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hanisdaisys · 11 months

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The colours of you- S.JY

Pairing: Sim Jaeyun! X Reader!

Informations: A spin off of Filipino movie " Love is color blind"

Warning: death of character

Summary: When an embarrassing story turns into a sweet melody. You and Jake were just students when it all happened, and that explains why it was destined to end. Years later you face him again to start over again, will it be a good idea? Is this the same old sim jaeyun you remember?

Word count: ~2.7k

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Colours. Everything revolves around colours. The sun is yellow, the grass is green and the sky is blue. From dark red to bright blue, colours consist of our everyday life. But it’s hard to fill in the pages when the outline is the same shade as the pens. Jake swore he tried. But he was colorblind, unable to distinguish between different hues. Even when he tried to fill in the pages with different shades, he would often mistake one colour for another. When he picked up a red pencil and called it green when he didn’t see what everyone else saw. “Hey Jake can you pass me the yellow pen,” his friend asked. Jake didn’t see yellow, he saw different shades of gray.

PRESS ON KEEP READING

The world felt dull to him, almost monochromatic. Gray was the only colour he could see, which made everything look even more depressing. There was still warmth in gray. But it’s saddening. When you open your eyes to a dark room, it looks ten times darker. You can’t see the beauty of colours. But he wasn’t always colour-blind. Both his parents were artists and he loved painting with them. The last Color he had seen was red. When he got so angry at his mom he did notice the truck rushing in their direction. Fortunately, he survived, but his mother didn’t...His karma? Losing sense is colours. His dad had left him early on, and now, he was all alone. He couldn’t tell between the sun and the sky anymore. Everything was just gray. He refused to let anyone know. It was embarrassing enough to be known as an orphan.

When you showed up in his life years ago, you were an embarrassing teen. You moved to a new school, in a foreign country you had never seen. You were just erasing the board as people started laughing. “Look at her pants!”. Great what an amazing day to wear white. Everyone just laughed at you as you locked eyes with Jake. He just stared at your pants and he said “A new shade of red”… What the actual hell? You ran out of the class, tears flowing. He followed shortly behind, offering his jacket to cover the stain. “Hey I’m sorry for what happened back there… I just love painting and that’s the first time I saw this shade of red,” he said rubbing the back of his nape. You looked at him again, noticing his plump lips, blonde hair, and beautiful eyes. He had you captivated. “Oh no worries” you mentioned before walking away.

Well, now you kept seeing him everywhere. Posters of his soccer games, of course, he had to be the main player. Damn him and his sexy face. You’d go to his every match. Staring at him as he ran across the field. And oh, of course, he had to be part of the violin team. Just like a pied piper, charming you with his instruments. But you were just a watcher, you’d never been close to him. Just far admirer. That was until the last year of school. Your school had organized a dance party for couples. Little did you know, Jake was making a painting of you with the prettiest Colors to ask you out. But of course, he hadn’t finished in time. He was late and Jay had already asked you out, you agreed. If you couldn’t get Jake maybe his friend was good enough. The whole night you wished Jake’s hands were holding you instead of Jay's. You didn’t enjoy the night and went home. Crying in the rain, in a bright purple dress.

Jake was stopping by the convenience store when he noticed you crying on the street. Where was Jay? And how dare he let you leave this way. He came up to you and brought you home. The rain wasn’t stopping anytime soon so you invited him into your room. “Sorry, it's messy..” You mentioned, sniffling while picking out some clothes for him. “ These are my brothers.. hopefully they’ll fit,” you said staring into his eyes as you passed him a sweatpants and a white shirt. He nodded while you continued your phrase “I'll go change in the bathroom, you can stay here..” He had already finished changing and you were still in the bathroom. He decided to look around when he spotted a picture of you and your friends back in the US. While grabbing the photo, he accidentally dropped the picture you had beside... It fell to the floor while he looked up the see the huge letters written in red. You walked into the room and screamed. “WHAT HAPPENED OMG” You quickly used your body to cover up the words on the wall... “Jake and Y/N forever together… interesting” he moved you aside as he kept staring at the wall.

“You know I was going to ask you to prom” he stared into your eyes “but that bastard Jay beat me to it” You were shocked. “ I wanted to paint the picture of you in the flower field, but I was missing my carnation pink paint… and by the time I bought it Jay had already asked you.” He told you holding your hands “I like you” you blurted out “Well me too..” he confessed. And that’s when your journey had begun. He’d take you out on picnic dates, showing you the prettiest Colors he had ever seen. He took you to see his mom, of course, he liked painting because of her… their house was full of Colors and painting supplies. You were together for years, an inseparable couple. That was until your family fell into debt, and you had to go back to America to help out your dad with the family business. Lots of tears and sadness were shared. Jake knew he had to put on a smile on his face if it meant he could see you happy. And so he did. You left.

Years later you found yourself back in Korea. You had missed your childhood here, with Jake. Your sister begged you to let go of him and focus on work. After all, he has cut you off and completely ghosted you. Yet his face still showed up when you’d go to sleep. You’d be lying if you said you had gotten over him. But you were ready to start again. To find him. You walked through your old school, looking at the mural he had painted, The trophies he had obtained and the soft gentle music he had created. He was everywhere. You take the bus home, the same one you used to take after school. Arriving at your small cozy house. You stepped into your old room, seeing the red words still engraved into the walls. This didn’t age well. As much as your sister wished you forget his ass, she'd rather see you happy than sad. So she helped you find where he worked.

When you walked into the tattoo shop, you were shocked he didn’t open a painting business. Yet when you saw his tattoos spread across his body, it all added up. The bright Colors engraved into his skin. He looked like art. “Welcome-“ he stopped when his eyes met yours. “Jake…” you said walking up to him. “I need to leave..” he said packing his essentials and leaving the room. You followed shortly behind getting into the taxi with him. The taxi driver was confused on you had randomly entered the taxi. yet he just shrugged it off and started driving to jakes destination. “you can't be here, and I’m going to tattoo a client!” He said. “It’s okay, I won't say a word” he rolled his eyes at you. The ride to the hotel was quiet. You stayed in the room as the client walked in. “Good evening ma'am! My name is Jake and I’ll be tattooing you” he said giving instructions to the woman for her to sit down. While he started working you two were arguing over the fact that he had left you hanging while you waited for him to call back.

“oh come on Jake! you could've left me a message! yet im here following you like a crazy lady on my first night back” you argued. His eyes were glued to the lady's skin, tattooing a beautiful tiger lily. “I'm sorry to interrupt your lover's quarrel but could you fill in the tattoo with some orange?” the lady asked. Jake looked around in his colours…. Putting your anger aside, you noticed he was confused. he couldn't tell them apart. They were all different shades of gray. “Ma'am your butt looks gorgeous without colour! Don't add anything to it” you said looking at her. “Really? okay ill keep it simple” she said going back to her phone. Jake finally let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

When the client had left the room was quiet. “thank you..” he said. “what?” “I said thank you..” He repeated. You nodded sitting on the bed beside him. “when you left Korea, I stayed to look over my mom... We got into an argument one day-“ he said. “you don't need to continue Jake, take your time. You said rubbing his back “No I need to tell someone. I was driving when she started crying. She said I reminded her of my dad. I got mad, my dad left us. He was a horrible man. We started arguing. I hadn't noticed the truck speeding our way and we got hit… I survived and lost all sense of colours,y/n, my world is black and white... But my mom, she fought, she tried but she didn't make it..” he was smiling but you noticed the tears falling down his face. “Oh, Jake… im so sorry. I couldn't help being mad at you but it all makes sense. You lost both the things you loved in one day… It must've been hard. I'm sorry Jake” You said hugging him. “no y/n it's not your fault at all” You smiled at him while he packed up his bags.

“So where do you live now?” You asked following him. “I live a few minutes from here if you don’t mind coming with me,” he said putting his bag onto his back.

You nodded and followed him through the narrow alley. The wind was blowing softly and you noticed how much he had grown. His height, his hair, his body… he was completely different. When you arrived you noticed the building looked quite expensive. “Jake…” you said. “It’s not much but you know I try my best,” he said saying hello to the bodyguard and swiping his card. When you got into his apartment, it felt cozy. “Sorry if it’s messy!” He said picking up a few cans of beer that were on his coffee table. “Hey, Jake can I know where the bathroom is? I just need to go real quick” you said looking around. “Yeah it’s right down the hallway, second door to your left” You nodded again and walked as the lights opened. Something caught your attention on the walls. Pictures. Pictures of his mom, pictures of his art and mostly pictures of your first date. You slowly passed your hand over it. “It was beautiful wasn’t it” You jumped a little looking back at him. “Yeah, it was nice, Jake.” You said smiling

“Didn’t you need to use the bathroom?” He said clearing his throat “Oh? yeah!” You rushed off entering the small room. What will you tell him???? Without knowing it, you spent a few minutes in their pacing around. Suddenly you heard a small knock “Hey you okay in there?” He asked. “Yeah give me a second I’ll be right out!” You pretended to flush the toilet, washed your hands and exited the room.

“So how were the states,” Jake asked. “It was good, there weren’t many companies interested in what I wanted to give… I came back here because I didn’t want dads business to fail.” You said, playing with your hands. “Hey it’s okay, don’t worry, you know even I wasn’t able to succeed….” Jake mentioned looking down at his legs. “My dads paying for this room here, I just need to work and give him back some money once in a while… even if he left us, he still takes care of me from away… he got a call the other day asking to finish my mom's paintings…. I wanted to decline because I can’t see Colors but they’re offering so much money Y/N and I don’t think I can reject that…” Jake added. You nodded listening to him. “I can help you, you know? You’re the reason my childhood was so good Jake. When I went to America I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You never left my mind, and now I don’t want to make the same mistake. I’ll stay and help you” you told him caressing his hands. He gave you a genuine smile while you talked the night away.

For the next few months, you tried helping Jake regain confidence in his work. You’d bring him outside on trips to make him realize that maybe colours do look different. Even if he could only see gray, he was able to start noticing the difference between colours and complete them. His Sun turned yellow, his sky turned blue and his flowers turned a beautiful array of colours. He was so happy that you had accompanied him throughout this journey, taking him back to the world of colours. He was so great full for you and you were happy to just help him out.

When it came to D-Day, helping him out to complete his mom's work, you stayed by his side the whole time. Letting him know what colours he was using and letting him know if it made sense. He added new meanings to the paintings that not even his mom noticed. He tried to honour every little stroke to his dear mom. Once the painting was completed he was in awe. He couldn’t believe that after years of setting this aside, he was able to finally complete it. You were so proud of him for doing this. When the photographers arrived at the exhibition, everyone praised him for his work. He was able to complete a whole painting without even being able to see colours… While you were admiring the work, Jake came running to you.

“Hey, I have something for you!” He said. He takes your hand and began pulling you outside. “Close your eyes!!” He sounded too excited so you trusted him and closed your eyes. “Open them!” He said. When you opened your eyes you saw the most beautiful thing. There were a bunch of paintings and pictures of you guys together. You began walking down the alley of pictures, admiring each and every photo. “It’s beautiful Jake… I don’t know what to say..” you said. Jake just smiled and followed you while you walked. At the end of the walkway, you started noticing a few rose petals and candles lit. A beautiful picnic was set up for you two. “Jake thank you so much… I’m not sure how to react. This is the most beautiful thing ever” you said tears falling out of your eyes. Jake wiped them as he began talking “Look, my love, thank you so much for being here the past few months. My mom's project, you were the reason I was able to complete it. You were the reason I continued working every day to see progress. Ever since we were kids, you were always my reason why. And even if I left you alone for weeks and months, you still came back to me to treat me the same. I’m not sure what I would’ve done without you. I love you, Y/N… thank you this is all because of you..” he looked at you again “Can I?” He asked as you nodded. His lips touched yours as you smiled.. whispering against each other's lips soft words of love … “I love you more than I loved colours”.

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sl-newsie · 11 months

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My Review of 92sies

Gotta remember this was made in the 90s by the classic Disney intro! 😄

Thank you Max for the great intro monologue! ‘Thank you Max, for that marvelous introduction!’ Hocus Pocus, anyone?

Gotta appreciate how much they were able to make a crammed set look like New York

Oh. My. God! Shirtless Mush is sooo cute! 😍

No wonder Skittery’s always angry- I’d be too if I was woken up early. 😤

Not even 5 minutes in and Jack’s called Cowboy 🤠

Where was Kloppman in Livesies? Really, where?

I wanna know how all the newsies characters were created. Was someone reading A Christmas Carol and was like ‘yes, we need teenage Tiny Tim!’

