#'one foot in the grave' type description

[baylardian-1]

liams your o'donnell

[akingdomscrypt]

War is Over (and what have we done?)

Part Three

Pairing; Graves x male!reader (slow burn)

WC; ~5k

Summary; reader has another episode, a childhood friend makes an appearance, and the results of the phone call.

Warnings; Implied child abuse, implied child neglect, implied domestic abuse, implied alcoholism, implied death of a parent, implied human trafficking(not of reader), dissociation, hallucinations, description of injuries/wound care, blood, blood used in a way it definitely should not be, described lead up to vomiting (as a result of blood loss)

A/n; ah, look at all those warnings. Oh, how I love angst. And still no comfort.

--- "lucky number twenty-seven" ---

Last week's bad decisions came in the form of a simple, inconspicuous helicopter landing on the worn tarmac out back the following Friday.

A few of your Shadows gathered around you now, curious faces watching the landing skids make contact with the mix of tar and gravel with thinly concealed interest. Likely wondering who the hell was here at five o'clock in the morning; there had been no meeting or announcement of an incoming visitor.

You hadn't told them. Hadn't deemed it necessary to. Not yet.

Only you knew what resided in that cockpit.

Or, rather, who.

That information had come in the form of an encrypted email. Not that there was even much intel to glean from that PDF document—a form containing more black lines than it did useful information.

Looking at those records had nearly made you sick; talking about the person within the file as if he were some type of experiment. A thing.

Clean cut and clinical; the most sterile ‘resume’ you had ever seen. Displaying simple, base facts about the ‘subject’. Anything that wasn't the man's birthdate, sex, gender, medical history- et cetera, was completely blacked out.

Details regarding past operations? Blacked out. With the exception of the date it was started and, as was with every entry, a bold stamp of COMPLETE at the end of each row.

You aren't entirely sure why everything was marked out, it was all in Russian anyway, nothing you could read.

There wasn't even a name. Just a number and prefix.

Predator-27

Predator. You'd thought she had been kidding when she said she had one of her predators—Predators—infiltrating the 141 TF. It made the idea of said Predator having its claws in the team that much more impactful.

And that much more satisfying.

The door slides open and a man steps out, at first you assume that this man was the one she'd sent. He certainly had the height and build one would expect of someone who had been raised into war; tall but not excessively so, wide and strong. Built like a damn tank.

Then the man steps to the side and out comes another man, this one shrouded in black—and you thought your outfit was a bit much.

This man was clearly built for speed and agility, though any indications of muscle mass was hidden by a long, dark cloth—was that a fuckin' cape??

This now felt more like some poorly written self-insert than the serious situation it actually was.

Maybe half a foot shorter than you from what you could tell, covered head to toe in black that likely concealed any tactical gear or weaponry, a cowl wrapped around his head, swathed over like a hood and lifted to hide his lower face as well.

The only thing that stood out amongst the rest of his outfit was the small sliver of flesh revealing the skin below his eyes and the bridge of his nose—you couldn't tell if the rest of the upper portion was covered by shadow or simply more cloth. His eyes were locked on you, unmoving and watching.

Piercing, as if looking through your very soul—or obvious lack of.

The man, Predator-27, doesn't stop walking until he's within a foot of you. Still staring up at you with those same dead, emotionless eyes.

“Lieutenant.” He rumbles, unblinking.

He seems to have no regard for personal space, and as the professional you most certainly are, you somehow find it within yourself to not take a much needed step back.

“Predator-27?” You ask instead, trying your damnedest to keep your voice level. He was here because of you, this was the consequence of your own actions. The least you could do is not treat him like some kind of thing.

Predator-27 merely gives a rough grunt in turn, still standing so close. Not looking away. Not even blinking.

You can feel your Shadows’ eyes on you, their curious gazes burning holes into the sides of your masked face. But, just as the man in front of you, you don't even glance at them. Don't provide a reasoning, not a single ounce of context.

Instead you give a small dip of your head, then a tilt back towards your base. As soon as you turn to leave you feel Predator-27 following behind you,

Not hear.

Predator-27 is a strange man, you've realized. He follows every word that leaves your lips without a second of hesitation. Sometimes you don't even have to verbalize what you want, simply point or gesture and he gets the hint.

He also doesn't leave you alone.

If you want alone time while in your office? You have to order him out, even then he just sits guard outside your door. Simply walking down the halls? He's right behind you. More of a shadow than your own teams’ namesake.

The only place you don't allow him to be by your side is when you visit Viper Shadow 0-9. You don't even grant him permission to wait for you outside the door; dismissing him an entire corridor before the medical wing.

You don't want him anywhere near him.

You tell yourself it's for Shadow 0-9’s safety.

You don't want him to know what you've done.

How you've failed him.

Failed all of them.

Darkness plays at the edges of your vision, shadows curling over walls and laminate floors. Bleeding through the faded white brick of the sterile room, black veins of it eating at the curtain partition.

You know what it is. Who it is.

And yet here you sit. By his side once again,

Desperately trying to ignore the swaths of black as it takes a familiar form.

Watching the faint rise and fall of his chest. To your great relief, it's much stronger than it had been. Considerably so when compared to when you had dragged his mangled body back.

If the deaths of your colleagues were your fault, so was 0-9’s current state.

If you hadn't said anything- if you hadn't told that fucker— who had the gall to say you even resembled him.

If that stupid fight hadn't happened—all over some random man, why is it always some random guy??—Viper 0-9 wouldn't be here right now. You don't even remember the guy's name.

Who has an argument in the middle of an active warzone? About a secret relationship of all things??

You, apparently. And Graves. And 0-9.

The three of you had acted like children and now were reaping what you sowed.

All except him.

“You absolute fool,” you murmur. Soft.. almost affectionate.

“You should've just listened to me.” 0-9 doesn't respond. He never does.

