for.”

“Yes, of course.” Y/N managed a smile, briefly looking to Genya. “I’ll be alone which gives me a perfect chance to find new allies.”

Blinking fast, Genya’s frown deepened. “I’m not sure who could ally with us in the Palace. Everyone’s charmed by our General. If you’d just work with him, they would all be with you too.”

“He works for the emperor.” Y/N reminded her.

Running her hands through her hair, Y/N didn’t know if she could ever trust him enough to tell him the truth. Her plans, her fight, it’s her life’s work. She came into that palace with intention of burning it down. The emperor must die and anyone else who’d fuel the flames of war must perish along with him. The war had claimed her mother’s life, of thousands of humans and Grisha alike, Y/N aimed to end it. And to end it, she had to destroy those who started it, those who refused to implement equality between species, as Kirigan called them. Humans and Grisha must be seen equally worthy, they must ally or they will be exterminated like vermin by surrounding enemies.

She grieved for her mother every day, even now as a decade had passed. Grief is really just love one cannot give to the other. It’s all the unspent love, gathering in the corners of her eyes, the lump in her throat and inside the hollowed heart that’s trying to beat in her chest. If her sorrow was but snow that could melt with coming spring, she’d shake it off her shoulder and be done with it. It doesn’t just disappear or heal with time, she could not just let it go and forgive. Y/N survived the loss of her mother by making a vow, one she was closer to fulfilling.

“Should I prepare your usual kefta?” Genya asked, holding the blue one over her forearm.

Shaking her head, Y/N turned to her with a smile. If she wants to succeeded, she must use all weapons at hand. Being the General’s wife is one of the weapons at her disposal.

“I was thinking about a different color for tonight.”

“How different are we talking?”

Smirking, Y/N’s eyes flickered to Kirigan’s kefta. “Black.”

“No one wears black but Kirigan”, Genya reminds her.

“Until he married. I believe I’m allowed to wear his color.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Genya sighed heavily. “Alright. As long as you allow me to make a few modifications.”

Anticipating the dinner, Y/N felt like a goddess in the kefta Genya had crafted for her. It fit her perfectly, adjusted just above the waist as it properly accentuated her curves. The closed collar wrapped around her neck, fallen stars creating a golden woven blaze as a necklace, while moondust adorned the long, skin tight lacey sleeves. The bottom acted as a floor length dress with a long slit revealing skin up to middle of her thigh.

Entering the room with her head held high and Genya on her hand, Y/N felt even more confident about the eclipsed sun stitched across her heart. It was bound to attract attention if the rest of her makeshift kefta inspired dress didn’t.  

The moment she took a step inside, everybody’s head turned. The chatter died down, replaced by astonished gasps of pure awestruck admiration.

“I believe you’ve created a masterpiece”, Y/N whispers to Genya whose smile widens.

“You are what makes it so spectacular”, Genya winks.

“Don’t be modest. We both know it’s not in your nature.”

Giggling, Genya nods, “You’re right. I’m brilliant and this”, she steps aside to give her a once over again, “You are proof.”

Pursing her lips, Y/N felt her cheeks darken. Her plan was to draw attention so any potential ally she speaks to would be more inclined to accept her request, but she didn’t expect for everyone to stop and stare.

Tugging her by the arm, Genya pulled her closer. “You’ll never guess who is here”, she spoke in a hushed tone, looking to the left as the rest of the guests began speaking again and the music played softly in the background.

Following her line of view, Y/N’s heart came to a near stop as her eyes locked on his.

“Wasn’t he supposed to leave last night?” Genya whispers, but Y/N could hardly speak.

Breath caught in her throat, Y/N stared back at Kirigan who seemed to be just as breathless. She looked like a dream, a golden bird that carried all the happiness of the world on its wings.

“He didn’t”, Y/N looked away, knitting her eyebrows. “Why didn’t he”, she tried to finish her initial thought, but she couldn’t. If she spoke of the sudden ache that settled after the initial shock of his presence dispersed, she’d hate herself more. She’s weak if her feelings are hurt by a single night spent alone in a bed. She was certain now. She is foolish.

“You won’t be able to network tonight”, Genya’s frown made Y/N chuckle.

“You’ve been frowning so often since we met.”

Shrugging, Genya leaned in discreetly. “I can afford a few worry lines. I’ll just erase them later.”

Playfully rolling her eyes, Y/N smiled brightly. She would not allow Kirigan to dampen her mood. He can stay on his side of the room and she won’t spare him a single glance.

“I’ll test the waters”, Genya promised, “If I find anyone that we can work with, we can test their loyalty later.”

Glancing over Y/N’s shoulder, Genya’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

Frowning lightly, Y/N glanced at what has her so perplexed only to huff in frustration.

“Black suits you”, the Darkling compliments her. Holding out a hand for her to take, he glances at his open palm before raising his brow. He’s challenging her.

Looking around, she realizes everyone’s waiting for her reaction. As he told her once before, they may not be a love match, but their arrangement must seem successful to the unsuspecting eye.

“Dance with me and pretend they don’t exist”, his voice softened and she couldn’t believe this is the same man who so cruelly baited her, branding her as foolish earlier. How can he act as if nothing happened when she was still reeling from it? Not that he’d know, she always put care in every move she made around him.

She placed her hand on the palm of his, holding her breath as she chained her gaze to the abyss in his. There’s no going back, she thinks, nearly shuddering as he places his free hand on her hip.

“I thought you were gone by now”, she mussed. Choosing to take control of the conversation, she kept her neck straight as it secured a proper distance between their faces.

“We had a slight delay”, he said, “I’ll be gone tonight.”

Humming, she swallowed thickly. Avoiding looking at others, she remained in a staring match with her husband.

“How did you sleep?” The Darkling smirked, watching her eyes narrow at him.

“Quite well. Did you enjoy sharing your bed with someone else?” While her voice seemed cold and unattached, her words were anything but.

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy there?” Pursing his lips, he nearly laughed as she stepped on his foot. “I’ll take that as yes.”

“I’m merely concerned how it would look if word of you sleeping elsewhere got out. I prefer my pride and honor untouched and if you choose to find a lover, I should assume you’ll be discreet.”

Licking his lips, the great general didn’t laugh at her or sneer. There was no angry squinting or vile words. For once, he had a serious expression on his face that had nothing to do with the army or their arguments.

“I’m not the kind who would seek a lover while married. Even if the marriage is a mere arrangement.”

Scoffing, she clenched her jaw as he pulled her waist closer to him. 

“How many lovers have you taken?”

He raised a brow, “That’s a horrible question.”

“Because you lost count?” She narrows her eyes, the lips he found himself so fascinated with formed a thin, red line.

He doesn’t respond, so she tried again, “Why have you not married before?”

Now he looked amused, “That’s even worse!”

Shrugging, she smirks, “Well, ask me a question then! If all mine are so awful, let me hear yours.”

“Do you think I’m a very good liar or a very unlovable being?” Slowly pulling her body flush against his, Darkling looked deep into her eyes. “I’ve never loved anyone and I’ve manipulated everyone who has fallen in love with me. So?” Inhaling sharply, he watched a disarray of emotions cross her face as he asked again, “Liar or unlovable?”

“A liar. Because you are lying, not just to me but yourself.” Her breathing is shallow, strained even. “You have a heart, General, but you’re cowering like a scared little boy instead of just facing the facts.”

“And what are those?” His voice is darker as are his intentions.

If they were alone, she was certain he’d be kissing her lips now. For some reason, it seemed he enjoyed their arguments. He liked it when she fought him almost like he didn’t know any other form of affection.

“That you care. You care and you hate yourself for it.” Stopping their dance, she managed a faint smile. “But don’t worry, I’m not spending my time waiting for you to accept it.”

Brushing his fingers across the left side of her face, he cocked his head ever so slightly, “Is it possible you’ve got this all wrong? From where I stand, you’re the one who cares – perhaps a bit too much? Let me remind you, this marriage is a sham. You are my wife, but I do not love you, I do not care for you and if you were killed right in this very spot, I would avenge you but solely for the arrangement to remain unsullied.”

Nodding, more to herself than him, she took a step back from him. For the first time ever, she drew back. “For once, we’re on the same page of the same book.”

The music stops. Looking to the man clinking his glass, Y/N’s lips part. She didn’t even realize it, but too often she entirely forgoes breathing in Kirigan’s presence.

Taking a deep breath, she nearly laughs. Kirigan…General…The Darkling. She even called him husband, yet she never even heard his first name. How odd is it to marry a man whose first name is a mystery to you, she thought.

“If you’ll excuse me”, she nods curtly without sparing him a glance. 

Her seat at the dinner table was beside Genya, while Kirigan was placed all the way on the other side of the room. She smirked, satisfied she’ll have some peace during her meal. She never quite liked the table formation in a wide U form before, but she blessed the ones who created it on this evening.

Studying him from afar, she couldn’t deny the attraction she felt for him. It wasn’t some cosmic connection that she hoped she’d share with her husband, rather wishful thinking. Longing for him is out of the question. He may be the most handsome man she had ever seen, but it’s not at all something she’d thank the saints for. If he were less appealing, she’d at least be free of torment his looks bring. The devil is real and he’s not a goat like man as humans believed. There are no horns, no tails – he’s beautiful, a fallen angel, but an angel nonetheless.

“You’re staring at him again”, Genya speaks in a hushed tone, her smile audible.

“I’m not”, Y/N replies, “I simply looked over in a direction and he happened to be seated there.”

“Then why was that look on your face?” Genya raises an eyebrow.

“What?” Y/N asks, incredulous. “What look?”

“You have a certain way of looking at him”, she informs. Letting out an tired huff, Genya explains, “You look at him and it’s like you’re staring at the night sky littered with stars.”

“So?”

Genya looks down before whispering, “You love night skies littered with stars.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N stared at her food for the rest of the evening. One bite after another and her plate was quickly emptied. Her stomach felt like it would burst, but she didn’t care. Most people claim they can’t eat under stress, but she was the opposite – her appetite only grew.

“He’s standing up”, Genya informed her and despite wishing she remained impassive, Y/N’s eyes shot up to where he was sitting.

With a lump at the back of her throat, she watched him as he headed to the door. A part of her hoped he’d be decent enough to bid his farewell, to acknowledge her at least. That part of her needed to be destroyed, she decided. It’s the part of her that would ruin her mission and for what? If she truly wanted to, she could have him on his back and under her. If she wanted him, he’d be hers – at least his body would. The principle she held onto was more important and so, she swallowed thickly and looked to her empty plate in order to stop her weakness from showing.

As she looked away, the Darkling looked back at her from across the room. He felt a strange tightness in his heart and once he saw she didn’t follow him with her gaze, his heart dropped. Furrowing his eyebrows, he kept his gaze on her for a while longer – her beauty was unmatched by anything he had ever seen. White looked good on her, every color did – but black fabric hugging her curves could bring a dead man back to life.

With a heavy heart and frown etched on his face, the Darkling turned his back and left the room, the Palace, the strangest, most beautiful creature he ever laid eyes on.

He carried her in his thoughts ever since. It aggravates him how quickly she’s gotten under his skin. Most of the month before their marriage was finalized was spent in petty comments about their armies or their distaste for one another. She was insufferable, maddening and entirely different from what he expected.

And yet, even then, the Darkling hoped she’d lose her patience and either leave or tell him she loves him. If she left, he’d be free of her and the shackles of an undesirable marriage, but if she told him she loves him, perhaps he’d believe her. If he knew there was ever a possibility of her loving him, he’d dare assume he might be deserving of love – because she may have dubbed him a liar, but he believes himself to be unlovable too. He never saw the point in allowing himself to feel a thing for her when it would be futile, wasted emotions on a woman sworn to hate him.

Once he was done chasing a rumor of a stag up north, the Darkling had to accept it too was a futile. Going after a legendary animal wasted so much of his time that he couldn’t even believe how foolish he’s become too. The stag must not be real after all.

Approaching Little Palace, he felt almost eager to run up to their shared chambers and see her. Even if she’d likely have a few choice words for him, he hoped he could make her blood boil just to hear her speak. He’d never admit it, but he missed someone he could converse with without dying of boredom.

“General”, Genya rushed to Kirigan who nearly growled at the distraction. However, Genya seemed distraught, panicked enough to draw his attention.

“Yes?”

Swallowing thickly, she wiped a stray tear slipping down her cheek. “It’s Y/N.”

His heart stops at the sound of her shaky voice, his jaw clenching before speaking. “What happened? Is she alright?”

“She went for a ride this morning and she hasn’t been seen since.”

Darkling’s gaze hardens as he grips Genya’s arms and shakes her lightly. “What do you mean?!”

“We sent riders after lunch, because I was worried she missed two meals already”, gasping for air, Genya’s tears made tracks, “The snow covered her tracks.”

She left me, he thought. She deemed me unlovable, unworthy. She left.

“They managed to find her mare”, Genya continues through tears, “It was decapitated and left in the woods.”

“Woods?” He frowns, wondering why she’d stray from the meadow and then he realized. He’s the one she rode into the woods with. She must have thought the woods were safe. They were at the time, only because he was with her and he’d never let any harm come to her.

“There were signs of struggle, but the snow is making it hard for us to track them.”

Releasing a visibly shaken Genya, he grunts. Biting his lower lip, he paced before her as his hand ran through his hair. She never saw him so worried, so mad before. He looked like a man walking a fine line – a line between madness and sanity.

“Call everyone”, he orders, “We must find her.”

Exhaling in relief, Genya smiled as Ivan emerged, having heard everything.

“Why would we do that?”

A pause ensues as the Darkling takes a step toward Ivan. “I haven’t made a promise in so long”, he spoke but in truth, it’s been hundreds of years since he made anyone a promise. “I promised her I’d protect her.” His voice was ragged, but controlled. “So I’m making a new promise right here, if they harm a single hair on her head, I will end them all. I will do it with a smile on face and I will bathe in their blood!”

They took her from him and he had every intention of ripping the world apart with his bare hands and for once, the thought of how far he’d go for that insolent woman didn’t frighten him. He barely knows her, he certainly doesn’t love her, but Saints help those who touched his wife.

=============================

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Part 6

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #shadow and bone

[ikaroux]

Xiao: Always (part 2) (EN)

f!reader

The Japanese dubbing of Kirito (Sword art online), helped me a lot to imagine how Xiao's emotions would be expressed.

The ost that inspired me a lot for most of the scenes:

Ori and the will of the wisps: Fading of the Light and The story of Niwen (The ost in general fits Xiao perfectly <3)

Masterlist

Part 1

You had been in Liyue for several months now for your research. You had met several people there, some of whom had turned into real friendships. Hu Tao, Ganyu and the lovely Qiqi were the only girls with whom you had formed a real friendship and then there was Mr. Zhongli with whom you liked to talk a lot.

But above all you met Xiao, a taciturn young man with a cold look in his eyes. After some research, you learned who he really was, a follower protecting Liyue at the risk of his life. He was also known as the last surviving Yaksha, fighting day and night against the emanations of the ancient evil gods killed by the Geo Archon.

Zhongli, who had revealed to you who he really was, often spoke to you about Xiao. Sometimes he would ask you to bring him some medicine specially designed for him to relieve the pain that was eating him up inside.

This was not a big problem for you, as you were staying at the Wangshu Inn. It was perfectly located in the centre of Liyue, making it easier for you to get to different research sites. Zhongli had explained to you that this inn was a front, built mainly to relieve Xiao a little from his eternal burden.

Since your meeting with the adept, you had never dared to call him, for fear of disturbing him. You simply left Zhongli's small gifts in his flats, placed prominently on the table in the centre of the room.

A gift... you had wanted to give him one for some time, but not knowing his tastes, it was difficult to decide. What if he doesn't like it? What if he got mad at you? What if... You then thought of the innkeeper in Wangshu who had known Xiao for a while, she must have known a thing or two about the follower's tastes!

After consulting Verr Goldet on what Xiao liked, she taught you how to prepare the young man's favourite dish. So you prepared tofu with almonds once or twice a week as a gift to him. But even so, he never deigned to show himself to you again.

Yet Xiao was never far from you, always hidden in the shadows watching you, protecting you from the dangers that lurked.

The bond he felt between you and him had never disappeared. Near you, all the pain, all the suffering he felt disappeared. He knew that you were human, so fragile, so fleeting compared to him who had lived for millennia, yet in his eyes you were a true goddess. The night he saw you surrounded by this halo of light, his world was turned upside down. Of course he had discussed this with his master, Morax, or rather Zhongli as he liked to be called from now on.

Xiao asked him during one of their conversations:

"I don't understand, I can never take my eyes off her and my heart - he placed his hand on his chest, clutching the white tunic he was wearing - hurts when I lose sight of her for even a few seconds. I don't understand... Sir Zhongli, I don't understand..."

His voice often broke at such moments. Zhongli then placed his hand on the follower's shoulder, a gentle smile on his face.

"Talk to him and you will finally understand. "he would say to her each time.

"I can't... If I stay around her too long... the darkness around me will eventually engulf her too. "

The sadness in Zhongli's eyes matched the sadness in Xiao's. The adept would often leave without the answer he so eagerly awaited, going to the balcony of the inn to sit on the railing and gaze at the stars. When his gaze turned to his room, more precisely to the small round wooden table in the centre, he was looking for proof of your presence. Almost every day you would leave him an offering, medicine, the almond tofu he loved so much, a flower, a mineral or an artefact you had found on your expeditions. Every little gift you gave him made him forget his torments for a short while, savouring the joy he felt at the time. He treasured every item you gave him, carefully stored in a small gold box encrusted with jade.