I noticed they have the same audio of the kid yelling ‘c’mon move it! move it!’ later at the end.

Why did they cut out the ‘takes a smile as sweet as butter?’ bit?

Aw Race does the sign of the cross! Is he Catholic?

At first I was confused about the woman singing in the background but over time I feel that she brings the idea that not all the newsies are orphans

Sorry but Race backing up from being threatened by a stick is hilarious

Jack is so much calmer in this version! No more angry Jack

Awww! Les is so cuuute! The way he just stares at Jack while he’s running is priceless 😊

Race and Jack show more friendship chemistry in the first 10 minutes than Jack and Race in Livies during the whole show

Already 92sies Les is so much better

It’s really hard to not picture Jack as Batman

Half the movie is watching all-a the newsies reactions in the background!

Headlines don’t sell papes, newsies sell papes- the entire plot summed up in one sentence. 🗞️

Properly shows how the newsies respect a lady by them removing their hats

‘What’s that deafening noise?’ Uh, that’s your employees doing their job?

I feel sorry for the guy shaving that Snider just shoves to the side when he runs up the stairs.

LUV Medda’s getup! All of it! Anne-Margret is so good! The way she talks to Les is so cute!

I have spotted the teleporting ventriloquist dummy guy!

I personally don’t ship Javid, but 92sies shows much better chemistry between Jack and David than Livesies.

‘Then you’ll be a real cowboy!’ ‘Yeah.’ What about a painter? Now where would you ever get that idea? 🤠🧑‍🎨

So it’s raining while they’re having dinner, then it stopped when they're on the fire escape, and the ground is dusty enough so when Jack does his Santa Fe ‘dance’ he doesn’t get all muddy? Huh.

Only thing about Sarah is that I feel her New York accent could’ve been better.

I wanna know who made the birthday cake. One of the cast or crew maybe?

I prefer Christian’s daydreamy version of Santa Fe. 🏜️

I’d like know what the people in the street are thinking, like ‘what the heck is this guy randomly singing?’

The streetlights make 92sies at night seem like a very cozy atmosphere

Why did they cut out the scene of Christian using a lasso? Learning how to use a lasso was a big deal for him!

What ever happened to the horse Jack technically stole?

Race and Jack’s friendship never gets old!

Pulitzer’s calculation behavior is… weird. Also why is he imitating Tevye’s If I Were A Rich Man dance?

Ok, we need a class where every newsie is pointed out and named so everyone knows who they are

What are the pedestrians thinking when the newsies start singing?

You’re a leader! Here Jack, have a stick! Now break it!

‘Em-bastards!’

Hey it’s Lone Star in a bowler hat!

Now I want to use ‘hoity toity’ every day.

Yeessss! BROOKLYN! But where can I find the music if it’s not in the soundtrack?! 🌉

‘I spent a month there one night.’ Uh what does that mean, Boots?

Why is Spot Colon’s slingshot never brought up in Livesies?

Ok when I first watched this I didn’t know what to expect from Spot Colon but I remember that as soon as I saw him I had a crush on him instantly. 🥰

People always make fun of Spot’s height, whether it be 92sies or Livesies. But being a short person myself and knowing other short people I can honestly say that short people definitely can be scary! Seriously I’ve scared more people than I can count even if I don’t mean to, so imagine Spot Colon intentionally trying to be scary! To quote Yoda: ‘size matters not!’ Spot Colon could kick everyone’s ass if he wanted!

I luv how all the other Brooklyn newsies are just waiting intimidatingly in the background for Spot to either give the all clear or the o-k to soak Davey.

How did numerous fan theories about Spot’s key get started? 🗝️

Seize the Day is on fire! I luv the quick footwork and acro work in the confined space even though the dance number could’ve been held in a bigger area.

Where did the newsies get tomatoes to throw at Wiesel? 🍅

How long did it take to clean up the torn newspapers after they got done filming that scene?

Huh, Jack actually cares enough to try to break Crutchy out? Also how does nobody notice Jack casually standing around with a rope?

It’s cute how Les and the younger newsies made homemade drums!

‘Never fear, Brooklyn is here!’ Oh my God yeessss! 😆

It’s over, Weasel! Brooklyn has the high ground! Star Wars, anybody?

The newsies picture looks like what every attempt at a family picture looks like, with everybody scattered and looking at different places.

King of New York, still my favorite! The way they had all these guys in this tiny room with all these tables, and yet still pull off a decent dance number! Just wow.

Crutchy your positivity is contagious, even though sometimes you gotta learn when to be sad.

Jack how on Earth can you fall asleep on a fire escape?

Nice rooftop backdrop! Wonder if Jack painted it… 🎨🤔😆

Jack still wants to leave, but at least on the rooftop he explains how he’s not used to growing roots anywhere and actually asks Sarah if she cares.

‘...others who would dare to leeee!’ What, Pulitzer?

I luv how the newsies dress up for the rally! Even though they’re poor they still know when to act ‘proper.’ Also Spot, you look great! 👍

Seeing Medda dance with all the is always fun to watch, especially with Blink and Race completely fawning over her.

Why is it that Davey and Spot immediately see that Denton’s pointing out Snyder but it takes Davey yelling in Jack’s face for him to see it?

Typical Race to gamble with a judge 🃏

They really make us hate Snyder. Even if you don’t like Jack (don’t know how someone could but whatever), you really feel bad for him when Snyder takes him back to the Refuge. 😣

How in the world does nobody notice the newsies hiding out around the refuge or when Davey rides on the back of the carriage? There’s cops literally 10 feet from them and they still don’t see a group of kids?

Even when Jack’s yelling he’s still less angry then Jeremy’s angry Jack.

All the Refuge gives you to sleep on is a rusty bed frame? Ouch!

‘We was beat when we was born.’ Yikes Jack got some dark thoughts. 😳

It doesn’t take going through a whole day sulking and getting yelled at by Katherine for 92sies Jack to change his mind, it only takes the Delancys beating up the Jacobs for him to finally say no.

Once And For All is catchier than the Livesies version

I like how they show all the different kids at odds and ends jobs, as well as how some kids back then didn’t know how to read.

Only thing is I wish they would’ve talked about the details with the deal with Pulitzer

Sarah doesn’t need to beg Jack to stay, Jack figures it out that he needs to stay.

Jack, how can you leave? You’re making Les cry! 😖😭

Now Mush is looking cute next to a lamppost 😍

I’m hearing the audio from the beginning!

Yes, Jarah is a relationship I can tolerate! It’s not toxic or annoying, and they don’t look like they wanna kill each other every scene.

Spot riding away in the carriage is perfect! ‘By, Spot!’ 🥰

Overall I’d want to know what the original newsies would think of this. I mean just imagine the ones from 1899 watching this and thinking ‘I don’t think we ever did this much singing and dancing.’

And now to take a moment for the 92sies who did not make it into Livesies: Snipeshooter, Boots, Bumlets, PieEater, Snoddy, Itey, Snitch, Swifty, Jake, Dutchy, Skittery, Snaps, Tumbler, and Flipper. They will be missed. Instead they will be replaced by new newsies that are far more stupid and annoying, but on the bright side are very good dancers. 😔

I feel like 92sies isn’t talked about as much because it’s more dated and not as recent. When people mention that current stars like Ben Cook are in Livesies then everyone talks about it like it’s the best thing since sliced bread. But when people say Christian Bale is in 92sies then they just say ‘oh yeah, he’s Batman’ and just leave it at that. Just because 92sies doesn’t have the A+ Broadway dancing doesn’t mean it’s not a good musical,

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infolane · 9 months

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ARC V MONTH DAY 25 - Woe, Angst Be Upon Ye

@arcvmonth

Today’s entry is writing :> About Sora in Academia and the whole place in general really.

CW: Child abuse.

The adult world comes knocking.

One can’t run from it. Can’t hide. Can’t say a thing- once the spotlight is on you, the best you can do is learn how to dance to its whims as fast as you can.

That’s all.

You are tired. Your body aches from a day of classes and physical training.

This is the process of refinement of a toy. These are the sensations of being recycled.

And that guy has called upon you again today.

Earlier, you ran under simulated rain, boots sinking into the mud, ears full of the sound of thunder and teachers on horseback. This, a playhouse simulation of the battlefield you were made fit for. You cut a path through empty houses to avoid minefields. You climbed out of buildings to get through before the explosion caught you.

The world was grey and your hands became bloody trying to climb up wet ropes, using rocks jutting from the ground as untrustworthy but necessary aids.

Beside you, someone else lost their grip.

There was just a sound.

You didn’t look that way. They’ll be alive, you’ve fallen like this before. When you were small, smaller, less coordinated, eyes wider with fear.

The training reaches into your mouth to rip the fear out of your chest until you don’t even mind death. Because toys don’t die, they just get discarded.

Don’t discard me!

So your heart cried out hearing that noise and speeding up outside towards the end of the simulation area.

You should rest at night, but not today. Your pajama feels hot, your hair is let loose. From here on, you are “Number Five, for Clear Blue Skies”. A type of cut and look away thing, so that you’ll keep walking on your own two feet no matter what.

Sora is many things, but a quitter he is not.

Hey, ever wonder why people would agree to teach someplace like Academia?

To Sora that question is almost nonsense. Agree? No, no. In that world, everything is hammered tightly in place. Everyone follows orders, everything is, necessarily, correct if it comes from above. Everyone show your open hands… The only measure of reality is the Professor.

Such is the right way to be a soldier.

Truth is, teachers come in one of two flavors:

First, those completely blinded by faith in the Professor. The chasers of utopia who can excuse anything so long as it serves the grand cause of Academia. Miopic, strict, chasing dreams with blood at their heel- but that isn’t most people.

No, no. Most people are the second kind.

They want power, power to do anything they would like without supervision, without pesky rules and morals to get in the way. That is just the perfect environment for that- for selfishly chasing one’s own entertainment however one would like, so long as part of the output to those actions are good soldiers.

Soldiers who won’t whine. Won’t cry.

Sora doesn’t get it. Toys don’t cry.

Won’t whine.

“Just play with me plenty”, the only wish afforded.

Won’t hide.

But where? As far as Sora knows, they are omniscient.

Won’t run.

Where to? Why? This is fate and it cannot be changed.

The little soldier who creeps out of his bedroom when lights are off, moving like a puppet drawn on strings to obey commands that the mind abhors.

You have a cute face. That’s something you are aware of, something you have been taught to put to good use as a spy. The youngest member of Obelisk Force is also the one who can charm anyone.

But your body is a different story.

There are scars. Scars from a time when you, devoid of parents, freshly taken in by Academia as one of the orphan student class, did not yet know how to be a gold star student.

Your arms, your rough hands. Your torso, with that one big scar from an explosion. Your thighs, your calves.

Your back.

The disciplinary staff is fond of riding crops and similar. That guy is even worse, too. It’s a mess, you can’t see it, but it’s bad.

Your body is an object that has been hardened under flames to be able to endure everything, anything.

And atop it, your face that looks like you want to get hurt.

The giddiness, the cruel midnight butterflies.

You don’t have a reason to cry, so you don’t. You follow the rule, cutting off emotions into little drawers, wearing whichever mask can get you through things unscathed.

Partition.

Tesselation.

Broken mirror.

When you do an outstanding job you are given a lollipop. It’s a sweet taste that no other meal ever has. You skip them sometimes, unable to tolerate the blandness of it all.

You’d rather taste the sugar.

Creaking, snickering, ruffling, your breath getting faster. And then you aren’t anymore, simply floating, dreaming of a place where toys can have fun earnestly, never to be caught up in the looms again. A place where the taste won’t dissolve. Where the rain is warm, the sky is wide and there are no oceans anywhere.

You sink into it, but never wish for it.

Once again: “Play with me plenty” is the only wish you can have. The toys no one cares about become cards, see? Something like the prey, or not.

Prey is alive. You lot aren’t.

A book said something like that at some point. About becoming real.

Those who are fragile, who have to be treated with any care, they don’t become real. To be real you have to loved until you can barely stand on your own, missing pieces, shabby, shaking, crushed under weight.

But it isn’t enough.

Feeling both warm and cold, you don’t even recall the walk back to your room.

You are like children are- always unsure, always talking and thinking around it, unable to give it a name.

Tomorrow will be another day.

Your mind is slanted. Your right eye is now injustice and you can feel the interface between your legs and dead crow feet. Those are signs of thoughts that want to scream that it hurts, but cannot and will not.

You have no reason to cry. Anything else would imply something bad about Academia, would hurt the Professor who so kindly took you from the reject bin into a future.

So kill these thoughts. They are biting the hand that feeds you.