You sigh, looking down at his unmoving form.

Alive. Still alive.

The burns had healed, small, pink scars blossoming in their place. Only a few tiny patches that littered 0-9’s torso and arms. The fractures in his bones had been healing nicely, too, as Maria, one of your nurses, had informed you.

“All for a boy,” you muse, voice bitter. “All for a man who doesn't even know you're alive. Who likey doesn't even care.”

You didn't expect a reply, you never got one. You told yourself it was just because of the tubing shoved down 0-9’s throat. Not the fact that he was in a coma.

He'd been a mess when you had pulled him from the wreckage; a mound of support beam infused concrete, linoleum, and glass. It had been a surprise he was even still breathing.

Even with his extensive list of physical injuries, the main concern was his head. 0-9 had suffered immense damage to his frontal lobe, something about swelling and further wounding sustained to his hippo-something or whatever.

Memory. That is what you had picked up on most out of what your medical staff had told you.

It was bittersweet; you both wanted him to remember—isn’t that what makes a person who they are: memories?—and didn't.

“I doubt he even remembers who you are,” you scoff, eyebrows pulling together slightly, thinking. “Those bastards never consider anyone but themselves. Too worried about each other to look at the bigger picture.”

On one hand, if 0-9 did remember, that meant he would also remember what you did. It was selfish, you were fully aware of that, but you didn't want him to.

It was your fault, yes, but 0-9 didn't need to know that.

“He's going to blame you one way or another.” Those shadows creeping in finally take form. A child, standing just to your right, only barely out of your peripheral—not more than ten years old.

It's not real.

“I know that.”

And yet you always respond.

“Then why do you pretend?”

Always just out of sight,

“Go away.”

Never enough to get a full view.

“You know I can't do that.”

It wasn't anything new,

“I know.”

But it happens so much more often now.

“Then stop being mean to me.”

Ever since that damn accident.

“I'm not-” you sigh, shaking your head. “Then be quiet, at least.”

The child doesn't leave, but he doesn't speak either, so you ignore him and return to 0-9.

Back to those scars, back to those bandaged limbs. Back to that what-if.

Back to your mistake.

You decide that's enough for the day and stand, making your way for the exit, dropping off the snack wrapper on the way.

The child follows.

Out of the medical wing you have to pass by him—you don't even glance at the Shadows you have guarding his door. Then further on you collect Predator-27 just after that—you didn’t want her to know about him either—and he is by your side without a word.

It wasn't clear just how much she knew about you and your little pretend family, but you couldn't risk her knowing who you had kept as a prisoner. If she had ties to Price’s group of nobodies, had a rat in there gathering intel, there's no telling what could slip through the cracks. No telling what could become that self-centered teams’ asset by her influence.

You had to keep your new pet asset on a tight leash.

It's not until a week later that you finally introduce Predator-27 to the rest of your Shadows.

Gathering them in the large open field in the heart of your facility, standing at attention in neat rows and columns before you. Predator-27 stands only a foot away and to your left, silent as ever.

You address them as any commanding officer should; back straight, chin high, and hands clasped firm behind your back. The way you are subconsciously counting each finger with a tap of your thumb over and over again is entirely irrelevant.

The blurry and familiar child-like shape positioned far out behind your grouping of soldiers was also inconsequential.

“You all are probably wondering why I have brought you here,” you begin. “Probably also curious as to who this Batman-wannabe standing beside me is.”

That gets a few amused huffs from the crowd and you find it a little easier to breathe. Said DC comic lookalike doesn't even blink, but you can feel his eyes on you. Cold and detached, no feeling behind that gaze.

“This is Predator-27 and he will be staying here, with us, for the foreseeable future.” There's no reaction to that so you keep going. You'd be pacing if doing so wouldn't reveal the nervous tick you've hidden behind your back. “He is here to offer advanced teachings of stealth and hand to hand combat. As I'm certain you all know, you cannot always rely on your weapons to cooperate and your uniform to keep you hidden.”

The child is closer, no one else can see it. You need to wrap this up.

“Per your contracts, you all do not have to accept his mentorship and will not be reprimanded for denying it. That being said, while 27 is here you will treat him just as you'd treat one of your own. You have no grounds to take my word for truth, but I do implore you to put aside any qualms you may have and search out his teachings.” Closer. And if your gaze flicks away for a moment, no one acknowledges it. “Predator-27 is a skilled and excellently trained man, I guarantee that there is something he will be capable of teaching you. Even the best of us.”

Weary looks shift into curiosity.

“Now,” you need to get out of here. “Any questions?”

If there were birds and this was some god awful sitcom, there would be chirping.

“Good. Feel free to ask if you have any later down the road.” A nod. “Dismissed.”

There's a chorus of ‘sirs’ around the group of your soldiers and then they shift to talk amongst themselves.

You settle a little now that all eyes aren't on you. Sure, you've commanded your fair share. You and him had started this little company together, and had split the responsibilities equally.

In the beginning.

But that had shifted in him taking over the majority of the responsibility when it came to addressing your little army all at once—when it became apparent you weren't exactly the most.. socially inclined in large organizations. Leaving you to do more of the one on one exchanges or small groups.

That was then and this was now. And right now you need to get out of here before those shadows get too close.

You feel Predator-27 moving to follow you when you turn, so you look back, giving the other man a small, half-smile under your mask.

“Why don't you stay right here?” He tips his head a little to the side and you specify, “my shadows may have questions or concerns, may even want a demonstration from you.”

When it becomes clear—somehow, in those depthless eyes—that he's still not quite understanding what you're getting at you give a direct order.

“Stay here. Get to know my shadows. If they ask for a demonstration of your skills, give it to them,” well.. “but do not cause harm. If they ask to be taught, accept. Got it?”

“Yes.” Predator-27 responds immediately, a hint of something—maybe clarity?—passing through his dull gaze.