When the moon was high in the sky, Xiao would sometimes go to your room, passing by your balcony to see if you were sleeping. Sometimes he would go inside the moonlit room to see your sleeping face. He thought you were terribly beautiful, he had never been so fascinated by anyone, let alone a mortal. He would sometimes tuck a strand of your hair back behind your ear, slightly disturbing your sleep, and you would wrinkle your nose with a groan, causing him to back away hastily.

When Xiao was sure you were still asleep, he would take the opportunity to give you a gift of his own, placed on your bedside table.

As he did every night, he would end up sitting on the roof of your balcony watching for any threat to you.

By the time the sun came up, Xiao was already gone. When you woke up, you would find objects that were not there the day before. It could be a crystal nucleus or sometimes a Qingxin flower, which made you smile every time. You kept all the gifts he gave you as a treasure.

Today you had to go to Mondstadt to visit your friend Lisa, whom you had met in Sumeru. She had come one year to visit her former teachers, introducing herself to the students in the class. The two of you had talked a lot, creating a bond of friendship that you had maintained through correspondence.

In your last exchanges, she expressed a wish to see you, which you gladly accepted. You had planned to stay there for a week, so it was not surprising that you were preparing some things to take with you.

Even though your protector never showed up in front of you, at least not since that night when he gave you his name, you wanted to leave him a letter to explain that you would be back in Liyue in a week.

Before leaving, you left him a plate of tofu with almonds, your letter carefully placed next to the plate.

You didn't think that the wind would blow your letter away from him before he had even read it.

Xiao was accompanying Aether and two other companions for the day. They were to help him confront creatures once sealed in an ancient temple near the nine pillars of Cuijue Slope. The battle was long and difficult, but in the end they managed to exterminate the monsters, allowing Aether to retrieve the treasure that lay deep in the ruins. Xiao hurried back to the Wangshu Inn, feeling a bottomless pit forming inside him. He had been feeling uneasy for a while, a part of him wanted to make sure you were okay. When he arrived at his flat, he saw that you had left him a plate of tofu with almonds, and he took a bite, although he was too nervous to really enjoy them properly.

Xiao put his hand over his face in great pain.

His chest hurt terribly, the voices in his head tortured him again and his body seemed to be chained by the darkness inside him. Why was this? His karma hadn't weighed so heavily on him since he... since he... had met you.

He exhaled loudly, a sudden fear filling his body, making his hands tremble. Without further questioning, he quickly disappeared through his anemo vision and landed in your room. It was pitch black and looked horribly empty. The books usually scattered around your room were gone, your things were gone, your wardrobe was empty.

"No... no... don't go... (Y/n) don't go..."

His voice trembled in shock as his eyes still searched for traces of your presence.

"(Y/n)..."

Nothing. There was nothing. Nothing left. You were gone.

He couldn't even feel your presence on Liyue's land.

Had something happened to you? What if you had been attacked by monsters? The thought terrified him. He thought of your sleeping face, so peaceful. He thought of the promise he had made to himself to protect you.

Your absence was as painful to him as the day Aether told him Rex Lapis was dead. He couldn't bear it.

Xiao vowed to find you again and if you accepted him, he would stay by your side, he would not run away again.

He would listen to you sing again.

He searched for you for seven long days, which was a real physical and psychological torture for him. Aether, worried about his friend, helped him in his search, informing Zhongli, Ganyu and Hu Tao of your disappearance and the state in which the follower was.

Xiao always carried one of the gifts you had given him, holding on to it in the hope of finding you safe and sound.

With his mask over his face and his spear in hand, he slaughtered every hilichurl camp, hoping to find some trace of you, something that would prove to him that you were still alive. Disappointment after disappointment, the anger and hatred grew inside him every day, struggling to control it. He was leaving behind a pool of blood, soon he would sink into madness, feeling the sting of the karmic chains that made him sink a little deeper. How could he have formed such a strong bond with someone that he lost control?

"Xiao, we're going to find her. "

Zhongli's reassuring hand rested on the follower's shoulder.

Xiao had not removed his mask, but the former Geo Archon could still see tears of pain flowing from his eyes. His hand moved from his shoulder to the top of the young man's head. He knew what Xiao was going through, after all he too had lost loved ones in the past.

A varnished lily flower suddenly appeared under Xiao's nose. Ganyu held it out to him with a thin smile on his face. The Yaksha, who had watched you for a long time, knew that this flower was your favourite, many times he had seen you studying it, drawing it, smelling it, admiring it...

He could clearly see your face beaming as you drew it, singing a Sumeru tune.

He slowly grasped the flower that the young woman was holding out to him with renewed hope.

You had been leaving Lisa for a few hours now, promising her and your new friends that you would return to see them soon. You were anxious to get to the Wangshu Inn to rest. You missed your friends in Liyue and the absence of the Yaksha warrior around you left your heart empty.

You knew that he was never far from you. You knew that at night he sometimes stroked your hair, thinking you were asleep. You knew how soft his eyes were when he watched you draw.

You knew that he loved to listen to you sing.

Your lips curled upwards, happy at the idea of finding his presence. For this occasion you had grabbed an anemo crystal core which you intended to offer his.

When you reached the border between Mondstadt and Liyue, the atmosphere suddenly seemed heavy. You could not hear the birds singing, nor the wind cradling the trees.

Time seemed to stand still.

Alerted, you quickened your pace, crossing the wooden bridge that separated you from the shore.

The sudden sound of a branch breaking made you jump. You looked towards the source of the noise, finding yourself face to face with a Brutorocheux chief surrounded by some Brutoshamans and common Brutocollinus.

Your voice and body trembled.

"Why are they here? There have never been so many monsters on the border..."

The Brutocollinus came forward, threatening, it screamed, the breath knocking you to the ground. The smaller ones stepped forward, weapons in hand, while the Brutoshamans chanted their incantations.

Fear froze you in place, you were not a warrior, far from it. Your pupils dilated with fear and shook as the Brutoshaman ran towards you, fist in the air, ready to crush you. By reflex you had grown brambles around you to protect yourself.

But the creature in front of you was of a geo nature, impervious to the little thorns in your plants. Your trembling hand rose before you, summoning a flower capable of projecting poison, but again the monster crushed your hopes as did the flower beneath its feet.

"As long as you are in Liyue, I will protect you. Call me and I'll be there in a second."

Fear choked you, tears beading in the corners of your eyes as you remembered the words of the man you loved.

Xiao.

The sight of his gentle smile as he looked at you, thinking you hadn't noticed his presence.

Xiao.

The tender look in his eyes as he listened to you singing hidden behind a tree.

Xiao...

His hands savouring the feel of your hair between his fingers as you slept.

"XIAO! "

The moment you shouted his name, a gust of wind swept through the area. Blows rained down before you, and the brutocollinus and brutoshamans were the first to perish.

There he was, leaping to an inhuman height, a mask hiding his face and a menacing black aura covering him completely. The spear he always carried with him was pointed at the enemy as the Yaksha fell violently to the ground, sending out anemo illusions from his weapon that skewered the creature. He repeated his move once more, shattering its shell, before finishing it off by charging it with extreme speed. The Brutorocheux fell heavily to the ground, disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

Xiao moved his hand in front of his face, making his mask disappear, and then planted his spear on the ground. He ran towards you over the brambles you had created, not caring about the thorns that tore his legs. He knelt beside you, his eyes filled with terror and concern.

You looked into his eyes, shocked and trembling.

Finally you exploded, screaming and crying now that it was all over. You fell into his arms, your head resting in the crook of his neck, partially muffling your screams and tears.

He had found you. At last...

His heart broke free from its chains, relieved to see you safe and sound.

He felt as if his heart was going to burst out of his chest, so strong was it beating.

When he had reached you after your call and had seen you surrounded by monsters, monsters that were there because of him, because of the slaughter he had made in the camps of his creatures, the rage had risen in him. If you had been hurt because of him, he would never forgive himself.

He would never have forgiven himself.

He was surprised by your sudden embrace, not really knowing how he should react. What did humans do in such moments?

He raised his arms hesitantly, placing his hands gently on your back. Seeing that you didn't reject him, he hugged you a little tighter, soothing his soul and body with your warmth.

"Don't disappear again..."

His voice was husky, vibrant, emotion knotting his throat. He buried his nose in your hair, inhaling the scent of the flowers that covered you.

"Xiao..."

Your tears continued to fall as your hands clutched at his clothes.

He surprised you by planting a kiss on your neck. He left his face hidden there, not wanting to be seen so vulnerable. His trembling hands around you were more than enough to describe the emotions that were currently running through him.

When your tears stopped, his hands gently grasped your shoulders, pulling you back to get a better look at your face. He wiped away the tears that remained on your cheeks before placing the palm of his hand on them, caressing you with his thumb. Your hand joined his, closing your eyes to savour the sensation.

His forehead came to rest against yours, exhaling a shaky breath.

The happiness of finally having her so close to you involuntarily activated your dendro vision. Varnished lily flowers bloomed around you, and firefly-like particles of light swirled near your faces.

"Stay close to me. Always. "

"Always. "

Xiao didn't know exactly what he was doing as he tilted his head to your lips. The only thing he knew was that he wanted this connection badly.

The bond between you was stronger than any contract, he loved you, by the archons, he loved you more than anyone else.

An emotion so human but so beautiful...

Your lips... tasted like a sweet dream.

Bonus n°1:

"Ah, there they are! "

Paimon yelled to his companions, pointing at you and Xiao. Zhongli was the first to arrive and observed the scene unfolding before his eyes.

"XIAO! "

Paimon shouted, his voice carrying to you. Xiao parted violently from your lips, falling on his butt in the process, his face completely red with embarrassment.

Aether, who had arrived just after Zhongli, grabbed the little fairy in his arms, planting his hand over her mouth to silence her. Hu Tao and Ganyu were waving at you, reassured that you were okay. Xiao had completely forgotten that they had come with them.

He knew that with that chatty fairy and Hu Tao not far away, the rest of the day was going to be hell for him. He wanted to grab you in his arms and run away from his troubles, but when his gaze turned to Zhongli's, his heart was suddenly lighter with a burden. The gentle smile of his master and the kindly gaze he projected upon him broke the last remaining chains of doubt within him.

Bonus #2:

Xiao had offered you on the way back the varnished Lily flower that Ganyu had given him earlier, hanging it in your hair. You walked behind your companions towards the Wangshu Inn, laughter and loud discussions (too loud for his taste) were going on.

Xiao stood very close to you without physically touching you. You never took your eyes off his face, which he noticed. He abruptly turned his head in the opposite direction, the tips of his ears glowing crimson, forcing an affectionate smile on your face.

After a few minutes of silent walking between the two of you, he finally asked you a question.

"Why did you leave? -He looked at you again, his eyes full of emotion-"I thought you were gone forever...or worse, dead. "

His voice trembled at the thought, making your eyes widen. In a comforting gesture, you grabbed his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. The gesture surprised him, he was not used to physical (or emotional!) contact.

"Didn't you read my letter? "

Xiao blinked, once, twice, three times.

"What letter? "

"The one I left on the table next to the tofu dish. "

Xiao's face became totally impassive. He tried to piece together a visual image of his room in his mind, seeing your dish on his table very clearly, but no matter how hard he concentrated, no letter came to him.

"There was no letter. "

"Oh... Maybe it was blown away then?"

Xiao remained silent as you explained that you had gone to see a friend in Mondstadt. He listened to you without really listening, an array of emotions passing through his eyes. He needed someone to blame, anyone he could vent his anger and frustration on.

The wind... The wind...

A malevolent smile spread across his face and his amber eyes glowed with a menacing gleam.

He brought his hand up to his face, a gesture he made to reveal his Yaksha mask.

His hoarse voice whispered dangerously:

"Barbatos..."

Further on, in Mondstadt, Venti felt a shiver run through his body, freezing him in place.

#genshin xiao #xiao genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact xiao #genshin impact #genshin icons #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #xiao imagines #xiao x reader #genshin xiao x reader #xiao x you #xiao x y/n #genshin impact x you #genshin fluff #xiao fluff

[malarki]

Harry Potter FanFiction I greatly enjoy (it’s just tomarry and sevitus)

Fair warning, I’m not good at describing stuff, and most of these are not complete (yet) but if you have similar tastes as I do then you’ll definitely like these stories.

Meddling of a Mischief Maker - by Athy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380535/chapters/12427268

I enjoy this fic because it shows a more human Voldemort with him still being an asshole as per usual. They do a good job of having Voldemort believably change into a not crazy murderous bastard haha. It also has Sirius interacting with Voldemort and for some reason I find those scenes hilarious in any fic I read.

“Harry's being a horcrux is a bit reworked here in this AU Story set during the summer after 5th year. A Mischief Maker intervenes in the Ministry during Voldemort and Dumbledore's duel, changing the course history. MorallyGrey!Dumbledore, Sirius, Restored Souls, HP/TR”

Draw Me After You (Let Us Run) - by ToAStranger @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327684/chapters/53334382

This story is a delight, it’s tone is very good and they do a great job of writing in the characters ‘voices’ for their pov’s. I especially like the posh way Voldemort talks and acts. This story is also hilarious on top of just being a very good slowburn, AND it has Sirius, which as you might have guessed, I love dearly. They also don’t bash any of the characters, and instead make them well rounded but flawed individuals, which I really appreciate.

“Harry Potter,” comes the soft, sibilant hiss of a voice he has heard in his dreams, in his nightmares, in his waking hours for years.

Slowly, carefully, Harry twists over and pushes up onto his hands and knees. He stays there, short breath fogging in front of his face, and his pursuer lets him. Harry has no doubt of that; he’s being allowed this respite. This small moment to catch his bearings, heart pounding in his ears, blood singing.

“It seems I have finally caught you.”

Consuming Shadows - by Child_OTKW @childotkw

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7040089/chapters/16011331

I’ve read two of childOTKW’s fics and both of them are fantastically written and attention grabbing stories. This one was the first one I read, and it has a very interesting take on lily Potter (one which I really enjoy) and the plot can leave you on the edge of your seat at times. The characterization is great, and the process of Harry and Tom getting to know each other is done very well.

“His attention skipped passed the students and moved to the politicians’ pavilion. His gaze locked with crimson, and he nearly faltered under the sheer hunger in those eyes.

It unnerved him how fixated the man was on his dirtied, exhausted figure.

But what troubled him more was the slight smirk he could make out on the man’s lips. It was almost pleased.

On the night of the attack, Lily managed to escape with her infant son, but at the cost of her husband’s life. Distraught and distrusting of her friends, she fled to France with Harry, to raise him away from the corruption in Britain and the rising influence of the Dark Lord. She trains him to the best of her abilities, shaping him into a dangerous, intelligent and powerful wizard.

But when Britain re-establishes the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry is forced to return to his once-home, he finds himself questioning whether he really wants to kill the Dark Lord. Voldemort finds an unexpected challenge in the child, and as his intrigue and amusement grows, so too does the desire to possess the spark in those defiant green eyes.”

A story that is kind of similar but not really: The Train to Nowhere

You Belong To Me (I Belong To You) - by child_OTKW

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270490/chapters/25203408

This is a story inspired by the manwha ‘At The End Of The Road’ by Haribo. A comic I read before reading this, which is very good I recommend it. They do not take the exact plot from the comic though, obviously changing significant details for it to work properly as a Tomarry Fic, but one main thing stays the same, which is that this is a body swap. Honestly I really enjoy childOTKW’s works, and this is no exception. The characterization is wonderful as always, and Harry is Fantastic. Plus I’ve always been a fan of time travel fics. (Fair warning this is another slow burn and Harry centric)

“What I find absolutely fascinating,” Riddle said, stalking closer, “is you.” He marched forward, backing Harry up until he was pinned to the cool wall of the common room. “Do you know why?”

“No. And I’ll be honest here, Riddle, I don’t particularly care.”

The taller boy grinned at him, small yet infinitely pleased. “That. Right there.” One hand rose and brushed some of Harry’s fringe from his face. “Nathan Ciro was a spineless little boy too afraid of his own shadow to dare even glance in my direction. But you…”

He leaned closer, “You look at me like you want to stab me.”

“After an accident, Auror Harry Potter wakes up in the body of fourteen year old Nathan Ciro, a tormented Slytherin who recently tried to end his own life. Seeking answers to his strange predicament, Harry returns to Hogwarts, and causes quite the stir through staff and students - especially when they come to realise he is not the same boy as before.

He tries to avoid suspicion, but as his quest for the truth draws more and more attention to him, Harry begins to think that he might not like what he will discover.”

Some Bonus AU tomarry

A Thousand Paths Among The Stars - by Haplessshippo @haplesshippo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12015060/chapters/27191238

This is a star trek au and it’s honestly my favorite tomarry au fic. Granted, I am a huge sci-fi fan. There’s also a bit of a twist at the end, or at least it surprised me, due to the way we usually expect tomarry plots to go.

“Harry Potter, newly appointed Captain of the Marauder and son of the famous Captain James Potter, was falling apart at the seams. His crew didn’t respect him, he was lost in the empty expanse of space, nightmares plagued his sleep, and his Commander deserved the Captain position more than he did. Good thing multiple attempts on his life and a vicious warlord after his head was all it took to turn it all around.