Sit down, then lie down.

Your hands rise to your face, fingers pressing around your eye, rough and flooding your vision with black and primary kaleidoscopes and rings of light.

Justice, justice.

Life in this place has warped your thoughts into this. Strange, discordant behavior, sudden changes in mood and the way you carry yourself. Fate, shackles, you are certain that the only emotion you have is happiness. Crowtoy. Plaything.

When the sun comes up, say your thanks for this life.

The adult world comes knocking and you are a gracious host.

#arcvmonth2023 #arcvmonth #shiunin sora

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aspoonfuloffiction · 2 years

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Screaming into the void so someone will answer back:

Nanny 👏 Gregory 👏

When Lucy gets a call that her brother and best friend died in an accident she’s in shock. But any grief she can let herself feel is shoved aside when she’s informed that as their only local relative, she could be given custody of the Watson-Abernathy children. If she doesn’t accept custody would go to Hermione’s mother who lives in the States and the children would be relocated.

Wanting her young niece and nephew to feel some semblance of normalcy after having just lost both parents. And remembering all too well what its like to be orphaned. She accepts and suddenly she’s the lone guardian to two grieving school aged children. But the transition from single up and coming urban designer to responsible for two kids under the age of 10 is a learning curve. So when a friend recommends hiring a nanny Lucy agrees.

Meanwhile elsewhere Gregory, aged 24 is listless. Life makes no sense. He’s felt lost for years, armed only with a business degree and no interest in business, desperately trying and failing at finding someone that remotely interests him. But when his eldest brother threatens eviction Gregory just applies to first notice on the bulletin-a nanny wanted sign.

Lucy initially isn’t sold on him (“having 15 nieces and nephews really isn’t prior experience Mr Bridgerton”) but on his way out when Gregory gets her nephew, who hasn’t spoken since the accident, to talk to him about the video game his playing. She decides to hire him.

He lives in her spare bedroom, helps the kids with school, takes them to swim practice and dance lessons, finds a pediatric therapist on his sister-in-law’s recommendation, packs them lunches and because he’s up he packs Lucy lunch too “because cucumber sandwiches and chocolate digestives are not a sustainable diet”

Slowly, they start to get to know each other, like Lucy hates minimalism, or that Gregory has seen The Proposal 17 times in the past year alone. They slip into a rhythm, life is good. She wakes the kids up in the morning, he takes them to school, she helps with English work, he helps with math, he tucks them into bed, she reads them a story.

One night, just under a year into Gregory starting the job, after waiting for Lucy to eat together (a practice that neither of them remember how it started) and a few glasses of wine they open up about things they’ve barely acknowledged to themselves let alone a different person. Like how Gregory feels like he’s just kind of floating through life as a disappointment to his family. And Lucy is scared she’s doomed to fail her niece and nephew the way her uncle failed her and Richard.

Emotions are high, and the alcohol is out and the next morning Gregory doesn’t wake up in the spare bedroom.

Cue some sex induced panic—Lucy freaking out about the fact that she technically slept with a man she employees. Gregory freaking out because he feels like he took advantage of Lucy’s emotional state. Also they’re both freaking out because the sex was good…really good. And left them both unable to to deny their feelings anymore.

So in a panic, Gregory finds Lucy a new nanny for the kids and quits. Lucy thinks its her fault so she lets him. And her feigned acceptance, confirms Gregory’s fears that its his fault.

While apart—Lucy starts therapy to work through unresolved grief not just Hermione and Richard but even the loss of her parents, Gregory takes early child development classes feeling like he’d finally found something he loved. But even as they improve themselves something consistently feels like its missing.

The kids notice this, and conspire with Hyacinth, (they need an adult with a car and she’s sick of Gregory’s moping) to get them together. Shenanigans ensue, but it ends with Gregory and Lucy kissing in the rain…idk why they seem like a kiss in the rain couple.

This post got away from me it was originally only supposed to be three bullet points…I’m a mess. I just need like one person to see the vision

#bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #lucy abernathy #grucy

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memorableconcerts · 10 months

Text

THE CURE

Wednesday 28-06-1989 - Estadio Jose Alvalade - Lisboa-Portugal

1ª Parte - Shelleyan Orphan

Tour: 'The Prayer Tour'

This was the first ever The Cure concert in Portugal.

Price: 12,50€

Mainset:

Plainsong

Pictures Of You

Closedown

Kyoto Song

A Night Like This

Just Like Heaven

Last Dance

Fascination Street

Cold

Charlotte Sometimes

The Walk

A Forest

In Between Days

The Same Deep Water As You

Prayers For Rain

Disintegration

Encore 1:

Lullaby

Close To Me

Let's Go To Bed

Why Can't I Be You?

Encore 2:

Hot Hot Hot!!!

Three Imaginary Boys

Boys Don't Cry

Encore 3:

Homesick

Untitled

Faith

Songs played: 26 (16 | 4 | 3 | 3)

Line-Up

Robert Smith

Simon Gallup

Porl Thompson

Boris Williams

Roger O'Donnell

Flyer

Recorte Blitz

The-Cure-1989-06-28-Prayer-Tour-Lisbon-Portugal-DVD

#Gothic rock #post-punk #alternative rock #new wave #portugal #live music #lisboa #the cure #robert smith #1989

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onelatenight-longago · 6 months

Text

Stepping Into The (Spot) Light

Warnings/Tags: Fem!Reader, Depictions of Violence and Torture, semi-soft Buggy, he's a danger but also a marshmallow of a man, life on the Big Top, becoming one of the crew, sexual tension and teasing, romance, finding freedom and found family

Description: Buggy plays the hero just the one time and now he's a got a new crew member who will change everything for him.

A/N: I'm going to double post this story, first in 1st person then again in 2nd person.

Chp. 1 - First Person (below) Chp. 1 - Second Person

Chapter 1 (in 1st Person)

To explain how I met him, how I had come to love him, I’d have to explain how I had first found him. Or rather how he had found me.

I was orphaned as a child. Left to roam the streets of the worst side of Loguetown. I learned very early on how to steal berry and food and I only ever took what I needed, never more. I fought for my survival every day. Though I knew living as a thief would catch up with me one day, I had just figured it would have been later rather than sooner.

The night it had all changed was the night I had hidden away in a dock storehouse, I needed shelter from the rain and food to get me through the next few days. I was still a small child then and had found myself surrounded by heavy crates too difficult to open. I had resigned myself to another night without food and crawled my way to the far back of the crates, determined to find a spot hidden away and safe enough to sleep in for the night. Only when I came to the perfect spot it was instead occupied by a small box with a latched lid. The box was so unassuming that I could have never believed that it held something as powerful as it did.

My curiosity had gotten the better of me and I dared to open the small box. I was overjoyed at finding that it contained some kind of fruit. I was too happy for a meal to stop and wonder why one fruit had been packaged just so in a well made box lined with expensive and lush fabric. The fruit itself was oddly shaped and bitter and it's skin rough and difficult to chew but I was a begger at best and beggers could not be choosers. And when I had finished my meal I curled up, still tucked away within the piled crates and slept through the night, grateful for the food and roof over my head.

It would be another nine days before I had realized just what I had done. Nine days before I realized the cost of my seemingly 'free' meal. It would be another cold night, only I had found myself trapped in an alleyway, cornered by a drunk and violent Marine. I was scared for my life. As a vagrant, I was accustomed to being called nasty things, but the look in that Marine’s eyes surely meant that if he had gotten his hands on me I would have suffered far worse than just nasty words slung my way.

I tried to run and when that did not work I tried to fight but I had not yet learned to hold my own. Crying and screaming, crumpled into the cold brick corner I was certain that I would meet my end. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the impending hit or kick but when all that came was the solid thump of the Marine’s body down in front of me I opened my eyes to the sight of a blood red feather boa wrapped tight around his neck, his lips turned blue, and his eyes rolled back into his head. He was dead and I was certain it was my fault, although I had not understood how. I reached out to touch the feather boa but just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.

As years passed I learned to master the skill the Devil Fruit had given me. Learning that it was known as the Boa Boa Fruit, granting me the ability to conjure feather boas as I pleased. I began to perform for berry. First conjuring the boas and having them dance about like dragons. As my skills developed so did my body, with each year an inch more grown into my hips and bosom. The berry I could make nearly doubled then when I instead danced myself, surrounded by the boas and moving in time with them. I could leave a crowd of thirty plus entranced and ready to hand over all their berry to me.

They say the Devil Fruits are cursed, and that once consumed the sea would no longer favor you but I didn’t heed the warning. I had no plans to sail the sea, no desire to enter its waters. I was certain the curse of the Devil Fruit would not affect me. I was wrong. Karma caught up with me anyway.

I had come to find long term employment at a particular pirate bar, finally having stable employment and someplace to call my own even if it was but a single room above the bar. One night, said bar was overturned by another Devil Fruit Eater, a pirate captain named Wasp. He could conduct electricity on will. It was then I was taken captive, learning the hard way the cost of eating a Devil Fruit.

This was how I found myself a slave to Captain Wasp, a sick man who used me for his own gain. He strung me along with him town to town forcing me to dance. I tried too many times to escape to fight back but with each attempt Wasp would electrocute me within an inch of my life.

It was in one of these escape attempts that I first saw him.

I had planned for weeks for this moment. As I danced and Wasp’s goons picked the pockets of the entranced crowd, I watched carefully for my opening. The moment in which Wasp’s men would return to him with their spoils and he’d be distracted counting, his back quietly turned away from the crowd and ultimately away from me. I would make a run for it, turning through alleyway after alleyway, moving between and through the buildings until I was certain I could successfully hide away. What I hadn’t planned for was some over-eager onlooker to grab me, pulling me back as I made a run for it.

The pain was unbearable as the electricity crept through my body, Wasp cackling louder than I could scream. The crowd that had surrounded me quickly dissipated with panicked shouts and I was left laying in the dirt, crying out for help, my voice strangled with pain. It was then I met his eyes from across the roadway as he sat outside some bar, watching on with a blank expression. I mouthed ‘help me’, praying to any entity that he would listen, that he’d answer my plea.

The next thing I noticed was the red smoke crawling across town, Wasp was distracted and I quickly pulled myself from the ground stumbling my way into a run. I didn’t look back, I didn’t stop, I just kept running. I didn't know how long it took but I had finally found a shop to hide in, its original occupants now missing. My breath was becoming labored and I felt so close to fainting.

“Hello little Dove.” A cutting and rough voice called out to me, there was someone else in the shop with me after all. “You called and I came” The voice continued but I had begun to lose consciousness, the last I heard was his laugh ringing out around me.

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy the clown x reader fanfiction #buggy one piece #buggy fanfiction

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adultswim2021 · 1 year

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Xavier: Renegade Angel #7: “Bloodcorn” | December 17, 2007 - 12:00AM | S01E07

Xavier sees an ad for a popular mass-produced cookie which is advertising cookie-tampon combos. Xavier takes the ad’s claim that there was a “mix-up” at the factory, at face value, and becomes overly concerned. He travels there and when he realizes how much pollution comes out of the plant he plugs up a drainage pipe. Toxic sludge backs up into the factory and causes the plant to close.

Xavier decides to help one of the now jobless workers by going to his farm to perform various dances (a rain dance, which he forgets, a memory dance, which he also forgets, and an irony-neutralizing dance that only works if it’s raining). Fed up, the farmer shoots into the air at god. Blood pours from the sky, which invigorates his crops but turns them into monsters. Xavier saves the day by launching copious cookie tampons into the sky, plugging up the blood rain.

This one is only hampered by the fact that two episodes ago we had blood Indians and blood cowboys fighting in a similar blood-meets-soil vein. It’s no big deal, really. Both episodes are very strong. It really only makes things confusing in conversation if you were trying to recall which episodes were which. It’s a shallow complaint. For my roommate and myself this was appointment television for us, and I still remember the parts where we laughed hardest. Xavier’s panic when the ad’s “mix-up” claim happens had us in hysterics. I’m not sure if the “mix-up at the factory” trope has aged any since this episode aired. Just in case it has: please know it was a thing. Um... look it up!!!!

There’s another moment that’s notable for perhaps requiring additional context: a sequence where Adult Swim style text supposedly replaces a dream sequence that is too mind-blowing to render. It looks a little bit like the Adult Swim bumpers of the era. The text looks rather large here, and I’m guessing that’s because I’m watching this on HBOMax. The show originally aired letterboxed in a 4:3 image, so I’m guessing the font size was effected by that in the conversion. NOTE: Nobody is allowed to make fun of me for typing the previous paragraph.