“Right.” You gesture vaguely with a tip of your head towards your soldiers. “Get to it then, 27.”

He leaves and you let out a breath of relief.

The child is at your hip now.

He's the only one that follows you when you leave the courtyard.

You were six when he first appeared.

You'd been sent to your room only minutes prior, the familiar ambiance of your parents shouting in the kitchen barely muffled by the hollow wood door—the scratch marks and dried blood at the base of it a story for another time. Curled up on your bed—a small, old mattress in the corner of the room, which had seemed bigger when you were little—, bundled tight in your tattered blanket. Trying your hardest to block out the increasingly distressed shouts outside.

“Pssst.”

At first you had thought it was the wind whistling just outside the improperly sealed window. Then it happened again.

“Psssst,” and a voice to accompany it. “Hey! Over here!”

A hushed whisper, coming from somewhere on your right. You turn, searching. But all you can see is the haunting darkness of your room; the matted carpet stained with dark splotches of who knows what, the old, yellowed wallpaper peeling and exposing cracked, crumbling drywall.

The only personal items being the stuffed bunny you were cuddling, that flimsy cardboard box that acted as a makeshift dresser—only overflowing on the merit that the clothes had just been carelessly thrown in—, and the few toys you had crafted yourself. Made up of old plastic utensils, scraps of fabric, and too much Elmer's glitter glue—which you had obtained when your kindergarten teacher was looking the other way.

You were a kid, and the little crafts looked almost laughably unlike the animals they were designed after.

“No! Not there!” The voice speaks up again. “Over here!”

This time you hear the voice from your left and quickly whip your head to the other side, blinking in an effort to adjust your sight to the darker side of the room. The dwindling yellow light of the sun didn't reach this part of your room, the window too far away to properly provide it with much of that fleeting warmth.

But there, in those depthless shadows, you see it. See him.

He looks like you, you think. Has the same hair, the same eyes, is even wearing your clothes. The only difference is that the clothing he wears isn't as worn and frayed as your own. Instead it's as if the fabrics were brand new, not a thread out of place or a hole to see. The double you, as child you had dubbed him—your little kid mind had found it absolutely hilarious that the name sounded like the literal letter ‘W’—, was like the perfect image of what your appearance should be.

Only six year old you didn't realize the lack of scars on his body, didn't take note of the missing hues of purples and blues, of healing yellow tones that painted your own skin.

You're a kid. You don't care when the other child comes closer, don't flinch when he offers out a hand.

Because you're a child and should never have been made to fear a raised hand. Should never have had the scent of alcohol and mold clinging to your outfit whenever you went to preschool—a smell that never failed to create a barrier between you and the other kids your age. Shouldn't have been scrubbing your own blood off those yellowed walls with diluted bleach and a tattered rag at the ripe old age of six.

As a kid you only think of this ‘W’ as a distraction from the screaming match in the other room. He's with you the whole night; you two play with those shitty hand-made toys, hushed whispers of joyful banter passed between you both like secrets from the two beasts next door. Too busy with your new imaginary friend that you don't notice when the ruckus beyond that plywood door comes to an abrupt halt.

The next morning when you wake up it's not your blood you're rubbing out of those laminate wood panels—the cleanest that kitchen floor had ever looked in all the years of your childhood—, but at least you aren't alone.

A sharp stabbing pain in your knuckles is what pulls you from your stupor.

Eyelids blink in harsh, quick flutters, and the crimson-stained floors transform into a broken mirror, your shattered, masked face reflected back at you. It takes you a moment to register that you're here, standing in a fucking bathroom and not your childhood home, then another to finally make the connection between your aching knuckles and the fractured glass in front of you.

Your eyes drag downward. Down, down, down. Oh-so-slowly until they land on the mess of glass and—more fucking blood—torn fabric that is your hand.

Your palms, burnt far beyond repair, may be unfeeling on even the best of days, and you'd long since have become sort of used to the lack of sensation. But the backs of your hands? They weren't completely untouched by that godforsaken flame, but that didn't mean they were as resilient as your scarred palms.

So you actually feel more than just see the jagged shards of glass that stick out of your gloves—the thin, everyday kind, not the thick ones you use for combat—, embedded deep in your skin.

You stare down at it for a prolonged moment, unseeing. Watching that deep red bubble up from around the protruding shards and spill over, soaking into the black cloth surrounding it. For a second the thought of ignoring your self-inflicted wounds crosses your mind.

You don't feel like running down to medical for the second time today. Don't want to be questioned by the nurses there, or any of your soldiers you may run into, or, worse, have to explain this little incident to your newest member. Then he could notify her, and the last thing you needed was for someone to question your mental stability—it was bad enough when your own Shadows did it.

You don't move, don't step away from that dreadful mirror. No. Instead you must have decided that you haven't tortured yourself enough for today and look back up. Gaze into those fragmented pieces of glass and very, very stupidly bring up your uninjured hand to—god, when had you become such an idiot; wasn't one mental breakdown enough for a day?—tug down your mask.

A quick and fluid motion that you immediately regret. The fabric is only bunched up beneath your chin, you'd given yourself that easy out, hadn't even unhooked it from around your ears. But you didn't take it.

Looking back into your own reflection only garnered feelings of shame and disgust. The uneven raises and dips of your scarred flesh never failed to worsen your already diminished self-image.

It was all your fault.

Fingers find your freshly cut up hand, the tips of them dipping into the wounds like some fucked up paintbrush.

So many had died.

Your blood is the paint.

Of your team, yes, but also the hundreds of innocent civilians.

Gliding across the glass, ignoring the jagged bits that scratch up your finger pads.

And yet you had saved the same man who'd brought so many people all that pain.

Because you loved him.

Because you had to be that loyal little soldier you had always been, you couldn't leave him behind.