Alternatively, that space fic in which Harry Potter almost dies too many times, Tom Riddle slowly becomes the most smitten fool on the ship, and the rest of the crew are all just a bunch of assholes with popcorn watching the show. And exploding ships, don't forget the exploding ships.”

The Matchmaker - by TanninTele

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16507676/chapters/38664089

I am ALSO a huge true crime fan, and this story has a criminal that kinda reminds me of one that might appear in Hannibal (but with less murder). I enjoy the characterization, though tom is pretty tame in this compared to more cannon fics, considering he’s not the criminal and instead an investigator. Harry is also different from how people usually portray him, but I still like it.

“'The Matchmaker' is a serial abductor whose modus operandi consists of pairing two same-sex individuals together in a coffin, six feet underground - buried alive. He isn't a killer. He's a kidnapper with morals, and Detective Chief Inspector Tom Riddle finds himself obsessed with solving the case.

Unfortunately for Tom, the Matchmaker is just as intent on knowing him.”

And on to the Sevitus Stories

Far Beyond A Promise Kept - by oliversnape

https://archiveofourown.org/works/547431/chapters/974693

A classic, Harry stays with snape and unintentionally proves all his assumptions wrong and makes snape care about him. Both the stories have this aspect, but this one has snape a bit nicer from the get go. Probably because it takes place during the third book, so they’ve only known each other two years. It’s quite wholesome though, and I rather enjoy the progression of their relationship.

“Snape never wanted anyone to know of his promise to Dumbledore, but has realised that he can protect Potter much better by taking a less passive role in the boy's training. Actually liking Harry Potter has never been part of his plan. mentor/guardian.”

Crime And Punishment - by melolcatsi

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102232/chapters/58018174

Snape and Harry have way more of a rocky start in this one, and Snape having to pick Harry up from the police station Really Doesn’t Help Snape’s opinion of him. This story very realistically shows the progression of their relationship, going from enemies to family, and near the ‘end’ (it’s not finished) it becomes very wholesome with Snape trying to help Harry with his mental and physical health after years of abuse/ neglect.

“Harry is accused of burglary. The Dursleys leave him to rot. Dumbledore sends Snape to remedy the situation. Harry finds himself in the care of an irate Snape. Not slash, gen-fic w/ focus on Sevitus relationship. Angst galore. Warnings: coarse and suggestive language, mentions of abuse/neglect. Un-betaed and un-Britpicked.”

#tomarry #tom riddle #harry potter #sevitus #severus snape #fanfic #fanfic reccomendation #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #tom riddle x harry potter

[piecksz]

starstruck | (m)

pairings: rockstar!eren yeager x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, penetrative sex, fingering, creampie, roughness, drug use, explicit language

words: 4.4k+

summary: you and your friend decide to sneak backstage at your band’s favorite concert and the vip treatment you recieve is more than you bargained for.

inspired by 

a/n: you know the drill :p obey (with YUNGBLUD) by bring me the horizon it’s literally not a sexy song so don’t go in listening to it expectin to get horny LMAOO it’s just the kind of sound i imagined eren’s band to have, but it was sexy to me bc the image of rockstar eren tormented me the entire time i wrote this 

“I can’t believe I agreed to this. This is fucking crazy.” Your friend’s voice was a fidgety whisper behind you. Her face’s close proximity to the back of your neck had her heavy expiration fanning over your nape every time she opened her mouth to reprimand herself for allowing you to beguile her into illegal trespassing.

“You’re fucking crazy,” she whispered again, tugging the leather sleeve of your jacket with a pesky grip.

You shrugged her touch off of your arm and took a brief glimpse over your shoulder to offer her a sour look. “Can you be quiet? You freaking out is making us look suspicious.” You whisked your head back around, peering around the corner of the vacant merch tent.

“No, us creeping around to sneak onto a fucking tour bus is making us look suspicious,” she retorted.

The corner of your mouth tightened at your friend’s concern and you lifted your hand to give her a dismissive wave. You were astounded when she had originally agreed to your brazen proposal, although it took minutes of incessant pleading for her to actually give in. Her veiled reluctance surfaced the minute you two had separated from the concert’s crowd at the end of the show and snuck around the stage to the back of the venue. What began as her unease and quiet suggestions that maybe your idea wasn’t so smart, intensified into irritating nagging. You gave her the option to turn around and wait for you back at the car, but as your companion, she sighed and remarked that something so stupid couldn’t be done alone.

“I see it,” you said eagerly and with a proud grin. The vehicle was stationed a decent distance from where the two of you had been standing, but you measured the stretch with your eyes and figured that if you walked quickly enough, you’d be able to make it on without being caught.

“How do we even know they’re on it?” Your friend craned her head past yours to get a better view of what you saw.

“We don’t. I’m just guessing.”

“Oh great, that’s exactly the answer I wanted.” She released a tense and quiet laugh before retreating back behind the screen of the tent.

You surveyed the security guards as they patrolled back and forth along the premises, waiting until the coast was clear. Once you noticed an opening, you forcefully grabbed your friend’s wrist, ignoring her silent grunt of protest, and pulled her along. She stumbled into your stride and peered over at you, doing her best to follow your quick feet while mirroring your nonchalant guise.

Closer and closer, the two of you neared the tour bus until it had to have been only yards away. You tried to remain composed through your excitement, making sure you didn’t break your character. No fucking way your plan had actually gone off without a hitch, it almost seemed too easy.

“Hey!”

You kept walking. Maybe the exclamation wasn’t for you, but once the holler was thrown again, your body went rigid, and the tempo of your steps slowed until you stopped in your tracks. The adrenaline that commanded your legs had been substituted for lead and it kept your feet pinned to the ground. You couldn’t even run.

“Hey, you two aren’t supposed to be back here.”

You blinked once, long and hard, before pivoting on your heel. You watched, mortified, as a burly security guard started in your direction and got closer until he loomed over you both with a threatening advantage in height.

He looked even angrier now that you could see the way his thick eyebrows creased together and created a ripple of lines above them that disappeared into a bald head. His hefty arms were crossed against his chest while he glowered down at you two, waiting to hear a story. You could tell your excuse wouldn’t matter though, it was obvious he wasn’t in the mood for jocular conversation.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, we were looking for the bathroom,” you explained, clasping your hands together and feigning an apologetic smile. You turned your head from side to side, looking around innocently to sell your lie, and then looked back up at the guard with a nervous laugh. “And I guess it’s not here.”

Your friend shook her head and said nothing, but you were certain she was drawing up a creative speech in her head, wondering how she would tell you that she “told you so” this time.

“Nice try.” The guard curled his lip angrily. “Come on.” He reached out a thick hand and wrapped it around your bicep while grabbing the back of your friend’s shirt with a crude yank. Your eyes went wide at his hostile grip and you jerked your arm, trying to free yourself of his hold.

“Hey, whoa!” His grip only tightened. “We can walk ourselves!”

The guard forced you two forward, prompting you to walk so he could escort you off the grounds.

“What’s going on?”

You looked up and your writhing ceased. Instead, heat flushed your cheeks and you stood dazed. It didn’t take long before you recognized the owner of the voice because, naturally, you would have been able to recognize him from a mile away, but luckily you didn’t have to. He was right in front of you.

It was Eren, the lead singer and guitarist of the band you had been screaming your heart out to not even an hour ago. He was your favorite member, meaning you’d watched countless interviews and had several pictures of him saved on your phone, but nothing could have prepared you for what he looked like up close. His long brown hair looked like it was still damp with sweat, a sign of his showmanship on stage, and it framed his face in careless wisps and fell loosely past his shoulders. His torso was unclad, showing the dark inkings that adorned his biceps and stretched all the way up his shoulders until they met at the detailed design of wings in the middle of his chest. Dark ripped jeans sat loosely, just below his hips, and teased a peek at deep v-lines that ran underneath the top of his waistband.

You fought off the urge to drop to your knees and pray for how sinfully hot he looked.  

Trailing behind him were his bandmates, Armin and Jean, the band’s other guitarists, and Connie, the band’s drummer. You had never seen such an attractive circle of friends where you would have been satisfied taking any of them, and although you avowed to your friend that Connie was hers since she favored him, you absolutely would’ve allowed him to do whatever he wanted to you.

“Caught these two trying to sneak onto the tour bus.” The security guard thrusted you two ahead with an unsatisfied huff, and you shot him a glare.

Eren’s attention dropped from the security guard’s face and drifted over to your friend first before settling on you, eyes sweeping over your face and falling at half-mast. He arched an eyebrow then averted his gaze from your chest.

“It’s cool, let them go.”

“Are you sure?” The security guard’s grip on you loosened, and you pulled out of his hold the minute you felt him unhand you.

Eren shrugged. “Yeah. They can hang.” He quickly dismissed the security guard and casually sauntered past you before disappearing onto their bus.

You glanced over at your friend who looked like she was still in the process of trying to grasp the situation evolving in front of her.

“What kind of assholes turn away fans?” Jean teased, giving you a warm smile before he lifted his half-empty water bottle to his lips.

Connie switched his drum sticks to one hand and slipped them behind his back into his pocket.  “You guys are fans, right? You’re not trying to steal a couple of used water bottles to sell online are you?”

You took a lengthy pause and waited for your friend to answer, giving her an opportunity to converse with him, but she said nothing. She just rocked back and forth on her feet, staring at the ground timidly to avoid looking Connie in the eye.

“No,” you answered for her. “I mean yes, we’re fans. Big fans. No to trying to sell your DNA.”

Your response earned a chuckle from Armin and a hearty laugh from Connie while he nodded in approval. “Alright.” He tilted his head in the direction of the bus as though encouraging you two on.

You watched as the rest of the members filed inside, and then your friend seized your hand frantically.

“Holy shit. Y/N, holy shit!” She squealed, and you snorted at her sudden ability to talk once again. “You saw him right? You saw him.” It didn’t take much detail for you to gather that she was gushing about Connie.  

“Did you even see him? Your head was down the whole time, you didn’t say a single word to him.”

Your friend’s animated face slackened into a placid expression. “I didn’t trust myself. If I opened my mouth I would have asked him to put me in a headlock.” She exhaled. “Jesus Christ, those arms.” Your goading smile stretched into an amused grin, and you shook your head at your friend’s hysterical behavior.

The inside of the tour bus was much larger than you would have deduced from its seemingly modest exterior. Its floors were dark and polished wood that matched the ceiling, both surfaces lined with subdued yellow light. Aside from the sizable kitchen to your right, large leather couches sat on either side of the lounge area, and stretching to the bus’ rear were dimly lit bunk beds that were half-obscured by a dark curtain.

“Holy shit, this is a house on wheels,” your friend breathed, mouth agape.

“Well we’re on the road most of the time, so it might as well be,” Armin answered, throwing himself into one of the sofas with a labored sigh. He threw his head back in exhaustion and brought his arms up to rest against the top of the couch. “We never caught your names by the way.”

Both you and your friend introduced yourselves, forgoing a proper introduction from the band’s members. You evidently already knew who they were.

Armin smiled. “Nice to meet you guys.”

Jean shuffled through, handing you and your friend a water bottle, which you accepted with much appreciation. You hadn’t taken heed of how thirsty you’d been, and you hadn’t had anything to drink since the concert had started. Even while you swooned in the crowd between sweaty bodies, dehydration threatening to ruin your fun, you’d refused to pay $4 for a beverage.

“Make yourselves at home.” He threw another bottle to Armin.

“Oh no, we’re not planning on staying that long.” Your friend laughed, clutching onto her drink so tightly that the plastic squeaked in her grip.

You nudged her in the ribs with an assertive elbow and said her name quietly through clenched teeth, barely audible enough for the two of you to hear. She looked at you with uncertainty, and you gave her a forced grin.

“Don’t be rude. They said we should make ourselves at home.” You obliged to Jean’s invite, taking a seat in one of the leather cushions.

The situation you were in was a rare opportunity, the type of opportunity you’d only heard from other people, the type of opportunity you’d read fanfiction about in your early adolescence. If anyone told you that you’d be living such an opportunity, you weren’t sure if you’d really believe them, but had you declined to appease your friend’s irrational concern, you knew you’d regret it for years.

“Did you guys enjoy the show?” Connie leaned against the wall of the bus and wedged a rolled stick of paper between his pursed lips. He brought a hand-held lighter to the end of the stick, sparking it a few times with his thumb before a small flame engulfed the thin paper and thick smoke billowed from its tip. It only took a moment before the pungent, herbal stench of marijuana invaded the inside of the tour bus.

“Of course, you guys are amazing.” You nodded, perching yourself up in your seat and clapping your hands together excitedly. “We’ve been trying to see you guys in concert for a long time now.”

Eren fell into the seat beside you, and your body tensed up almost instantly. You’d managed to feign calmness from your first encounter because it had been easy to masquerade your nervousness from a distance, but now that he was even closer, surely he could have heard your heart palpitating against your ribcage. Its beating grew even quicker once Eren sat back and slid his arm behind you to lay it atop the backrest.

“Yeah?” His voice was languid. “What’s your favorite song?”

“That’s a hard question,” you chuckled, suddenly becoming very interested in the sleeves of your jacket. “I seriously don’t know if I can pick just one.” It hadn’t been a hard question at all, but you simply couldn’t think through the smell of his faded cologne and the feeling of his naked chest up against the side of your arm.

“That’s cool,” Eren smiled, but responded plainly. “You smoke?”

Your eyes drifted up to see Eren offering you a partially-burnt joint in between two fingers. He inhaled deeply from his hit and exhaled, a thick white cloud rolling past his lips.

You hadn’t smoked before, and you weren’t an avid consumer of weed. One edible at a party had you manic until your friends had to calm you down in a separate room and reassure you that you weren’t dying, but you still accepted it hesitantly. You brought it to your lips and took a deep draw before erupting into a fit of coughs.

“Easy,” Eren laughed, and his warm hand rubbed the nape of your neck soothingly. He took the joint from your hands and held it towards Armin.

Your chest and throat heaved with the searing sensation of a foreign substance, and your body racked with an incessant wheeze until it was sure it had expelled all of the stuff. Eren beside you thought it was the funniest thing.

“So you guys in college?” Connie asked, this time directing his question to your friend since you clearly couldn’t respond.

She nodded quickly, still avoiding making eye contact with him. He must have noticed and thought it was endearing because the corner of his mouth quirked upward into a knowing smirk.

“Sick,” Eren remarked. “I dropped out of college, but you guys should stay in school, seriously.”

“Don’t worry I have no plans to drop out and become a musician,” you rasped once your coughing subsided.

He paused for a moment and then looked at you. “What about a boyfriend?” His eyes drank you in from bottom to top until he met your clueless stare.

“Do I have a boyfriend?” You blinked, and then the tip of your ears went up in an uncomfortable heat that spread over the side of your face until your skin was aflame with realization. “No.”

“That’s good.” Eren studied you from behind heavy lids and he lingered on your lips, his own spreading into a suggestive grin. “So it’s cool if I do this?”

He leaned in and affixed his lips at the curve of where your jaw met your ear. His mouth was hot and the kiss was wet against your feverish skin. He planted another one lower, against the hollow dip where your neck curved, and then he bent the arm resting behind your head, using his hand to turn your face toward him so that when he tilted himself forward again, he could kiss you without interference. His lips were soft and slow as they commanded your mouth to follow his rhythm, and you withheld a desperate and excited whimper once Eren slipped a seductive tongue past your teeth.

He relaxed another hand on your leg, rubbing slow circles into the top of your thigh while edging closer and closer to the top of your waistband. Once his leisure fingers skimmed over your pants’ button, he skillfully undid the first hole before moving on to your zipper. You made a small sound of protest and pulled back in embarrassment.

“In front of your bandmates?” you questioned in a breathy whisper.

Eren shrugged, looking unfazed. “They don’t care. Nothing they haven’t seen before.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. He was a goddamn celebrity for crying out loud, had you really thought you were the first girl he brought onto the bus to fuck? And he’d done it in front of his bandmates? You shifted uncomfortably, looking to Armin, Jean, and Connie who were now occupied with showing your friend pictures they’d been sent from professional photographers after past shows.  

“I don’t know,” you admitted timidly.

Eren rolled his head to the side, visibly bothered by your response. He glanced over to his bandmates and swept through his locks with a lazy hand. “Hey, why don’t you guys go show her the stage set before they pack up?”

Your friend looked away from the laptop they were gathered around and over her shoulder. “But—.”

Eren’s fingers trailed up and down the side of your neck, clearly eager to resume your previous matters. Were you really about to pass up this chance?

You gave your friend a reassuring thumbs up alongside Eren’s suggestion. “I’ll come find you later.”

It almost seemed like Eren sent his bandmates an unspoken cue, because Connie quickly chimed in before your friend had another turn to object. “Yeah. It’s okay, we’ll take care of you.” He wrapped a tattooed arm around your friend’s shoulder and gave her a friendly shake.

You could almost see the rise and fall of her chest cease, and you actually grew worried for her. It looked like she had nearly died and came back to life, but her stunned face melted into a flustered smile and she laughed sheepishly. “Okay.”

Connie nodded and gave Eren a two finger salute before escorting your friend off the bus with Jean and Armin following closely behind.

Once the door to the bus closed Eren shifted his attention back to you.