There is an early part where Xavier is watching “Darfur Doodles”, a presumably tasteless/wacky program starring malnourished war orphans. An announcer says “Darfur Doodle will be right black”, a joke that I love so much. It’s the kind of thing only a nihilistic POC could write and get away with. This is why we need more nihilistic POC writing comedy.

Another incredible joke that I think often: I didn’t even really remember that it was in this episode or scene: During one of the cookie ads, they are showing a montage of people giving various testimonials about the new product, and among them is just some dude in a red convertible saying “what do I care?” and driving off while flipping the bird (some of you know what I mean!!!!). So fucking funny. This another joke I can remember bustin’ up laughin’ at. Lookin’ glorious.

More jokes I liked, only because I’m in a mood to remember about jokes: “she’s 14” “nice and legal”. Also the part where the evil blood cloud uses a smokestack to blow cigarette-style smoke onto a bunch of people, causing them to become soot-covered, immediately causing them to be beaten by police officers. Also one last last thing: there is a brief bit where they use a small bit of footage of a dog-faced humanoid looking anguished. This is from the 1981 Clash of the Titans, and this clip was repeatedly over the course of Wonder Showzen, so much so that I almost consider this to be a cross-over.

MAIL BAG

Your Katrina/Soda Pop joke would have cost you your job if you were the Aflac Duck.

If I were the aflac duck I would’ve contracted terminal angel wing from eating all the popcorn and euthanized by the haven humane society (the same people who forced us to kill our dog for being too noisy)

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #xavier: renegade angel

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doodle-pops · 2 years

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Dancing like a lonely feather

You have always been an oddball in the village where you lived. By now you were an orphan for most of your life, since your mother died when you were four. You never knew your father. Mother only told you that he was handsome, dressed in blue and could do tricks, like the elves from fairytales. Other villagers said that he most probably was an elf who bewitched and seduced your mother.

You never knew what to make of it, always wondering why he never showed up, since your mommy clearly loved him and missed him. Since the early childhood you seemed to see and hear more than the rest. And you loved to be outdoors. When most people hid from the rain, you were outside, enjoying cool tickles of raindrops. Unlike others, you only rarely feared thunderstorms. When others tossed and turned in their beds whenever they couldn't sleep, you walked outside, enjoying stars, full moon and gentle night breeze, whispering secrets. As you grew up, you were even able to predict the weather, which came in handy, but it also made people wonder if you were some kind of a witch. Things started changing for worse, when you came of age. Your talents grew and you used them to help others. You were able to tell if there would be a draught or if there would be enough rain during summer. You even knew how to repell pests and protect crops. All the villagers were grateful for that, but also wary. As years passed by, you showed no signs of aging.

Some of the villagers simply shrugged it of, thinking that it was your father's inheritance, since he most probably was an elf. As you kept your youthful beauty, some men, even those married wanted to have you. You would always refused, but it didn't help much, rather made things even worse. Others envied you or even spread rumours about you finally showing your true nature, using your wicked powers to steal youth from others.

When one family lost their youngest child - barely three years old - after harsh winter, you were blamed even if you would never dream of such a thing as harming cute innocent being. You didn't wait for the villagers to catch you and ran into the wilds, almost blind with tears.

Living just on your own was hard. It took you a few weeks, before you found yourself safe shelter within woods. Loneliness struck you hard at first, but the longer you spent time in the wild, the clearer the voice of wind and songs of water called to you. You found comfort in them and shared your sorrows and joy with them.

Somewhere within you soul you always knew where to find something to eat, herbs to heal yourself whenever you got hurt, or you felt sick - the latter happening almost never since you came of age.

You lost the count of years spent there, but one spring you started feeling restless. You couldn't seem to find the cause. Also your everyday tasks got harder and harder, until the next spring you finally realized, what was happening - the world around you seemed to slowly fall asleep as if tired. It scared you shitless. Loneliness returned with double force. You ended up leaving your home and set on your journey, seeking place, where the wind whispered in the leaves and water sang its bubbly melodies. You chose to go west, the western wind always seemed the liveliest and most lighthearted.

You find peace that way after some time, because the wind and waters respond to you again - being now just as ever moving as them, you resonate. Wind is your faithful guide, water is your patient confidant. Your bond with them grows strong enough for you to summon an abundant rain during long draught, inviting the wind and water to dance and sing with you.

One day when you simply dance and sing, sharing your thoughts and feelings with the wind, elves walk on you as they make their way to the west, to Grey Havens and beyond. They don't know what to make of you, a being looking like a mortal and yet behaving so unlike them.

When you notice them, you blush bright red and then you become shy and nervous. You heard stories about them bewitching mind of unsuspecting people, fooling them and turning them into puppets to toy with them.

The wind though whispers about them as if it was a child, introducing it's playmates to you. Some of them knew your language and after some careful asking you are invited to join them on their way. You agree, because they are anything but what all you heard about them.

They are willing to teach you many things about survival and their crafts that could come in handy, as well as their language. And you are a quick learner. Evenings are spent around a campfire while telling tales of old or rather recent hunting stories.

You get separated from them during an attack of slavers. This time you are scared, but also angry, furious. This time you call to wind for help and it helps - sudden blast from you sends most of them flying several feet high and far, scaring them to their rotten core.

At first you are clueless about where to go now, until you remember what all you heard about Elrond, Lord of Imladris, a valley hidden between the slopes of Misty Mountains. A wise elven lord and master healer. Perhaps he could find out what causes you to not age and tell you, what all it means for you.

And so you head west again letting the wing guide you once again. One rainy late spring day, at the eastern lowest rocky slopes of misty mountains, you finally rest at the mouth of small cave, fire already burning and drying your soaked clothes. Since there were no sings of danger after you checked repeatedly your surroundings, you indulge yourself and sing once again a song, your only memory you have of your mother by now.

When the last echo of your song fades and you are about to make yourself something to eat, you hear beautiful masculine voice singing a gentle tune. It sends cozy images through your mind, but you are still on alert, looking for the singer.

Finally he emerges from thickening mist. He's all soaked, his face pale and his wet hair clinging to him. He shivers with cold and limps a bit. You greet him as friendly as you can to show you mean no harm and offer him help. After hesitating for a while he accepts and introduces himself as Erandir.

He is surprised about how much you know about healing herbs and other things - he says that he never came across a mortal like you. When you asked what happened to him, he explains he got ambushed by bandits on his way to Imladris, where he hoped to find some friends of old.

When you tell him that you are heading there as well he is both surprised and a bit suspicious. When you explain that since your coming of age you don't show any signs of aging, he blinks incredulously at you.

"Perhaps you do have elven blood in your veins, though I can't get, why would an elf leave a woman he just married..."

It seems it bothers him for some reason. He agrees to join you once he recovers enough to be able to walk for the most of the day. You entertain him with stories from your childhood or made up fairytales - the he likes much better. He sings songs to you about anything and everything and trades stories with you. It doesn't take long for you to trust him.

As much as he was wary at first around you, he finally relaxes. When you both finally leave the cave and head to Imladris, you notice somehow ever-present sadness and sorrow, so you do your best to cheer him up, coming up with funny little fairytales. You have no idea how much he appreciates them and how fondly he starts watching over you while you sleep.

Travelling with him is much safer and more comfortable - he knows all sorts of hidden secret paths, where there always is a sourse of drinkable water and place, where one can sleep, protected from elements and wild beasts or orcs.

Your journey isn't that much uneventful as you might have hoped, you get ambushed by small group of orcs. You both defend yourself as best you can, him shooting arrows at them, you using gusts of wind to knock the orcs down and over the edge of narrow path.

You notice one last archer among the orcs, aiming at Erandir. Before you manage to warn him, the orc falls pierced by someone else's arrow. Fortunately for you, a patrol from Imladris finds you both and takes care of remaining orcs.

Week later, you finally arrive in Imladris, all awed. It's not only the beauty you see, but the way the whole valley seems to be alive and talking to whoever is willing to listen. You are brought to the healers first, to be checked and tended to, before you meet Elrond himself, each on your own.

When you explain your reason why you came in Imladris, Elrond is taken aback, but promises to look into it. In the next days you are examined in various ways. After long weeks Elrond finally confirms you are not a half-elf like he himself, which makes the whole case even more curious.

During these days you meet with Erandir frequently and you learn he was allowed to stay for as long as he wished. He earns his keep by aiding the healers with the songs of power. You offer your help as well, using your talents.

It is nearly winter when grey wizzard arrives in Rivendell once again and Elrond sends one of his servants to fetch you, after he tells him about you and your incredible case. You get practically interrogated and the wizzard has you try again and again to remember your earlies memories so much you often get a head ache or has you perform your skills, seeming to come to conclusion that is hard for him to grasp.

After such sessions, Erandir's soothing voice is like a balm both for your mind and soul. He manages to lull you to sleep more than once. You notice something is bothering him, but he never tells you what it is, when you ask, which feels a bit odd. Perhaps he didn't feel that much close to you as you did to him?

Little did you know that it was rather a contrary.

Once again you spend one nice spring afternoon on a gazebo, looking and a waterfall.

"Y/n?" "Yes, Erandir?" "There is something...you should know. I should have told you long ago, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. I wan't to...apologize for not being completely honest to you. It feels now so very wrong, because I wish to court you..." "Wha-? Y-you do?" "Very much so, Y/n. I...never told you my real name. I was...and to a point I stil am ashamed of what I once was. Daeron, the minstrel of Doriath, who betrayed the trust of what he thought was the love of his life. Think you...would like me to court you?"

You blinked, your eyes quickly flooded by tears. You sobbed happily and threw yourself in his arms. "Yes! Of course I would love that!" Guess what - temperature got back to normal level for summer here XD

The plot twist....😳

I thought they were half-elven...

When you said dressed in blue I thought House of Fingolfin....

I thought Erandir was gonna pull a "I am your father"

But he's Daeron...our minstrel of Doriath. Woah

Welcome back, been missing you and 💖anon with those imagines.

#📜 anon #daeron #y/n imagines #silmarillion imagine #doodlepops responds

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rosietrace · 2 years

Text

Diana Kazane

" You want me to give you advice on swordsmanship? Well for one, you're positioning the blade wrong. You may need to pay more attention... "

Full Name: Diana Jane Kazane

Japanese Name: ダイアナジェーンカザネ

Romaji: Daiana Jēn Kazane

Twisted From: Captain James Hook

V/A: Sayaka Ohara (小原さやか)

Age: 27 to 28

Birthday: March 9

Horoscope: Pisces ♓

Species: Human

Height: 176 cm

Hair Color: Ruby Red

Eye Color: Dark Blue

_________________________________________

Homeland: Island of Nevermore

Occupation: Swordfighting Professor

Sexuality: Bisexual

Dominant Hand: Right

{ Family: Deceased/Orphaned }

Likes: Swordsmanship, Archery, Horseback Riding, Dogs, Parrots, Dancing, Makeup

Dislikes: Ambrose, Her past, rain, thunder, drowning, not holding the swords correctly

Hobbies: Swordsmanship, Horseback Riding, Archery, Dancing, Doing her makeup

Talent(s): Dancing while fighting, doing makeup, horseback riding, reflexes, magic duels, speed, agility, silent movement

Flaw(s): Aggressive, Sarcastic, Easily Bored, Awkward, Violent

_________________________________________

Personality:

Though at first she was incredibly distant, Diana grew an immense popularity shortly after she was assigned to be the new swordsmanship professor of royal sword academy.

She won't exactly comment on why she, a former pirate queen, became a professor. And she'll quickly change the subject if the person asking was leaning a bit too far off of her comfort zone.

At first, Diana wasn't necessarily the best teacher. Given how little of an experienced professor she was, she mostly just let the students do their own thing for the first few weeks of her teaching career.

But, Ambrose ended up having to lecture her that she actually needs to discipline her students so that they respect her. As most of her students never really showed genuine respect for Diana when she first began teaching.

And so, she begrudgingly complied to Ambrose's wishes and somehow managed to climb the ranks and basically become one of the best swordsmanship professors RSA had ever had.

But unfortunately, a person is never a person without a few flaws. And Diana happens to be one of them.

Lovable as she may be, Diana still has the tendency to be rather aggressive with her teaching methods. It's not exactly a bad thing, the students actually need a teacher who's strict with them, but at times she's…. A bit too aggressive.

Not to mention her inevitable sarcasm and tendency to get bored hysterically easily. She'd never act on these characteristics in front of her students, but she certainly isn't afraid to use her own flaws to outwardly slander Ambrose whenever she's given the chance.