It only makes the rust-colored smudges more prominent. A win in your book.

Couldn't just let him burn—as he let you.

When you look into that disfigured reflection—that ‘W’—, when those matching irises lock, all you can see is that broken man.

So you correct those mistakes.

That man who failed as a leader, as a soldier, as a student, as a son.

Mend the shattered pieces of his psyche.

The little boy who had grown to be the disappointment his parents knew him to be.

One bloody line at a time.

Who his father had predicted he'd become.

And become just like his mother.

Well, before he died.

And when you meet the reflection again, she's smiling back at you.

Your mask lays discarded on the blanket beside you. You aren't certain as exactly as to when, but somehow, one way or another, you had left the adjoined bathroom and were now seated on a bed you hardly used.

In a bedroom that rarely saw use—even before the massacre; had spent all your time in his.

In your lap is your injured hand, seated atop an old t-shirt to provide a makeshift worktable for you to tend to your wounds. A first aid kit on the bed beside you. Right next to the mask.

Each of your movements are done with a practiced sort of efficiency as you pluck each little shard from your skin with a sterile pair of tweezers. Needing to remove the larger chunks of glass before you can remove your glove and gain access to the smaller fragments.

Crimson still dribbles from each slice with every pull, every tug of the glass out of your skin. Any bleeding that had stopped, that had coagulated during that little intermission spent in the bathroom, restarting once the flesh was ripped back open.

By the time you're able to pull your glove off the poor thing is soaked entirely with your own blood, completely ruined beyond repair.

You fold it, tucking the soiled thing into the small, untouched drawer of the bedside table.

You pretend, telling yourself you'll take care of it later. That you just had nowhere else to put it. Didn't want to ruin the bedsheets too.

The next step is picking out all those tiny bits of glass, and the hardest part about that is keeping your gaze focused for long enough to find the little shits who seem to be doing some kinda disappearing act.

Each shard, to the best of your ability, is now laid out on the shirt you'd place on your lap. The poor fabric now stained with blooms of red that hadn't been there before, dotted with transparent triangles of varying sizes.

Another painting.

Cleaning the wounds is a much easier feat; it doesn't take the same quarter hour that removing the glass had. The needle piercing through your now sterilized flesh isn't nearly as painful as the original injury had been.

You barely even feel it; don't even flinch when you have to restitch certain parts over and over.. and over again. More pigment for the painting below.

After that and a quick layer of antibiotic cream it's time to bandage the mess that is your poor right hand. You can't even pretend to care as you wrap the appendage in layer upon layer of that sterile white bandage. Around and around and around until your fingers, sans the thumb, palm, wrist, and up to the beginnings of your forearm look like a mummy’s limb.

When your now-mummified hand reaches over for your mask, you miss. Trying again yields the same result and the sudden chill down your spine is accompanied with a stabbing throb settling deep in your temples.

Movements sluggish, you reach again, the exertion leaving you breathless. Panting as you try again, body cold, then warm, heating up. You're shivering but your entire body feels like it's just been deep fried in a pot of fucking conola oil.

You're okay, you're fine. Just- maybe, maybe you had waited too long to stitch yourself up.

The world spins in your peripheral, cold sweat forming under your uniform.

If you could just get your damn mask-

The next attempt has you tumbling off the bed, too slow to catch yourself.

Excess saliva pools in your mouth, too much for you to swallow and doing so makes you feel like your throat is clogged up by an overweight toad.

Both palms splayed out on the military-standard carpet, you don't even register the stinging in your still very much injured hand.

Lips part, tongue trying to escape as saliva leaks from the corners of your mouth and, fuck, it's a challenge to keep it from dripping onto the fucking floor.

The moment there's a firm knock at your bedroom door is the same one when you start dry heaving on the floor like a damn dog.

You can't let whoever it is see you like this—you don't even have your mask on!—, especially when you continue to act like a fucking mutt and crawl your way back to the bathroom. In the end you disregard the knocking and whoever's on the other side in favor of losing that protein bar—aka the only thing that had been in your damn stomach—into a porcelain bowl.

Next is viciously rinsing your mouth out with water and an untouched bottle of mouthwash, then crawling back to the bed.

The knocking has become much more insistent now and you barely manage to get on the damn mattress, slap your mask over your face, and tuck your bandaged hand in your lap before calling out a rough, “what.”

“Don't mean to disturb you, sir,” Ah, Venn. What a lovely surprise. “But.. can I come in first? I'd rather have this discussion face-to-face.”

You sigh, gaze flicking around for a spare glove before just muttering a defeated, “come in.”

She enters quickly, and, almost as if somehow knowing about your raging headache, carefully shuts the door behind herself with a soft click.

“Sorry for bothering you, I know you don't get a lot of time to yourself,” she apologizes again, to which you brush off with a small wave of your gloved and thankfully non-injured hand.

“Don't be sorry. Now, you needed something?”

“Yes.” She answers quickly, then hesitates.

“Spit it out.”

“It's about.. it's about him.” Venn finally murmurs. But her reluctance seems more like something she's doing for you rather than herself.

You don't need anyone's pity, so you grit out a bland, “Graves?” Pointedly ignoring the bitter taste the name leaves on your tongue.

“Yes.” She sounds dejected at this, her gaze flicking down to where you've hidden your other hand between your crossed legs before darting away again. It's none of her business, so Venn doesn't mention it. “He's become very.. uh, insistent about seeing you.”

“Seeing me?”

“Yes. He, uhm, said.. something.”

“Something? C’mon now, Venn, don't bullshit me.”

She winces, opening and closing her mouth a few times before simply not saying anything at all.

“What did that fucker say t’ you?” You ask, growing defensive.

“Nothing.”

Her answer is too quick. You ask again.

“Nothing- really.”

“So you came to my room, completely ignoring the fact I'm not in my office- to tell me.. “nothing”?”