“There. Problem solved.” His green eyes had darkened and clouded over with desire again. “You feel better?”

“I guess,” you murmured.

You didn’t get a second chance to speak because Eren’s lips coupled to yours once more, and his hands continued against your zipper before he slipped his fingers into your underwear. He brought two fingers to your slit, skimming lightly over the delicate skin before sliding his middle finger between your folds to part them.

You released a sharp gasp against Eren’s mouth as you felt the cold metal of his rings against your cunt, but he made no efforts to pull away. The earthy taste of marijuana on his tongue caused your head to swim and you began to feel the drug’s intoxicant effects yourself. Your limbs grew heavier as you lay slack against Eren’s body while the sensation of his soft strokes against your tender clit had you whimpering against his lips.

He dipped his finger down to your body’s orifice, sliding it into your hole to glaze the digit with your arousal.

“God, you’re so tight.” Eren’s voice was deep as he pulled away from your mouth and both of you looked down to watch the way he worked you. “I want you around my cock.”

Your hips jerked involuntarily against his hand with the mention of his desire, and he brought his touch back up to your clit, using your essence as lubrication. The bus was quiet except for the symphony of Eren’s husky pants and your lewd whines as he slowly quickened the pace when he felt your body begin to tremble against his.

“Fuck, Eren—,” you mewled. You hadn’t even given thought to how unusual his name sounded coming out of your mouth. Eren, the singer and lead guitarist of your favorite band had his fingers inside of your pants, and here you were moaning his name. “Oh fuck—.”

Your orgasm intensified quickly after its onset, you hadn’t even realized you were climaxing until your body was convulsing and your fingers were digging into Eren’s biceps.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Eren—,” you cried.

“That’s it,” Eren cooed. “Atta girl.”

His fingers continued working against your clit until you wrapped a sweaty hand around his wrist, a silent plea for him to stop before he sent you into overstimulation.

He hummed in amusement and heeded your request before pulling his hands out of your underwear. Now he worked his hands against his own belt, unfastening the buckle before pushing his jeans down with his briefs in one swift and eager motion. His cock was half-hard and continued growing rigid after he took himself in his hand and began pumping his throbbing length.  

You watched in wonderment as his palm worked painfully slow against his thick shaft, and pearls of precum gathered at his tip before dribbling down his swollen head. Your own dirty fantasies where you’d tried to envision how big Eren was hardly did him justice.

You rose to your feet, kicking off your shoes with haste, and stepped out of your pants. You shrugged off your jacket as well, realizing how uncomfortably sticky your sweaty arms felt against the leather material.

“Come here,” Eren hummed, and released his cock. He held his hands out for you to take, and he pulled you onto his lap. He supported your waist until your knees were mounted on either side of his thighs, and you pulled your underwear to the side, allowing his pulsating tip to prod your entrance.

“You gonna show me how well you ride?” he asked, thumbs rubbing circles into your hips.

You nodded, resting your hands on his shoulders and undulating your wet folds against his cock. You released a desperate whimper every time he nudged your clit.

“Yeah? Show me.”

Eren watched as you slipped him in, and what started as a whine deepened into an obscene cry while you felt him stretch your walls out. You eased down until you sat at the base of his cock and he’d filled you to the hilt.

You dug your teeth into your lower lip, waiting to adjust to his girth before you slowly started moving up and down. Eren’s shallow breathing encouraged you while you lifted yourself up and then back down, each time releasing an agonizing sob.

“Good girl.” Eren’s large hands traveled up from your waist and rested on your chest. “Just like that.” He loosely cupped his hands over your clothed chest, adoring the way your quickening pace caused your breasts began to jounce underneath your shirt, but your ache to feel his touch everywhere along your skin became uncontrollable.

Your fingers curled around the hem of your top and you quickly slipped the material off, tossing it onto the couch beside you. You did the same with your bra, too impatient to fumble around with the pesky hooks.

Eren grinned lazily, before resting his palms against your breasts and giving them a small jiggle. He leaned forward, lolling his tongue out, and flicked its tip against the hardening bead of your nipple. He looked up at you with half-lidded eyes and smiled at the way you murmured his name before rolling his thumb over the wet skin.

“So fucking hot,” Eren praised. He gave your other breast a brisk slap, watching it shake with the impact, and then he took you in his mouth. He sucked hungrily before taking your nipple between his teeth and tugged on it.

You continued bouncing on Eren’s cock before he released a guttural groan and threw his head back. “Fuck, don’t stop.” The tattoos along his sweaty chest expanded with each uneven breath. “I’m gonna cum.”

Eren’s hands traveled down to your ass, and black-painted nails dug into your skin while he directed you up and down. You rolled your hips against him until you felt his cock jerk inside you, and then he was filling you up.

Eren unloaded himself into you and your walls fluttered around his quivering length. His balls spasmed, making sure he’d jettisoned every drop of thick, white cum. He pulled his cock out before your knees gave way and you collapsed next to him. Your pussy clenched around nothing, still adjusting to Eren’s absence, and you felt his release leak out of your hole.

You heaved, eyes strung tightly, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You had to have been dreaming. You kept your eyes closed, fearing that you’d wake, but they fluttered open instinctively when you felt Eren’s weight lift from beside you.

“Where are you going?” You watched as he tugged his pants up and fastened his buckle before shuffling around the bus looking for something. Jesus Christ, just how much stamina did this guy have?

“Your friend’s probably wondering what’s taking you so long,” Eren replied, disappearing behind the curtain leading to the bedroom in the back of the bus.

Your hand flew to your forehead and you sat up, feeling guilty that you had completely forgotten your friend. Knowing her, she was probably worrying herself sick wondering what Eren had possibly done to you. You started retrieving your clothes and getting dressed, but you paused momentarily, calling out to wherever Eren had been on the bus.

“I should give you my number.” You stuck a leg into your pants. “You know, just to keep in touch.” You stuck your other leg in and hopped around, pulling your pants up.

Eren reappeared from behind the curtain, tugging on a fitted black t-shirt. “Don’t worry about that.”

You popped your head out from under your shirt and reached for your jacket. You laughed lightly and gave him a confused look.

“Safety and shit. We can’t give our personal information out to just anyone.” He gave you a pitiful smile, but you could tell it was more for you than for him.

“Oh,” you responded quietly.

Eren seemed unconcerned with the guidelines he was given, as though he didn’t care much about whether he even remembered your name once they were on the road again.

“Don’t look so sad babe. You’re lucky.” He tilted his head toward you and raised his eyebrows. “Not everyone gets to fuck a rockstar.”

#eren smut #eren yeager smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #eren yeager x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #aot au #eren yaeger smut #attack on titan au #eren yeager au

[firein-thesky]

COIN TOSS– PART II

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, a little Shouta Aizawa x Reader

SUMMARY: As you fall asleep, you wonder faintly, almost sadly, if you’re the first thing he’s fully touched without losing in a long time.

You are Eraserhead’s troubled protege with a Quirk that cancels out others the moment they touch you. Tomura Shigaraki takes great interest in you.

(Enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, some hurt/comfort)

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, age gap/power struggle, violence, gore, Tomura’s trauma specifically, (in later chapters) murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut, some blurred lines, rough sex, a smidge of a spit kink, a smidge of somnophilia (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading or interacting with this!

A/N: again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing!! and thank you guys for the support and comments on the first part! here is your part two!! it's tomura heavy, but for those who love shouta, there's a lot of him in the final part! i hope you enjoy! let me know what you thought!

i also am obsessed with making playlists for when i write and i spend far too much time organizing it all and making sure the songs blend together so if you'd like to take a look at the playlist i made for this fic, it's here!

Read on Ao3

***

Shouta, like the responsible adult he is, soothes things out with you. Well, it doesn’t feel very soothed to you, but Shouta’s made his position clear and you’ve both returned to some semblance of normalcy.

He keeps his distance.

You try not to overstep, but you’re aching and furious.

(You’re holding a secret, too, letting it tear apart your insides, letting it turn circles in your mind until all you can think about is the chill of rain, the bite of a desperate kiss).

You hate that Shouta has retreated from you now. You hate that he’ll stop his hand before reaching out to touch you, like he always has to make sure, like he has to decide if that will be good for you. If you can handle it.

You feel shockingly alone.

You lash out at him more, bicker and argue over things you never used to. You don’t even know why you do it, can’t stop yourself from trying to dig into him. You regret it every time when all he gives you is impassiveness, levelheaded coolness. An adult speaking with an unruly child. He’s good at that, unfortunately.

Some days you want to beg him for answers. Why can’t you love me the way I love you? Is it me? How would you have me? If I was older? I can be more mature, I can be better and better and better–

His undercover work grows greater, draws him away from both you and Shinsou more. Shouta seems to ghost around your life now, drawn away from you, keeping a very careful space between you both.

But there are nights where he tells you to train with Shinsou alone now. You feel responsible. Mature. You glow with pride that he can trust you with one of his students, that you could be a mentor to Shinsou, too.

You grow closer to Shinsou because of this, too, when it’s just the two of you in the gym.

There is one evening in particular, when you’re both sprawled out on the floor taking a too-long water break because Shouta isn’t around when he admits that he used to be– still is sometimes– feared for his Quirk.

He tells you everyone expected him to be a villain.

“I used to be a thief,” you admit, “I was a petty villain, I guess.”

Shinsou looks at you and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t entirely show it, except for the lifting of his brows. You don’t sense judgement from him, though, when he asks, “Really?”

You take another swig of water, humming in affirmation. You swallow, “I was homeless, had no money, nothing. I was stealing from a supermarket when Shouta caught me.”

“You were just trying to survive,” Shinsou adds, like he’s trying to justify the crime, like it soothes him to know there was a good reason for a misdeed.

“Sure,” you reply, fiddling with your water bottle, “But I stole things I didn’t need, too. Just things I wanted.”

“But you’ve changed,” Shinsou says and you can’t tell if he’s trying to reassure himself or you more. “You’re a hero now.”

“Only because my circumstances changed. I was given a roof over my head, food to fill me. Clothes of my own that fit and weren’t torn. I was accepted.” You explain, “If it hadn’t been for Shouta, I would never have become a hero.”

Shinsou is silent, watching you.

“I’d probably be in jail. Or still a thief, in the least, if any other hero would’ve caught me.”

You don’t know why, but you think of Shigaraki suddenly. You think of how young some of the League of Villains are. You wonder if it had been them who offered you food and a home, if you’d be with them now, and not here, sitting on the floor of a nice, sparkling gym attached to U.A.’s dorms.

Something strange grows inside you, something a little bitter. It simmers with sympathy for them, for their lives. For kids like Shinsou with their villainous quirks. You wonder if he’d been poor, if he’d been alone, would he be here, too? Or somewhere else?

“But you were good before,” he says, and it almost feels naive, “I know you’re good.”

You shrug, “Good is relative, you know? I thought I was good because I didn’t kill people, I didn’t steal from other poor people, but society didn’t think I was good. I was still a thief.”

“But you were only a thief because you needed to survive.” he says again, “When given the chance, you changed and became a hero.”

“Exactly.” you say, “How many villains do you think just needed a chance?”

Shinsou goes silent now. His brows furrow in thought, pinching together in a way that makes him look a little too old for his age. You think all of the kids at U.A. grow up too quickly, all of them with too much on their small shoulders.

They’re only kids.

You’re barely older.

Shigaraki is barely older than you.

You push him out of your mind, toss your water bottle aside, and rise to your feet again. “C’mon,” you offer Shinsou your hand to help him up, too, “Shouta would kill me to know I let you lay around so much.”

This seems to pull him from his thoughts and he snorts, taking your hand.

You pull him up. And you both stare at each other a moment. You think he looks at you in a different light now and it isn’t bad, no, he seems to be pondering you more.

(And you’ll realize later that he’s become more sympathetic, that he sees you in villains now, reminds himself they’re people, too, with lives and needs and wants–)

It gives you a strange hope, as you begin to train with him again, to know that he’s the future of hero society.

***

Tomura spots you while he’s out stealing with Toga. Usually it’s Twice or Magne with her, but Twice was onto something else and Toga had decided to latch herself onto him for the day. He’s grown to tolerate her.

Besides, she’d managed to steal him a jean jacket, dark, rough, and worn with holes but it keeps him warmer while still being able to keep the hood of his sweatshirt up to hide himself. To blend in. She’d stolen herself something, too, as the weather begins to get colder and they still don’t have a base, wandering aimlessly.

(He feels stupidly responsible for them. But he’s learned good leaders are, in some way, responsible for their people. They don’t have to care in any way that is emotional, but they have to care in some way, make the group feel important to them. And begrudgingly, they are important to him–)

You’re with a boy around Toga’s age. Wild violet hair. You’re laughing at something he’s saying and you’re sharing street food, he thinks, something that’s warm, steaming up into the air.

He feels a vicious surge of jealousy for a moment. It’s so sharp and jarring that he reaches up to scratch at his neck, tearing into his skin.

But the boy looks too young and you tousle his hair like he’s a younger brother, not someone romantic. While there’s familiarity between you two, it’s not overly intimate.

Toga, unfortunately, follows his line of sight.

She looks between him and you. She tilts her head and Tomura can practically see the gears turning in her strange little mind.

“Do you know them?” she asks, almost innocently.

He doesn’t know why, but he says, “Just her.”

Toga looks back at you. She watches as you talk with the boy– the sun through the autumn leaves cast you in tangerine light, all golden and warm.

When she looks back at Tomura, a smile creeps onto her face. One that he knows is going to give him a migraine.

“She’s so pretty,” she trills, eyeing him too closely.

Tomura scratches at his neck again, harder, wincing a little when he feels a cut reopen.

“Do you have a crush, Tomura?” Toga sings, dancing in front of him to force herself into his line of sight.

“No,” Tomura snaps, bristling, which only seems to encourage her.

“Let’s say hi!” she says, about to bound off and Tomura catches her by the scruff of her jacket like a kitten. He’s wearing his partial gloves, but he still keeps a finger away from her.

“No,” he hisses, firmer now, pulling her back towards him. “They’re heroes. Don’t get distracted.”

Toga twists in his hold, wide-eyed for a moment, before her face settles into another enormous and excited smile. “You’re in love with a hero, too?!”

Tomura grits his teeth, snarling out, “I’m not in love with anyone.” He shakes her then and she yelps a little, “Now focus. We need food and I don’t want to deal with them.”

Toga finally squirms her way out of his hold, pouting at him, “You’re no fun.” she whines and all he does is shoulder past her. He stalks ahead, trying not to look at you again, if only to not draw your eye.

“Do you want to starve?” he asks waspishly, glancing at Toga over his shoulder.

She huffs, rolling her eyes, before hustling to catch up to him. She hums a strange little tune the rest of the time, knocking into his side, throwing him new looks as if to suggest they share some sort of commonality or secret. He grits his teeth but suffers through her torment.

When they return to the rest of the League with what they’d stolen, Toga announces to the whole group, “Tomura is in love with a hero, too!”

The migraine that had begun earlier in his temples reaches full force now. He doesn’t bother trying to deny it. He decides he doesn’t care.

Dabi’s laugh grates on him, though, “Is that so? Which little hero?” he asks Toga, and just as she’s skipping past him, he snags her, snatching the granola bar she’d had in her hand from their little raid.

She turns to grab it back and he pulls it out of her reach, “I don’t know! Give that back!” she squawks, clawing at him.

She must really dig at him because Dabi hisses, “You little twerp–” Just before Magne snatches the outstretched granola bar from Dabi’s hand. She hands it back to Toga, who quickly rushes off with it now.

And thankfully, for Tomura’s sanity, you’re not brought up again.

But he hadn’t noticed you– hadn’t noticed the way you’d seen him with Toga, too. Just a girl Shinsou’s age, following after him like an eager puppy.

Shinsou had trailed beside you like that, too, when you’d both walked back to U.A. with full bellies and new coffees in hand, warm and content.

***

There is a night where Shouta is out doing work undercover and you’re left to patrol on your own. You can’t take Shinsou yet, since he hasn’t earned his provisional license. You don’t mind these nights, by yourself, when you stick to shadows and rooftops, watching the city from above.

It’s cooler now and you tuck your face into the high collar of your hero uniform to hide from the wind that brushes past.

It’s been a quiet night so far. There are other, flashier heroes patrolling, too, meandering around the sidewalks to deter petty crime.

You check the time on your phone, noting that you have a little less than an hour until your shift is over, until you can go home and take a hot shower in an attempt to warm yourself up– especially your fingers, the tips of your ears.

You stretch, standing on one of the low roofs of a building. You’re stiff from crouching, so you decide to move around, change position. You use a grappling tool to shoot it onto a higher roof of the next building. You scale the bricks easily and once safely up, retract your grappling hook.

You look out over the quiet city, the golden light of lampposts, the meandering of cars through the streets. Some restaurants and bars are still open, their windows look warm and inviting with the flush of people inside.

You waste most of the last hour of your shift trying to remain warm, keeping a careful eye on the world below.

Towards the end, you notice a familiar figure in one of the alleyways down below. You don’t even see his face, just the back of his hoodie, just the angle of his shoulders.

Just the way he walks.

The thought should frighten you– that you know him like this, that you’re familiar with just the movement of his body.

Shigaraki Tomura walks away from the soft light of the main city, slips away into alleyways and darkness. You glance at the time. Your shift is nearly over.

This counts as hero work, doesn’t it? Silently following after him?