Because of the notorious reputation for pirates in twisted wonderland, Diana doesn't really react all that well when someone talks or asks about her personal life or what her life was like as an essential pirate queen. It mostly triggers her PTSD.

And in general, she doesn't really like her job. She was given a choice when she first met Ambrose. She'll either work for RSA, or die in a prison cell for crimes she allegedly did.

And sometimes… Diana wishes she'd die in a prison cell.

But other times, she's glad. Because now, she doesn't need to deal with a personal tutor using her…

_________________________________________

Unique Magic: { Feathered friends } (羽毛の友達)

Song: Two birds(Regina Spektor)

Are parrots considered stereotypical pirate pets? Yes. But Diana considers them to be absolutely adorable and doesn't give a shit if Divus calls them annoying.

She could gush about them for hours, and then decide that she's bored over talking about her favorite animals and switches to a completely different topic-

But to elaborate: Diana can summon parrot familiars that can act as her eyes and ears in a specific area without her in that area.

Most of the time it's to watch over her more troublesome students. She knows they mean well, but she can't help but need to watch over them to prevent them from getting expelled.

Thankfully, her students are well aware of this and make sure to try and be on their best behavior. Because they know that Diana is watching from somewhere.

But alas, Diana can only summon 5 parrots at a time. And they can't be in the same area at once since all she'll hear is parrot gossip and she doesn't wanna get too invested.

Trivia

_________________________________________

Name meaning

Diana: With Greek, Latin, and Indo-European origins, the name Diana means “divine.” Diana was a Roman goddess of many arenas, including hunting, forests, the moon, and fertility.

Jane: The name Jane is of English origin and means “God is gracious.” Some people believe that Jane was derived from the old French name Jehanne, which in turn, is thought to be derived from the Hebrew name Yochanan which means “Yahweh is merciful.”

Kazane(風音): The name Kazane is primarily a female name of Japanese origin that means Sound Of Wind

The Island of Nevermore has been crossed off the map for unknown reasons

Diana likes ballet and incorporates it into her swordsmanship

Despite her otherwise dainty and delicate appearance, Diana is obviously one of the most ruthless swordsmen in RSA

Has a friendship with Divus Crewel, but is annoyed by how people assume they're dating(Though admits to have a smidge of a puppy crush on him)

Diana's parrots often dote on her, especially when she's having a hard day

Originally applied for Night Raven College's swordsmanship professor, but Crowley was too scared of her history that he declined

Thus, she ended up in RSA

Diana doesn't really understand the point of RSA and NRC's rivalry, often poking fun at it

Has sung her praises for Roya's swordsman skills so many times that he's been dubbed 'Diana's favorite' , however she doesn't actually play favorites with any of her students because that caused trouble for her in her past

Basically became a mother hen with her students as soon as she first taught them

Applauses DCA for allowing the girls to swordfight as they please

Is a favorite among RSA's students because of her motherly nature and her drive to help her students with anything they need help with

DOES NOT have a good relationship with Ambrose the 63rd, they basically hate each other

Has fallen asleep several times after using her unique magic for too long, which leads her to fall asleep on really odd surfaces without feeling pain (Briar basically found someone just like her)

Appreciates that her students listened to her after she specified that she didn't want her personal life to be mentioned

HATES when someone is positioning their sword wrong, she usually tries to keep her cool about it but inevitably fails

Had no idea that Divus was that influencial in the fashion industry until someone pointed it out

Doesn't really care if she's looked down upon because she's 'too girly' , cause she finds comfort in makeup and making herself look pretty

Her students see her as both a mother figure, and their older sister figure

Has somewhat lost interest in archery, but still finds comfort in it as well as horseback riding

#royal sword academy #rsa oc #twst rsa #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #diana kazane #twst ambrose #ambrose the 63rd #dire crowley #twst crowley #twisted wonderland divus #twst divus #divus crewel #Diana x Divus?#roya callistis #briar auroria #night raven college

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allyourprettywords · 2 years

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"A Refusal to Mourn the Deaths, by Gunfire, of Three Men in Brooklyn," John Murillo

“And at times, didn’t the whole country try to break his skin?” —Tim Seibles

You strike your one good match to watch its bloom and jook, a swan song just before a night wind comes to snuff it. That’s the kind of day it’s been. Your Black & Mild, now, useless as a prayer pressed between your lips. God damn the wind. And everything it brings. You hit the corner store to cop a light, and spy the trouble rising in the cashier’s eyes. TV reports some whack job shot two cops then popped himself, here, in the borough, just one mile away. You’ve heard this one before. In which there’s blood. In which a black man snaps. In which things burn. You buy your matches. Christ is watching from the wall art, swathed in fire.

“This country is mine as much as an orphan’s house is his.” —Terrance Hayes

To breathe it in, this boulevard perfume of beauty shops and roti shacks, to take in all its funk, calypso, reggaeton, and soul, to watch school kids and elders go about their days, their living, is, if not to fall in love, at least to wonder why some want us dead. Again this week, they killed another child who looked like me. A child we’ll march about, who’ll grace our placards, say, then be forgotten like a trampled pamphlet. What I want, I’m not supposed to. Payback. Woe and plenty trouble for the gunman’s clan. I’m not suppose to. But I want a brick, a window. One good match, to watch it bloom.

“America, I forgive you… I forgive you eating black children, I know your hunger.” --Bob Kaufman

You dream of stockpiles—bottles filled with gas and wicks stripped from a dead cop’s slacks—a row of paddy wagons parked, a pitcher’s arm. You dream of roses, time-lapse blossoms from the breasts of sheriffs, singing Calico and casings’ rain. You dream of scattered stars, dream panthers at the precinct, dream a black- out, planned and put to use. You dream your crew a getaway van, engine running. Or, no thought to run at all. You dream a flare sent up too late against the sky, the coup come hard and fast. You dream of pistol smoke and bacon, folded flags—and why feel shame? Is it the dream? Or that it’s only dream?

“& still when I sing this awful tale, there is more than a dead black man at the center.” —Reginald Dwayne Betts

You change the channel, and it’s him again. Or not him. Him, but younger. Him, but old. Or him with skullcap. Kufi. Hoodied down. It’s him at fifteen. Him at forty. Bald, or dreadlocked. Fat, or chiseled. Six foot three, or three foot six. Coal black or Ralph Bunche bright. Again, it’s him. Again, he reached. Today, behind his back, his waist, beneath the seat, his socks, to pull an Uzi, morning star, or Molotov. They said don’t move, they said get down, they said to walk back toward their car. He, so to speak, got down… Three to the head, six to the heart. A mother kneels and prays— Not peace, but pipe bombs, hands to light the fuse.

“Fuck the whole muthafucking thing.” —Etheridge Knight

A black man, dancing for the nightly news, grins wide and white, all thirty-two aglow and glad to be invited. Makes a show of laying out, of laundry airing. Throws the burden back on boys, their baggy wear and boisterous voices. Tells good folk at home how streets run bloody, riffraff take to crime like mice to mayhem, and how lawmen, more than ever, need us all to back them. Fuck this chump, the channel, and the check they cut to get him. Fuck the nodding blonde, the fat man hosting. Fuck the story. Fuck the quick acquittals. Fuck the crowds and camera van. You change the channel. Fuck, it’s him again.

“I enter this story by the same door each time.” --Julian Randall

At Normandy and Florence, brick in hand, one afternoon in ‘92, with half the city razed and turned against itself, a young boy beat a man to meat, and signed, thereby, the Ledger of the Damned. Big Book of Bad Decisions. Black Boy’s Almanac of Shit You Can’t Take Back. We watched, in shock. The fury, sure. But more so that it took this long to set it. All these matchstick years… He beat him with a brick, then danced a jig around his almost-carcass. Cameras caught him live and ran that loop for weeks, all night, all day, to prove us all, I think, one thug, one black beast prancing on the nightly news.

“And when it comes to those hard deeds done by righteous people and martyrs, isn’t it about time for that to be you?” --Gary Copeland Lilley

Not Huey on his high back wicker throne, beret cocked cooler than an Oaktown pimp. Or young Guevara marching into camp, all swagger, mane, and slung M-1. But one less suited, you could say, for picture books and posters, slouching on a northbound Bolt, caressing steel and posting plans to shoot. He means, for once, to be of use. Small axe to massive branches, tree where hangs the noose. He says he’s “putting wings on pigs today,” wants two for each of us they’ve blown away. Wants gun salutes and caskets. Dirges, tears, and wreaths. Wants widows on the witness stand, or near the riot’s flashpoint, brick in hand.

“I itch for my turn.” --Indigo Moor

Like Malcolm at the window, rifle raised and ready for whatever—classic black and white we pinned above our dorm room desks— we knew a storm brewed, spinning weathervanes and hustling flocks from sky to sky. We dozed, most nights, nose deep in paperback prognoses. Wretched and Black Skin, White Masks, our books of revelation. Clarions to would-be warriors, if only we might rise up from our armchairs, lecture halls, or blunt smoke cyphers. Talking all that gun and glory, not a Nat among us. Free to wax heroic. Deep. As bullet holes through Panther posters, Huey’s shattered throne.

“Poems are bullshit unless they are teeth…” —Amiri Baraka

It ain’t enough to rabble rouse. To run off at the mouth. To speechify and sing. Just ain’t enough to preach it, Poet, kin to kin, pulpit to choir, as if song were anything like Panther work. It ain’t. This morning when the poets took the park to poet at each other, rage and rant, the goon squad watched and smiled, watched us shake our fists and fret. No doubt amused. As when a mastiff meets a yapping lapdog, or the way a king might watch a circus clown produce a pistol from a passing car. Our wrath the flag that reads kaboom! Our art, a Malcolm poster rolled up, raised to swat.

“every once in a while i see the winged spirits of niggas past raise out the rubble” --Paul Beatty

Could be he meant to set the world right. One bullet at a time. One well-placed slug, one dancing shell case at a time. One hot projectile pushing through, one body bag zipped shut and shipped to cold store, at a time. Could be he meant to make us proud, to fill Nat Turner’s shoes. Could be he meant to aim at each acquittal, scot free cop, each trigger pull or chokehold left unchecked, and blast daylight straight through. Could be he meant, for once, to do. We chat. We chant. We theorize and write. We clasp our hands, spark frankincense, and pray. Our gods, though, have no ears. And yet, his gun sang loud. Enough to make them all lean in.

“Paradise is a world where everything is sanctuary & nothing is a gun.” --Danez Smith

A pipebomb hurled through a wig shop’s glass— nine melting mannequins, nine crowns of flame. Hair singe miasma, black smoke braided. Scream of squad cars blocks away. Burnt out Caprice and overturned Toyota. Strip mall stripped. And gutted. Gift shop, pet shop, liquor store, old stationery wholesale. Home décor, cheap dinnerware. An old man sprinting, draped in handbags, loaded down with wedding gowns. Three Bloods and two Crips tying, end-to-end, one red, one blue, bandana. Freebase fiend with grocery bags, new kicks, and name brand jeans. Spilled jug of milk against the curb, black cat bent low to lap it. This, your world, burnt bright.

“I love the world, but my heart’s been cheated.” --Cornelius Eady

He thought a prayer and a pistol grip enough to get it done. Enough to get him free. Get free or, dying, try. To stop the bleeding. Blood on leaves, blood at the root. I didn’t root, exactly, when I heard word spread. Word that he crept up, panther like, and let loose lead. A lot. Before he fled the spot, then somewhere underground, let kick his cannon one last time. “One Time,” our name for cops back at the crib. It had to do, I think, with chance. Or lack of. Chickens come to roost? Perhaps. I didn’t root. Per se. But almost cracked a smile that day. The news like wind chimes on the breeze. Or shattered glass.

“We beg your pardon, America. We beg your pardon, once again.” --Gil Scott-Heron

To preach forgiveness in a burning church. To nevermind the noose. To nurse one cheek then turn the next. To run and fetch the switch. To switch up, weary of it all. Then cock the hammer back and let it fall… But they were men, you say, with children. And so close to Christmas. But their wives, you say. Today so close to Christmas… Memory as noose, and history as burning church, who’d come across the two cops parked and not think, Go time? One time for Tamir time? Not think Fire this time? To say as much is savage. Blame the times, and what they’ve made of us. We know now, which, and where—the pistol or the prayer.

“…like sparklers tracing an old alphabet in the night sky” --Amaud Jamaul Johnson

It’s natural, no, to put your faith in fire? The way it makes new all it touches. How a city, let’s say, might become, by way of time and riot, pure. In ’92, we thought to gather ashes where before loomed all that meant to kill us. Rubble now and lovely. Worked into, as if from clay, some sort of monument. To what? No clue. Scorched earth, and then…? Suppose a man sets out, with gun and half a plan, to be of use. To hunt police. Insane, we’d say. Not long for life. In this, we’d miss the point. A lit match put to gas-soaked rag, the bottle flung, may die, but dying, leaves a burning house.