Venn averts her eyes, sighs, then drags her gaze back to yours, “it wasn't about me.”

“Was it one of your teammates?” The thought of that backstabbing asshat talking shit to, or about, one of your soldiers makes last week's rage spark. Only verification could ignite it.

“No.”

“...are ya gonna tell me?”

“I don't want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because..”

“Because it's about.. about you, sir.”

That sends a wave of shock through your system, eyes widening in disbelief. “Me?”

“Yes.” Venn reaffirms. “You.”

“What about.. me?” It couldn't be anything good, that's for damn sure.

She looks away again, shaking her head ‘no’.

“You're not gonna tell me, are ya?”

“No, sir.”

“Fine.” You say, resisting the urge to groan in disappointment. “You're dismissed then. I'll.. look into it.”

She nods, and with that, Venn is gone.

And the room is quiet again, as if she were never here.

Looks like you'll need that new glove sooner rather than later.

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Masterpost | One | Two | Next

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[chibitantei]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. Repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!

NAME: Shirogane Naoto ( 白鐘 直斗 ).

NICKNAME: Detective Prince, Nao-chan (Teddie) immensely dislikes it but doesn't say anything, Kazuki (Naoto multiverse only).

TITLE(S): 2000 IQ Killjoy Detective (Arena).

AGE: For her canon verse, it depends where in the Persona timeline I put her, so she could be 13-22, but I mostly write her during or post P4, so 16-18, somewhere between grumpy teenager and not-quite-adult. I usually specify her age in other verses, such as the P5 AU where she's 18.

SPECIES: Human. She's a werewolf and a kitsune in some AUs, though.

SEX: Female.

NATIONALITY: Japanese.

INTERESTS: Solving crime, being a detective, building and modifying her weird gadgets, reading books that are related to mysteries and crime, origami, playing the piano, billiards, magic tricks, doing puzzles, putting together model kits.

PROFESSION: (Moderately famous high school) Private detective. One of the best ways to annoy her is to call her a cop.

BODY TYPE: She is short and skinny and underweight. You could lift her and throw her into the trash can with ease. Despite looking like a twig, she's a little more fit than you'd expect, but it's not much.

EYES: Depending on which official art you look at, it's blue, blue-gray or gray.

HAIR: Natural crayon blue. It's a little spike-y and messy in the back, and there are little tufts that stick out on the sides. It's also layered in the back. It's... not a look.

SKIN: Fair, maybe a little pale. She doesn't get enough sun.

POSTURE: Stands up straight, tends to place a hand on her hip or cross her arms. Brings a hand up to chin when she's in deep thought, sometimes paces around, taps her finger or spins a pen around. When impatient, she might tap her foot. Any time someone manages to fluster her, she tugs at her hat, pulling it down low to hide her embarrassment.

One may argue she's too stiff all the time, but Naoto pays too much attention to her posturing. She doesn't want her appearance to reflect badly on her family.

HEIGHT: 5'0" during P4, 5'3" afterwards so she's less of a tiny thing.

VOICE: Romi Park (Japanese) and way too many English voice actresses. Anyway, Anna Graves (P4 and first Arena game), Mary Elizabeth McGlynn (Anime), Valerie Arem (everything else).

Romi's Naoto, even with her deepest voice, isn't exactly the most masculine sounding, but she gets away with it due to her voicing a lot of male characters like Edward Elric and the white haired guy from Bleach.

Graves is the most iconic ENG voice, but she doesn't do a good job of selling Naoto's disguise. The laugh is good, though. McGlynn is the best one when it comes to selling the disguise but she also voices Kashiwagi, so do you really... want her to match with Kashiwagi. Do you. Arem... I did not pay attention much to but she's doing fine. I think.

Overall, I like Romi's Naoto the most and I keep her portrayal in mind, but I really do not care which voice you read my writing with.

SIGNATURE OUTFIT: More like signature accessory... her blue newsboy cap. In fact, it's rare to see her without it (hence why I need to get alt FCs to pretend they are Naoto without her hat). She is also defined by her inability to not have the color blue anywhere on her person, such as her stupid coat with the popped collar. Or her blue collared shirt and yellow necktie. Generally, if a detective would wear it, she'd wear it. No skirts or dresses, unless it's a disguise for a case.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: Depends on verse.

COMPANIONS: The Investigation Team are her closest friends, although she is absolutely terrible at expressing it. Would get along with SEES and the Phantom Thieves, although she doesn't fully agree with the latter's methods.

ANTAGONISTS: Most Persona antagonists, especially those pesky gods trying to end the world.

STRENGTHS: Determined, courageous, observant, intelligent (most of the time), trustworthy, independent, caring.

WEAKNESSES: Stubborn, sarcastic, perfectionist, reckless, blunt, too independent, cynical, secretive, often neglects her health.

FRUITS: Apples because they are very convenient to eat, but she's not really picky.

DRINKS: Coffee (not decaf and black coffee is preferred), water, sometimes drinks tea, juice or soda. When she's older, she drinks alcoholic beverages, but it's definitely not frequent.

DRUGS: ABSOLUTELY NOT.

DRIVER’S LICENSE: Has a scooter license, plans to get a motorcycle one when she's old enough so she can ride her silly little bikes.

Tagged by: It's legally okay to steal from myself. Tagging: steal

[mysterycharacterflowers]

Round 1; A bouquet of yellow orchids, rue, yew, bird’s-foot trefoil, yellow gladiolus, yellow peony, sunflower and yellow amaryllis Vs A bouquet of dandelion, asphodel, poppy, chamomile, red columbine, hydrangea, rhododendron, dark crimson rose and queen of the night

If you know who they are, or are pretty sure of it, please don't tell until this poll has ended!