You drop down onto a fire escape– leap off to latch onto a lower window sill, until you’re dropping silently on to the ground a distance away from him.

You are careful to keep away from him, to use everything Shouta taught you about stealth to remain hidden. And you know Shigaraki is observant, you know he’s always looking over his shoulder so you have to stick to hidden places– behind dumpsters, ducking into alcoves of buildings.

He heads back to the part of the city you grew up in, where everything is falling apart, where there are plenty of abandoned buildings for hiding, plenty of places for runaway teens and homeless to sleep. The cheapest apartments, the streets that are the least patrolled by heroes and police alike, where parts of the Yakuza groups are bolder.

These streets are familiar to you. It’s a strange trip down memory lane.

You think of the last time you saw Shigaraki and flush darkly– it was around here, too, what happened that night.

Still, you follow him because you think you still have some upper hand. Maybe he’ll lead you to the rest of the League of Villains. For a heartbeat, you wonder if you’ll tell Shouta, if you’ll tell the Hero Commissions– you’d have to, right? That isn’t some little squirmish. That’s important information.

But he doesn’t lead you to the rest of the League.

He leads you to an apartment building, small and falling apart on the outside. A window is boarded up poorly. There are stray cats that linger around the side, where the trash is. You’re sure there are rats and bugs, too. You’re sure the building is one bad day away from falling apart.

Shigaraki pauses by the door that is nearly falling off its hinges.

He glances over his shoulder, “Are you following me in, too?”

Your heart kicks up, hammering against the inside of your chest. You swallow hard, internally cursing.

For all your effort of stealth, he still noticed you?

Well, there’s no use lying about it now.

You step around the corner you’d been hiding behind, moving towards the glow of a street light that flickers in and out of power to reveal yourself fully to him.

“When did you notice me?” you ask, peering at him, at the shape of him in the dark.

You catch the lifting of his scar when he smiles, just a baring of teeth, “I saw you on the roof.”

Damn, you curse again, you’ll have to work on that, “That bad, huh?”

He shrugs gracelessly, lifting of his shoulders only for them to fall unevenly, “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known. You were silent otherwise.”

It feels like a compliment– a generous one, coming from him. You don’t know why you have to hold off a smile.

He turns back to the door, shouldering it open. He walks through the archway without another word. He leaves it open and it seems there is no light on the inside, just a blackness that swallows up your vision. He disappears inside.

You stand there, beneath the light that flickers in and out, eyeing the doorway. You could go now, run back home to Shouta, to the Hero Commission and tell them you think you know where he stays, you have a lead on him. You look behind you, glance at the alleyway you came from with it’s’ dull, fluorescent lights that splash against the concrete, that barely fight against the shadows.

You look back towards where Shigaraki had been, the entrance to the building.

You’d probably even get extra little hero points for it from the Commission.

Shouta would be proud of you.

For bringing them to this dilapidated, shabby little apartment complex that rests on the streets of the place you used to call home.

You swallow hard, flex your freezing fingers.

Then you step towards the doorway, peer inside carefully. You hold your breath and the door creaks quietly when you cross it’s threshold, into the darkness.

Tomura is mildly surprised when he hears the door creak behind him. He can feel you, even in the dark of this hallway, the tentative steps you take after him. They’re almost shy.

But you followed him, didn’t you?

You followed and followed and followed him– and of course you did, he thinks, you had kissed him back, hadn’t you?

He supposes you could be playing a part, trying to get close to him but his intuition tells him differently, not with the genuine reaction you’d had. Your sudden guilt for giving in to him. Still, he’ll be careful around you.

He’ll probably have to move again, which would be a shame, since he has already killed the tenant of this apartment– he’d been sure they wouldn’t be missed by anyone, made sure he’d have time. He did the work to get it, thought he’d have it for just long enough until the League made another move.

He almost wants to test you, see if you’re going to run and tattle on his location. He wonders how far you’re willing to follow him.

Tomura walks steadily down the hallway, to the apartment he has taken claim to. He unlocks the door, hands in his partial gloves, shoving it with his shoulder to then enter. He leaves it open for you.

The apartment is a studio, shabby and the heat isn’t amazing, but it has hot water and a lack of bugs in this particular room. It has furniture– a bed, specifically, was all he had cared about. There’s empty wrappers of food and cans of energy drinks on the counters because he doesn’t really bother to pick up after himself but otherwise, the space isn’t his. There’s nothing else of his, besides some spare clothes on the floor.

And still, you follow him here, too. But you stand at the doorway, peeking inside.

He glances at you and is reminded of a fox, something with clever eyes but wary, a little skittish– would bite if he got too close too soon.

So he gives you space, just like he let you leave.

If there’s one thing Tomura has learned, it’s patience. Any good plan takes patience. The reward is always sweeter. The longer and harder the level, the greater the wins.

He ignores you, puts even more distance between the two of you as he wanders further in. He flicks on lights. He takes off his shoes, shrugs off his jean jacket and throws it over the couch. He gives the appearance of carelessness, of letting his guard down. Non threatening.

And you take your fist shy step inside. The door behind you remains ajar, though, for escape.

Tomura has to fight a terrifying smile, fight the sudden twisting in his heart, the inhale of his breath.

“I don’t know how wise it was of you to bring a hero to your home.” you finally speak, cutting through the silence. You’re trying to be witty, but he can tell you’re nervous.

“This isn’t my home,” he answers.

Home, with it’s round and warm syllabus, is not what he thinks of this place.

You eye him some more, but before you can respond, he says, “I don’t know how wise it was of you to follow a villain into his home.”

“I thought it wasn’t your home,” you quip and he only gives you a dry look.

Your bravado is wavering, especially when the door clicks shut behind you, your hand finally falling to your side.

And the two of you are sealed away from the outside world.

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask him and your voice is deceptively quiet. Small.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks in return.

You inhale like you’re trying to steady yourself, “Because I’m supposed to.”

Tomura smiles now, something lazy, almost amused. He knows it’s a lie, can feel it slide along his skin, can see the floundering, desperate look in your eyes.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks again, forcing himself not to move, not to step towards you in his budding excitement. Patience, he tells himself, be patient.

“Why did you kiss me?” you ask instead and the question is raw, as if it’s plagued you, haunted you like an insistent ghost. Crept around in the back of your mind, growing teeth and fangs and spindly, lampshade bat wings large enough to terrify you.

The idea that he’s taken root in your mind in the same way you have infested his is near dizzying.

Tomura weighs his answers carefully. He’s silent for a long moment and it’s heavy, charged with something that he can’t name– has never felt before.

When he speaks, his voice is just a rasp of breath, a little more honest than he’d like, a touch annoyed with the truth, “Because I wanted to.”

Another long stretch of silence where you watch him carefully, where he can see your chest rising and falling too quickly. He can see that frightened look in the rounding of your eyes, the high flush in your cheeks.

And when you speak again, it’s hardly louder than a whisper, like it’s all you can manage,“Do you want to kiss me again?”

It is far too gentle of a question for what he wants– it almost feels innocent, juvenile. Out of place between the two of you. But he’ll take it, he’ll take whatever you give him and then some.

He takes a step towards you. You don’t flinch away so he takes another, then another, until he is standing in front of you. You’re close now– so close that he has to force air into his lungs. He reminds himself of patience, of waiting–

He could take whatever he wanted from you now, he supposes, but he doesn’t want to have to wrestle you for it. He wants it given freely, he wants you to kiss back, like you had before. He wants you to willingly submit and it’s taken longer but it’ll be sweeter, so much sweeter.

“Are you going to run away again?” he asks and he can feel his heart quicken, the squeezing of it awful and tight.

You look up at him in a way that reminds him of his dreams, the ones he pretends to hate, where you make those small, soft noises. Where you let him touch you and taste you and have you.

And you shake your head no, just fractionally, the barest hint of movement but it’s enough for him.

The force of his kiss slams you back against the door. You make a surprised noise against him as he crushes himself to you. It’s just as violent as the first, but this time you take back what he gives. You get your bearings quicker, like you’ve learned a lesson already. He grins into the kiss, opening it, when he feels your little hands clawing at his shoulders, at his back.

He groans when you part your lips for him, when you lick tentatively into his mouth. He possesses you, bears onto you, pinning you to the door as his hands, still gloved, curl around your sides, your hips.

Your hero costume is tight, fits the curves of you snugly and in a way that’s making him nearly insane. He isn’t careful, doesn’t care if he’s moving too fast now as his hands roam and grab and squeeze. There’s layers between you, he naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

One of your hands tightens in his hair, pulling when he bites your bottom lip.

But you don’t seem to mind, either, with the way your breath is hitching, with the way you’re trying to pull him closer, desperately fuse him to you.

Your lips are so soft, he notices, even with the forcefulness with which you’re kissing him back.

It feels surreal for a moment, like one of his dreams, when he parts from your mouth only to slot his lips against your jaw, your neck. A whine is loosened from you, which breaks when he sets teeth to the vulnerable line of your throat.

Your hands are in his hair still, body arching into him eagerly. Youthful in your earnestness.

You’re better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, so alive and rosy and warm beneath his hands, beneath his mouth, which is making a mess of your neck. A particular hard suck over the sensitive line of your pulse makes you pull at his hair.

“Don’t leave a mark,” you hush and he thinks you meant to sound more threatening, but it’s softened by the desperation in your voice.

He scoffs into your throat, dragging teeth roughly along your skin.

“Shigaraki–”

“Tomura.” he corrects without thinking, finally pulling away to look at you, which is almost a mistake because you–

You’re flushed, lips kiss stung and pink, all swollen. Your head is tipped back, exposing the column of your throat, hair mussed with being pressed to the door so roughly. Your eyes are hazy and fever pink with your Quirk activated, like spring flowers, glowing in the low light.

He thinks of paintings and colors and dreams, something like beauty, if he knew anything about that.

And he’s so hard it hurts, teeth grinding together as he looks at you because he can’t even fucking stomach this feeling.

Then you repeat his name for him, “Tomura.”

He’s never heard his name like that, bedroom soft, more of a lullaby and less of a tragedy. He feels like he’s going to shake apart, his body to become just old ruins– he feels as if it’ll collapse inwards, topple over to crush his heart.

Where he’s usually seething and livid and clawing ruthlessly, the festering feeling in his chest is replaced with a new energy; something bursting and squirming and warm. His Quirk lies dormant and docile inside of him with your hand in his hair, your other now at his neck, fingers pressing lightly at his jaw.

It’s terrifying, he realizes, to not feel his Quirk at the edges of his fingers.

(It’s freeing, too, he’ll come to find, to not feel it’s weight, it’s demand that had been encouraged and shaped in him.)

You’re both trying to catch your breaths, looking at each other now. His fingers, still gloved, flex and squeeze at your waist, like he’s scared you’ll run off again.

You inch forward instead, rock onto the tips of your toes to press your lips to his again– softer this time, but no less heated, no less desperate.

He thinks you must be starving, too, with the way you pull him close. His mouth slants over yours, demanding more, a little rougher.

You squirm against the door, the slightest rocking of your hips– he can feel it against his thigh, against his waist. It makes him hiss out a breath against your lips, makes him grab harder at your waist, force you to do it again, harder this time.

You whine and it’s the snapping of his patience.

He reaches for the zipper at the back of your hero uniform, gives it a rough tug, pulling it down some. And then you’re pushing at him, nudging him away from the door and it’s a flurry of movement as you yank at his hoodie while he pulls at your clothes. You’re both stumbling further into the room, towards the bed pushed back into the corner.

Tomura feels young suddenly– feels his age. He feels like a twenty something year old with a girl in his apartment who wants his hoodie off. Who's kissing him hard in between every article of clothing that manages to come off.

He sits back on the edge of the bed to ease the rest of your cat-suit down. He watches with interest as you wiggle your hips to help him get the fabric down over you– and it’s nothing romantic, he doesn’t kiss the newly revealed skin, he doesn’t gently run his fingertips over you, but you grow shy under his gaze.

You’re still in undergarments, athletic slips of fabric, but his eyes fly over your face. You’re nervous, he can nearly feel it, with the way you shift, with the way you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and worry it.

A thought strikes him.

“Have you done this before?” he rasps, hooking his hand in the crux of your knee to drag your forward so you nearly fall into his lap.

“Yes,” you grit out, arms coming up to his shoulders to steady yourself. “Once.” you then shakily exhale.

He doesn’t particularly care– your answer wouldn’t have changed how he’d treat you. He’s not going to be gentler nor slower because you’re less experienced.

“Have you?” you ask, eyeing him, fingers nervously toying with the ends of his hair.

“Yes,” he says, perhaps too sharply, but he gives no other information and you don’t press him, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t have the patience for useless questions.

Rather, he pulls you down harder, so your bare thighs finally settle into his lap. He slides his gloved hands up the notches of your ribs to hitch beneath your bra. That comes off, too, and then he’s got his hands on you more. You gasp, arching into his touch when his fingers curl around a breast, fingers roughly brushing over the peak.

He doesn’t think anymore, just acts, just moves and does as he pleases. All the things he’s done in dreams or in his mind– he sets lips and teeth to your breast, tongue laving over your nipple. He forces your squirming still with an arm banded around your torso, keeping you flush to his eager mouth.

You yelp in pain when he uses his teeth too roughly, trying to jerk away from him but you can’t with his hold on you. He grins, mouth opening, spit slick and wet against your breast again. He groans against you when you pull on his hair.

But then he twists you, throws you down onto the bed only to crawl over you. He yanks at your panties just as you pull him down for another kiss– maybe to distract yourself, to settle your nerves. When you pull away, you’re on your back and he’s over you, your legs hitching over his narrow waist. His hands are on your thighs and you–

You suddenly grab for his hands.

“Take off your gloves,” you get out, breathless, and before he can respond, your fingers are sliding against his wrist, up to his hand, beneath the glove and against his palm.

It makes him shiver, makes him grit his teeth. You pull off one, then the other.

For a moment, he just looks at you all spread out and bare for him, his hands now open and uncovered, too.

You squirm under his scrutinizing gaze.

“C’mon,” you coax and he thinks you’re trying to find your bravado, “Touch me.”

There’s nothing between his hands and your skin now and he settles his palm on your stomach, beneath your breast.

He naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

“Tomura,” your voice is pitched, almost pleading, “You’re not going to hurt me– c’mon.”

He tenses for a moment, eyes flashing over your face. For a moment, his heart stumbles, he grows wary. He thinks of you slipping away beneath his touch, falling away into nothing and all he’d have is a bed of ashes.

But your eyes are bright with your Quirk.

His final finger comes down. Nothing happens, except you smile a little, except you arch up into his touch– alive and vivid and furiously warm.

He feels like he can’t breathe, can’t even function.

He catches a groan behind his teeth, falls forward as his hands become feverish and possessive, suddenly confident, suddenly brash– touching and squeezing and grabbing at you.

His teeth clank with yours as he tumbles into another kiss. You’re needier now, making those higher pitched noises that used to haunt him.

It drives him insane, makes him feel half feral, overeager and desperate. His fingers wander lower, seeking and searching, just as the kiss grows in intensity again. It’s messier, all open mouth and tongue.

When he pulls away, a string of spit connects the two of you and he lets more of the saliva pooling in his mouth drip down with it, letting it fall between your open lips, some on your bottom lip, too. It’s depraved and dirty and his eyes simmer as he gazes down at you.

Your face scrunches up as you go to wipe at your mouth, and he hates it because all he can think of is how cute that face is.

“Gross,” you mewl, but his fingers finally move between your legs and–

And all he finds is that you’re hot and slick for him.

He has to grit his teeth to keep from moaning.

But you nearly cry at the touch, a pathetic little noise, hips jolting like you’re not sure if you want to go towards his touch or away.

“Gross, huh?” Tomura asks, voice low, the pad of his finger sliding easily, teasing you slowly before he goads, “Why are you so wet then?”

He sinks a finger in suddenly– just because he can. Just because he wants to watch your face screw up again, which it does, your mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hm?” he hums, amused with the way you’re gasping beneath him. He starts a slow but deep rhythm and–

And he’s had sex before, a handful of times, but it’d always been for him. He hadn’t cared how the other person felt, hadn’t cared to try and get them off. But now he suddenly wishes he had learned, if only for you, now. He wants you as obsessed as he is, wants you to feel as maddened as he feels.

Thankfully, you’re so expressive. And he doesn’t have to worry about his fingers. He can find the spot inside you that makes you toss your head back into the sheets and moan for him, he can focus on the way you keen when he finds your clit with his thumb.

You’re a sensitive little thing, clawing at his bare shoulders, whining into his neck. He forces in another finger and you start rocking your hips, growing more desperate until–

“Fuck,” you gasp, “Fuck, I’m going to–”

He curls his fingers harder, watching your face as you fall apart, as you try and twist and squirm beneath him. He forces you through it, isn’t gentle, but selfish, wringing everything he can from you.

And when he’s finished watching you whimper and feeling you flutter and gush around his fingers, he takes them out only to force them between your lips.

Once more your face screws up, but you close your mouth around them and he groans low and raw. You look hazy, drooling all over his fingers, lashes fluttering prettily.

He uses his other hand to fumble with his belt, to work his pants down low enough for his cock, aching so bad that he swears he’s going to go insane–

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, watching the mess that comes with it, so wet and slick and shiny. He can’t help the growl he gives, before covering his mouth with yours again.