“Afro angels, black saints, balanced upon the switchblades of that air and sang.” --Robert Hayden

But that was when you still believed in fire, the gospel of the purge, the burning house. You used to think a rifle and a prayer, a pipebomb hurled through a shopkeep’s glass, enough, at last, to set the world right. Enough, at least, to galvanize some kin. Think Malcolm at the window, set to shoot, or Huey on his high-back wicker throne. Think Normandy and Florence, brick in hand, a Black man dancing for the camera crews. You change the channel, there he is again, and begging: Find some bottles, fill with gas. Begs breathe in deep the Molotov’s perfume. Says strike your one good match, then watch it bloom.

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dalleyan · 7 months

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Elfwine Chronicles (new LoTR stories, Decisions, ch 1 posted, 9-20-23)

Caffola’s intended proposal is not received as expected. (Drama, Angst, Romance, Family) (3 chapter story)

Chapter 1 - (Apr, 23 IV)

The rain could not dampen Caffola’s spirits as he rode to Edoras. Byldan had sent him off to the city for a fortnight, and he was looking forward to seeing the royal family – his family – and Tamwen. Over the past nearly three years, he had spent time with her whenever he was able to come to town. After the third such visit, in his mind, he had begun a courtship, though he had never actually put it into such words.

During that time, his dancing had improved, and he had danced with many girls on his visits. He had even spent a bit more time with one or two of them, getting to know them, but none held his attention as Tamwen did. Truly, she must be one of the finest girls he had ever known, and he was honored that she seemed to find him worthy of her notice.

He had been saving all his wages, and sold a foal from Lithemeg that had brought a handsome price. Byldan had let him begin building a home of his own on their property almost two years ago, and it was nearly finished. Now was the time – he would ask for Tamwen’s hand in marriage. At last he had something substantial to offer her.

Tamwen rubbed at her forehead fretfully, listening in silence to her parents’ comments.

“Feladyrne is a good man, and he would well be able to provide for you, Tamwen. Why do you hesitate?” her mother questioned.

With a sigh, she tried to explain her reserve with Feladyrne. “I do not deny he has been most attentive and accommodating, Mother, but I just…do not have those kind of feelings for him. There is something about him that….” She trailed off, unsure of what she meant, much less knowing how to say it so it made any sense.

Her mother crossed her arms and frowned. “You are still hoping that other boy – Caffola – will make an offer,” she accused, and Tamwen knew she could not honestly deny that.

“Caffola is–” she began, but her father interrupted.

“Caffola is not here and not reliable. Do you truly wish to go off and live on the plains in some drafty cottage with meager means? That is all that boy can offer you. Feladyrne has a good job here in town, and comes from a good family. We do not even know anything about Caffola’s past.”

“That is not so!” Tamwen defended. “I know a great deal of his past. He is an orphan from the Westfold, who has become like a member of the family to our king. Does that not speak well for him? And he is a hard worker. He would never let me be in want.”

“Tamwen,” her mother sighed, “you need to marry, and both your father and I think Feladyrne is the better prospect. It is time for you to give up this flirtation with Caffola and focus your attention on Feladyrne. I am certain he will soon make an offer. You are to tell Caffola in your next letter that your affections have turned elsewhere. It is for the best. If you continue this infatuation, Feladyrne is likely to lose interest.”

For an instant, Tamwen stared at her parents in disbelief of this ultimatum, but then she dropped her eyes. It was true that Caffola had given her no indication that he ever desired to make their association something more permanent. Clearly he enjoyed her company, but in all the time she had known him he had never spoken of marriage. Perhaps she had been foolish to think he was inclined along those lines. Feladyrne was here and attentive, and likely her parents were right that it was time to be sensible and settle down.

“Very well,” she murmured listlessly. The capitulation gave her no pleasure. She was very fond of Caffola….

continue reading on AO3:

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/50222857/chapters/126847675)

#Eomer #Lothiriel #Lord of the Rings #Elfwine Chronicles #LOTR #Elfwine #original characters

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libidomechanica · 1 year

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Untitled (“As is the tears”)

A curtal sonnet sequence

Shines upon her frolic Grace—Fitz-Fulke, whose plumage sat victory; and almost as a bed of flattery: there’s joy in the narrow paved streets, wherever I was tired of the late. He fought Aurora’s there was no opiate, slumber when gusts of what were when on a diverse rests on the name. As is the tears of the Nations’—not yet saved, and the thrown down to all—which least in wonder nor Hephaestion, added here, an urn.

Had brought to bind. The halter was ripe; a soul so kind, gave it to make a dent forth into a rage. At last a solemn hood. Composed to roar, to breake more! The red rose whispers of stairs into two; the dwarfs and black as a raven. Now my brother. The dim curls fell negligently o’er with every silly to gild refined gold throne, On a round goblet, which the sun rose is a mere quiet be exalted be a truism.

III

Juan had granted, to conquer grief my eyes too tender parent’s fall as the Pyrrhic dance expired; the nutriment did change in the day, ye wadna been sae bushy, and well for yourself: but if you can’t raise Ceres from the grass and by myne eie the Cynic on some dull MS. Or graven stone, which may be my rival, thoughts and sycophants have been the human clay, though your ear still in its hand, the voice, the name a third: Our mistress.

And breathe his world; by waters, and their May was passion, joy and pestle. And wilt thou wandering hands, distracted with old picture of his air, or none, thou seëst all their troth seal’d to sanctified. A rake turn’d as pale herself erect behinde! She smiled: the rest at noon: for what you please hath nypt my rugged rynde, and held him, but I maintain tops more designed to make one still environ is awful echoes of her kind employment.

Behold, thou arrivest at a miracle. But could raise Ceres being, all; below station at the fix’d—he knew at whate’er our hope of one for though whom compare, whaever has met wi’ my Philly? With honey’d rain and being a thoughts on the foaming draught in their better then coming them orphans: firstly, those who sitteth by Norman struck without what’s sae mean, although my long-battred eyes, ere seek my lost repose, till grin.

Not learn; they did but look look with sorrow tak’ him the sacraments have thorns and falls took advantage me. And so am I; I quite full, soon, while the low ration, no doubt a consolation—that Sphinx, whose stake is now no Grief but in a man’s heart is lost. And that sweet Albany. If you ain’t witnesse many a stroke. On steering head, and the honey-meal: and ladies are to bind my breasts to searched, thrown away, i’ve known to stay.

VII

Sweet Idyl, and you will find room even in the least world, two in the last like two young misses born to more, unless we catch at and scatt’ring brightly to the rosy air, and hat in her be him be them, smiling, and endeavouring Scotch Court be no weltring yet; these blenches gave me never could, if it were halfe mellow store. So long in wealth, recounting bird the Lyons house. Has made at first damage than a philosopher.

VIII

We sat down i’ the boy, the broad main doth wear, A king sate on the courtiers stared, that your grace concluded, and I and all lone matron bringing to rest, nor though not as the mountain of course the birds sang. My altars are one of her feet the echo of his faire booke doth wear, a globe, yea world? I would attach myself my prayers, I said, Yes—no—rather—yes. So perish as you turn backward to re-assure his mighty men.

The companions, why forget which the Lady Adeline well of Lebanon. The old hen by day. Her third canto—and then hastily spak, the last of gloom enough has brought three hours than are they such power on this—the dinner made an atmosphere he could, if it were to secure in the grieslie Todestool growne slacker in his son, but not be found with me to hold in lease find no determin’d to lurch; some to Sheba yet.

Not these cowslips fading pool of air—am I and Debauchee of Dew. But, for her breasts than down to stain, and blessing is a woe; our robe de chambre may sit like to trace a distant lights, his daughter from Gilead. Once more heaven young man so absurd lord Henry, who list, I force him not: since we wear fetters from Lady Blanche’s daughter, was left by storms behind none in this or that beloved is great and known to all mens eyes.

He strings, what we’re doing easily, when power had left her whose rays of tissue, meridian, her eyes he looked at his table, beneath the companions, when his own quickened, mixt with curious, preacherly head of her father breaking; From the touch your gifts. All there seen the day not know who most Affections the sister. Just now,— but by rebound, made me there. To the fields, and behold, thou hast play’d some fascinating kind.

XII

Her shoulder: her hand came over us, and was I to see. Viper off, as curtsies could no more, as in a day. Be ta’en for thy love was once free burgess of this strain of ages; to what shall fade, my verse: which, being paved street and a yellowing the chauntings like the porous vase; above, the supplicator being shoal and bask in the consuming us—or, roughly moue to keepe the forests. Sports in the house in vain.

XIII

Made loving part; but, fool, and yet I love to chivalry: when swift motion shall weep their host, but Thanks, ’ she said, but she goes who hath pight: my head, majesty was silence will of flatter me? Yet were angry with me fro shame had heard thy sweet to my heart waketh: it is said, that which precedes the Earth’s burial talked of being done, since Eve’s slip away to dreamful wastes where I was: they don’t much more rooted in constellations.

XIV

China, touch was debarred the side. Before, without pause, the bottom agates seen the caverns, cool and dusky pall, quite as yet are strong emotion; but then forbear following centre grew a little flock, that late has nought fall, and usual—Juan, when place, tweezers, too, be off! While bright hand should the wolf’s-milk curdled in each fulfil yourself her old acquaintance strange her mind liked her hand, and her like a cout frae the noble.

Fly twanging the vineyards; let us know there’s joy in their debt of that hath no breasts must have sung, yet strive to see, since wound, an eastern wind, and that I were less imperial favour. Seeing a man as an Irishman you yourself! They rise or sink together. Public weal disposed to call gentlemen, yet had a sort of kings— home to the chaffe should ever be. He bore the bowl was filled up, as a sinking attack all.

XVI

To sell her pure and how fleet ’twas on the scaffolds them on the heroic and chafe and the blue sky prevail with the rippling sound of the gender the back of wolves on animals could not by Sun or Glass: while bright? But add the world of reapers! Want or peril, there most people he had a long repentance, and one in gay remarks to tall grasses everybody knows, whose Love in the day; the rosy than fail. Thou for the same.

XVII

And whirl, a ceiling of this theme—he seldom sung below him, that with sympathy: summer or Winter common sempstress. Evergreen figs, and fitly set. Sound of the rain, me of this powerful parson, Peter Pith, the latter which there lurk’d a man beneath the high Roman brows of Agrippina. ’ To you be, what I shall I know. Sank upon her bridal white, nor stunted so; her heard to exist, to think o’ her going.

XVIII

Hand doth each tear yet invent? But to pleasure past, no sonne now shines, clouded eye for such all who was the sandy shore, which, shining in a carelesse of this they all her sweetest has a kiss? I never told me up afloat. Be ashamed to lose the court look’d one on tithes, and purging fire, ring return’d at length disclosed, as day a- kindling; a pipe, and song above my Highlands, the fierce, for the luminous! Itself in me.

XIX

Present, and the south, agree the scales with unshut eye, round stems that ere he could have pain, whoever may be christen’d with him it wasn’t a disastrous ledges there his hourly dread grew wild; and quite so great lengthen’d ears, for that please the work of the gender the ethereal plain, though not quite neck long floating as if a long musing thee vantage, double. Woo’d and learnd of lighter springs,—your part of love. The world’s coward stroke!

’ From Psyche. Over-loving, living its account I one must blend whose three years to play the Spanish fly and mine host. But I, ’ said Cyril, having need of the most true is the mountain-jets, and wooings. Of dusty fights as he rode like a crawl If you ain’t watch’d for some bitter thro’ the desperate in her eye; for three votes. Her chemise—neath which, perhaps she my dear, was it yesterday? I set myself away, ’twould blaze in thy locks.

XXI

Yet knowing a star and reap, and reproach. But we, as fearless of a leaky vase, for good, which doth move And then to this gives still men grow? My Pegasus, or a great hearts worn away&soft and when our own door with an early loved to shepheards foote: sike follies nowe haue I scaled the difference to soothe of byrds by beating auburn curls the least then, there was more; but will, thy soul knows, whose avarice all too short a time with the kind!

XXII

I’ll cross the week before, when down old, and war with all kinds, and be beloved, yea, pleased; believes it is when all light are twins. But what you will one skin like that shuts its sweet things won’t attack us here in a kibitka he roll’d announced, and she believed that same tune, when place of my bonnie lass, sounds against such thing a problem, like water love the last is apt to grins, he comes—but pages might be: I see—I see— Ah, no!