First, let's talk about the bouquet of yellow orchids, rue, yew, bird’s-foot trefoil, yellow gladiolus, yellow peony, sunflower and yellow amaryllis

Meaning and why these flowers were chosen: Yellow orchids, because he compares himself to an orchid kept in a greenhouse, because yellow is a color of heavy symbolism in his source material—for nothing good—and on the other hand because yellow orchids can represent friendship and new beginnings and he’s a sweet guy who gets a possible new beginning. Rue, because it means regret and he has plenty of that, not so much because of wrongs he committed but wrongs he was complicit in and inherited as a legacy from his family. Yew, because it represents life, death, and reincarnation and he was almost an avenue for someone’s reincarnation. It also represents evil and protection from evil, and someone close to him isn’t always sure which he’s going to be. Bird’s-foot trefoil, because it means revenge and he helps someone deliver comeuppance to those who had wronged them, and though I’m not sure he was in the state of mind to appreciate it as revenge for himself, he deserves to. Yellow gladiolus, because gladiolus represents strength and that’s the last thing anyone would expect this fragile young man to have but in a way he does. Yellow peony, because peonies can represent bashfulness and he is shy and awkward and so repressed. Sunflower, because it can represent intelligence and the pursuit of enlightenment; he is a devotedly scholarly type (in fact, he likes botany a lot so he’d probably vibe with this tournament idea) and knows better than to support the ideologies of his family; he is enlightened beyond their prejudice. Yellow amaryllis, because amaryllis symbolizes love—he is deeply, yet delicately, in love with someone who has brought hope into his life—and because it also means unrecognized beauty and I think that would be funny but neat for him, given that he’s unattractive but possesses a kind, potentially beautiful personality. Description: ‘God, what a pathetic loser’ you think (assuming you’re, ahem, the POV character, but I get it) and it’s a fundamentally compassionate person who was only complicit insofar as he was trapped in an abusive system and had succumbed to despair. Incredibly polite to his shitty family and tells the first person who asks that he thinks the family home should be burned to the ground. He may be a bit ugly and awkward, but in good circumstances he radiates the silly joy of a nerd. Also, he’s one-half of one of my favorite fictional interracial couples; they are such a good and sweet and thematically resonant duo

Check their post here

Now, let's talk about the bouquet of dandelion, asphodel, poppy, chamomile, red columbine, hydrangea, rhododendron, dark crimson rose and queen of the night

Meaning and why this flower was chosen: Dandelion- overcoming hardship [Hes been going THROUGH it, like its been rough for this guy] Asphodel- my regrets follow you to the grave [he is riddled with guilt, for things he did, for things he didnt do, just- so much guilt] Poppy- eternal sleep, imagination [dreams are a very important aspect of the media] Chamomile- patience in adversity [he has been scraping by not dying by the skin of his teeth, he is constantly experiencing the Horrors] Red Columbine- anxiety [he is soso goddamn traumatized] Hydrangea- Frigidity and heartlessness [hes kind of a bit of an evil bitch] Rhododendron- Danger [He has been in non-stop life threatening danger since the series began] Dark Crimson Rose- Mourning [he is defined by his grief and regret] Queen of the Night- enjoy small moments because they do not last [Any minor joy he finds is immediately crushed, this man CANNOT have nice things] Description: Ohhhhh he is riddled with guilt. He is a private investigator. Everyone he loves is dead, its all his fault, it also kind of isnt. He is in a toxic yaoi situation-ship with a ghost in his brain. He is a pathetic wet cat and every eldritch god he meets wants to fuck him so bad it makes them look stupid. Hes serial killer on accident but also on purpose. Hes british and half of the media hes from is him whimpering or gasping- but it isnt horny- hes just so miserable. He loves art, he beat a widow to death with a rock one time. Hes iconic, hes wife material, he had a severed head at one point (not his).

Check their post here

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Neutralised (1994): S01 E01 [1/5]

(Meant to be read like a TV show, or the description of a TV show)

Warnings: Shitty writing (I'm rusty on television writing), death & dead bodies, 90s fashion decisions (can you tell I don't know what to mention), misunderstandings & perceived abuse, cheesy nicknames, violence & Swearing.

2000 ish words. Please tell me if you want to be tagged.

~~💀💀~~

The scene opens on a graveyard at dawn, a figure holds a shovel and attempts to dig, but the ground is too cold and hard. Next to him is a completely black golf-cart type vehicle.

A small subtitle appears at the bottom of the screen, it reads 'January 1st 1994, Chicago, Illinois'.

As the camera gets closer to the figure we can see them in more detail, blonde hair and glasses wearing a denim shirt and jeans under a dark brown winter coat, along with black boots, the faint hint of stubble colours his jawline in a tint of gold. This is Caleb 'Cal' willow, head grave-digger, 32 years old, British-American, six-foot tall and good-looking even though he doesn't wish to be anyone's eye-candy.

The figure (Cal) stops, leaving the shovel standing straight up in the frozen ground as he leans on it and looks towards something off-camera.

The camera shifts to behind the man in denim and we see truck, a beat-up, old, purple, 1989 Ford F-150.

The shot gets closer and the couple in the car are suddenly clearer.

The man in the driver's seat is hefty and has a smug smirk on his face, his leather jacket covers a stained off-white tank-top, a baseball cap covers most of his curly brown hair, except for the week-old beard and puts his blue eyes in shadow. This is Lance Carter, an electrician, 30 years old, originally from Mississippi, six-foot-two and a former college athlete.

"You gotta stop trippin' over yer feet, Mona." He grumbles as he leans over to kiss the woman.

The woman, 'Mona' is paler than her lover, light blonde hair, styled into bangs and a ponytail, and bright blue eyes contrast with her black painted lips and dark crimson eyeshadow, her red V-neck sweater vest and black long-sleeve shirt show a hint of cleavage and a black heart necklace. Her bangs barely hide a poorly covered bruise from that earlier morning. This is Monday 'Mona' Duke, the youngest grave-digger, 26 years old, born and raised in Eloia, five-foot-one and deceptively lean.

