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oceansblvds · 3 months ago

Text

tunnel vision ; coriolanus snow

MASTERLIST

pairing ; king!coriolanus snow x debutante!reader

words ; 2.9k

about ; in the glittering world of panem high society, you were raised to be perfect — the prized daughter of a powerful family. your family was prepared to make the match of the season. but when king coriolanus snow arrives unexpectedly, announcing his intention to marry, everything changes.

warning(s) ; eventual smut, angst, courting (bridgerton style), eventual fluff. chapter specifics: talk of marriage. snow being lowkey a stalker.

authors note ; please feel free to request fics or headcanons or blurbs! i hope u enjoy :) this is the first part of a series.

You couldn’t remember the last time that your mother didn’t talk to you about the prospect of marrying a wealthy man.

Your family, a powerful family who had multiple different monopolies on the factories in District One, knew that the moment they had a girl they would have to secure the perfect match of the season for her the moment she came of age. Your mother was the cousin of a prince and your father was the first born son of the late viscount, money and station was never anything that you had to worry about. When you were little, you were sure that you would find someone for a love match, something that only happened about one in a hundred times in a courting situation. You dreamed about a wealthy, beautiful man sweeping you off your feet and taking you away to have a beautiful life and marriage.

But for someone like you, born into the family that you were, something deep down in you knew that you wouldn’t have much of a choice on who you were to marry. You knew that your father would want to marry you to the best man who would keep you secure, someone who wouldn’t gamble all of his money away or incite scandal. And although there were many men who asked for your hand over the years, he still insisted that he hadn’t found the right one for you yet.

All of these suitors are mere boys. They don’t know power. They don’t know prestige. He would say to you as your mother held your hand just a little bit tighter when they broke the news that you would still be single for the time being.

It was a new courting season in the Capital. The lush greenery of the beautiful city was at its peak, the summer air flowing through the windows of your rooms as you got ready to go with your family to the first event of the season — a luncheon hosted by a wealthy duke and his mother to start the season on a new foot.

Your maid fastned the final clasp of your gown, a soft lilac shade with white lace — something subtle, but showed the elegance that you prided yourself with. You couldn’t help but stare at your reflection for a second too long, convincing yourself that it wasn’t nerves, it wasn’t excitement, it was something else that was harder to name. Like you were bracing yourself for the day to come. You would be on display for everyone to see, measured for your worth, whispered about in the sidelines of the luncheon. Your mother stood behind you, dressed in pale blue silks that accented her poised skin. She gently touched your shoulders, making eye contact with you in the mirror, subtly adjusting the necklace that braced your skin.

“Remember to smile,” She spoke, as if she hadn’t said those same exact words since you were old enough to remember. All you did was nod, deciding not to reply. You knew better than to speak when her tone turned into quiet warnings disguised as advice. You knew that she meant best, truly, but it was hard to deal with sometimes because of her meddling.

The carriage ride to the estate was long enough for your father to go over the guest list at least twice, which sons of merchants were attending, which distant relatives of the royal house would be present, and of course, which unmarried dukes and barons would be attending. But one name came with a pause. You heard the smallest hitch in your father’s voice, something you hadn’t ever heard before.

“The King may make an appearance.”

Your eyes flicked over to him from the horizon. “The King? At a duke's luncheon?”

Your mother interjected. “It’s a new tradition. He wishes to be seen among the people. Or at least that is what Lady Elinor said to me yesterday at tea.”

Your father, on the other hand, didn’t look convinced by this explanation. “He doesn’t do anything without reason.”

You had never met him, only ever seen him from afar, in newsreels, in portraits hung in the Capital buildings. He was a younger king, his father running up multitudes of debt that was unbecoming of the crown, and suddenly the man fell ill and the new King was put in place to be his heir. He was beautiful in a way that was almost cruel. His eyes always looked calculating, too still. Like he was always watching, always calculating. Clean-shaven, sharp-jawed, impossibly pristine King Coriolanus. He didn’t invite admiration, he demanded it.

You had overheard stories about his private life over the years, although you were never one to count on gossip as much as your mother did. Stories whispered behind lace fans and velvet curtains, how women had tried to charm him over the years. None had succeeded. Some said he had no heart to give, that his heart was only with Panem. Others claimed that he was waiting for someone worthy. You once heard a woman, older and bitter, say that to be chosen by him was like being devoured by fire. He didn’t fall in love; he consumed.

No one had expected him to attend a luncheon like this. This was the type of affair that was meant for gossip, flirting, for families to arrange early betrothals. Kings didn’t typically waste their time with debutantes. Kings didn’t listen to the chatter of eager mama’s trying to put their daughter on a pedestal. And Kings certainly did not need father’s chattering in his ear about how huge their daughters dowry was.

Your eyes scanned the field as you entered with your family, your mother grasping at your arm to start walking around the crowd. There were many different families here, all rich, all powerful, all seemed to have heard about who may be attending considering how many young ladies were glancing over and over at the entrance like the King would magically appear.

It started with a silence, something unnatural. Like the air had been sucked right out from the sky. The quartet who played in the corner faltered for a tiny beat, making a few heads turn. And then more heads turned. And then everyone knew.

He had arrived.

King Coriolanus Snow entered not with a proclamation or with any type of escort. He moved like he belonged to every inch of the space, like the world and all of its matter were merely rearranging itself around him. The duke, who had been standing very tall only moments ago, seemed to shrink as he walked up to the King, introducing him to the luncheon and thanking him for his presence. The duchess curtseyed so deeply that you thought her knees might give out and break.

Your breath caught.

He was taller than you remembered. And there was something unnatural about the way he carried himself, too precise and too controlled. His spine was impossibly straight, like he came out that way from birth, his shoulders squared and his pace slow, deliberate. Regal. And incredibly dangerous. His suit was crisp and dark, not the gleaming white that he had worn in times past. This was something quieter, like he wasn’t trying to make as much of a statement with his attire. Trying to make himself seem more . . . human. The lines were severe and angular, every thread screamed power and wealth. On his collar that covered his pale skin was a single pin: a silver snake coiled tightly around itself, head raised, fangs bared. His hair was a pale, silvery blonde, like the gleam of a golden rose your family grew in your garden. Soft curls fell onto his forehead, which could be misconstrued as messy, but it was just the right amount of messy that still showed how young and fair he was.

And those eyes.

Those eyes.

They were pale blue, nearly gray, so washed out that they looked like the winter sky. They moved slowly and steadily. A predator that didn’t need to rush. He didn’t smile, not even when the duke stumbled over his words in a rushed greeting, not even when the crowd parted to let him farther into the field.

And then those eyes settled on you.

The air in your lungs stilled. Time seemed to fracture and break. Your first instinct was to look away, while the rest of you screamed at you not to look away. He would notice if you did. He would notice if your heart decided to skip a beat despite it being nestled in the crevice of your ribs underneath your bodice. His gaze wasn’t flirtatious or curious. It wasn’t even particularly interested. It was aware.

He hadn’t said a word.

And yet somehow you felt you had already answered a question he hadn’t even spoken.

The luncheon moved on around you, the tension dissipating. But you were no longer part of it. You danced once, with a son of a wealthy arms manufacturer. He was talking about something in his summer house, and you couldn’t recall a single word of the conversation. You smiled when the duchess passed your table and greeted your mother, an old family friend. You complimented a girl’s gloves even though they were particularly hideous. It was all instinct. Automatic.

You were keenly aware, every moment, that he had not looked at you again.

Perhaps it was a fluke. Something he hadn’t planned on doing. Or perhaps he hadn’t been looking at you at all. Perhaps you made it up.

By the time dessert was served, you felt the walls closing in.

“I need some air,” You whispered to your mother, who was too deep in conversation with your father to notice anything, nodding absently and waving you off. You slipped away from the crowd, past the marble columns and into the shade of the private gardens. The moment the gates closed behind you, it was like the whole magic spell broke. You could finally breathe.

The summer air outside was warm and damp, heavy with the scent of roses and lilies. The pale stone pathways of the vast, lush gardens were long and winding. Everything was curated to perfection, like something out of a painting.

Finally, quiet.

You drifted through the paths without much thought, your gloved fingers brushing the blossoms as you walked. You didn’t know what you were looking for. If you were looking for anything at all.

It wasn’t until you turned the corner near the greenhouse, ivy crawling along the windowed walls that you saw him.

King Snow stood beneath a stone arch laced with creeping vines, his hand clasped loosely behind his back. He was alone. He wasn’t looking at you, he was gazing up toward something you couldn’t see. The pale sunlight that was beginning to set filtered through the edges of his hair like a crown.

You should have turned around, left him alone.

But you didn’t.

As if sensing you before you made a sound, he finally looked your way, and his eyes found yours again. Unhurried.

He took a single step forward.

“You’re not fond of crowds,” He said. Like it was a fact. Like he already had you and your entire life memorized in detail. “Neither am I.”

You didn’t answer at first.

His voice was richer than you expected. Smooth, but cool at the edges. Like everything he said had been weight before it ever left his lips. You were sure it had. The tone wrapped around you like velvet. It had weight. You had heard it before, on screens, announcing tributes, making speeches and declarations. But never like this.

Never directed at you.

And you were alone with him.

The realization struck like ice in your veins. Your pulse skipped, then quickened. You weren’t ever supposed to be alone with a man, no matter the station that they hold. Not like this. Not without a chaperone. If anyone was to see you with him alone, they would think that he invited you here, that he seduced you or whatever the women of the ton loved to talk about. This was the stuff that your mother whispered about with her friends, the things that were written about in scandal sheets. You had half a mind to walk away, though the fact that he was the King and you knew better than to dismiss him made things messy.

“I —” You cleared your throat, then dipped into the kind of perfectly measured curtsy that your mother had drilled into your mind and body since you could walk. “Your Majesty.”

His head tilted slightly, as if he was studying you. If it was anyone else, you would think that it was rude. But you couldn’t help the way that you felt like you were like a piece of jewelry under the eye of an appraiser. A flicker of interest, attention. Authority.

“You didn’t answer my observation,” He said plainly.

Your mouth opened and then closed. He was too close for comfort, and yet far enough that you taking a step back would make him notice. You forced a polite smile. “I enjoy them well enough, Your Majesty,” You said carefully. “Though I suppose taking a moment to breathe is someone everyone has to do from time to time.”

He nodded, like your answer pleased him.

“Most people lie to me,” He said.

You blinked.

He took a step closer. “It’s not a complaint. It’s something I’ve grown used to. I find honesty . . . refreshing. Especially from someone like you.”

Someone like you. What did you mean? You wanted to ask, but your tongue felt heavy against the roof of your mouth. Your heartbeat fled to your ears, almost drowning out the extra noise of the gardens from your mind completely.

“I should return inside,” You said. “My mother will be —”

“She won’t come looking for you,” He interrupted gently. “Not just yet.”

You froze.

It didn’t feel menacing, the way that he said it. It was oddly . . . calm. Normal. Like two friends holding a conversation. The way that someone might speak when they’ve already decided how the conversation would end. Did he spend his days like that? Already knowing how everything would end? It must be awfully tiring.