As you kiss, sloppy and desperate, Tomura slides the head of his cock against you and you’re so slippery and soft and molten for him that his next moan tapers off into a whine.

You pull away fractionally, “Shouldn’t we–”

He thinks maybe you were about to ask about protection of some kind, but he shoves inside you hard, breaches your body and watches as your eyes roll back, just about to cross as your nails turn sharp against his back.

You moan, low and drawn out.

He can’t help the absurd laugh that is wretched from him, his head dropping onto your neck as he snaps his hips forward. He can’t believe he’s actually gotten you here, in his bed, beneath him– let him inside where you’re so warm and soft.

“Fuck,” you gasp, maybe laced with pain, clawing at him, raking your nails down his back.

“Does it hurt?” he hisses, excited, his teeth coming down to close over your exposed neck.

“Yes,” you get out, almost a whimper, “Feels good, too.”

He snaps his hip forwards roughly, grinding deep as he laughs again when you just about sob into his shoulder.

You latch your teeth onto the vulnerable juncture between his neck and his shoulder, where you’d already laid claim to him once before.

He wrestles for your wrist, the one he broke, and forces it down onto the bed.

“Look at you,” he almost snarls, voice low and gravely, “Little hero letting me fuck her.”

You gasp when he angles his hips, when his other hand reaches beneath you, to fist a hand in your hair and pull so your neck is arched and exposed to him.

“I used to dream of this,” he admits roughly, the confession like a curse being spit out of his mouth, “Wanted to stalk you or possess you or–” he groans because he can feel how you’re throbbing around him, how slick you are for him, “Wanted to fucking ruin you–”

He pulls at your hair more, tries to get you to look at him through your wet lashes. The flash of pink meets red and his smile is more a cruel bearing of teeth.

“And you feel so much better than I dreamt– fuck, so much tighter–” he babbles as he ruts into you hard and quick. You keen, high and broken, just as he feels you flutter around him again and he almost loses his mind because–

“Are you going to fucking come again?” he growls, pulling harder on your hair.

“Yes,” you groan, “Please, fuck, please, c’mon–” your voice is high and wrecked and all he has to do is angle his hips a few more times before you’re shattering, nearly breaking apart, squeezing down on his cock so tightly that he shudders, that he let’s go of your hair just to focus on his own pleasure.

He doesn’t even realize he’s drooling into your neck, not as he loses his rhythm, as he shoves himself as deep into you as he can and comes hard. Pleasure races up his spine, turns him white-hot and sensitive, making his eyes roll back into his head, too.

You’re both breathing hard when he collapses on top of you. Your fingers, which were once scratching down his back to cause sharp shooting pain, are now surprisingly gentle, slipping back into his hair.

You squirm, fussing slightly– no doubt sore, no doubt aching with him still inside you but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t want to.

He mouths at your neck, feels you sigh, before he moves to cover his mouth with yours again. He kisses you languidly now, slow and deep.

You’re making breathy little noises against him, content and surprisingly soft, your other hand tracing over his side.

(He doesn’t like how much he enjoys this part, the afterglow, all that violence slipping away, expelled from you both–)

Tomura feels his cock twitch inside of you again, feels your hips arch up a little, and before he knows it, he’s moving his hips again. It’s a slow rocking, your lips still attached to his, heated and gentle.

“Gross,” you say again, just a breath against him as he fucks his cum further into you, feels himself harden, feels the mess he made of you. But you still hitch your leg over his hip, pull him deeper into you.

He grins lazily against your lips, “You like it,” he says and it’s not a question, rolling his hips until he gets you to shut your eyes and moan against him.

“Yeah,” you reply, nudging your cheek against his, rubbing like a cat until he returns the gesture. Until he’s humming because he’s sensitive and you feel so good, better than anything he’s ever felt in this miserable fucking life–

You whine a little, ‘Touch me again?”

He doesn’t deny you for whatever reason, doesn’t even have something smart to say as he slides his hand down your torso, down to where you’re both slick and connected. He rubs unpracticed, messy circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re sighing.

He’s no expert but he doesn’t really care and you don’t seem to mind this time, either. It’s unhurried now, lazy.

This time your peak is a fluttery, soft thing, and he watches as you gasp, as you blink away tears. She’s pretty, he thinks, feeling stupidly young again, she’s pretty like this. Like his dreams.

Tomura spills inside you again soon after, groaning against your collarbones, and this time you force him to slip out of you. Force him to lay beside you as you both catch your breath again.

And he’s not expecting it, but he has the vicious need to be close to you, desperately wants to feel your skin against his. It’s a new feeling– usually after sex, he wants to be as far away from someone as possible. Usually he can’t leave or kick them out fast enough.

But there’s something about you now, hazy and pleasure-drunk, fucked out and dazed, that makes him want to stay close. Maybe it’s just that you’ve soothed all the festering that usually squirms in his chest. Maybe it’s just that you’ve made everything in him quiet for once.

He expects you to find some sort of your regret now, he’s sure that you’ll feel guilty, collect your clothes and go. But you don’t. You stay in bed with him. And it’s strange but he knows he wants to touch you, so he does. He doesn’t deny himself, why would he? He’s always taken what he wanted.

He curls around you, shivering a little with the skin to skin contact after the fog of sex has cleared from his mind. His hands slide over you, touch you fully and without restraint because he can, because you won’t disappear beneath his touch.

And for a moment, as he traces along the dips of your waist, he thinks maybe you were made for him– cut from his rib, isn’t that how the story goes?

He doesn’t know, only that there’s no one else in the world he can touch like this.

You’re surprised.

You’d figured after Tomura had his fill of you, he’d kick you out, send you away. You figured you’d feel guilty, that you would rush out of here and try to wish the whole thing away. But your hero suit stays on the floor and you’re still in his bed.

You didn’t think he’d be a cuddler, you assumed that he wouldn’t want nor care for any sort of contact after. But his arms are wrapped around you now, one of his hands sliding curiously over the curves of your body. All five fingers down, pressing into your skin.

But you suppose, for someone who has to be so careful with touch, that he would like this. That he might want this. You wonder if he ever gets to touch anyone like this, if he ever allows himself intimate touch like this– tender and for no other reason than to soothe or comfort.

You get the impression that he doesn’t, that touch is just a means to an end for him; sex is probably just an itch to scratch. You can’t imagine that he’s very relaxed or enjoying himself when he’s worried about decaying the person he’s with.

But all his crackling, restless energy now seems subdued, sated, as he walks his fingers over you. His hair tickles your bare skin as he nudges closer, nose running along your jaw.

Once more, you feel your age. You don’t feel like a hero, but just someone young, maybe on the cusp of being old. He looks young now, too, with his vivid eyes shut and relaxed, nothing to crease his brow. He doesn’t seem like a villain, either.

You brush a finger over his cheek, touch lightly at the scratches beneath his eyes, drag your thumb down to touch the scar at the corner of his lips.

His eyes flutter open to watch you, half lidded, squinted almost like a cat.

But he allows you to run your fingers over his face, doesn’t protest or jerk away from your touch.

No, his eyes fall shut again. He lets out a deep sigh that you think he has held inside him for years.

He doesn’t have a gentle face, but one that shows it’s angles and sharp edges, the scars and cuts that trail down onto his neck. You’d noticed some on his chest, too. Proof of an uneasy life lived, proof of violence and pain.

You imagine he’s seen horrors, kept them trapped inside for fear of letting them spill out, like maybe it’ll be as gruesome as the memories.

His body hasn’t been handled gently, you can tell, with it’s indents and scars and scratches. You don’t know who was the last person who touched him without wanting to hurt him. And you shouldn’t but you think of yourself when you were a child– desperate for love and affection, desperate for any scrap of attention like the scavenger you always were.

Maybe still are.

So desperate that you’d end up in the bed of your enemy– all because you couldn’t end up in the bed of your ally. So hungry that you’d eat out of a hand that has harmed and killed and destroyed.

Hands that haven’t known gentleness, a body that hasn’t known peace. But he’s being gentle with you now, isn’t he?

So you try to give gentleness to him now, too, with your careful touch. You keep your fingers kind and sympathetic.

Even your own eyes drift shut for a moment, still tracing idle patterns into his skin.

You only slip away from him for a moment, to use the bathroom, to clean up. Your reflection in the mirror looks strange; raw and flushed with color. Honest in a way that makes you turn away.

You slip back into bed with Tomura, let him latch onto you again. You drag your fingers gently over his ribs, over his sides.

You let your eyes fall shut, too.

There’s a sudden, loud buzzing from the floor that cuts through the quiet, which makes your eyes startle open. It’s insistent and you realize after a moment that it’s your phone, caught up in your hero suit on the floor.

You never came home after your shift. You curse softly, almost certain you know who's calling.

You squirm out of Tomura’s hold again, which he huffs at in irritation, but eventually allows you up.

“Where are you going now?” he asks, annoyed, when you climb out of bed to find your phone. Once found, you hold it up to him.

It’s still buzzing in your hand, lit up with Shouta’s contact.

You think the guilt should hit you now.

It doesn’t and that’s what you feel worse over. You swallow hard, frown down at your phone.

(Horribly, you even feel somewhat spiteful, as if you’re trying to prove something to Shouta. Maybe to yourself.)

You don’t answer.

And then you see the several texts from him, wondering where you are. They’re all bland, but you can tell he must be worried. It’s unlike you to not tell him where you are.

“Are you going to leave?” Tomura asks and there’s something strange in his voice, something you can’t place.

“Do you want me to?” you ask in return.

He doesn’t answer right away. But he does eventually give an annoyed drawl, “Do what you want.”

You take that as a no, don’t leave, since you’re certain if he wanted you gone, he would’ve told you.

You send a text to Shouta;

Sorry. Staying with an old friend for the night. Be back tomorrow.

It’s not unheard of, for you to spend time with an old friend from the foster care system.

You get a dry “okay” from him in response. You fight the urge to roll your eyes for some reason, tossing your phone away again.

You end up staying the night with Tomura Shigaraki, one of the most wanted villains in all of Japan.

Its not romantic— he isn’t sweet or funny or caring. But he holds you tight, leaves no room for distance. And it is the first time you’ve ever slept with someone like this, tucked away into a bed, bare, and wrapped up in each other.

Is this what it always feels like? You press yourself into the crooks of his body. You wonder if you’re supposed to fit this well together.

And it’s the first time since his Quirk developed that he hasn’t needed to wear his partial gloves to sleep in fear of decaying something.

He won’t admit it but it’s the best he’s slept in a long, long time.

You won’t admit it, either, but you think you could get used to this, too; this closeness, being held as if you’ll slip away, being held like he doesn’t want you to.

The morning brings rosy sunlight that slants through the windows. Neither of you talk much. You try to tell yourself this won’t happen again, can’t happen again.

But you had kissed him goodbye before you’d left, like he was a boyfriend and not a criminal, and you’d been in a surprisingly good mood for the rest of the day.

Like you had a crush, puppy love you never got as a teenager because you were too busy trying not to starve, only to realize you’d been starving in other ways, too.

But you’re sugar soft and excitable, dropping into bed that night alone, and allowing yourself to admit, in the quiet and privacy of your own thoughts, that you wish you were in his again.

***

One time turns into two which turns into three which turns into so many times you’ve lost count. That little, rundown apartment that isn’t really Tomura’s has turned into another world entirely, some harbor away from the rules of society. It’s almost too good to be true, a dream, a place for a secret as bad as this one.

When you’re here, you don’t talk of heroes and villains. You urge him not to; you think you’ll keep some part of your innocence in this affair if you don’t actually know anything about him or the League of Villains. You’ll feel too guilty, if you know any part of their plans and don’t tell Shouta. And telling Shouta anything about Tomura is beginning to feel like a betrayal, too.

You don’t know anything substantial about Tomura Shigaraki and that’s the way it needs to stay.

You know he likes sour candy, though, and drinks too many energy drinks– they’re sickly sweet and you think kissing him might make your teeth ache. You know he likes video games but no longer has a console. He has trouble sleeping at night. You’re familiar with the scars on his skin, the jagged ones across his neck, the one on his lip. The beauty mark on his chin. You know his moods; from the prickly ones to the downright vengeful ones. You even know the calmer ones, the quiet, contemplative ones.

(In this way, he seems like a normal twenty-something-year-old. In the quiet moments, when you’ve convinced him to watch a cheap horror movie on the tiny, staticky TV in the apartment, he could be anybody. When he’s got his bare hand up your shirt as someone onscreen screams and begs for their life, he’s not the heir to an underground empire. He’s just Tomura, with his face buried in the crook of your neck).

He pretends to get annoyed with you, huffs and scoffs against your lips when you’re being cheeky. You wear his worn down hoodies, slip your thumbs in the holes at the sleeves. He eyes you when you wear them, pulls you to him by the collar.

(He likes to fuck you in them– pushes the hoodie up your stomach to watch you ride him. But he likes things bare and raw, too. Skin to skin. So close it’s terrifying, so close you feel like he’s trying to tear you apart from the inside out. He likes it dirty, you think, because it makes it more intimate.)

You soothe him. You know you do because when he’s festering and angry, all it takes is your hand on his wrist, pulling it away from his neck. Sometimes, when he can’t think straight and there is too much on his mind, he forces you to lay on top of him until his breathing slows and his head is clear.

He can’t talk to you aloud about what’s plaguing him, but you must quiet some part of him. He likes to use you to think, runs his long fingers through your hair as you lay atop him. He pets you until his thoughts aren’t as jumbled, but smoothed out and sharp. Or until he doesn’t want to think anymore at all and he drags you into languid makeouts that always end with him surrounding you, inside you, possessing you.

You bicker sometimes, flash your teeth to make his eyes spark ruby and excited. Mostly, you act your age with him.

You don’t know when his birthday is or where he grew up. You don’t know what his childhood was like or what memories shaped him, don’t know where he’s been or where he’s going to be. You only know him now, in this moment, in this little world you’ve created for each other.

He’s what you imagined first boyfriends are supposed to be; excitable and often immature but fun and new. You never had the luxury of first loves, just odd first kisses with strangers and an uncomfortable loss of virginity with a friend of a friend of a friend who jammed his tongue too far down your throat. You hadn’t had anything stable until–

Until Shouta.

Shouta has grown suspicious of this old friend of yours and how much time you now spend with him.

He questions you about him and you wish you felt worse for lying. The rebellious part of this affair is thrilling, though. Feels like you’re sixteen and sneaking out from under your dad’s nose to be picked up by the boyfriend you’d know he’d hate. Feels like swiping liquor too young and getting sick off it, smashing the bottles and laughing with your friends because sometimes things just need to break.

“Will you at least tell me his name?” Shouta had asked one morning, when you’d let yourself into his apartment after another night at Tomura’s. You had your own hood pulled up around your face to hide the rose blossom hickeys against the skin of your neck.

He’d still poured you a cup of coffee. You’d watched his careful, large hands as they made it the way you liked it.

You’d given him a lie, fed it to him the way he feeds you breakfast, “Shinta. Are you happy?”

He’d slid the mug to you, let you catch in the cradle of your palm. He’d shrugged, but you think his eyes had flashed to you, “You know you can bring him around, right? You don’t always have to go to him.”

You’d had to bite back a painful laugh. It wasn’t funny. It had hurt strangely in the pit of your chest.

You had shaken your head, tried to brush him off, “It’s not like that.”

“Alright,” he’d said, but he hadn’t believed you. “You’re training alone with Shinsou again tonight, I’ll be busy with a job.” Then he’d given you a stern look, “And don’t cut it early to go see Shinta.”

“I’ve never done that!” you’d protested, perhaps a little too defensively. But it was true, you’d never do that to Shinsou, wouldn’t dream of it. The only time you’d cut training early was to share takeout with Shinsou, not ditch him for–

This comment had rubbed you wrong, scratched up against something abrasive and surprisingly fragile inside of you. Maybe because he was questioning your dedication which already felt so flimsy, even if he hadn’t been entirely serious, even if maybe he’d just been trying to take a dig at you. At this new boyfriend.

Shouta had grown cold then, shrugged impassively, took his mug of coffee and brushed past you to keep getting ready.

It had angered you enough to bring it up later to Tomura, when you’re falling into his lap and he’s squirming his cold, fluttery hands beneath your shirt to touch skin, to make you hiss through your teeth.

His lips tilt into a small smile as you fidget while he warms his frigid fingers on your body.

“Eraserhead asked about you yesterday,” you tell him, letting your nose brush against his, “Told me I could bring my friend around– don’t always have to go to him.”

Tomura snorts, eyes falling half-lidded when your lips skim over his. The night is plum dark, presses into this little apartment that’s tucked away from the world.

“How’d you get out of that one?” he asks, fingers walking over the dips of your spine. He likes tracing the bone beneath your skin, likes making you shiver.

“Told him it’s not like that.” you respond, your own hands wandering to his neck. You're careful over the ridges of flesh there, skim lightly to get to his jaw.

“No?” Tomura asks, pulling you closer, pressing his chest to yours, “Don’t want to bring me home to meet Eraserhead?” he sneers and there’s something underneath his voice, lurking, with its hackles raised.

You think maybe it’s jealousy, the same flash of his eyes like Shouta’s when he’d said Shinta.

But then he kisses you deep and drags your hips against his, forces a warbly, surprised little moan from you.