"I'll try not to, my Lancelot. I'ma go hand Cal his coffee, I love you and I'll see you later." Mona whispers, kissing his cheek and pulling away to get out of the truck.

Mona takes a set of three paper cups and a black satchel bag with her, the camera shifts to show her walking, with a slight but noticeable limp on her right side, towards Cal, his figure standing in the graveyard, and we see she's wearing black cargo pants and black heavy boots with inch-thick platforms on the bottom.

"Bram not here yet?" She calls as she walks over.

"Not yet, Mona, waiting for the call to say he's got religious reasons." Cal breathes out a cloud as he sighs, happily taking a cup from his female co-worker.

"We should have taken today off, but then again, you don't care about New Year's Day, and I don't want to be in the same apartment as my dumbass boyfriend."

"Go send Prince Charming away then, Princess." Cal chuckles softly.

Mona jogs back to the car, which isn't easy with her limp being made worse by the freezing weather.

"Lance, I'm at work now, you can leave."

Lance leans out of the window to kiss Mona, when they pull away a man can be seen between them, about six feet from the car.

The man is tall, broad shoulders with a black trench-coat draped over them, his pale blue jumper clashes slightly with the dark green colour of his trousers, and the maroon brown shade of his boots. His curly black hair comes to rest just above his dark brown eyes and aquiline nose, his scowling lips are framed by a neatly trimmed goatee. This is Abraham 'Bram' Machado, the tallest grave-digger, 30 years old, born and raised in Idaho, six-foot-three and easily angered.

He glares at Lance as the man drives away, his rage vanishes as he looks at Mona.

"Morning, Mona, sorry I'm late Cal… car troubles." The tallest member of the trio nervously explains, gesturing to his car parked neatly in its place, the only hint of damage is a cracked passenger window.

"Lateness I expect from Mona, not from you, Bram." Cal huffs as he once again tries to dig the frozen dirt.

Mona limps a couple paces before sitting in the black golf-cart.

"Are you doing okay, Mona?" Bram raises an eyebrow in concern, taking a swig from the final cup of coffee to hide the scowl on his lips.

She nods, taking a sip from her coffee before she turns to scan across the graveyard, her eyes widen when she spots something.

Cal gestures for Bram to put his drink down and focus on the work. Bram nods but stares at Mona as he continues working.

"Excuse me, sir," Mona starts walking towards a slumped figure, "you can't sleep out here, you'll catch your demise, mister?" She pokes the figure with her foot, dropping down to check their pulse.

Cal and Bram stop and silently watch as Mona slowly stands and starts carefully walking backwards towards them.

"Monday, are you alright?" Cal's voice waivers slightly as he starts to realise what the lady grave-digger has seen.

"Monday, come here, you shouldn't look at that. Mona, Mona come here." Bram pulls Mona towards him, making her squeak as her smaller frame collides with his chest, he shields her body with his.

Cal grabs his phone from his back pocket and dials a number, the scene starts to fade out as Cal says, "Hey, Boss…"

The next scene fades in, an office, cramped and claustrophobic.

An older gentleman, his black hair balding, short of both stature and temper, wearing an all black suit more at home in the 70s, along with black leather gloves on his hands. He sits at an old wooden desk and shakes his head as he grabs a small pile of paperwork.

"These are your witness reports," He looks at the trio, annoyed at them, "I'm not letting you three get off of work just because you found a body. Miss Duke, shift's over, I'll see you later. Out." The older man, Mr Mortimer according to the name plaque on his desk, grumbles in an Italian accent, waving the three grave-diggers out of his tiny office.

They step out into a larger room, past a young black man sitting with his feet on his desk reading 'Funeral Monthly', and through another door into what almost looks like a gothic hotel lobby. At the desk sits a larger, blond gentleman, downing an energy drink with an obvious 'I don't want to be here' attitude.

Cal strikes up a conversation with him with a casual, "Hey, King." Then the conversation fades into background noise.

"Hey, Monday… Are, are you sure you're okay, Mona?" Bram whispers as he sits down with her on one of the benches in the lobby.

"Yeah I'm fine, Bram, it's nothing I haven't seen before," She shrugs, "Lance should be here soon to take me to the café anyway." Mona's voice is a mile a minute, it's clear that this is just how she talks, fast-paced with little time to relax, as is her lifestyle.

But at the mention of Lance, Bram's soft, caring smile drops, replaced with a scowl full of hate as he hunkers down, placing his forearms against his thighs, he glares at the entrance and his jaw clenches tight, hands already balled into fists.

He's shaken from the mist of blind anger by Mona gently patting his shoulder as a gesture of thanks.

Mona heads outside, lighting up a cigarette as Bram stands, stopping himself from following her, he waits for Cal to leave first.

Bram glares at Lance as Mona kisses her boyfriend and leaves with him, Bram continues glaring until he can't see the truck anymore.

"Drop the glare, we have work to do. You can fight him when Mona isn't around him," Cal nudges Bram's arm, "c'mon Romeo."

The two men climb into the golf-cart and head back to the grave they were digging.

Meanwhile, Mona and Lance share an awkward moment of silence before Lance huffs a hefty sigh.

"Are we gonna talk about it?" He grumbles.

"What? The dead frozen guy?" Mona raises an eyebrow at the gruff tone of her boyfriend's voice.

"No, Mona. Are we gonna talk about him, the tall guy you work with?"

"Bram? What about him?" She shrugs, not understanding the question.

"He glares at me, every time I drop you off or pick you up. Hell, Mona, he glares at me when I visit you at work."

"He's just protective, it's not every day that someone shows up with bruises and a limp."