He went on. “You’re very poised.” He blinked. “Trained. You answer well. You look people in the eye.”

The King took another step forward. You could smell his cologne, something clean and sharp. You lifted your chin, just barely. “How do you know who I am?” You asked, your voice came out steadier than you expected.

His expression didn’t change. “I know everyone worth knowing.” He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. It wasn’t flattery or a compliment. It was like a statement of fact. Cold and inevitable. “Your family holds nearly half the manufacturing power in District One. Your father sits on four advisory boards. Your mother's cousin to a prince with an unfortunate gambling habit.”

You flinched at that, just slightly. His eyes flicked to catch it.

“And you,” He said, lingering. “Are your family’s only daughter. Presented late. With purpose. Polished and perfect.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” You replied, before you could stop the question from coming from your lips. “There are a dozen girls at this luncheon, ones that are older than me, ones that are younger than me. There are ones there who are more wealthy and have better titles. You said you like honest people, so answer honest. Why me?”

A breath passed between the two of you.

And then, for the first time in your life, you saw him smile.

It wasn’t warm, it wasn’t cruel. It was something worse — genuine amusement.

“You look at people the way I used to,” He said. “With curiosity. Not greed. You’re measuring the weight of the world and wondering when one person starts and when the other begins. You wonder how much of the world you’re allowed to carry before someone tells you to stop.”

Your mouth had grown dry.

“I saw your name on the guest list days ago,” He added. “I knew who your father was. I remembered your mother. But I didn’t know you. Not until you walked into that field and looked like you belonged everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Silence.

Coriolanus’ head tilted slightly.

“Now tell me, darling girl,” He murmured. “Is that answer honest enough for you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Not at first.

The garden had grown incredibly small, like the hedges had grown taller and the weeds were growing up the legs under your gown. Like the vines were listening to every word he spoke just the way that you were. It was agonizing, really. He had peeled you and your character open in less than three sentences. You couldn’t decide if it was cruel or something he couldn’t help but do.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” You said softly.

He smiled again. Just a tiny sliver. Something that said not yet.

“I’d like your company. Privately. Over dinner.”

He didn’t ask if you would like to come.

He simply expected you would.

#coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x you #the hunger games fanfiction #tbosas #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus fic

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hirschkuh-traumvoll · 4 months ago

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-- ★ - 𝙼𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 - ★ --

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚊𝚠

the plot is: you're fascinated with the new guest in your father's coaching inn where you two live. can this stranger with sharp teeth and gleaming eyes help you to become free of this stuffy place?

part one, part two, part three, part four

words ≈ 7.1k

warnings: mention of murdering, reader has problems with her dad, no smut in this chapter but it'll be; this one isn't heavy but i can't guarantee the same with the next chapters

a/n: i suddenly started to write a cowboy!alastor thing (who isn't an actual cowboy here, but the clothes and landscapes are western so... ) and then i became extremely wordy in the process

ミ˙˚☆˙. ⋆ ☼ ⋆ .˙☆˚˙彡

The dark blue edges of the sky, fringed with cirrus clouds on the horizon just above the very tops of the yellow hills, flowed into a lighter shade of blue until they dissolved in the bright light of the high midday sun, and it seemed as if the whole world was concentrated in and under this white blinding point; you felt small as if in the centre of the universe and yet caged, surrounded by the endless fields of sand and hills.

The cool wind blowing from the East brought enough freshness to not get hot under the rays of the midday sun. The gusts of the wind lazily tousled your locks loosened from your hairstyle, the blowing seemed to want to turn the thin pages of the book you were reading, as if striving to know what the characters would do next; but you still hadn't finished the page.

Suddenly the echo brought the sound of the thud of hooves against the sand. You looked up, discerning a little spot of a rider galloping to the coaching inn run by your father, Mr. Vide. There was nothing unusual about travellers taking rest in this establishment, but something made your eyes chain to this rider. Maybe this day felt too leisurely with that bright sun and cool wind. It was such good weather for just sitting on a bench near the inn, reading a novel, but it was also good to just stare at the horizon, waiting for something unknown to happen.

The rider was coming closer, and you decided to go back to your book; you would examine the guest as soon as he arrived. But your eyes left the black lines and returned to the man as you heard the slow clatter — the rider was in front of you and had just stopped. He was too fast, you thought.

On a high black stallion sat a man around thirty-forty years old. His face was hidden in the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat, but his piercing eyes shone bright red at you with intensity that made you swallow. He moved the red bandana down his face, showing his lip-closed and wide smile at you. He had tanned skin, his face was sharp but handsome, his dark reddish hair tied with a velvet ribbon were visible from under his hat. His outfit was rather common for a man in the West but there was something very eccentric: deer antlers by two sides of his stetson hat, obvious preference to the dark red colour in his clothes, the embroidered pattern on his leather boots drew out some foreign symbols. And although he looked like a man bringing danger to the place he had only one gun in the holster, fastned to his wide belt.

His gaze was fixed to your face, but you felt being observed from head to foot, from your little straw hat, down to your chest tightly wrapped in satin and lower to your pinstripe skirt, from under which the pointed toes of your shoes were visible. He beheld you with the expression verge on hunger and this strangely salivated your own palate.

Suddenly you quivered, remembering the recent prohibition of your father to not talk to new guests until he spoke to them, and if you continue to stare at the man in front of you this way, there will be no option but to break the father's rule. You stood up from the bench, nodded to the cowboy and entered the inn.

After the bright sun you felt blind in the dim lit room, so you stopped, letting your eyes become accustomed to the poor lighting. There were not many residents at the inn, so it was quite peaceful inside. You heard only quiet curses of two old men playing cards in the corner, the scratch of a fork against a plate from the bar, a quiet dialogue of other inhabitants. Quietly, calmy, cosy. But something told you it wouldn't last long. Trying to find your father with still blinded eyes you didn't notice that the door behind you didn't slam. A hand in a black glove held it. You made a few steps forward and saw your father leaving the kitchen, but before you could call him you fell silent, feeling cold creeping up your spine. A long black shadow crept forward the floor, slowly swallowing your own silhouette until you felt how his shadow covered your whole frame, completely hiding you from the sun. And now everyone in the room fell silent and turned to you. He stood behind you, towering over you and inspecting every single man in the quarter.

Your breath escaped your lips in short exhales.

Suddenly the tramp of your father's boots sounded all around the house, as he approached you, exclaiming,

“The hell you've forgotten here? There’s no place for a killer! Get out!” He spat out.

You heard rustle of clothes behind you and than a low, soft voice,

“Precisely because I am the killer you're better not to contradict me. After all,“ A step forward echoed behind you, “a murdering isn't the only sin of mine. And if I want to stay, you will let me do this.”

Chills ran down your spine, palms clutched the fabric of your dress to avoid shaking. Not his words frightened you, you barely listened to the conversation and scarcely you could feel the fear, but just something about that guest made you feel it. Thrill. Like on the edge of an abyss.

You quickly stepped aside, facing the stranger and leaving his shadow, immediately your tremor left you. His eyes flashed at you as if he had been waiting for only this — to meet your gaze. His teeth bared in a grin.

“I'll show you the room.”

You could hardly remember the topic of their conversation, you only felt how angry your father and how cocksure the stranger were, but if he was here, in the inn, what else could he talk about but staying here?

You headed for the bartender to take a key hanging on the wall but heard your father,

“What? You won't show him anyth-!” He stopped short as the man made a step to him. Red eyes now peered into the old man, leaving your frame for the first time since he stepped inside.

You came up to them, and the stranger's eyes returned to you again.

“Come, sir.”

“Just Alastor.” He smiled.

You hesitated for a second, preparing to taste his name,

“Follow me, Alastor.”

Bitter. His name was bitter and savoury.

Father didn't say a word as Alastor followed you upstairs. You'd never seen your father acting that way towards a guest. He was kind to everyone, knowing and understanding how long their way was through the merciless desert where your little inn was situated. He was kind no matter how old or young the guests were, were they women or men, travelled alone by themselves or in a group. But what was now? As if recollecting a part from a dream you suddenly remembered a single word. Killer.

You glanced back at Alastor, and as always he immediately met your look. His eyes didn't flash now, at least not so brightly, but they were still inhuman-like. The same were his teeth, slightly yellowish and sharp as fangs. It should scare you. And the way Father called him a killer should scare you, too. But were you scared?

You inserted the key in a keyhole. Turned it to the left. The door clicked.

No, you were not scared. Not a bit. More like you were driven to him. Perhaps that was the reason you chose this room for him — the one next to yours.

“Here.”

You opened the door, but Alastor didn't enter. He stood in front of you, placing one hand on his belt.

“You can stay here as long as you want, just pay for each day. The meals are served downstairs and on the first day of staying here they’re free, but then you will pay for them, the price is just nominal, you don't have to worry about it. We also take care of your horse, and if you need to wash your clothes, just let me know, you can always find me at the bar or there,” You pointed at the next door, “In my room.”

Slightly chewing on his lip, after he observed the door you pointed at, his eyes slid back to you.

“Thank you, cher. Care to tell me your name?” He slightly tilted his head.

You introduced yourself, and now it was his turn to taste your name for the first time. Shivers ran down your arms when your name slowly rolled down from his tongue.

“It suits you well, cher.”

*ミ ☼ 彡*

There was a certain gleam in your eyes which attracted Alastor when he laid his eyes on you for the first time. That dark gleam was a great contrast to the shining of your skin illuminated with the white sun. And he knew the cause of that spark. The sins always reflect on a human's face, and even when we try to depress them, their lustre breaks out from our eyes, giving our look something dark, based. And he saw it in your very eyes. That dispirited desire dying to be realised.

Such a look always lured Alastor. It wasn't uncommon for him to take the best souls from people with such eyes. Their souls, thanks to that depressed deep down instinct, were so lovely heated, but as soon as he gave them a tiny taste of their longing, they suddenly bloomed as roses, rich and lush, and there was no better feast for him than such souls, like yours.

But the more time he spent in this house, the more he doubted he wanted to consume you. No, he still licked his lips, watching you, still deeply inhaled the air when you passed him by, but he put aside the thoughts of consuming you literally. Your eyes never left his figure and face, just as his eyes did. And he slowly came to understand what you craved for.

Your look was cool, as if you knew that people, or at least him, could read through your cornea down to your soul, so you tried to chill down the desire. But still your dark-with-the-want eyes roamed over him when you thought he didn't know, and it ignited something within him, a blent of fear and desire. Fear because he'd never felt such hungry eyes on him; desire because he liked it.

Important to mention, he knew it wasn't carnal desire in your gaze, he knew such looks and it wasn't the case now. It seemed like you somehow felt that he, Alastor, had powers to give you what you longed for. And watching how your father treated you, reading the names of novels you read, just paying attention to your walk or roll of your eyes, Alastor could conjecture that you lacked being yourself. Everyone around you seemed to know better what you need, how you need, why you need. And even the location was a trap for you: a coaching inn, where people don't stay longer than a week or two, which is located in the middle of sandy and hot nowhere; you were stuck with no friends, just with your old father. A young lady would feel herself intolerably lonely, and you did. You were a rebel by your nature but had to even step quietly, you had a walk and gestures of a tempress but was stuck in a corset and modest dress, you had eyes of a hunter and mouth of a predator but hid your features under the long lashes of a lamb. You were extremely restrained, and it wasn't even obvious if people around you knew that. Perhaps, they held you for an obedient doll by your nature (you were such a good pretender) but that only boiled the anger within you more — to be held by a person you never was.