Most of your thoughts melt away then, most turn to something base and desperate, all desire and need. You can’t help but think about it, though, how you can’t ever take him home to Shouta. You can’t ever expect anything more than whatever stays in this room. He kisses you hard, your teeth clinking against his like clashing with the truth of it all.

There’s no happy ending here.

It’s like smashing bottles because sometimes things just need to break.

***

Tomura thinks you would be a good edition to the League of Villains.

You’re clever and capable. He comes to find you’re not just a good thief and pickpocket but an excellent one. You swipe everything from his pockets, right from under his nose, just to play with him. You’re stealthy and sharp; he could use someone like you at his side.

Your Quirk could be useful, though he doesn’t like the idea of you getting so close to people while in battles. You have a reckless streak, but he thinks he could temper that. All you need is a little guidance.

You were a thief once. You give him clues of your past; you didn’t grow up like the other heroes, didn’t come from a warm home with dreams of saving the world. Your head wasn’t filled with fantasies of rescuing the downtrodden. You were the downtrodden. And you learned that there was no one who was going to save you, except yourself. So you stole and fought and survived a world that was willing to forget you.

You’re like him, a very quiet part of him thinks, no one saved you. Not until you were too old, all grown up with sharpened teeth and claws, eyes that see in the dark. That could be now used and extorted by the heroes.

He thinks they’ve leashed you, taught you how to sit and stay and sic ‘em.

He wonders if he’d have gotten to you first, if you’d be with him and not your heroes.

Tomura doesn’t dwell on it, though. He refuses to imagine it. What would be the point? It didn’t happen.

Besides, he is certain he is capable of slowly swaying you to them still. You possess a startling amount of compassion for villains which, perhaps wouldn’t help you as a villain, but that’s fine.

(You’d have him. No one would touch you if you were at his side. You could be as stupidly compassionate as you wanted.)

You meet members of the League with him by accident, times when Toga and Twice’s meeting with him overlap with you arriving. Toga goes on endlessly about you, it seems. Dabi drops by once in the middle of the night, bloody and demanding a place to sleep because he’s tired of sleeping on the streets.

It’d been one of the more insufferable nights, perhaps one of the worst ways for Dabi to find out about you. You’d already been asleep, cocooned beneath blankets and Tomura’s body, just in one of his loose shirts.

Tomura had already been lying awake, listening to your even breathing when he’d heard the handle of the door shake roughly. He’d gotten up then, slipped into clothes, melted into the darkness by the door and waited for the intruder to try and step inside.

The lock had been picked.

He had nearly decayed Dabi by accident before realizing it was him.

A ridiculously quiet but terse argument had ensued then, before Dabi had asked, in a regular speaking voice, “Why the fuck are we whispering?”

Tomura had almost winced when he heard you stir from the bed before your small, sleepy voice had murmured into the darkness, “Tomura?”

You’d said it too soft, too sweet. It’d been for his ears only and something about Dabi hearing you, seeing you, being in this space that had been for you and for him had made Tomura suddenly livid.

He had watched Dabi’s mouth fall open in shock before you’d switched on the bedside lamp to flood the room with artificial, golden light.

Dabi’s face had been near horrific in the light, one side of it all bloody, the stitches mangled or falling out. Part of his face almost looked like it was melting, his eye squinted shut with the damage.

But he’d thrown his head back and laughed when he’d seen you, sitting up in the bed, blinking sleepily at them. Tomura hated a lot of things, but he’d hated nothing more than the sound of Dabi’s rasping laugh in that moment.

You’d narrowed your eyes when you had realized who it was.

“I had no idea you had it in you, Tomura.” Dabi had said.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Tomura had hissed instead, fighting the urge to tear into his neck, fingers twitching agitatedly.

Dabi had gestured to his face with a lazy flourish, “I need medical attention and I’m crashing on your couch.”

Tomura’s teeth had ground together, “Get. Out.”

“No, I’m sick of sleeping on the streets when you’re here playing house with your little hero bitch–”

Before Tomura could even react, though, you had found the small supply of first aid from beneath the sink in the tiny bathroom. You had come up beside them near silently and offered it up, asked, “Do you want help?”

And there it had been– that compassion of yours. Even for the likes of Dabi.

In that moment, he’d wondered how you had ever survived with it. He’d thought that you’d lose your hand if you kept extending it.

Dabi hadn’t let you touch him but you’d gotten a cool rag for him to clean up the blood, watched as he tried to patch up the wound. It was made worse by a mangled staple in his cheek, jutting out strangely.

“Does it hurt?” You’d asked but with the way you were looking at him, at his marred skin up close, Tomura could tell that you weren’t just referring to this one injury.

Does it hurt? You’d asked, like you were asking if it all hurt. You weren’t just seeing a singular part of Dabi, but a series of tragedies that was proudly presented in large, rippling scars against his skin.

“Of course it fucking hurts,” Dabi had spit out, all venom and bitterness. But you hadn’t even flinched.

Tomura had tried to kick him out again once his wound had been treated.

“It’s fine,” you’d said, resigned, tired and rubbing at your eyes.

(Later you’d shrug and tell him, I know what it’s like to not have somewhere to sleep).

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Dabi had drawled, already pulling off his heavy boots, prying the coat from his body to toss onto the floor. “Just don’t do any weird shit.”

And you’d gotten back into bed with Tomura, fit yourself against him, ducked your head down beneath his chin and pressed your hands against his sides, felt the notches of his ribs.

Sometimes he wonders if you can feel the missing one, the one you took from him, the one you’d been made out of.

It had occurred to Tomura that either you didn’t fear Dabi or you trusted him enough to know he’d never let Dabi harm you while sleeping.

Both were acceptable to him, both would aid him in converting you. And they were true, too. You shouldn’t fear Dabi, especially not with him around.

Tomura had brought his hand up then, suddenly covered your mouth with his large palm, letting all five of his fingers come down against your pretty face.

You’d furrowed your brows in confusion, not fear, which made something inside of him grow warm and hungry.

Then he’d slid his other hand down your body, between your legs, just to spite Dabi.

He’d watched as your eyes went wide in the dark, cheeks flushing beneath his hand. He could feel his smirk, smug and sharp, fitting across his teeth like a muzzle.

You’d tried to shake your head, tried to squirm away from his touch, but he’d been persistent and soon enough you were sighing against his hand, melting into the bed he pressed you into. Soon enough you were trying to hold back whimpers, all slippery and soft beneath his fingers, silently begging with your eyes.

He hadn’t denied you that night; no, you were being good, walking the steps he wanted for you. You were moldable and sweet beneath him so he’d give you what you wanted.

He watched in satisfaction as you came hard around his fingers, face scrunching up in that way he loved, fingers easing you through it. He was gentle with you then, taking his hand away from your mouth slowly, letting you nudge closer and cling to him.

(He loved when you clung to him).

You’d wanted so much affection that night and he had indulged you, letting your nose brush against his, or rubbing your cheek against his chest while his fingers wound through your hair.

You’d fallen asleep all tied up in him.

The next morning, you were gone before Dabi even woke up.

Dabi had asked, “What the fuck are you doing with her?”

“Mind your business,” Tomura had snapped, fingers already seeking out his neck again when they couldn't find you. He hated that he wanted your presence so badly now. (Hated that he missed you, but he would never say that, never even dream of it). Then he’d added,“And find someone else’s doorstep to show up on.”

Dabi had scoffed, “Whatever. Just don’t get distracted.” He’d pulled out a cigarette from his jacket still on the floor then, much to Tomura’s annoyance, and lit it with a spark of his fingers. Smoke curled into the air with his first drag. “I’m not about to watch all our efforts fall apart because you wanted to play Romeo and Juliet with some braindead little hero.”

He’d torn into the skin of his neck then. Wished he could tear into you instead.

“Violent delights and violent ends and all that shit,” Dabi had said then, his smile just a curled stitch, smoke pouring from his lips, evidently amused with himself.

But Tomura has never read that play and he doesn’t know anything about poetry in the same way he doesn’t know anything about art or beauty, just that you’re the only thing he’s bothered to compare to a painting.

***

You put Tomura into your phone as Shinta and when you’re too busy to visit him between missions and training, you text him. Though short, he is surprisingly witty over text, something that has you biting back grins and distracted, feeling like a schoolgirl as you try to hide the screen of your phone from the rest of the world.

You grow distracted with hero work, with Shouta. You pay less attention to your life at U.A. You don’t visit Shouta for lunch as often. You haven’t spent a quiet night with Shouta in weeks. You tell yourself you don’t care.

It’s better than fighting with him. It’s better than trying to beg for his love and affection.

Early tomorrow morning you’re supposed to shadow Shouta on a brief mission.

The Hero Commission is trying to train you into espionage and underground work, trying to mold you in the shape of Shouta.

But at night, when you’re alone in your bedroom, tucked away into your own apartment and not with Tomura, he calls you.

You let yourself say his name into the receiver of your phone, hushed and excited.

He doesn’t say I miss you or when will I see you again?

He says, “Touch yourself.”

And you don’t say I miss you, too, or hopefully soon.

You do as he says, let your fingers fan out over your stomach like they might be his. You listen to his breathing turn ragged over the phone. You moan softly for him.

You do what he says in the navy dark of night, bite back frustrated whines because you’ve gotten too used to his touch.

“–Wish it was you, fuck, it’s not fair,” you gasp, tilting your hips up into your fingers desperately.

You can hear the hiss of breath he takes, “Did I ruin you?” he croons into the phone lowly, his voice slithering through to you, making your thighs clench. “Can’t even touch yourself without needing me?”

You groan, high and defeated, fingers slipping against yourself. You’re aching and empty and bereft without him, “Yes, yes–”

He rambles about what he’s done to you, almost seething by the end, when he demands you tell him that you’re his, that he’s the one who made you this way. He’s the only one who can soothe you now. You need him.

He isn’t wrong, you realize, when you still aren’t satisfied after your climax. When it doesn’t feel as good as when you’re with him. You realize you hate sleeping alone now. You miss the press of his body to yours. You coo into the phone about it, lay on your stomach, arms curled around your pillow with your ear still to your phone.

It never gets overly sentimental. You don’t want to scare him, especially as you grow terrified of your own feelings. It doesn’t feel as fun anymore, you realize, only because your attraction to him has now grown serious.

Your crush has grown teeth and claws, ready to tear apart the vulnerable, fleshy parts of you.

But he talks with you until you fall asleep, phone still in hand, heart still on the line.

***

There’s a stray kitten that hangs out around Tomura’s apartment– he thinks there must be a colony of strays in the area, since it’s not the only one. But this one is scrawny, just a messy tuft of grey fur. It’d be sleek and pretty, if it wasn’t so malnourished, if it wasn’t missing clumps of fur or full of scars and scratches.

The kitten likes Tomura a great deal for some reason. It rubs itself against his legs, follows him around outside of the apartment, much to your utter delight.

You coo and fawn over it, scoop the little thing up into your arms and hold it up to Tomura’s face.

He hates it, the face you give him. The face the kitten gives him. He hates that the corner of his lips twitch upwards.

“He’s so cute,” you gush and he can hear now that the little thing is purring furiously in your hands. You wiggle the cat a little bit in front of his face and Tomura finally reaches up to stroke the back of his knuckles against the kitten’s head, if only to appease you.

Your smile is crooked– an excited curve of your lips, your eyes alight.

You’re always so expressive and he used to be livid about it, wanted to teach you a lesson in the worst way possible, but now he just wants to keep you from learning them.

He has to turn away from you at the thought, heads towards the door of the apartment building. You follow after him dutifully, coming up to nudge against his side. He’s become too comfortable with you there, knocking into his elbow.

You’re still smiling down at the kitten in your arms and he wants to look away because some part of this is starting to sting.

The kitten is excitedly looking around, green eyes all round and bright. It’s purring happily.

“Put it down, it’s not coming in with us.” Tomura tells you, his voice rough and soft.

You stop in front of the door with him. Your bottom lip pulls out into a pout. Your eyes get round like the kitten’s.

He gives you a cold stare.

You hug the kitten tighter to your body, “C’mon,” you whine, “It’s just a baby.”

“I’m not taking care of a cat.”

“I’ll take care of it!”

“No,” he responds, harsher, voice a little sharper.

Maybe, in the beginning of this little affair, you would’ve headed the warning in his tone, but now you don’t even bat an eye at him.

“Yes,” you respond indignantly.

You both glare at each other. The kitten’s purr still rumbles on.

Tomura can tell you’re not giving this one up, he can tell by the set of your jaw, the way you’re clinging to that little creature. There’s a determined flush to your face. Your eyes are bright and fiery.

All over this little stray.

“You’re a brat,” is all Tomura says and you take that as a win, because your face immediately morphs, brightens up completely. You duck past him, into the apartment building with the kitten cradled in your arms.

He heaves a deep sigh, following in after you. “I’m kicking it out when you leave.”

“Don’t be mean,” you reply, waiting at the door, and the irony is not lost on him. He comes up behind you, his chest to your back, crowding you against the door.

“I think you need to remember who you’re speaking to,” he says, his voice just a rasp against your ear and maybe at some point, it would’ve sounded threatening, but now you just lean back into his chest. His heart beats against the curve of your back.

Something soft is growing between the two of you, he can feel it. It has no place here, though, in this world. In the two of you. His ugly infatuation with you, all that anger and vitriol he had for you has melted, turned spring soft inside of him after an unforgiving winter.

He unlocks the door, he lets you in.

The kitten ends up coming and going. He opens the window to let it in and out, let’s you feed it. You call it Ryuji. It lives partially in this new little world the two of you have built.

He thinks of it like the pause screen in a video game, somewhere to return to when he’s frustrated or tired or done. Idle, soft music and the freezing of his screen. A moment away from the turmoil or struggle of the game.

But he’ll have to unpause eventually.

He can’t stay here forever, he knows it, but he just has to be sure he plays it right– he doesn’t think he’ll be able to start over this time, with you.

And he wants you there at the ending, at his side like in his dreams.

The ones where it’s all in ruins, the world nothing but his, destroyed, but he gives you his hand to have, and you take it in yours to hold.

***

The distance between you and Shouta stretches and grows until it snaps in the form of a blowout argument. Which, is mostly just you, shouting, crying furiously, and Shouta stone-faced and cool.

It had started with an offhand comment from him about how you’re not focused anymore. You’re getting sloppy. You’re distracted. And usually, you take his criticism with a stiff upper lip and a determined glare.

But you and Shouta haven’t been the same since you tried to kiss him.

You blame yourself, maybe, but part of you feels angry with him, too. Bitter. You thought, in some way, he reciprocated your feelings. He’d acted like it. And when he’d rejected you, he’d pulled away, been more careful with you.

(You wonder if this proves your point, that he was toeing a line with you then.)

And maybe your lies are starting to eat at you, too, starting to rot away on the inside of you. If you focused on them too hard and all that Shouta’s done for you, you think you’d start crying every time you looked at him.

But Tomura has also thrown all you know into question. And you’d already been critical of the life you were afforded by becoming a hero.

You look at all of Shouta’s students and you just get angry. You look at Shinsou, so determined to prove he can be a hero, that he’s good and you are livid. You look at Toga, with her villainous Quirk. She’s near Shinsou’s age and something about it just makes you ache, it makes you sick.

You look at her and see who she could’ve been as a hero– you wonder if they would’ve stuck her in espionage, with the likes of you and Shouta. You wonder if she would’ve gone to U.A. You wonder what it would’ve taken to change her fate.

Even Tomura, you look at him and in the safety and privacy of your own heart, you dare to wonder what he would’ve been like if he hadn’t been a villain.

(He could’ve been a rescue hero, you think, and he could’ve decayed debris to save people. This version of him lives in the quiet, tentative parts of you. It grows soft and underground, a seedling that has sprouted on the inside of your chest, and one day you think this little dream of yours will grow so large inside of you that it’ll breach skin and show the world it’s horror.)

It feels like a coin toss, almost, like the difference between a hero and a villain sometimes is one flip away from changing.

You don’t bother to wonder what would’ve happened if it hadn’t been Shouta that found you, but someone like Tomura. Or All For One. You know if you’d been given somewhere to sleep and a warm meal, you would’ve done what they wanted.

You wish you could say you were a noble, starving person, that there was something shining and golden inside of you. But all you were was starving.

Shouta says you’ve been underperforming lately. He says he’s considering limiting the nights you patrol until you can get it together.

The Hero Commission was supposed to come observe you to see if you’d progressed enough to begin accepting your own missions. He tells you he doesn’t think they should come any longer. It feels like a dig, too, like he’s reprimanding you somehow.

And you snap, “Well maybe I didn’t want them to observe me!”

He looks taken aback for a moment, before he asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know! Maybe I’m tired of being observed and used and watching all of these kids be observed and sought after and–”

“Alright,” Shouta sighs, and it makes your teeth grit because he sounds like he’s trying to parent you, “It’s one thing to be upset yourself, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with these kids.”

Your nails dig into your palms as you try to find the words to get him to understand you.

But he speaks before you can, almost patronizingly, “Clearly, you’re struggling through something, so it’s probably a good thing we’ve put this off.”

Tears well up hard and fast. It hurts to be dismissed like this. It hurts to look at him, to think that he’s a part of the ever growing issue that has been itching beneath your skin. You’re a part of it, too, but you have the sudden urge to run. To get out.

Still, you swallow down all of that turmoil and say, “I hardly know what I want now, so how do you expect children to know that they want to be a hero?”