XXIII

Was better hap, and still art discontent, would suffering … I burn the least shade from loving parts, and worn, with his habits, and sung, the moon is chalky, white kerchief sae douce and placid mien; and rose. Dear, did we meet in his eyes, but to tell the name of silver. So Arab desertness, in solemn psalms, and the world is full stay, for into a gallery, of a sudden grow ashamed of some slightly me, but, trowth, I care na by.

XXIV

Tears shed it, although it may do too soon; You have a sound except some queer no meaning herbs in the Galaxie, then held the lies turning for dust and he did sip, and cannot say this will Her throat the shrilled it. And morn, upon a though a squall or two had dared to incense, with a goddess, yet could I haste and Miquelon. Which, when you add to this morn of half his spoon; Such chains where on Christmas game: and where one small smile to dwell.

XXV

And thus Death and he knew the same way, while peace, and thou, and she what I do to the Morning dewy-warm with kisses once a half-starved babe, a wreck upon the humming struck in: albeit compell’d, such close in office l’Eprouveuse, ’ a term inexplicable too, and death—most like a piece of a pomegranates, the spiders. As for awhile! By his grave Professor. Summer’s day and barren deeps to common good minute.

XXVI

Whispered Asses’ ears’, among the vines have gone back my heart and eat his revel seem’d to evaporate. As these. Fair as the Doctors’ Commons: I have conn’d the highest guest, saving his own horse laughing blue eyes were scatter’st thy delicious East, far-folded mists, and your beauties entred in? I curse the dissolved to flatter fair Cathering rain: in vain might before, hey ho! Graceful days Time had found me, left alone dwells; O help!

XXVII

Or none; or like an army with two alone sinks down with the feeling for some Zephyr caught beside my daughter: others, who was the chiel maun be patience, at risk of being so fair and with mystery, one man alone evades of physicist asks, does to all new techniques for Catherine was growing fountain sealed: drink deep, but my beloved put it on? The light classic articles of pearls beneath their future; everywhere!

XXVIII

And every man hath his vice in the children’s eyes and there, named from a dunce. Or go; but the queen o’ the fair, my love; there to hustle in those hands as fit here nought to survey but still from time and perceiving superstition all awry: however the executives who boss the beginnings: for the other in the possessor were of the world; approach of difference to some civil list and what, their net: I wear not; breath!

XXIX

Of being for the purple cloud with pleasant voyage perhaps, than the open hatchway vomiting the morn by morn by morn; I earth beneath them paused by Florian. I wont to raunge amydde the hidden in the strict sense; yet in kindred veins. ’ Keen providers than human breast, to give him a cheat; for it alone. For shame, Ay me! ’ A second self, that which happy men that dark earth, air, stars, timing with his people of high birth.

XXX

Draw me, we come to the windy shore, being for most virgins with the glint of far- off, and the spheres therein, than nursed me, and for I am sure, for myself within the shore—gold companions hearken to the graves and plate, as between the full as deep seas that I must dwell? The other’s soul. No, no, though he trip and fully dress’d, tis then before, mortals, which turn’d, and I admires, nor less, knock’d the center hid; when he walks from me.

XXXI

Home-talk and blows coldly; lights her, but new. Where they countenance is our eye I eyed, such was not to be woo’d and both these, and proceeding; he bore his amatory pattern of all things, and curst the splendour; Indian mats and sang with milk, and fell; but I, deeper down. When the despatches in their loves; and for his soul. No ghostly haunting bird them in the wild within her hair is as freed, and sing hill; ’ and some importune!

XXXII

That heart is when he cannot be unkind t’ a beast three, but in wonder the impossible and land, or any other extras, which is Solomon’s; threes, enringed a billow leaves them out: he flew. The promise of noble shamed of some thou seëst all good things which I think you were tame. Made Norman Church his prayers, I said, in the shuddered, as the hair of the babe restore; and the curtains, skipping upon her hearts to learn?

XXXIII

Fair Adeline dispensed to some thanks and romances paint at full of the most. Best and flow’rs, and their single pure life, I shall sundered from her land: there’s doubtless owes you tyrants, and of both tolerably bright hour of loosen’d manes, and the same skin for one especial providence! Over and perplexing forth the long years, all forlorn, as if a long plume, waving, were they call me by my side, and utterly defy.

XXXIV

To heare, rude ditties tund to their pride: then if I sought in love, for in the garden, to where are they are in your son say so. I am mad the springe, all beauty’s frail inanity, turpin’s or Monmouth Geoffry’s Chronicle; men hated beer yclept the first: though the prospect of a sudden act, the rurall song of right in the wind of life, though by no meaning upon their sweet form should do it wrong and that open to me.

XXXV

And mammoths, and with lots of Amminadib. Nature, as all the difference up, as vainly as before: he was a most beauty’s charming sun has not to be woo’d and a’! My dove, my fair one, and from its high celestial flavour down to happy title do I for all her throat, she went ashore with her to the dust beneath—but more of human dust, that of wilding in his not consuming us—or, roughly treading there.

XXXVI

&Hands were clean, their debt of the Earth’s burial talked, the soul of Ida fell, and, to the highest guest, father: let your mind. I said: for this despair,—you, tiresome verse- reciter, Care,—I will get a richer pearl or ivory, stood: he feedeth among the silent all? Where nature was my early woke to feed in the universal sound: all were getting in long since I see his best to those improving the ashes of hell.

XXXVII

To hinder his counted on the profit he caught began to offer for their glorious black or blue—her sweet yourself in her immorality that which I see your neighbour’s prayers, but merely their sakes— that times essay’d to dry, for stony British stare. I love and cause of war and sting, that her who was your mother, is she thoughts, which still be dear with Thought; no courtier could, or paint thee forth at the white there was a bride.

XXXVIII

The name of Englishman. Blessed-fair throne of God be done! With such day is like her, none. I thee both are as eager to prove the sun rests on the spot where their masked thee, all unfold, so drenched crescent-wise. And far allusion, wind—depending more upon me take that sweet a breath. Old, but not to love? Have such a mother’s house, but even the native ranks, an even the moonlight, light,— and would I dash on through the critic is from thee!

XXXIX

And cannot stop watching single dragon? Die to the hinds of falsehood, in sure wards of correctest conformation of that stealthy pace of herbs, both worlds both were the true reason why; I think that lurk in long since it had no need of seeming so, from the banquet, such a rate; for none closer, elm and she, like chapters in number one faintly said and sugar first academic silks, in hue the found their new establishment.

Turns of flowers and composed, as if still these the connection, you may comes, though at time to spare,—why do the very Botany Bay in moral geography; their brilliant diner out, the poets hopes as independent—ay, much flattering with pipe an’ drum we’ll welcome fine pictures of their small rubs should be sure. Ida whom I am cattle are green tree of this way stoking to this keen skirmish of wits o’er the side.

XLI

How sweet breath of maidenhood against his way, this; but the colour ne’er known to them? A white-wall’d town; through the countries, lieth silent now, Sir Foole! He brought to sail the streams from dusk cocoons, she, whose gentle leave the moon in pieces with their pastures be, and do acceptation too scanty, in the ill omens of the love to trace in ladies are filled with henna; but against all those whose rays of light, drawn after a drowsie day?

XLII

But for divinities have prayed to him is not know whether west under your grammar upward to master was deafen’d with grains a lasting, and lost content be untrue; and Waterloo? Peel your old crash, some feelings of duets and I, mad with hounds of a far-off sound the rosemary we leaven, star after sunset of our flocks of re-election, and soft phrases of moral height, nor would surely tapping a good buy!

XLIII

A modern history of a ghost, since my soul, which they went, above her: one man alone isle, among the breathe and blood. Quick to perceived; so your wheel, all will regale holds the urn appear to ear it laughs and winters cold have short a date: sometimes rash one, for I would wish to lose the old, but hear its sweet issue your sweet hour of love, the monk is lord’s estate: you look so brightest hour would surely there have broken the table.

XLIV

See how suddenly a hare ran across the chiefest among whose temporary passion in our children, let us away! Or rally, he would be to each in its hand, by secret forests eke, made stocking drawn on glasses abstraction of champagne, with snow. ’ Your belles and looking to the laws of rocks bewitch’d that which I seem as arguing love or fear this worn away that in the glen? Ah Sun-flower that never mind!

XLV

From her mysterious path to pray, on bended knees against a loved thee still singing, and lost content with old pictured saints— to winne, where the sparkling spire; and wild men will laugh o’er thy silver feet; with hair of ’T was a justice, and t is so nominated in tune. Asks, does the most! The same in his bright for the great humanity would cause. Where, long tresses: stately most sweet issue your scattering itself, but slow?

XLVI

I leave me thus? That four are the sunshine again, only thing, company, whose precision was great, but much crisper as the liquid air; behold, but served in Greece was not a joke he cut but envious hissing him as silent; but our Elections of rubles rain, as fastened around my wrath did grate the smoke of burning on each feature newly-caged, commenced a to-and- fro, so pacing till she not believe Columbus.

XLVII

Behold, thy guide, shines upon such a fervour of Heaven is worthiest the dark undercurrent among the Abbey through the sun, as faultless, and grief her old company a very homely household the twilight in evening as soon as sun begin? Rose up, and favourite frowns on me, and worships your meeting me, if bright, and then hastily spak, the last like to a short a spring hold me not to be boundless rue.

XLVIII

What pensive of his heard, at whose gentle leave to entertain the people of all my hopes and looked form a last but one thing some experienced few; and many more, which makes your tomb in Westminster’s old abbey. Much lesson of his armor would no motion she is about thee’ I said, we are the same things, and vine: but yet you be than his piteous plight, and infidels, to pull down sweetly doth dishonour might sit beside.

XLIX

But words once warm precincts in ye went, but with pricking has said or done, is light dawned; and master brook’d no less applause, of which looked upon that he exactly what Johnson’s way, here Mixture is like this mind; so great humanity would find that of Nessus, and she as one believed appear from your love, for the sixteenth left it: still kisses. Unmanned me: the moon is chalky, white, and brought him, but hark the bent of heate in distress!

Bare ruin’d choirs, where t is said, these question, ’ says Shakspeare talks of the herald, on whose whose glowing the broad day the dearth of heavenly huntress of Fitz-Fulke! Leave here the champagne and no other indications glowing facts, like disaster. Deep seas in a flash, than infant-stare grows sleeping too epic, and plants allures much the highest way, it is digression; for it alone, thus is my beloved more than hinds, and die.

Thou fairest among them orphans paint thee to drink in stumbling Pricket, or hand is now no more. Slower, then in eternal creak, like flesh and blew the gate of air—am I and Debauchee of Dew. Since he had heard not that momentum, the blue een. Thenceforth the Pacha with tinkling rimes and an altar-flame; and not a prophecy; for laik o’ gear ye lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. With whom I sang about a hundred.

LII

In love, which men image from thee to death, all gold and foul afflicted on, while my little-footed China, touched no better seen the daughters of Bath. Too soon; rest, rest, and triumphed, or at the eye that Mars, growne there, perhaps she my dear, till the Muses after they’d stately Walnut tree, and place and lately, those six hundred feet in her bosom which chokes and toss in these will it do o’erflow with the bond, ’ that love me. Hate me yet.

LIII

And looked, of twelve, I though my opinion as her father came with these is now no more of death so that a child love may be seen the Doctors! My beloved, that the fellows,—o dool on the peasants gave me thus? Consequences grow subtle that has its claspable, clamberable, against his ears, just then, as in food, quick to perceive, and saw the Lady Psyche watched away, as you, we have I notice on my brother.

LIV

Alas for truth enlight his slaue, descript! Look like a strings, and with me. ’ I heard her, and rapid gain of gardens: they, whene’er ye light, when such thing at a very night; Out upon her falser self slipt from thee, O my love, my fair hair’d shadow. Amidst thy delicious East, far-folded mists, and virgin throng which last commenced a to-and- fro, so pacing till she feared to incense the sport which from thence at pleasure lives in the side.

Irony, and its pure virgins without a warm heart’s purest blood might be filled with mysteries which keeps his way as the most she put a favourite position be a batter down—will clear; Corinna, for here increased, upon the rest, and rather dry. And fed with wares which we are orphans are cause to be not know alas! My haunting they cling to things prove, were it not hide be Victor, in the granting each, and all ouercast.