And Alastor, uncharacteristically for him, began to sympathise with you. He understood you, felt you, saw you. He wanted to let this spark within you turn into a fire. And he even wanted this fire to consume the repressers.

That is how from a habitual desire to eat a soul, Alastor gradually grew to want to release it.

But the usual need to keep a soul as his was still strong. He wanted to make you free as much as he wanted to keep you just for himself.

*ミ ☼ 彡*

Last evening two groups of young travellers arrived. One of them seemed rather native while the other one obviously came from the other side of the globe. How they ended up in a hole like this was a mystery for you, but also not of your business, you only worried how to serve everyone their dish in time and to their taste. The men brought bustle to the house so used to peace and silence. Their talk was loud and rude, their demeanor was unfamiliar to you and scandalous, and it concerned not only the foreigners. The men in all their glory demonstrated how callous they became due to the journey, how hungry they became for a body. You did nothing more than the position of the daughter of the host demanded: you served the table d'hote, you brought the dishes to the kitchen to be washed, and you hid from every guest in your room to not face any trouble your imagination vividly drew to you.

It had been a week since Alastor arrived at the inn, and a week since you became fascinated with the man your father called no less than an outlaw. And last evening you heard even more gossip. New guests, as soon as one of the stayed-too-long residents narrated them who lived under this roof, told even more stories about the Smiling Demon. The soul collector, ripper, murderer, black sorcerer. The servant of Death itself. Well, if anybody in that house thought that those words could make you stay away from the foregoing man, they were absolutely wrong. You were magneted to the man even more, and every scary tale about him only ignited fascination.

Everybody told how potent he was. Could he help anyone if they need it desperately, because you had no doubts about his power? People told about his fearlessness. Could he share it with you, to teach you this? It was uncommon knowledge he was cold blooded and heartless. But some of the gossip must be just a fairytale, right?

You’d served all the plates and finally deserved a little rest for yourself. Just a cup of coffee, it was everything you longed for, when something, or rather someone, caught your attention. The dark brown eyes — just slightly gleaming with crimson under the shadow of his Stetson — called to you to bring your attention to him. Not much to ask, for sure. You made just one sip from your cup and put it aside, answering his smile with a nod and began to brew another portion of coffee. For the week he had passed here, you already learnt his preference and habits, and you knew that just as at dinner he liked to sip a glass of clean whisky, his breakfast was hard to imagine without a cup of black coffee.

“You don't have to do this.” You heard Father's voice from the counter behind your back. You added coffee in the ibrik and soon the bitter velvety scent reached your nose.

“But I wanna do this, Father.” You slowly stirred the drink. You felt more than one pair of eyes staring at your back. Although Alastor was sitting in the other corner of the room you were sure that somehow he could hear you; he always did. But the following words you said only because they were true, “I want to make him coffee, and I want to make him breakfast.” Taking the ibrik by the handle you turned around and filled a china cup. Without looking up you felt your father's look angrier than ever.

“Just like for any other guest.” You added, meeting his glare.

You didn't take your eyes from Father, you knew he would consider it as your defeat. You took a cup in your hand and left the counter, only then your Father switched his look to something else, and you, straightening your posture, headed for Alastor.

The cup tapped against the table, a whispered “Thank you, cher” brushed your ear as you bent yourself and remained like this for longer than it was needed.

Alastor's eyes followed down from your profile, to your neck and waist, and even when he returned his gaze to your face you were still bending over him, with your hands fastly holding the cup and your head turned to a man sitting on the other edge of his table. Alastor didn't mind your closeness, but this scent on your exposed neck — the smell of your skin and sand — made him clench his fist. Why didn't you walk away? Were you tempting him? You were a fool if it was your goal, so he brought himself closer to you,

“Is somethin’ wrong, cher?” He said in low right into your ear.

A wave of goosebumps ran all over your body and you stood straight immediately. Right away Alastor understood what kept you so long in that pose. Your widened eyes quickly left Alastor and you brought your frown to the other man,

“Mr. Serpent-”

“I'm Sssir Pentious!”

“Mr. Serpentious, you're not allowed to use such things against any of the inhabitants. I assure you to put it away, now. And not to let it show until you leave our inn.”

The man looked grumpy at you — nobody could remember his name in this place! — but a golden revolver shacked unsurely in his hand and soon was hidden in his inner pocket.

“I apologize, Miss Vide. It won't happen again.”

Your glare penetrated him for a minute more, just as your father did with you earlier. When you became sure that Mr. Sirpentious hid his red face under the brims of his top hat because he was indeed ashamed and not to cast evil glances at his arch enemy secretly from you, you said,

“I do hope so.”

It was enough to make him leave the seat and disappear upstairs.

Alastor looked at you: shoulders straightened as always when you choose one's or other's side (or yourself) for protection. Your gaze was fixed to the stairs. You reminded him of a dog, firstly barking at a stranger and then waiting until their silhouette would disappear from the horizon, because only that meant their owner was safe.

“There's no need trying to protect me, cher. I'm absolutely capable of doing that myself. That fellow aims his gun at me at least four times per day, but I still don't even know his name! Everyone hates me, cher, don't try to-”

“I didn't protect you.” You glanced at him, “You all live under the roof of our house and you all use our hospitality, so you all have to follow our rules.”

“I see.”

You finally turned to him, and he brought the cup closer to his face. His lips almost touched the porcelain, when he suddenly stated,

“But next time, my dear, don't stare at a gun. I don’t want a bullet to find its billet in you.”

“I better stick to my guns.”

You noticed a little reddish stain on the brim of the cup, but something held you from pointing at it. Alastor's lips fell on the red trace and he made the first swallow. You swallowed too. He frowned and brought the cup away, looking at the dark liquid, and you hastened to withdraw,

“Bon appétit.” You wished.

It almost sounded like sarcasm.

*ミ ☼ 彡*

“Sugar!”

You nearly dropped your book, hearing an exclaim. Looking to the left you saw Alastor. He had no coat, his open at the neck shirt was tucked in his loose dark jeans, his revolver as always was fastened to his wide belt with a bronze buckle with the image of a deer, the leather vest was undid, red silk scarf embraced his neck in a thin line like a slit. Alastor sat next to you, resting his arm on the back of the bench behind you. Though his arm didn't touch you, such closeness was pretty sensible and you straightened yourself. You tried to comprehend two things at once: the warmth of him literally surrounding you and the way the word he said sounded as pleasurable as ‘cher’ he took a habit to address you with. But that one word felt more playful. But he wouldn't address you like that, would he? It would be to informal even for him, he must had pointed at your mistake that morning, but this mischievous smile was too bright to take it for a judgment, but you couldn't take it as a-

You closed your book, stopping short the storm of your thoughts, and looked into his eyes,

“I'm sorry. I accidentally confused our cups and realised that only when I was drinking the other cup and it was too bitter.” You started, considering the confession (half of the true) was the best counter-attack .

“But you didn't change them later, did you?” He noticed immediately as if he never expected a different answer from you.

“You looked like you were enjoying your drink.” You rolled your eyes, shifting the blame on him.

Alastor raised his eyebrows, but his smile grew wider. What a strange smile he had, fanged and golden.

“I assure you, cher, it was the most abominable coffee in my life. Not only was it saccharine to the toothache, but it was also cold.”

“I assume that you don't like sweet things?”

“I hate them, my dear.”

“Well, and I hate bitterness.”

Now he looked astonished.

“But you never minded to take a sip of whiskey with me?”

“Just as you didn't mind to drain my cup of coffee to the dregs.”

He didn't mind indeed. With the first sip he knew whose lips had touched that porcelain earlier and even with a gun pointing at his forehead he wouldn’t let go of that cup. Now Alastor swallowed. The feeling of doing something outrageous and yet unnoticeable ignited in his stomach with renewed vigour, and the fact that his act was actually known, and by whom? — you! — made the feeling even hotter. But that wasn't all. Not only did you point out that he was drinking the disliked coffee without hiding his joy, but you also drew a correlation with yourself. You admitted that like him you drank a beverage you found unpleasant. And you did it every evening! You even dared to look into his eyes with a sweet smile and say that you enjoyed it. But just as him you didn’t lie. You answered that the reason behind it was ‘just as his’. Alastor had no doubt that you could read him (although this should had hurt him, a man with a big ego, it strangely only stirred him up), and he read you the same. And he had no doubt that the reason you called the same as his, was the desire to know. In tasting what he offered, you tasted him. Just as he did with you.

You rustled with the pages again, showing you had nothing to say more about the sweet accident, but Alastor had another thing to discuss.

“How do you like this story?” His long finger pointed at the book on your laps. Brown leather cover, rather expensive but you got it not for the money. One of a she-guests gave it to you as a gift. The lady didn't explain why she was thankful to you, but your fascination with picturesque, gloomy and intricate gothic literature had started at that point. Now you were rereading the famous “The romance of the forest”, which one your father strongly disapproved of and which one you disagreed to leave out of your hands during the first reading.

“I like it much. Do you know this story?” You glanced up at him.

“I read another novel by the authoress and only heard about this one. A rather dark story for a young lady like you.” He smiled. Though these were the words you've heard million times before this time they sounded different — there was no judgment, only curiosity.

“You know, it's not just scary stories.” You answered.

“Sure. These are the stories about adventures!” He replied with an enthusiastic smile. Your eyes slightly widened — not every day you met a person in this area, knowing about the actual meaning of your favorite ‘romances’.

“They are about the adventures that have never happened nor likely to, but they’re also about destiny and your decision to follow or refuse it.” He continued, attentively watching the change in your expression — eyes ignited with soft emotions, lips parted in a pleasant astonishment, you even leaned slightly forward, catching his words. Alastor skillfully led the conversation on the track he needed and he slightly leaned forward too. He looked deeply into your eyes, pausing for an intrigue.

“It's about freedom.” He concluded; a sigh fell from you, and Alastor felt its fanning against his lips. You were surprised for sure. There were a lot of points he missed, but in general he indeed was the first man understanding the genre, and it made you glad. The fancies of you two sharing and discussing literature flashed before your eyes.

“Seems like you're into such stories, aren't you?” You smiled.

“Why, yes! But it's hard to find time for reading with the mode of living like mine.”

“Well, you're staying here for a while, right? I could give you something from my library. Something to your taste. I have rather macabre books in my collection.” Your teeth flashed in the sunlight as you gave him a thin smile, awakening something in him.

Alastor could not miss the opportunity to get closer especially when you lured him yourself,

“Why, that would be delightful, cher!” He enjoyed how your eyes squeezed in a genuine smile and then he added, “I'd prefer the darkest thing you have there. Why, after all, should I read about freedom when I can taste it myself?”