“What is this about?” Shouta asks.

“It’s about the Hero Commission and U.A. and the entire fucking system. That’s what it’s about.” you seethe, looking up into his eyes, trying to find something there.

“It’s not just about you?” he asks, unperturbed.

“Why can’t it be both?” you respond, trying to keep your voice from going high, from going hysterical. There’s so much you want to say, so much that it’s making you sick, that it’s turning your stomach. “I’m– I’m barely older than them!” you say, because all you keep thinking about is how they’re just kids. And you were just a kid. And at one point, Tomura was just a kid.

He’s barely older than you. Closer in age to Shouta’s students than to him.

“I didn’t invent the system,” Shouta says and he sounds weary, “I just try to give my students the best opportunity at surviving being a hero. I try to teach them everything to keep them alive.”

They’re just kids! You want to shriek, kids that were chosen or forgotten or accepted or shunned.

Looking in the face of the system now feels so massive that it’s hopeless; a system that produces shiny heroes from children with their perfect and acceptable Quirks and discards the rest. Even you and Shouta, with your Quirks that aren’t as flashy, are pushed into the shadows to do the Hero Commissions business. And what business is that? You have to wonder their intentions, too, with all the money that’s pumped into it. Into all of these heroes. A system that forgets anyone who doesn’t fit into it’s perfect mold.

“But you see how it’s wrong, right? And just because you didn’t invent the system doesn’t mean you get to throw your hands up!” You say, voice raising.

Shouta levels you with a cool look. He lets loose a sigh. “What would you like me to do?”

You don’t have an answer, it’s too big of a question.

(You see the appeal suddenly, in wanting to get rid of it all, in destroying it since it’s such a mess.)

But you hate his aloofness, you hate that he doesn’t care. You hate that you feel crazy.

“I don’t know!” you shout, tears finally falling down your angry and flushed face. “I don’t know!”

“Are you done?” Shouta asks and it makes you want to scream more. You just want a reaction from him, you realize, you want something more than his impassiveness. You think of trying to shout more, to try and say something cutting or powerful or enough to make him wince.

But nothing comes to mind and you’re just stubbornly trying to keep back a sob.

So you shoulder past him, rush out of his apartment, rubbing at your cheeks and trying to keep back your hiccuping cries.

You have every intention of going to Tomura’s.

But you realize when you’ve nearly made it to his door that it might be foolish to go to someone like Tomura with tears in your eyes. What is the leader of the League of Villains going to do? You have a feeling you might just get your feelings hurt more.

So you pause, rub at your eyes again, try to dispel all the turmoil inside you. It doesn’t work, so you turn away from him, too, and you start moving.

Your feet carry you to the train station, carry you across town, to a warehouse you used to vandalize and hide in when you were young and alone.

You haven’t been here in years.

It feels strange, loping around the side of the building. The alleyways are cast in garnet light with the fading sun. It makes it look prettier than it is. You enter through the same hole in the wall that you used to when you were young; you’re bigger now, though, need to duck lower, curl yourself up to get through it.

You think of yourself scurrying around, knowing the ins and outs of this dilapidated building the way most children know their childhood home.

It’s strange, stepping back into a place you haven’t been to in years. You know, in some way, it has to have changed. It’s falling apart more, there’s larger holes in the ceiling, letting in auburn light, setting everything ablaze. There’s a lot of debris; from torn tents to discarded sleeping bags to spare junk, it’s all spread out throughout the place. Graffiti covers every corner of the walls. You used to look for a face painted in pink, it’s eyes dripping down it’s face in the back corner of a wall. When your eyes slide along all the artwork, it’s nowhere to be found now. No doubt covered up by the years, but you know it’s there, somewhere beneath all that color and paint.

There are a lot of empty bottles, glass laying around that crunches beneath your shoe.

You pick up a glass by the spout, watch as it catches in the light, murky gold and sunkissed.

You feel small again, fragile like the bottle in your hand. You stopped crying at least, but all that’s left is the aftertaste. Just the lingering frustration, the bitter aloneness that settles over you as cold as Shouta’s stare.

Your fingers squeeze around the glass, curling tight, before you suddenly hurl it at the wall.

It bursts on impact, explodes into thousands of shining, glittering pieces that spark in the sun.

It feels good, so you pick up another glass– this one’s mint green, pretty like the sea, reminds you of spring and the stems of flowers.

It breaks prettily, too, the sound ringing and sharp in your ears, your eyes trying to catch all the splinters of it. It explodes in the light. It’s cathartic, letting all your aching frustration and hurt rush out with each breaking, with each smashing.

You don’t get through many more, not before you hear footsteps behind you.

You can’t say you’re surprised to find Tomura, but you can’t say you were expecting it either. Quickly, you turn away, try to school your features. You try to rub at your eyes again, as if this will somehow dispel damp lashes and splotchy cheeks.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask, but there’s no bite to it as he comes to stand beside you.

He doesn’t answer.

You think he might be, but you can’t find it in you to care.

The sound of the distant city is just a hum between you two. Glass sparkles on the floor like stars in the fading, ruby light.

You turn to face him, don’t bother trying to look up into his face, just shove yourself into his chest. You bury your face into his hoodie, rubbing your cheek against his chest. “Creep,” you mumble, “What are you doing here?”

His hands come up, one at the back of your head, the other along your back. He has his gloves on. Not that it matters.

“I followed you from the apartment,” he admits and his voice is quiet, but it seems to echo in this open space. Then he says, “You should be more watchful.”

“Don’t start,” you grumble, letting your fingers curl in his jacket, “Been scolded enough today.”

The hand at the back of your head tugs at your hair lightly, lifting your head from its hiding place against his chest so that he can look you over carefully.

The light casts him in maroon and russet, saturating him, making the dark of him stand out sharply. It makes the silver of his hair seem peach, brands him in all the sun’s honey and whiskey glory.

His eyes are vivid, maybe the most true shade of red you’ve ever seen in your life.

He takes in your face, perhaps your bloodshot eyes, your damp lashes. You aren’t a fool; you’re certain he can tell you’ve been crying. You have the urge to squirm away, to try and hide from his gaze.

But all he asks, in a surprisingly gentle tone, is “What happened?”

You shake your head fractionally, “Nothing. Got into an argument, that’s all.”

He hums lightly, tracking your expression. You want to glance away from him, but he holds you still for a moment longer.

When you can’t take his scrutinization any longer, you ask, “Wanna break some shit with me?”

He lets you go finally, let’s you step out of his arms despite not responding. You pick up another glass, this once an icy blue that reflects light that reminds you of the color of morning skies.

You watch as it explodes against the wall, flashing like a little firework. Glass rains down onto the ground, some of it flinging up into the air or back towards you. Tomura pulls you away from it by the back of your jacket, yanks you back into his chest as glass shards fly past you.

He glares at you somewhat and you can tell he wants to scold you, but he doesn’t. You squirm out of his grasp to do it again.

Glass showers down as you break another bottle. It rains in shards of tangerine and pale yellow, bright pops of cherry in the light. It feels good, to watch it all burst apart in the sunlight, like watching little stars burst and explode at your hands. It’s so pretty, for such a violent act.

You hand a bottle to Tomura, offering him the chance to also act out. Instead, he pulls off one of his gloves– tugs it off with his teeth, the glint of sharp white against flesh pink. You watch fascinated for a moment, catch his eyes, blazing and barbed.

When he takes it with all five fingers, you watch as it first cracks in your palm, before fluttering away into dust. Into nothing.

You make a face, “That’s not as exciting as breaking them.”

He rolls his eyes, but you catch the way the corner of his lips hike up. He takes another glass, this one icy silver, caught peach in the honey light, though. He keeps a finger lifted away delicately as he lifts it up to the beams of scarlet sun that flare through the rafters.

And in that fiery patch of dusk, with the glass reflecting iridescence onto the angular plains of his face, your heart gives a violent lurch, like it’s trying to burst free from your chest.

I think I love you, you think, unbridled, and so suddenly that it feels as if the thought has slammed into you the way a body might fall from the ledge of a roof.

I think I love you, you think again, because you can’t quite believe it, as he lobs the bottle at the wall. It fractures into a thousand little beams of glass and light, like an exploding comet. You feel as fragile as that, like he’ll do the same to you. Maybe you’ll be nothing but shards by the end of this, nothing but dust slipping through his fingers.

He turns to you, no doubt to say something snarky, but you’re already taking quick steps to him. He doesn’t get the chance to speak, not when you collide with him, hard and reckless, throwing yourself up onto your toes to kiss him with a new violence.

He makes a surprised noise, soft, but catches you otherwise. His hand is already up, worming beneath your clothes to press chilled fingers into the bare skin of your upper waist. He likes the way you hiss into his mouth, and you like the way they dig roughly into you. He forces you closer, melds his mouth to yours, rough at the edges, slick and warm at the center as the kiss blossoms into slow simmering heat.

And by the end of it all, when the light has given way to violet darkness, the press of indigo shadows that stretch tall in this abandoned warehouse, there is too much glass on the floor. Everything is shattered or decayed. Your lips are stinging from sharp-toothed kisses and the desperate press of his mouth to yours. You’ve turned molten, fallen apart the way glass does.

You walk home together, hand in seeking hand.

Your eyes flush pink with your Quirk, brightening up in the dark.

You knock into his side like you’re a kid, eagerly trailing beside him. He has the hood of his sweatshirt up, hidden, as you rush into the next train back to the part of town that holds the little, distant world of his apartment.

You sit beside each other on the train, knees pressing into each other. He leans over to crowd you against the cool glass as the world streaks past you in a wash of darkness. He ducks his face to yours, his hood hiding the both of you from any onlookers as he seers his mouth to yours again.

You feel like a teenager, kissing in front of strangers, beneath the flickering light of the train car. You feel young and reckless, letting him have you like this, while the city burns like a blurry halo behind you. But you feel older, too, older and in love, like you finally know the secret of the universe, the one that every adult knows and has only learned in the burn of a kiss, in the messy squeezing of your heart.

He licks into your mouth slow, you curl your small hand into his worn hoodie. If people stare, you don’t know, don’t care.

He pulls away from you, forcing you up when your stop is announced, leaving you a little dazed and dizzy, but you eagerly follow after him. Your hands bunch into the back of his jean jacket. You stumble behind him a little, feet tangling with his as you duck beneath his arm to come to his side.

Ryuji finds the two of you on your walk home the closer you get, follows you both inside, happily chirping at your coos. But he paws at the window to be let out again a short time later, after you’ve fed him something. Tomura opens the window for the cat, but not before you catch him rubbing a knuckle against the kitten’s fuzzy cheek, brief but gentle.

You think he likes Ryuji more than he lets on. You think he loves all this more than he lets on.

Tomura takes his time with you that night, surprisingly languid for once, like you’re not on borrowed time. Like this is an entirely new planet, a version of the two of you that is not bound by pasts and future expectations. No strings puppeteering you both, no invisible hands holding you both back.

He pulls you down into his lap, to sink onto him, fill yourself with him as you please. You twine your arms around his slender neck to pull him close, eyes half lidded and pyretic pink, fiery and soft with the way your Quirk reacts to his. It always hums somewhere inside of you, brushes against his until it quiets, until he’s soothed and relaxed.

“Do you feel powerful?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes flickering up to find yours.

The question takes you by surprise for a moment, pulling away fractionally from his parted lips. And with the way your heart squirms in your chest, looking down at him like this, you want to say no, I feel terrified and new and desperate.

But he drags nails down your back, makes you gasp and roll your hips down onto him, which startles a groan out of him. The sound of it turning your stomach in the best and worst ways, making you flush, making you squirm to try and sink lower onto him. Greedy and desperate, you wiggle your hips to make his breathing come out ragged.

It makes you realize you have one of the most dangerous villains beneath you, as desperate as you are.

You roll your hips again, slow, take what you want of him. You fist your hand in his hair, tilt his head back and watch as his eyes flutter. His cheeks are flushed.

Pretty, you think faintly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, gliding your lips along his, heart a storm in your chest to have him looking up at you like this, “I do.”

His lips tilt into a knife-sharp smile, enough to gut you.

And he lets you take what you please of him that night, and the thief that you are, you take and take and take. You steal from him with deft hands and a smile that he thinks he’d destroy the world for. You take all the love that you want from him, gorge yourself on it until you feel sick.

Until you feel as if you could rot with it, carrying your love for him in the pits of you, coveting in the safe, secret parts of you, for no one else to find.

Just you and him, like this, hand in seeking hand.

***

PART III

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x you #tomura x you #shigaraki x you #tomura x y/n #shigaraki x y/n #tomura shigaraki x female reader #tomura shigaraki fanfic #bnha x reader #bnha fanfic #tenko shimura #tenko shimura x reader #bnha

[queenlucythevaliant]

I. The Pit

Every night, Rilian fought the same battle. Every night he lost.

Bound to the Silver Chair, the instrument of his torture, night after night Rilian thrashed and strained and reached for the knots that remained firmly beyond his grasp. Even though he knew it was futile, the prospect of freedom was dangled before him anew each time, so Rilian fought until his wrists and ankles were bloodied. None of the maggotmen took pity on him. His Lady smiled and preened at his helplessness.

Sometimes Rilian screamed himself hoarse, calling out for Aslan to rescue him; other times, he cursed the Lion for imprisoning him in the pit, using every vulgar word he knew. Oh, Rilian was well aware that the wicked Lady of the Green Kirtle was to blame for his imprisonment, that he himself was to blame for his foolishness in trusting her, but Aslan—Aslan could at any point stretch out his great paw and free Rilian, if he chose. So, it must be that either Rilian was beyond even Aslan’s hearing, or else that the Great Lion had abandoned him.

His hands were always raw and chafing, even during the day when he couldn’t remember why. A kind of haze fell over him so that when he walked above, he did not understand the blue sky or the craggy cliffs or the waving grass; he harkened only to his Lady’s voice. Rilian’s eyes grew accustomed to the light, but they never perceived its beauty.

In the darkness of the pit, he longed for just a single beam of sunlight. Even that was cruelly denied to him.

II. Hope

This night was different. Children had come to him in the pit, and a Narnian Marsh-wiggle with them! In his hours of sanity, Rilian often remembered his father’s stories; he knew better than most that children from another world were so often Aslan’s instruments. This night, Rilian came to himself in the Chair with hope in the depths of his soul; more hope than he’d had in what seemed to be a thousand years. Perhaps Aslan had at heard his cries from the depths of the pit, through all the miles of earth that stood between Rilian and the sky— the stars that were his mother’s kin.

Yet the children did not move to save him. They stayed back, “steady, steady,” in the face of his entreaties. For all he could tell, they had believed the Witch’s lies and, while they stood mere paces from Rilian and the Chair, they had no intention of freeing him.

Oh, you have hearts of stone. You look upon a wretch that has suffered almost more than any mortal heart can bear.

The children drew in closer to the Marsh-wiggle, who predicted something characteristically gloomy about the outcome of freeing Rilian. Somehow, somehow it was the worst kind of torment he had endured yet. Aslan must truly mean to break him, to send him such hope and yet to deny him his freedom still. A heavy, sobering weight settled over his soul, crushing him, forbidding him to draw breath.

Free me now, and I am your friend. I'm your mortal enemy else, he choked out in desperation. Hope was agony. He had become accustomed to curses.

Yet then, words sprang to Rilian’s mouth that were not his own. As he prepared another curse, the words that he spoke were different, as though coming from another voice: one rich and kind and full of mercy.

“By Aslan himself, I charge you, free me!”

After a moment of pause, the children and the Marsh-wiggle did as charged.

III. Victory

“Lie there, vile engine of sorcery!” cried Rilian, standing over the tangled scraps of the chair. For a bright moment, his victory was complete.

Yet when he turned and questioned his rescuers, he learned that his father was dying. Rilian had lived ten years in the depths of the pit, and all the while his father had grown older. Rilian scrubbed his hands across his face, as though he could scrub away the years.

He couldn’t. There was no way. Ten years in the pit, and a one in ten chance of returning to a living father. Victory was sweet on his tongue for a moment, but it rested heavy in his stomach.

Yet soon, the Lady of the Green Kirtle was defeated, her last enchantment broken by the courage of Puddleglum the Marsh-wiggle. The Underland fell. Soon, Rilian of Narnia stood waiting to be pulled up into the land above. There was moonlight spilling into the tunnel, soft and beautiful, and perhaps that was reason enough to be joyful for the rest of his life.

Rilian stood of his own volition for the first time in ten long years. As he was pulled up out of the tunnel into Narnia (Narnia!), he felt tears burning his eyes: the light was bright, so bright. It was only moonlight, but his true eyes had not seen the light of the sky in ten years.

His eyes wandered up to the sky itself; drawn there, perhaps, by his mother’s blood in his veins. A thousand stars and constellations glittered against the inky black: leopard, ship, hammer, lion. Rilian leaned his head back and bathed his face in the starlight, letting it wash away the last darkness of the pit.  

#night under narnia #which genuinely would have been a better title than The Silver Chair jack's publisher was wrong #there is infinite love in my heart for Rilian the Disenchanted #a wretch who suffered almost more than any mortal heart can bear #yet who was freed in the end and reunited with his father if only for a moment #narnia #pontifications and creations #theodicy #man now that I have a tag for theodicy I sure am using it a lot #Leah stories