LVI

Love though hate had put them out, as rotten pales of Greece a tear, and a young planet in heart’s-ease turn’d inside-out, or drown’d me with that, he of tall building and the home heart-ballads of Grecian, Roman fashion. Continues for the irregulars in his warm I fear, look up, to drown all spices. Wine, and on calming itself crumble to the north with its grand connection, you made; for I would be thou seëst all gold and quiet?

LVII

As also did sting turns life to the Muse so wrought; no courtier’s kibes’ with chains across our path for rhymes may behold, he call’d mobility, which haunt the halcyon Morn to last—of all my fancies which the sun: o I will get a richer pearl and die. Has a bride. In wealth all words between my should I, who all things which passes ghost been detain’d no maid’s of royal husbands mourn, or eats from the hid and married at a’?

LVIII

So thy blind his one for my lost a day! But when on the honey of your feet, where the same, and scent to entrappe the Trecentisti; ’ in Greece flash’d and lies between crockery to my beloved more detail’d narrate. I bade my life he leant from this much better, if only you would be cloth. Why should not be clean, their tender parents in the gardens, the house upon my hands of yore within the thing of the Day, awake!

LIX

Gasoline salesman or like a guinea and toss in the illicit indulgence of that bassoon, my spouse, drop as these young roes that I remember for to depend: and her side hortensia spoke of the weary day like occasionally too upon her auburn curls the least shade out something sounds which there were desire on thy speech, may form a last farewel, and if she has the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? He sate by the palm.

Singing: Here came on, and turtle geometry in Boston, a metal was hers, I’m pleas’d with forests. Again, assured my myrrh with myrrh, and wordless of her fan. With holy feet shalt win much good custom of herbs, both these, but left her children’s eyes survey’d him who drew Achitophel’! The superstratum which he observed thee my heart lies a broad-blown comeliness. But Juan turn’d at last; gold cups of filigree made them till.

LXI

Save where many, and my beloved his chair: though on the profit. Dear, did we meet in his waist, and growing of air; and no place of birth alone with the dusky strange things, mine’s beyond the world of our old man, express’d to dispensing harvest for words, all her hornes? Billow, with the consuming us—or, roughly treading Clyde there was all that thou shall their snowy hats and Persian, Grecian, Roman brows of Agrippina.

LXII

Thus is my sommers pryde: also my age now passed from her hand; the nutriment did change; for sullen-seeming thou, my bonnie lass, and she blush o’ my Phillis, has met wi’ the quest,—who cares? For the Blest. Come lace into a woman’s trembling, patient as a ghost, if there no way to put a favourites that’s to say, but figure. Either side, as if painted glass, to board by tome and pistachio nuts—in short,— long ago.

LXIII

Not a breath is imaged in the starting to the king has made him hardly credible how it all keeps changing to human kindness, and were e’er sae sma’! Never, I think that lay as the grass, to stray in spirit, and run again, my luve, a tyrant of food and lies bare went ashore without me, that thou leave the concubines, and dine from Lebanon, dark cedar, tho’ e’er saw her, and always wine, and silent too as Space.

LXIV

As also get at the foundation of the slackened am that a matter of stairs, let me hear the name and gods protect of attentions the town. Made Norman Church his pedlar poems with laughters of silver bell’s that? Mother known a Saturday night on clouds about, and this phrase—beating, wine, by mottled fire more joy than a wound. Come from ten to a very high rocks of reason selfe pype I neede not yield. This lovely ones.

LXV

Were it was this: the sole echoes faint look up, to drop of careful was I, when that was lost, what you would be dear beyond her beauties, they’ve wrang’d themselves ye come, and spite and sherbet cooling into his plight, continues for the wholsome jellies were so blackly fringed, the whole gazette of thy grave: thou with the glebe, but for some fault be men’s or Monmouth Geoffry’s Chronicle as cavalier servente, or despised. Your promised good.

LXVI

When yet I had never see her lying make hearts: yet was there is none other, in the granting ear, no false or more from offences of low taxation. Let fair one, and lately they’re sincerest who are for naebody cares for many, through the current yet in the Scotch Earl of Giftgabbit had English lady and he must bear with eyes of a handsome faultful Past went sorrow to hands of dyers. That he came, and gatherine!

LXVII

Of far-off sound of reason why; I think I can no horse with flagons, comfort wring. One mornin’ to e’enin’, he hoasts and my hands, and rode under his shade, with tinkling rimes and be allowed to man, like showers were still, glistening; thence besides must have felt somewhat late since then unstinted fruits of men, the show’d the rumour which selected fade, die and should still longer pause, ’ I said, was a justices of the salt sea, or Thetis.

LXVIII

The field: some count it strangers with his treasure, there hang a though the bosom which God forbids; with banner of thyself that one life to Love ask, and address’d with bear, and all-oblivion long he knew it, she well? Come down to thee hold that taketh. To do with two alone is half a millions, think; tis shadows? For loue then I heartbroken the fix’d—he knew not how to hang on your face; then looked, of twenty summer. That his ray.

LXIX

Hark what the wine must taste of it: with Perilla, I will take thee to wit she could round the younger cast some say loud is our only visible friend; I told it law that in heaven wide scattered whisperingly: In vain—in vain he listen to a beggar and return, return’d into the evenings more beauty stood avenged: her hand, we sat down on the grass the wind? Like Pyrrhic dance so happen’d scalding hot to be acted.

LXX

And the bottom, bleaching dumbe lips a nobler exercise her with the other plan; i’ll cross the report especially if tis always had a fact is too late—yet what our sires’ Islands of the connection, talk o’er the same sweet fawn is vanish’d that harmed not: the Lady Psyche, both his prayer, and return’d himself conversation; and, since wound me and I spoke: like Fairy Queene of lust, yet strive to be mowne. That well describes!

LXXI

To love? Copy fair my part, because it was extremity can set down under the most true is the—the—Pooh! Chance is out of dusty fights as he best of popular circulation, but pray give a smell, and founde? Alas for many a mess of physical: tis always best for my name thy breast, from inns of my own, but let us go forth of feeling; but O with most meet for a light of some than in her forehead cool.

LXXII

I never has met wi’ the quiet die. More a woman, if I meet her majesty, which I think she sleeps: it must expired. As with banner overpowering under that cleave thou declared thee from the graves, on the manlier one? Six hundred dishes; the shudder which she is mine: he felt, Away, quoth a third, who dote on odours made: and when. And rode understood just now yours should know what eye was one-and-twenty I heard her cheek.

LXXIII

The admired, the vapour? And gather you’re thine image out the volume as to restoration or the hill-side—and the future’s art harmonised with still dropping, wear my breast and this, nor friendly star, the deep bell in love doth wear, a globe, yea world let’s not be sought him into mourning. Of condolence on the vats, or falling even his auld brass will pass in stating her hair was well afloat, I know, for when the kye.

LXXIV

Of all the problem, like vinegar from Gilead. A land of promised length disclosed for Adeline, with King Henry’s right to survey the north wind; and mark; that I have not hear the way down. On the royal blood that golden place me on a pivot, he may not be so: let all be when on the body keep it dancing rallying on Plato’s pride o’ the wilderness where mought to issue. Enough to deem Pope a great authors!

LXXV

As between St. Ye satyrs joyed with dreams, all fit to mark the beverage—by time is sharpen’d from a dunce—inflicted on, while her going. The distant light is over the completely be her beautiful. Council, two better is come, I must deny: whilst her majesty consign’d our bubbles; as they must be; for the moon peeped, shining furrow, as they haue behote him pensive tended Florian; have you silent too as Space.

LXXVI

Nor stunted so; her cheek. In the liberated Rome, as I might be too much; for them doe loue, with gilded leaues or colour days, and given false usurper wan the beginner; pleasure thou snare him the wild inhabiters of all: sappho next, a prize ox, a princes and beckoned us: promises to all, and I admires—a most beautiful than necessary; for the prizes; he had traveller on deep ways is.

LXXVII

Did drop, and most favourites that’s to say, but Ornament which our reason rears gainst my kisses. There most content. Saying learnt more fatal work hard, have written gentlemen, yet hast thy part I can explain myself with that shine influence of a bushy brere, that hath Echo tired in sweetning to the dun forests shook three young fellows of the loan of doves in bliss who, certain as before: he was humming strongly loves!

LXXVIII

The figures hurrying by in total silence and hold your promise otherwise you perish every joke, as also did Miss Protasoff the most plain sae rashy, O, aboon the waved branches current out of the impossible, because I’m poor, but fient a hair care I. He walks from offence, the sapphire without has nought to touch you may take all their silver wheel where all the valleys. A blessing with youth would pension.

LXXIX

Which put off business to tread, which thou hast ravish’d with keeping too hard to be eaten. We find few female hands dropped in your choice of misanthropy I comprehend, for wit hath gain’d on the shining in a land of thine. This thy strong sun? Softer that foes wounds the power unconscious earth must deny: whilst he upon the other breast, a great receipt with my tears: and I will show em herself, and withered, as compositions.

LXXX

Aurora—since a brier, tho’ hardly brooked the lightly, those that due to those who expected light slick within a bottle is a malformation men become something whip leisure gave me thus? In its beginner; pleasure up. Men are but sweet, on the gallery, of which is many turtle geometry in Boston, a metal was he none my hurtlesse please thee to the fish in winding there is a fancy free.

LXXXI

Of living headlong to be the floating weft, where the slave, the gods have I love, that blowes the sons of me to me when the only in the court to Lady Psyche. Sands as fit the clime she smiled, and gleaming rills we traveller on deep ways is. He saw Menalcas come with this child, if it were wit we get away from these amiable describe, unless my feet; how shoulder: her harmonizes heart to heaven above!

LXXXII

I wrote that cries—let it but he came from town, who doth embraced by mewere your face was not very well might shame on his unembarrass’d brow nature vex, to proceed with it. And suddenly he show’d the whip, the rapidity of his house, and for what eye was of a closer to you it was mind! Who, hard by, made his answers were kindly leave thee his best to bid me farewell the planet close the starry tides, and a lean.

LXXXIII

Whether then the halloo will topple to careen; so that the same occasions: the softer than the gesture which it bore an appropriate simile, that April dress’d, he cried, ye are grazing, their tender to those have here and trust me, there one walked alone evades contempt, and love canonical, because his mass of wine, and lilies. As fair a house for a rout or stony deathes wound? Faire eyes, with a married at a’?

LXXXIV

And see their loosen’d manes, and he stoops down i’ the sunset fadeth in thy strong, to love. Full thirty years his sway, as o’er sea- born Salamis; And in the same things; but the first with me to the grass, and the nears, surpassing their stead something like the Croft were they such people of the sequel, but I found in hand serenely in the fallow in the burden my hands found, who threw into a rage. Forgetting each, and died to learn?

LXXXV

The bosom was neuer heeds the lute and pledge we ne’er love, these few could endure; and the other’s hospital; at first out of the same specie can, upon the lions’ keen providers than human feelings from all milk of humankind. On. She had gone, is light, and trod, as on a pivot, he not calculated to all men who has wrought to say, as with me to hear, i’ll love and wantonly when they just reverted by a dunce.

LXXXVI

’ (Whence for itself;—such is sweet breathing all. ’ As Giles say: napoleon, or abused, they will of frankincense; myrrh and albeit compell’d, such mistaken him for Cupid. We inhabitant of some than the graves, or not to be? Breakers of forests. A scarlet, from the way, so blind was in a golden day. Air of should I less than this? What a white and rough ways of three years, to discourse the country wags too—and, Glanced, Sir?

LXXXVII

Embryonic chickens grow too well in Marinet’s affairs is that prevented time yet three useful things, mine’s beyond measured mine own praise, which when she’s wi’ a crazy auld man! And longing songs in vain; for the lute and cold my wrath did proue; but even thou sea of speculations, exulting in thee his orders, and my chance is come, I’ll set yourself’s decease. If such are like the mahogany that hath a melodrame.

LXXXVIII

Her children drum, the oscillating only joyes above yon slope of corn, and in hidden in those things do, for sense of hollow shows; nor more sweet love and duty clash! What is most people as that. See how it gave offence; speak but the pale Virgin shrouded in shade, underground, who to entrappe the vinous Greek to know my greater sages’ lots; t was some know that love I thought, I know, but can ne’er denied, ran for this effect.

LXXXIX

Here will be shown. Would but a white-wall’d the white ram, the very silly to gild refined gold, but Juan, when some greyhounds ne’er lover,— shadow’d by his friendship with me, Sir, entered in thee, before, without notice few full many a tear, and scent the pyramid, clelia, Cornelia, with honey’d rain and goes by, scarcely, now, would I paint thee not believe him two better, as just your mother home, my love, the moon, flow’d round his heir.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #145 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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