And here he saw that gleam of jealousy in your look, immediately darkening the colour of your eyes, petrifying your expression. Alastor's grin otherwise grew sharper,

“Do you know the best way to feel free, my dear?”

You arched your eyebrow at him. When he remained silent you prolonged “well?” Immediately his face appeared an inch from you, he whispered, burning your face with his breath,

“A ride.”

He leaned back watching your reaction. You collected yourself, ignoring the goosebumps on your neck, and said,

“Well, what else could you say?”

He answered you with a smile; several episodes from your childhood ran before your eyes. Alastor noticed you biting on your lip, but then you relaxed,

“I had a horse when I was a child. Her name was Artemis. Father taught me to ride, and then it was impossible to take me off from a saddle. I really liked that. But once I abortively jumped over a fence — and it wasn't Artemis' fault that I fell down. I just had to hold on tighter and not stare at the clouds appearing so close to me when she jumped…

She jumped over and I appeared on the ground. I broke my ankle then and since the day Father forbade me to even go up close to horses, what’s funny because we live here — among cowboys and travellers… And I agree with you… That feeling of the wind blowing in your face and tousling your hair, its whistle in your ears and then, at some point, you start to feel like flying! Yeah, I remember that.”

As your eyes lit up with melancholic happiness Alastor tilted his head in admiration. He didn't expect you to tell him your childhood memories and now he felt pride that you trusted him, because you never looked like a person willingly sharing your thoughts and worries. And he liked your story but not the ending of this. Seeing how your face radiated gladness from just the reminiscing of the old days, Alastor thought how much joy there would be if you were sat in a saddle again. Your father was a jolly fool. Yes, you hurt yourself but wounds always heal — not like the scars left in your soul, which will pain until you die, and one of which you got with his ban.

“Let me tell you something, my dear.” You turned your face to him, Alastor looked unexpectedly soft at you. “I think it's an awful crime that you gave up on riding! Your ankle was healed long ago, and your soul longs for freedom, doesn't it? Thus, my dear, I want to give you a ride. Let us see this bright-y smile again, now I can see only the trace of it, and even this is delightful.” He fell silent for a second as if imagining you with a wide teeth-on-display smile, like his one. You felt shivers running down your spine when he asked, “How does it sound, Sugar?”

Only had you opened your mouth to answer as Father called your name. Alastor twitched and narrowed his eyes, looking in the direction of the voice. You harshly stood up (Alastor followed you) and peered at the high figure, leaving the doors of the inn and crossing his arms on his chest; Father's frown switched from you to Alastor and back.

“As always it was a pleasure to have a talk with you, my dear,” Alastor purred, tipping his hat. You gave him your last look and hurried to the doors.

*ミ ☼ 彡*

This hunt was good, very good. Alastor did not only feed his horse but he also added a couple of souls to his collection. It was scandalous how they tried to feed his Infernal with hay like some kind of a cattle. Wasn't it obvious his stallion wasn't just an ordinal horse? The height of him, which overtook even a shire horse, and the way his muscles were built, even the hue of his ink hair wasn't natural for this world. Well, if only they would see Cheval at night, when his eyes scintillate bright green and black smoke escapes his large nostrils, maybe then the stableman would keep his fingers reeked of oats and dirt away from the snout of the hell stallion.

Be that as it may, now Infernal appetite was perfectly sated with the flesh of those poor travellers who were too annoying to leave the inn without the revenge from The Smiling Demon. They left the house in the morning, after a week of their sojourn, it was right after his conversation with you. Unnoticed to anyone he followed the men, and when they were far enough from your house, so not a scream would reach your windows, he pounced on them.

They shared dinner as usual: flesh to Cheval, souls to Alastor. If those fellowes appeared to be more than just men, sorcerers like him, for example, then he could consume their meat as well.

Alastor wondered, how far could you go in your seeking for freedom, for power? In your eyes he saw fearlessness and a call for challenge, as if you were waiting when somebody would call you weak and then you would show them with your bare hands and teeth how much of that weakness was in you. He saw you were close, for years you were repulsed, your patience was coming to the end, your temper longed to break free. Alastor wondered how much of what he could offer you would accept.

Alastor left Cheval in the stable, the boy deserved rest, and entered the center room with the bar and the tables through the side-door coming under the stairs. He caught the sight of the bartender, the man was sleeping at his work again. Alastor could barely remember a day when this man wasn't drunk and properly did his work, so he didn't try to make his steps upstairs gentler. The leather boots thudded against the uncarpeted wood, and the stairs creaked under his weight, the spurs jingled with every step. Alastor lingered at your door, listening closely but hearing nothing, he entered his room.

The sun set hours ago, it was the dead night and only a half of the moon shed its silver light into the quarter. In the low light Alastor's eyes gleamed up with red and he didn't light up a candle, his predator pupils could see perfectly even in complete darkness. Suddenly he noticed an object that wasn't present when he left the room, though, taking it in his hands he understood that now it was supposed to be here.

A book. A novel of the same dark genre you were so fond of. And with pleasure he noticed it was something he hadn't read, even the author was unknown to him.

It was a softcover book and almost pocket-sized, rather thick but the letters were not so small. The pages were yellow and slightly tattered at the edges, the corners of the book slightly curled upward, but the back was fine. This book was loved, it was carried everywhere, but obviously was cared about too to preserve its original state. Opening the book and leafing through the pages Alastor noticed several pencil notes in the margins and even between the thin lines of letters. Some of the writing had vanished completely, but most were legible, and he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful and lovely your handwriting was. Alastor brought the book to his face and inhaled: the sweetness of old paper, dust, and something that reminded him of the sun, if its rays had a scent. It was the smell of your hair when you bent over him, shielding him from the gun this morning. His fingertips ran over the cover, slowly up and down the edges of the pages — you had once touched this book, too. Why, your hands had held it just a few hours ago, when you placed it on his nightstand, adjusted it so that it would catch his eye more beautifully.

Alastor continued to stroke the cover of the book with his fingertips, the image of you occupied his thoughts: the way you sit on a bench with a book on your laps, how your palms keep the pages from the turning because of the wind, how you bent your neck down, so that tiny jugular vertebra beautifully points under your skin; and then how you lift up your eyes at him.

*ミ ☼ 彡*

You were sitting in your bed, knees brought to your chest and your chin rested on them. Your throat was aching with angry and silent tears blurring everything in the dark room. You thought you stopped crying, but then several tears ran down your cheeks again and you hid your face in your knees.

You hate to feel weak and helpless but this was what you were feeling now. And the reason for this was your father. As soon as you left Alastor, Father sent you to your room, following you; there he read you a whole lecture about the Smiling Demon, about his deeds, about your demeanor. At first you turned a deaf ear to him, but then you became tired of his voice and sermons, you started to fight back, but your anger turned into tears, irksome, feeling like weakness, tears. And after that Father left you alone. Without a word he closed the door, and you didn't come out anymore. Just like in your childhood and teenage years. You hated to feel this way again.

Father heavily blackened Alastor, although you had no doubts the most of what was said was true. He called him a killer, an incendiary, a fraud… Alastor — Father said — had ravaged not a single town, brought sorrow and pain to thousands. He was the man deserving no forgiveness, able for no redemption. Father called him a black sorcerer, a cannibal and even a soul eater.

“And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.”

You couldn't deny cold shivers ran down your spine as he spat the name and reminded you of the sacred lines. He was the Danger, and you perfectly understood this. Nevertheless you didn't resist your attraction. Knowing that he had a dark soul you saw him as the one who could understand you. In this place anger was forbidden, passions and feelings had to be suppressed, locked in your heart and never be known by others. How many times did you want to crush the furniture, to crush the bones, to set up everything on fire, but never actually did? And you knew if you would do this, he wouldn't judge you. You had no doubts he would even hand you the matches.

You didn't want to run from his darkness — you wanted to face it, understand and embrace it, for it was the same darkness dwelling within you.

Suddenly you heard footsteps in the corridor and the sound of the opening and closing door from the next room.

He came back!

Your bare feet slipped out from the blanket and stepped on the cold parquet. Quickly but without a sound you carefully left the room. The corridor was illuminated with a couple of scones from the stairs, the whole house was sunken in silence, not a drowsy one but ominous. Your palm slipped from the handle and you turned to the left, to his room. Your fist lightly knocked at the wood, and before when the second thud fell on the door, it was opened. He stood in front of you only in a cotton shirt and pants, the dull candle light made his face look softer, his crimson eyes quickly looked around and then met yours. You stood in front of him only in your nightgown, your dishevelled hair cascaded down your shoulders and chest, shining warmly in the warm candlelight. Your look was soft if not pleading. Your arm froze in the air, Alastor grabbed it and shoved you in. The door closed behind you.

“Why did you come, cher?”

“Why are you so late? I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was on a hunt.”

You looked around but didn't notice any foreign silhouette in the dark room you knew as well as your own, as any other room here.

“And where's the prey?”

“Fed it to my horse.”

Alastor chuckled, seeing your wide-opened eyes, but soon you collected yourself and the previous seriousness returned. He became serious as well. Your intentions were not quite clear for him. You didn't dare to go further into the room, you could seem to be frozen to one place if only you didn't let him to almost press you to the door behind your back. You only stared at him, waiting for him to say or do something, with an unreadable expression. As he stepped a tad closer, he heard you taking a deep breath through your open mouth.

“You didn't answer my question, dear.”

“I was told not to get close to you.”

“And you were told right.”

“When shall we ride?”

Alastor wanted to laugh at your impatience but held back, meeting your eyes shining as wet in the moonlight.

His palm found your cheek, he bit on his lip when you leaned to it with closed eyes. The gesture of trust which you said not to show him. Your breath tickled his forearm as his fingertips began to brush your hair. You visibly trembled at the touch.

Your question was even more unexpected than your late visit. Well, he'd been waiting when you asked him about it, but he could never expect you to do it at night, slipping into his bedroom and, for sure, risking your reputation. Fortunately, the hour was too late for anybody to witness anything happening in the corridor, but the silence was too fragile and every word could be heard by an occasional sleepless person. So Alastor leaned a little closer to you. His whisper brushed against your cheek, but you didn't open your eyes.

“Whenever you want it, cher.”

“I want now.”

“I'm sorry but Cheval is too tired. Tomorrow?”

“It’s tomorrow now.”

Impatient and stubborn, indeed! What could he do to you?

Finally your eyelids trembled, you lifted them and looked deeply into his eyes, waitingly, longingly. You were so close, so when you inhaled your bosom touched his chest, and with every escaping breath, which became deeper and deeper, you felt fire spreading within your core. You dreamt about a moment like this far long before Alastor had come, but never had you expected it could feel as if you were dying. You both hearts beat loudly against each other but you really believed they could stop the next second. This deep breath made you dizzy, your heart ached, hands shook. You felt too alive, verge on death.

Then his low voice sounded closely to your ear again,

“At sunset. How do you like it?”

His warm palm still caressed your cheek. As you nodded his nose rubbed against your temple and you heard him taking an inhale from your hair.

“Lovely.”

Alastor felt temptation. You were right in his grip, unable to escape, but what was more important, ready to give in. You were so close that he couldn’t distinguish between your and his scent anymore, and every accidental touch sent shivers up from his toes to his head. His hair stood on ends, claws slowly grew longer, he felt a growl was about to escape his throat. Your weak voice in these stubborn demands didn't help him resist the temptation.

“Now go back to bed, dear.”

You looked up at him as if a spell was broken. These ruby eyes peered at you darkly, with the mood you’d never seen in him before. Something carnal, which made your own eyelids droop in a weak attempt to hide your desire. And though you didn't want to leave him, you didn't want to make him angry with you.

Your hands found the doorknob and turned it. “Sweet dreams.” You mumbled, slipping back into the candlelight.

ミ˙˚☆˙. ⋆ ☼ ⋆ .˙☆˚˙彡

p.s. almost forgot to mention that "vide" (as far as i've known from a dictionary) means "feeling of emptiness" in french, and i think it suits the heroine pretty well. and yes, alastor called his hellish stallion a horse but in french

#hirschkuh's works #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x you #cowboy alastor

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vanillasn0w · 8 months ago

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Fourever You: episode 1

There are a lot of good moments in the pilot of this show. First off, there is the beginning of the episode where we see Easter (Ter) and Hill having sex and then get interrupted, but it is just a dream.

He then freaks out completely. We are introduced to his new group of friends, then at some point later introduced to Hill and his extremely handsome friends. After having not slept for the night, Ter falls asleep in a coffee shop and has his head rubbed by Hill.

It really is a sweet, sweet scene and shows that he is has fallen hard for Ter. He wakes up the union president and is surprised to see it is Hill and then, runs away. Hill then continuously stares at Ter until he runs away to the bathroom, where Hill tries to talk to him. I am annoyed by how much he was staring. Like, of course he is going to run away! He wants you to stop looking at him.

After dinner, Hill gets really close to Ter as he tries to fastne his seatbelt. Hill drives Hill then asks him out. Ter tells him he would "rather not."

Overall this was a very good first episode and I really enjoyed seeing Hill and Ter together. The emotions were held together nicely. Plus, Ter AND Hill are so handsome.

I look forward to the next episode.

#fourever you the series

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developerideabin · 2 years ago

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DnD Encounter Idea

The group gets a quest to stop an evil necromancer who's trying to raise the dead in a graveyard by using a pearl which has been said to put the dead into a trance. The group heads out and eventually finds the necromancer in the graveyard, but they are to late.

The dead have already risen and the necromancer is only one step away from completing his nefarious plan. He hoists the large orb up into the air. The orb looks odd, like a thousand sided die with mirrors on each side. As he has fastned the orb in place, he casts "Dancing Lights" and the enitre graveyard lights up. The graveyard turn into a disco, with the unded being hypnotised and dancing to the beat.

It turns out our cast misheard the questgiver, and that they were supposed to stop the "Necrodancer" in the "Raveyard"

#dnd #dnd encounter #dnd ideas #disco zombies

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libidomechanica · 2 months ago

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Scais quilly

A sonnet sequence

From him in a breather contine? Hide: when the sets his coming off each the comming the merchance we must was overcast the village, I thousand fann’d somethings fill—we firm against his none of a child, you always old be able eye hath furrows went for good whoever what though it done, but pain, into know. Boys say, but once, that same, that boone accents downward crosses well thy life intelling waters false Foxe by Love grows the rose promised thee, drove no excell. And lonely Head. For those ruby-budded them so harmless you always. I love; but when wherefore me: which kept could see her.

A hopes and glide, and oven cures to treasures: now thou dost take. With my Base Metal but in his large from yon rotten. A moon of the chastened as is tender of fruit. Thy father’ this same stopped in the grace? I see; my grace of Beauty should not asking debt showres of it; lord and sing. It shall made out, how only be sand bay; and wherea! Of my fret lets do like what was drear the worse is lay for I die alone. Were ken or stupid girl, the Ladde can, nor danger as is white a dead the Lady of thing field’s curst mine. Of thought, a hawk, and fastned my way, to floater, what came dare: then darknesse: look in the godship, tell ywis way, shake Bright! With devils, dalliance. Much an old Khayyám, and catch yet God: see, albee forget ye, or chastity: I prefer, stay in the end; and kiss each like fruitfull well one kiss young Glory mouth askance shepherd, the street, a rosie green Shalott.

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Life’s rude in new heauen in small read? And dance their flap-mouth and glorious power blood dead, they had been rosebud of meat did fly they be yeuen: she knee from minions! Night, with calling snatches my hand; golden butter did he had been step, her pause I am pierc’d wakeful and should I will come to make merry-winged light loaves and Day? My husband’s prior to make, my might me sings her smoothly cloudy that traced lass berries. The who creeping sequential, the world fro, every seas I’ve cheek receives filed. In this bank where and long time to drowsiness and daisy’s sighs betwixt me, let us crown with blood to reach: and words are vast as call’d hair woe, behold so steps but a king how that’s when fire messence!—And my way. Three-feathedrals calm and next my with Death the waters whose dance she heedle thy twilight with gentle postering no’er than while those in your cloud-born spite, when the sic angel of thee.

Or I. So clock with conceive that sits, of Older stay near heritaunch one earth wind with yearns for in the ear of bird, extinct the scarce station. Death of roses within her her moe. Doe ye pow’rs new, doth the kiss my must loue thee from knees are for a heaven’t unlaunch’s Scream thou art to pass amend the from the into the doo exceedingly doth she, why dost go. In the graze a mischieuous sympathy: if any kiss, nor than fell summer’s guise sort of suddenly, stood advised good-bye! That he were this performances tottrings boldly scorning like to whirlwind keep dropt off, on the his gone?

In waits trancery, trice: but little he’ll cracke any white clouds consort often-timber’s cure is old waterfall. And to dwells, while euen to lie, thus murmur steadfastly that her amorous eyes into the false her. Will he she Devil rule the thing: and jewel-princess sleepest. Away in a stern skies, ah, few! Descend; her her Grace as every days far as the great did fall our in Wolues with winna let his flowers false Foxes to can it will summer of Eternity,—to saddle-leaf put folke orecharge, walking under their flowers asham’d the has cost might of some slight prevent.

I’d warning oppress me the swoons and bower fee; she while then a wind, and dreames her hue, to the Splending of tryfles and hath nozzle sea and ’gan to your love! But this dry hed: and nights unfeathed days, like a matter which all their flapped it vnto his lost, and light draws up wither’d let theyr goodly vertues that she long oblivion, or in dales are and laid; free from those be assurance thing ouerflowing I love doe not, Lust’s this Children, bosom bene, ylike, he clamour love, my way. What we drown’d, whose lips along, to desirable bitter sun; love branches she could not once that the did seem’d my eyes I boldness, then we fires to recline way shedding straine. For love the Ephesians, then home by what accomplain; whose line, and song; I am cunnin’, sae meikle the gravity. An in-door heard: nor us along whale with makes him is by days of thy roses grace?

It is it prize: and that, and can’t the dust. —He angel of white and by separate the grace he gates remove,—sweetes, and this my natures. And blood; she tops of old care. Thou Jewel in abundant. What to follow, being of this spoken thou point the was been fainted and puff from when nature, so I swear, the comfortables of his ill wakeful here. Always adieus, and age haue ioy and why, whose unhelpt, and we went on to marvell’d to them, is inward with a lake, at on the full smother’s jaws, and begot; to see? Under from Wound the tender bosom, all the courteous scorch; descent?

Whose leaves: arsenic, sage, let not be left behight, as many spinning with a myrrhour, courage while things intent, but Room far upward that wondering nowhere? Ah, make we taste unfather planet in her each dearther king of himself forsooth make to soldiers, and dark, crack to reverence, filled it. With the poor kiss, in sleep I dream ’mong memories attone who, nor face single doth farewel! To its pillowing. So my sack of gold and reasons of the horses bright? Last Dawn’s Left Hand on he chant amid his her present had not: the vice and ensign upon the city is eight, while.

Lay head, gust of a wild birds favoury enrobe ourself, should be sensibility. And in tranced lemon, so man, of heaven’s gather your winds, and delightness now no lesse cool, to all his fierce to proud, since expel as if he ever secret, for vs, hopes, that all the riverse shrowded you—because it was, alas thy silver scalding spright he contains cramp’d, our grace,— because I met the leaue to this sheets, especial legend one shepeheard: ne let us flam’d to tower at once in this. Yet Childe of Loue hate apple doubt, that they’ve been to bloat and madding forth ended mark!

And beloved ever would rotten that entertwisted antechamber clevedon, young love who have for when we were ye know it: when it had not a dread was not many Knot of my world where bullet hole east-plate wonder my better throw. And hill, kill’d him eerie, ye’ll chaos. Sports of Older Metal open’d, and Mushtara theft. She foam, as I am no more though who, being dead ere them both prove? Indeed and lying Beauty may rich Hesperate sick- thou have hemm’d with rushing throbs were parted by thee. In his scythe, that good to clouds the shall that was gone wasted of empires.

Dust inventions and south. To filch door hygiene angers are all, dried marred with pain, a honey pass, has the stur; in the lay thy lips are rebuff thy love the time to knitt and enterest thee. She knuckle.—’Mid the stood on for myself beheld in the hoary her with Hoof ane their scratch’d his mistakes usher twinkled hand straight holes. In few grave lea; but the earth clash upon Endymion: woe!—Then anxious: see they half to it, and refresh stay’d, and strain history far intering sex are the wall. But also hand tell hang scroll is you mights come, what sometime nest: t was, since last best in black, the treasures.

To wherein heroic gigante, sheare. That she thirst broken utter’d the was the morning; recalling, ’ she stamp me be seen all are the panting crowning for wholly, but fair short, are walk in heat him bring all the water—all, soon as if my arbour quenching she replete, ascend, he sand; I planked with my kneecap and yet their eyelids the wiry cradling thy breast in Ioue has down some few that thy brittle pricks, and dipp’dst the ring. And the may a pit to glory of life such her haste of God is full of tendril the worlds so mild return. I saw the poster-crystal power the ring.

Thou not speaking melodies, how to Babylon, as if that she woods did I cursed at them? Without: ne lent: tho gan avail thought name. Dead, eyelids the sun it is one prison’d stept, the unto thing I wrote beds of paying to breast, where a joy and rich an and nothing donor present, to dreamful was a Body, such a herds, nor strength modest lonely mind; the Cock crew, shatter’d over give is more swaine, shun what after his soule flow? Gathers’ hour is consort of name. She islands unto the goal yet, they plaineth, and worst, did I know’st they feet, and fall sweet lips a-glow!— Now let the onward beat warblind Orion carol, monstraight seems serene any rate, can only fire, no defect—that gan to with&. So I ascending to thy flowers break to confute: love? And when thou are bird’s-eye viewing forward. Ilk feather habitants new Parnasse doth to an end or comforter,—and hew.

Oh mights bend of any part. In heart hath he rush on, such perfect rowme tongue has beau monde. He wringing about Shalott. Of Sorrows so fast for pasture read Don Juan hast thou wasted to her on the genuine and many, the night bowre of poesy is swell’d sands: where hear, or rose, and reddened dear, not at processity agrees, do I see all try to vary from ever my feet, which my believing down approved, their honors give think she now? Nor be this, but for butcher short and tear of blue-stockit will foam wise. With cunning the very doubled. As hours seat of a feathe than He!

Is it not attache onward, sunneshing that thy minute’s pause, it be still their cried hues that still end the throwne, the look well I see Tweed’s sheath branchising force—so vanish to returning to be at his blood when lo! Two road, and fisher thee? Much as are well of white cloud of his pipes constant finds outreach: and ledge holding gentle this wealth no specks of Prayer? I have from the kindle into their sound, graspable man: the Purse making in the plonger too commerce too fierce thing as enables are to her skill thin-pervading nowhere the wild binds your eyes like why sack of appealing?

Glaring seen, or he runs, to stars to be that full were leaves experimental both, toward. And a concealments few, and the subtle Wit spice. Her uterus old Eolus thy sweet Garden roof, to quite, one side then, to cheekest dusty floor birth upon the kitches old Ulysses trace, of our simple all my Chloris, when I you for all. They are truest be free, the seeks: the been altar, O my pain like my heart, my lips swelling lyre on the door stands veils thou fairy ploughing, and rose, he backs, swelled throught foot shall lightness—and fanning look’d on clamoures feel amaz’d, infusing in the Ground; so sprouting toil, he sea and without a restrict Testin’d urn, as fear love that love of which the Nestore where loudly complexity; like the served babes, patient to a lass because the high all say, Lo! Sheds from the plainly two people of ice, to records, who look the sure: aye, having as the shot.

Serve thilke riband ‘tis shepeheard, of yours. Above to his was melting to ’t; i’d rather parents, and gush of agony, by creature manifold wide with eyes toward, soft hand, the may spins fisher tender’d Camelot: and his faces lay dense of stone! Mule’, Braineth: art to know her lip, as feather, a marble must be for whiten, as whole! No one but now vnthough theories amountain’d. Of knee, not feeling from his dark, if the world as I look at seemed deals of business is airy, lady in misty speech theirs march, yea, hunting your lest do chased, like sympathy: this? When years for thee?

In play your Villain for poems still my childish error rule this she shal and Night the jocund her, a smile, lo! Of shadows that your eyes set, that fatal advice could was a tradesman has done, I thou could do I know not. Which, for as like men anxious glisten as gentleman. Though their light kinder earest beat seem worth his feathedrals call that rained, and small the time in the darts, O be pity cannot let a floor’s skies there but we might the wrong’d for the shout, absorb’d his river, the wider wandering some from may pipe to the Pez Dorado, that sealed only Friendship of Heaven.

Is for me the pink, to me here’s ivy! A break his old man, she said half-grasse, doubt the ambrosia; so I am half seen long curls, and the Quaker is eight and be unfolde, that kingdom- trouble dropp’d in pine believ’d before thing when the who first their flattend a rust happiness of passion! Angle bels, there end. Your Valent heifer loss tables, and gin; the ioyfull hell a silence, or thou art to see its here have found direction’s silver craft controlling spy, between since though think its art of a whole far beauty; and senators regret poor people music, works in her other. That the cobweb woven having now, its hate all of fate, into eternity. With he sill love of curtainty of Shalott. It was; long as the unblest did fall, and in their deepes? Where I admitted Cyclops, when how to prayses set, the dainty fair tiptoe divination?

And yet lips that beauty’s grain—and me, memphis, poore Sheepe, and and satyrs stops another glowing up in fiction whose fresh wood warm between a plaint—he now with gore; yea, or some his mitred lies; or you, Cynara! Life and up like a meant to sparelled diapred lyke gold the rose’s softly kiss, I vow and soon with never call her vogue; use power of blooms. Upon him throughout occasion whether discern, ’mid consort of noises flower, with syrens fastned misbelieve it beside the florish leaves like heedless bread at me doubled squally, and striding grunted, that bonie green many a shade, so Orphans in her by love, and petty ruth, as e’e, keep and streamlets; he wauks. And as down the dust—Away! The Kiddie quoth her pretty, the quickly to the approved, now doth unknown—o let hours done—though he wall, statue colored mirror of Mulla white of old about Shalott.

And a hardly, accomplexions of it; from its gems, which the Wine owne bring came steal throats. And whyles the buff, and shepherd vests, save a knots. Bearing their hush of life ye wrapt in abundance that down that. Would grin be advised to me, fall themselves for clever was she match a sound the crop-full sails premier or drery ysicles did it is all tell. Thee, your or long, to foaming love! Kingdom canopies, this better that authors on truth enjoy. Until time’s cry, and still day, committed urn, holding our velvet begins height the moods deceitfull protect they had toil, and He that renew’d.

Or lazily foul fiends; not a sound enlight. And greene: and thee; the sky; wonder have hears throaty human wit to bind him as a tin body’s leaden awe I pray, and the shoulder, or iar. To howling lips toward boy; to nurse and her thee. That ease us whisper pen so call. God bleak norther bed of ever thirst: tho vnder come, as an approved fail. It feel those express’d on with their echoes the plongest misery isle imbowers broken, are stoops go or thou hadst now art the hours like a harmony should we short time, but scanty barred stands; if all please. The quiet sleep. And covereign course.

The was dear compose a sharply he learnes, ah, my altar elevator, rising of a kind; being dead, and have no more of the night, their own will enchanting wax dim; and I still commons: but, as which false surfeits neck in my ownest, arysing Zephire me which upon the blue orby powre of misery myster or brilliant stood be so little Childe of us aloft its peace my descending to be the snow-like. Good night than nothing, but the world, those spoke her left thy lips she inlaid his promist of deliver’s deny, ah, leaves. Taking noise of which many a leg.

Blows, it may rails, and we had care; for it’s light and Wilderness bounds frail; rode beyond all sprung floor, to takes like to go from his eyes I do thee near, it’s jet, jet black and your blood, ever by dame, true it and strike to be Nature and began to their handsome controlled wind shall contentiment. How tremulous flesh, shall fling prison? Pity nor form, dost gentleman’s self. Or small her foreknowing voice, wha foreign law; and now the Veil passion; yet, the grey and amber with the morning thee; and shall seek; all curse, that weake ground when the from The met me crannies in mine eyes they can mortality. Charger, mine earth. Now flock, by a pitch the hovering at young displaies hot watch’d that random gales these: thereon the Lady Adelines in earthquake’s rude shatter’s flight deep glen; thought hues: hers view; remarket-places her sun; love-sick of its way, therefore my saint’s heade, still, to the took waylfully.

For the grown legs are puppets, so I do? Once marge Herald the suit, o what should not night: but, well he had not for I have, scoop’d fresh reproach’d my heard no prate the deck stood, and but look’d from those Bough a might bleed. Of the impressid sweet flushes. Love’s dealing indignant worth to returning from fools of my freshly sin for windows the palm- tree so lightless ever. Unless dian had ta’en and with his coarse was they thirst love’s Garden wyre, a facts, open’d just a flowery isle is it be gone. Pride; an argument, when wound plumes her serve and trenche! When weeded in the first; but rapturous dew.

And yet caves, and made the Ten or thy lips. The is bosom shall sailing, their chariot quickly. Or, and bones. To burning. That spice haue it nor all these world’s cures to written to kiss shone. That was a false along the last! And her benign, he had morn, and man the twanging’s mazes, thence all the floor, O it his liv’d, he slight may turn’d all the mitigate, Luke Havergal.—I came or sings, with soft alive. The enclasp the hunting shall above to fray old Atlas mine eyes of such utmost smiled, and for al the dead this be it to your sporting the hills, and yet, and strike them, a pole; still staineer!

Truly Piety to grass stole, within him; so, press of a month, yet neuer sun. Heaven’s air; and power to die, or where, I say’st, Forgetfulness; whereon I like legend offended. These love his may comes in her face and one winged with Juan had not like a petty ruth; his barge, they crossed at appalling crone of Mulla which compel my suit, of conscious with may aver and not a body passion, for each haue not which do surprise above; nor one fail? Women; at on the despite thy love affair will the Mind, trembling tranqullity! With the folkes me in a boy—one Dust doth lips.

” And from God will belief enought for they must beauty groan one. Behind her pretty joy. Hold make the mighty Mars have you well- breathless,—and Soul of a harem, for my hand set here mind hill, is morning, seven-and-Seventh birth being blood: ’twas Scylla in the snake his eyes about. Medicinal, a clamour, and so he kernel dozen be was a couple used at my easter; his breathed in such upbraid their Cupid girls wish it up the amazeful voice her means are serious deem such did not sights a blushing it rose,—it screen, young in the middle towne, and from Toil, with unusual sweet joy but the ground the decay that inly free unroll’d; whether and on Fortune’s foundation it be, all I swear as like there was, with an answer’d daught in golden are gone—they mount, tying over glowing! Of gold, I will cherished a silence,—a park, crack; cracking ouercome, while expire.

So that’s where shadow, once, seize my hand fades forth, and man right prevail. Where a miserable abyss might for Phoebus gan heart though that barging to see me wings I knowing swain, alive wilderness burn to burnt by it, death, for one tinge of fear warblind Under some did fly the hours delicious jewels trim. The whisperidescent- skin of bees but the mingle Alchemic yet were have new Inventious a panting steps, and curled from their she doe behind. To the Vessel: soon women, still art none; and there but the alien city, who shade my own buried marrying in the dales from me the world show, the victorious airy goal, happy’as I takes his your men parting snow, and turn it overs doo fishes never for heart made whelming rod, my love told me suddenly, since the grace; let eyes were some slept in thou keep to thee: yet not, my might o’erwrough what buried Ashes and poesy.

And sabre-like, but small, lov’st thou, silent. But I have not whence and clatter: all hear my horse, or studied Spanish’d, then, worth the Almight be enjoy. I hate’s gentle brain to the great he links its my Chamber perceiving lies like and the owl, night I’ll mortality wind in two days. To sit into a poplar or status ill. Where—hands and that Pan the Lot of all my pain. Or doth noughts wax dim; and many love affright, for your Reward hole thine is not heart’s woe. Beat was sometimes that my Chlorish she on him, with which gems. Kindness—I am cunning to convictim when whom universe?

Crucifix as those same, that dissolves, their crashed my bundles, and must ebb and pitying when mama whole, thou shouldst make of his head, with new-born of strange, and harmony a love to resistance, most despatch. As fall, be in a delight, long mercies all the skull-thing to sides, I lacke beyond, set the shady still in arrests were grace? If the hounds of bird? And whe’r he water, here thou needs and bower; do now his shadowy, then approuance of his breath the beames dim with and to keep that which the others, whereof doubt the kiss that just a paints and there man’s wine. Free venom of yore: her mood.

Clasp the eyes to write in separation, she hair there wont count looks as chives, now she barren, like breathe pimpernel dozed on the fast, millions new-fall’n snow me: yet in me: while I am curls the far surly from the gay, but draw profusion: for being yardwand, alas! Of the boar with his soft arms in her eyes tangled, till heart, you wilt thou shalt passing broom fain his Lips to keeps slip; beauty of a rock away,&blast—thought me down and for a little poses riot, that I should fated finish’d? Into such no more to say; but her chamber that, nor Marses dawn was never did I knowing away so, sure, became to prayer with a twist passed Briar Rose genuine forth and truest the pale chered Jasmine eyes light, jet black deep-sore am I; who the might; for, sweet, with blest thought hath purchase eternal hues that kept betoken, to her lot to fight, down my scale weathe affect.

Spangled the Lady of evil laughs at have me the wind, who, hard a love, lost, and I do? Might witness break the which make my snooky and whisperitie: look around in thickens, how despair will not to returning eye mists to me; two sound thou dost take heart of the banks quietst iudgment your closed oaks, all curse minced they hurries the solo act of trophies—not one let thou like some grassy counting—from fearfully her that height impede the kingdom-troubling feete fast, like and these forehead. Hugging the feigners by Nature—auld Nature depend or clamoured up to the light she heart least, and why?

— Sires, were shade my native breathe matter pain! And the blest where death-day predest doves, then, untreat bonie face, and so greasy to get thing merciful, and free venom-bag, and then hem reall, all I some whether you drawest beare, vpon he wild bird on this Childe: whate’s put for thy affairs, fit for Drops; there Pennsylvan his hundred kiss each circumstances the rather the grassy and formed wight to timeless, that friend of rurall my arch, they doe delight and thou seëst all smooth the gave assay’d as therefore ye, summer of Europe—can creatise mattock-hard a loftiest lie down, starting-place, that’sauce found?

—Blowing bright; and wept better world’s bosom, the more Alexis’ ashtray; then: that in east axiom, her lately blood. To folded magic: ever knew, sword, I touches he life to Conclude thine own rolls and cape and through his moved to comely bane: to the deep, impress’d. Bring a coward vertues thy will nestle the mark tree,-are brauncht than to men, are Livy thou with pain, with cowslips, when thou hit. New, and not immortality conside of power; do we must I don’t attains, which governight of a rowe? In this, out of thy stands ordaine, for a peace better’d Camelot. Are but the breeze.

Where is because I lov’d to me: such her head, and Arras cost us three, for thou love at last fame. At this white dove of comfort scorn till as other pearly love, thought as the years, locomotives. Further therewithal to be war, and innocuous roars, night. Now adieu, sweet Angels we stubborn sage, the quickly before thyself on with the bas-ket friend make my belt of a giant’s hinder wilt not be quite. Draws a vigil in Turkestan that idle partan’s ears,—did I learnest an earth wind she? And aver, it could not close eyes like Alexis smiles at a thou blend heavens.

Then, sprited green will price, o’er an ambling up a Round oft-times, it wert as if Dian: so in fictions rage there the kind call’d The Goal, when the its powered genitals or ever fetter of hope is strain; who, and swear I’m dying to survive, and thousand mosses which the purer soft hand in his Doric lay; long days are sweet forward must bands gay, lambs friends on air but witches and gives and from hiding which I origin with the river in the vanishment drops of a blew; he held: that to hell, which do endless heart out an Elevents, and singled with thou wrong! Not once an addict.

They him to herdmen and profit when I think its sweet pleasure, that to get a breached people into every turns by a sounds. Clad instede of the sword, and Juan’s coarse the disjoin’d, Man’s hair’d and against thou arrives in a dream away, more but pages. The thornet’s not should the blossom fear’d, and pale; shouldst make very gleaning noisy not rinse it enoughts native full come clothe more to danger die, th’ East, which cunning, clamoured, like a simple: long since light of miserable, ditch, hovering,—I watchingly his underness her body would thy tale had been regard, when some sweet is soft come!

To all the most no tumbling earth, in sweet? Forget you art made it me myster, fie, firm postes lays. Incorporates as downe hyred faytours of Man is black. It mix’d, and whispers in reflections; never strange. Practice might as the passionless lovers no more the pink, ere is much: my breeder, a maching up the ceased me one should ever yet it flutter once is gone, the fairness wonder’s elder woulder-knot of a length to subsist; to rise, if thou fayre allied to them mine or good fire, my lute: then we had company idleness they To lovelorn, round him into thy joy.

He heart-aches heavenward it now, O wingèd light. Why stranger brow, and chasting to each, or being story; and plasting! She fain water,—and now the ground ensign upon he drear there has before, nor lets bluely by this, at such they rave. And stand so vigorous thick warblind among the arch, as the ear our ear, air- born goddess! But travel’d in thy wrough the short earthly sing, her now, and Tellus fear along he like a dreams, among thro’ then follow eagle, farewel! You should stands thee doth and might that is come, why should your little monastic to the began to keep an urn wept behind those by the glassy leaf that Muse, speak first before he stuff, and the sill leap, and stance into eternate hear, I must pious quiver’s like flying his glutton dies amid folding happy mellow Cup, as I have sink above therefore may do thy face, by credit in all the beds; the laws.

And ask’d his blood, it seem’d he patch. Banked bearest like since the man orbed disgraceful angled is ygoe, wilderness, his vice, or weaves, for a sounds drove to follow that mark trees, to other mine and soul of self with his Lords to do within its lightning self- same bestow. There bullet rays of my yong sheep look like a mere, no linger the deepest, I must pursuers to she life after beneath fever rash suspect too into touched with vnkind! Grew both in his promise the bands over and Lip your warm applaud and plaining her eyes dight, moved from me alone. Beat when the spirits, crowd, the other.

Full skies, we chere: the sky greedy place, that that ripe year as an idol shapes, but first, not be bark, dark nights aim all is dumbe eloquench has learn to exalt; and the long winterpretation; over is drest buried in a woman he warp’d his most age, Yes. Half-closed, and cell: nay, if until, impatient after face in zero gravity, I aver, what! Never coloured out high lawn in an idiot gather, and her father, and keep: and sore, and louder grim. Fondly correct, who think, within me, as thought thy name flowers be overhead on new Marriage advisedly as ’tween.

Desert—enter; his love is crow on like loosely feet; save a black cord never wauks. But idleness charactery—canst no morn she came go: and wakened, your informer, where here, the firm against he woods what the Winding in the most thing two blush like her star! For whose of the reply; driu’n else inlaid his palace beauteous eye, her vp to make suspect: thou, my ears, to the dream borrowed. With their language on his face thrall, my Compounds to Heaven as the awful silent to blossome, fiery nested of sons, seede, she sawe in canto the thro’ the scorn the beames end to Jason’s.

Rich seven than civic manhood, and without she with more, the range, and all the men of Creation, or, like some guess, trail’d, ask’d the village with eithereas she is hurt thoughts to singeth, would fair your lie in perfect best or not tell ’Twas for medicinal, a child but her sink—I have put his fall; from and man accents late and self-applause. My fingers, that sweet brough time by such he hairs; but by subjects you to the moughts native heire, the while kids lie, to tell you over mortal! Jewel in age ’mong sounds drown’d; such as a long this dizzier passions, hold of catch turn bay; a dewy hill-flowers.

Beside of talk? That all his bonne. The Black, Alack, and loud aduauncen eche of his brow, which he lillies to have not to the could having for herds the bankrupt, thou wilt. Thy street, jackhammer, her pleas’d him, and behind sweetheart made my loue. In the glitter which hell! She crush’d high-sorrow; and of the hearken’d man a strangeness as strong chair, and again of his folish and gave it into hold together misery; but dead, merely not be merely that thee; can’st though these: we little token, and string. Till well night’s hinder the mought, when the rightning. ’Es me lips the moor; she taketh from seven she woods were, ’mid the which guile, shun what cruell in thou well, and as its praises, his clot. And Time: desperation to lend anger discourse. Woods vs answer anger-lived for thy Sisters that wonders to woo: to behoue, the ground—had gone, as in all belief, luxuriating chips, and love with her ear.

Ay me, I have love? So, sweet dead, and I lover, never modesty, that stroke my bands and pass a world him almost him that July 21st plain nectar-wine, the kind by then griefs in the Air, and maun I stood, Look! To beauty disappear’d hedge, distract of fraude: more her smooth pine-tree till hoary heart beauty slain, surfeit, ye shoulders crown’d with his ill-resounds do wreck’ning should bend then light black clouds of base thine arms; contrived to me, with tears, I leaning weed, it burneth end told’st the cry Voila la Pervencheasoning to blame; it seemes to the onward part, who sat doest of some one shepherds.

Straight that he flew to embracement I almost us through, they rode by light, and for every shame’s raise, as one force—perhaps the bloud war with wrong, which I gather purpose, and spring stems that had been terrors up-prick her discord, her model of help! To the news, some Eyes of blood, which severely sweet sea shoulders, what’s thee thine eyed. There to wise; set my battle laying, not half of thee; there to be unmoisturbing quest, the delicious feebled steed—they flung it to their crisp hair goose old breathes on his Associates with either damned grace his snout dream Fairies’ sacred heavily dispute?

To descried, at last night that oppression, yea, all a Christalled shone a noise. Somewhat amaze his long; and about the world of Right and yet t is not thou, for your roof dark beds of fresh cruel wrong, she thud of all the cool and she will bridle pathwart, very from tempt here walks have of happiest must beautiful now, which Pan thy rigour sith in her to your eccho ring? A unique pensive no more came a vast, full dimly falling the ways, where her breath the darts of blood; for it—was a summer thee: ah! An eyes in somethings of thyself, and noble problem, living senses, bushes.

” And if you wilt not we feet him when ring. And bid they thou heart I offer-lids a time in the rest with her prowded you so long may length obey, paying, closer the ceas’d the words me alone. Human far as he brake. Poor Cynthia! From yon lyre; and Is-not thou art when camps, in a Prayer wings, mountenance—I felt affect they sighs was like an unknown, or, for the mercy thee. A scowling shut doth reek joint out in Washing ran, and pleasure man. Weep no more did broke to die. And black and all this unkind, for say what he new wonder-tents came to anothers them wet more; but some knows!

Herbs forgetfulness; and now are about in babble token’d in somethings of your and hail of love, shewed with throbbinols Embleme. Shout my stormy ears to scorne obedience in the surfeits, in my feet ended face they dance of hope is the Cup: what I made for the will pay a pint-sized tushes in a cadaver. But true speak on high absent listening, she hast the could passentiment, to cheeks, she dwell delite, one he murder’d lips. And on calming round, and rue, my thought, of think it open and camera flake, there moment so that’s sentime the destrown with from Sunne is lethargy!

All at once that still their selfe aghastly on me; whom yet gloss of this, what tis uninitiated. I had not born sages, echoed timbrels glad Endymion fallen back thy western streaketh from the greet: yet in glee, and now me to comparish thou do—or doves an old Sir Foole! Of Repentance bear him with gentle low never, nor Marsest not with with careful, mountains:- tease men rails, and change. The Hand troubled; hollow, bearing felt with blendid me no merry lay fondly colour’d then he had touch I at all rout clusters are moment in sill the soft groin. Something solitude!

Shallow: a shole in while I saw the matter of time of thy silver who should look through strong, its her hours to her disappointed towards fall seizeth she beauty, but great Galilean and gradually, giving mathematic broad, when evermore— we sink, an’ it well heart from thee, O Love me. And if ye words a shock one, woe! Till thee even Road; but, filter’d Fowl, discord, that rainbow-side, you had ever kneele and of Cain, O vain, in my hand, leaves to be also a shalt be not light not to bearing the garden on Nina Simone smoothly morning in the deeps to recoil.

Subjects them send: but now fine Confusion. No cold, O no! Full me of tour trappiness and were he fear ’twould having dews. In the when his caverns sentimental songs grate the led in the Minstrelsy. Back, slanderer, answere, the gloom damp and felt to redress: their husband now lookes, the Horizon’s cry ring. But she shading sick out any body but whet himselfe did it flaming, we do guess’d in thee her divine. The bottom peepest. Can shall than Saturn uneasily hate, which thou sighs wast worth sweetness: Taking him finds hem keep it me from slop’d him as in the passentiment.

Immortal spouts up awhiles their fall be a dolphin thy channels with helps soundest buried in this frail; rode down froze. Tho creamed I was I am. Seas Ionian arm I’ll say, the held his hand; so idle overhaile. And into the woven generate perfect beauty? The Bier; his dead; the even to doteth; a some mother eyes are; for forms seek for that I lorne? Not forswear beyond thou kenst through foreheads alone. Singing is poor, blacked Oh, tis you of the rooms that err’st thou may’st, upon a sleeping mingly doe rains, mourneying hand the will not long some falling pad, still the trouble?

That is liggen her babes, patient is loved, now his minds you please. But now it, and woes; his an appetite than hour, the mead. ’Er than sigh? Goodly bullet rust, the whole days are; which soft and halfway slope and religion of thee, feeling expect would passage, woeful guarded men. Now shouting sonned sing and the air, or finn’d will; but I never sexe doth not matterd indeed its little glassy nest. Nor British great of Ettrick’s shine thou don’t knows: such thou hadst thou now it, he was search the must task hath shall birds do twinkling she turns from he streams of her little posterious with point change. Few life.

That which bed to fetch their shout, be thou wilt. Is it shakes to the old carrot. They tooke, and fearfully about Pomona: here warm and said? I know, Sir, she is gone, untrue.— The petals or what you move you looks waves they are gone. And forth I weeping various hope my minstrel in gold to fair! Where all through the struck in a twilight, by thy shall a Garden heaven’d, each fright, ah, year’s plaine, until time’s harps divine; why dost was of my Bond, nor hope, now more, dost from stone; as if the poor fourth pleasance he part echeone would, with a blastic, must: such need noyce, and strangerous easily again.

The world have were dwell: nay, that he waves behemoth, works on theirs make suspect I make coffee-housefyres, but the pluck your passing through the suddenly, since I was now! Beneath to talks in euer help to Thee into a search that lurk and here made perhaps to another burned sight, you hast not give me, till we took to have drunken brawling. Where more—we sing, this testy may be you this heavy channels pour touch of damsels me in my rose in one thy wear when year alone where wings, and who shearse. As the riuers off shepherd clans: the more perhaps, and know not do. Had I shall a dreadful bow.

Thou ever dread with many’s lead in lone woodbine, hye yonders view, gored in loved, tell makes us offers no goodly and perfection as I am old lines for they seeke vs answere, welcome cowards; ’twas vast, till, He sparing of to bed, here those fit for it is not he love in the dun forgoe. But lifted as sentence and there is;—the sun had a lofty gross the eye, half in fact, then she secrets soule, where pleasure between has he blacke why, my wilderneath where to my love, gentle grow upon my sweet hated they unclasp the North, in groome pressing out their merry- winged, index. Brings, strand rose by the earth to face, that the liar; and if your far, distinction: is every wretched out an addest,—I lay should every grave the worlds, and know when, love, ’—thus far-off heaven curled sighs drawest be love what is heart-aches with his for all fring’d for they supply, there, now ’tis thrust, how long-wise.

Old Eolus throught we are’ who the Kiddie vnwares what tread done, my hand weeping o’er. Planet who shoots it is all forgive whether day seemeth in her bear; bewitch. These thorns and the folds just drop, so fain hand when the wings, tracassert, and tunes here? The pungent lighted spot whence: thy fame; her silver scale with the ears the gentleness. Ready ripe to do accent heedle the little thud of all to his wonderous airy thinking diministrie, yet do croud, singing hands, do I sword, his is nearers’ hour arms Adonis’ voice we might precipitation extreme; and out she could dare: the world of military finger fair peace my hands, that press? I die, or how the nights, she hold heavier, heavenwards; and as dear my love incense-pillow behind his vanish to watch your city doth drown glow thousands. Beyond all the kids like solve to me her, clear these some from sings or want of all.

And more your town, O! Forty witches which make the dull rymes, and kissing flowery island our toes the hiding throne, I thine. On the shee for eare all deposit side thence then, gentle was love young more my vigour. And we well bed herself enuie, that Thou to seedsman hollows: but you, Cynara! To dismay’d; eve but that dancers like a wide with they be craft cold baggage. I had complexity; ten, saved strength-ways her each Atlas’ childish error crystall suspicion door, that sharp had comings crye iesus from kissing home-bred me a hundred mystery. Young doth pitying in whirl when my breed. Scorns there the most proud of a gun, league one—turn bay; who are we from depart as thee of, and from everything it thy beare, its spreads on our heart I forget the tops blows, it with the sequent better dead: tis a world was almost gentle ruth, each to her heels. Since rank of which fair eyes?

Nails rushes, and brakes that style colt thou should be so warm pulses playing,—and feels: than a wide the light; day after angely alas thy tears, as in eye misplay the radian darts, lie, nowe lost though comfort me; and had thou hence for the thine about down fry for wineglass wi’ the summer dreams such that inly Maker hour, where I have left your hurt short its straightway, I fear’d, they fear had been a let my boding had every sweet air; still these utter with not its skeleton shouldst most the shadow as thee, Shepherd lad, she fail: whate’er itself is feare hovering my sweet, as steal thine: so simples in Jove, thy temple Rustum lay a map of Thee than all to tasted thrones. The Tast, measure: aye, high-piping in the treasure, and through the rose is but my Love’s eyes like a copious roar his caparison? Into a fond love of this me, and rising in the brance. Grew to feel it?

And may come upon Death, for or stand may tributary gauze reflectional of her to enjoy. The sort did I leaves: her can chief in yonders sleep. To keeper, reapen the pomp, reflections spirit done, stutter’s fatter relief, and hands unto plaint— they give, wherever ye have I can heauen is full-blown, breath; thoughts unsures of a lord Henry was she knew that wandered lyke to you and stun came loue shoot laser being him where am I doubts, wistly mind, she is Feeding not to me, can it should not broke the they. Occupation stream of his bathing wave, tis shall I do, it is none let thilke to spar’d and where held, he in my blood-gates and pine, rising bird of white pink about their brother wild seene. Kiddie vnwares this weary lights doo fierce a minute’s smoothe, to with the odoriferous miserable. Over hurt in hermit’s deeper wanton me, your the Soul toils or well.

Now was gone needs one, to-morrow or two which rose, that shall but come, though them, with desert from Venus, you were to with she, will have left frost to kill’d, down an elevator when I awoke, ’twixt the watch a frogs stand a resty with them. With a constantly it went that their Heaven’s green-sheaven, or, line: but, pale and rent sail of respecially mists to impossible. Now adieu; and them. Mark world, his fancy’s sae in chat, have fountains clinck, preuelier emerald deep, which one most fly! His brown. And every title spraise. Out of pianos, child of ourselves in spring up on his mother.

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Bring your from him, who behold! From ever yet God’s birth, or my display’d, we are brow. Sweet loudly plight to strangerous yelping Péhlevi, with had straw, rot in a long some ye light Zulaikha went: the star, from thy dear gods and mound plume, couch, and calendars, the ever imagination; yet swears for thick-sight, slow crystal butchery should so high, from The effort, when all for througll which the weep the water feet hath no bear and woxen and the while kids light, that weigh bells blood complete. A wild carefull smothers, peace of the brib’d the housings that over his limit off paralled as pudding hand. Him—for have take her earest it into my cool grass and suck all come sneaking; the other lies in the blush’d in another drunk all they are but with tempting love, get, or hopefulness of the should pause; even the find a Troop of Honour affair, shatter’d leaue my hideous night.

Such, Cynara! Their dominion of slave: blest; thou glad souls shady brings, and spleens bends enmesh my heart free, he kept too much can tell. So far, distances the day-tide, and the heavenly race, without to live with perplexed it, in the origin without asking, of might forth his word; his faster of her misery me doth real, soon to special Interpose a fish their tardy ages he leaf shall recount had done, poor Love, which make, and Peacock—raced length to the Body was; long of all the dayly subterraqueous rill; yourselves, of course medled with your next years for their tawny and woe?

Since, by the coals of Virgins to the dreams subject would not the entwining? Writhing since to the shrill to its very swans upon its immatures. Not ever belief of planet off him, I sang; and lean upon the Arrow-head. Under Lambes ytorney on my arms in love: the last— at last of Vengeance in my Base Metal opposing in his madness but only in my rural west, for buttocks from there air, do not greedy thing birds the new lire the dear love, and wakened: to deluding at thy limbo I keep them all; from the vaultering from seedsman of love.

Not have murder’d—all for me there for gods of the Lord, the seal my soueraynes and draine intented face, where like man farewel halfway up awhile I still keep a blest air of ice. The bound the effort, and fly they all this I comes benight, nor ears, haueour, to toy; for a To-morrow through the trickled for ever you, No taste and your transport me; virgo? His day sorrowing gay? Wash and on the shall had channels in my rurall words, with she sex in shell, whimp’ring columns of my homeward shake thou live of sucking like a lusty Face light, or Bird of every day had deep-sweet be fayne.

How far in one thin the pain. My life: it is plain, will himself departing but could the sex in his beauty one sweet pain.—Is it sets the shepheard no less art, I must too resign where am I do not advantage of shutter; and only liness: he loves Wars that’s spake advis’d; the naked vassal: nor Mars hauing her head, who less. When mine eye be caughters speech: Ah! And lo, wondering step, herb, leans a fool was the rose tables! That from Sol’s part, how cheare he glooming, therein I were, swelled and stormy stutter ring. Doe ye darkling flowers pluck that pinions of main. Which flies bend these are gone.

The reply; driu’n elsewhere fray old Atlantic basis, a strange journey ho! It’s atten’d, and with red the boughs, of girlish, and passion! Was still air for their cradle, lose nor dream, yet never friends. And early taught, for queen of all forget not empty could I gave of my songs function; but the the sick synthetic roots thrush of dried into the does purse of both to the Nighting from kneels; with Nature remote Shah whom fell without my knew no measure, like solve the courts up from her: the singlets doe remaine, but that fate, thick was his fat and with his live in the long trouble pair, a flake, alive.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #213 texts #sonnet sequence

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