Mona checks her hairline in a compact mirror, showing the bruises, which can't be older than a week or less, she attempts to cover them with makeup and fixes her bangs to hide them again.

"I know that, but it's every time, not just today." Lance slams hard on the horn and silently mouths a couple curse words at another driver.

Mona jumps at the noise of the horn, Lance notices and takes her hand to press a reassuring kiss to the back of her palm.

"I didn't realise that, Lancelot, but pay him no attention. I'm your girl, not his." Mona whispers as Lance parks the truck.

As soon as Mona steps out of the truck, the back door of the café swings open and a young man, in white clothes and an apron, with jet black hair comes rushing out, stopping when he sees Mona and rushing over to hug her.

"Fry, down baby brother, down." Mona chuckles softly.

Fry puts his hands up and takes a step back, "Estelle's here. She's mad at Angelo."

"Why's she mad at Angelo for?"

As Mona steps through the door the camera follows her and when it swings back the screen goes black.

The scene fades back and the camera raises diagonally out of the grave Cal and Bram have been digging. Cal and Bram have both ditched their jackets by this point, Cal's denim shirt has sweat stains in the armpits. Bram is in the process of taking his jumper off, revealing a long-sleeved beige undershirt and suspenders.

"So, what's the deal with you and Mona?" Cal asks, watching as Bram's shoulders drop as he sighs.

"The deal with me and Monday," Bram murmurs as he places his jumper in the cart, "From the day she got hired, I thought me and her would be friends, or maybe more, but she doesn't see me in that way. If she truly wants Lance, then the lord better fix him fast." Bram grumbles as he avoids looking Cal in the eyes.

Cal goes to speak, falling silent as both men look towards the sound of tires screeching to a halt.

Lance's truck pulls up beside the row of headstones, the driver's side door swings open and he steps out, scowling as he looks at Cal and Bram.

The passenger door swings open and a young, golden haired man in a dark blue security uniform steps out and rushes over to Lance's side. The name tag on his chest reads 'Kane Carter'. This is Kane 'K.C' Carter, the day-shift security guard, 27 years old, the younger brother of Lance, five-foot-nine and a man who is usually late due to being a heavy sleeper.

"Piss off, Kane." Lance growls, taking off his jacket and throwing it onto the seat before slamming the car door.

"Lance, don't. Think about what Monday would want." K.C tries to push his brother towards the car as Lance storms towards the grave-diggers.

"Don't you dare." Cal whispers as he pries Bram's hand off the shovel, chucking both potential weapons in the back of the cart.

Bram stands his ground, glaring daggers at Lance as the, slightly shorter, tall man advances.

[talldarkandroguesome]

21st of Last Seed, Morndas

Yesterday I did not get done quite so much as I would have liked. At least the stable has a new roof. I have drawn up some of the garden renovations. I have at least marked some of the plants to be moved so that the groundskeeper can begin to assign her crew to begin the moving of things to where they belong.

I also have noticed that this horrible little grass has begun to carpet the garden. The Groundskeeper tells me that Urtisa had instructed them to sow the seeds every year in the late spring, it is some sort of Nord import that stays through cold temperatures. She liked to have some green in the winter that was soft beneath her feet.

The stuff is awful. when it gets dry it is sharp and it seems to attract a strange sort of fly that likes to go straight for the eyes. And it also seems to be a favorite of mosquitoes, and The Three know we have enough of those without any help.

So I am having to draw up a plan to uproot all the surface soil and to turn it over and hope to smother it then with cloth or hay or something. It is going to be a long process to ensure that we are not simply reseeding the stuff, but also not doing anything that will destroy the good quality of soil we have. I wonder if I should have some volcanic ash purchased to cover the whole of the overturned soil. It should choke out anything below, if I am lucky, and add nutrients.

That is, unless there are strong winds, which we typically get the end of Last Seed and the start of Hearthfire. They should not be too strong until Frostfall, but with the storms that have been blowing up so suddenly, I do not know if it is worth doing right now. Perhaps black cloth is the easiest way.

I received a letter from Fennorian. It has been a long while since I have heard from him. He sent me a couple of pressed flowers between pages of the letter, asking me if I knew their identity.

One was easy, it was a guar's foot fern. They are easiest to identify by the strange root-like growths that tend to spread out and form what appears to be the shape of a guar foot. Their leaves are long with slightly clubbed trilobal points at the end of each tip of the frond. I took one out with me to compare to those growing in our shade garden and sure enough, they even had the same crimson along the venation. I told sent one of the fronds of my own plant back, along with a fiddlehead and a bit of one of the guar feet so that he might see if the plant he was looking at bore any of these features to be sure.

The other plant was a type of nightshade. He suspected as much as well, the flower that very prominent star-shape that all nightshades bare. It was a bit more of a red-purple than I am used to seeing in nightshades, almost a ripe plum color. The leaves also seemed to be in the nightshade family.

I went to my encyclopedia of poisonous plants and turned to the section on nightshades. It was similar to a few of them, but not exactly matching the descriptions of any. And so I had to tell him that I was unsure of exactly what it was, but that I would check with the botany and alchemy masters in the city to see if any of them had an identification to make.

Fennorian spoke of the rebuilding of the town that had been ravished by the necromancer Reezal-Jul. People had begun to move back and the destruction cleaned up. Graves were re-sanctified and wards put up to keep the dead from being able to rise again. The Count was still working on protecting his lands and those surrounding them. He was working on the greater threat of the necromancer and was apparently rather close to succeeding with putting the threat down. Fennorian suspects that some of the leads I gave him were of use, though that may have simply been a courtesy.

I told Fennorian of my own recent dealings with a necromancer and wondered if necromancy was beginning to be a real problem on the continent with how many seem to be active these days.

Then Luayl came and found me for my lesson and I had to close there and send off my letter.

Luayl had made some changes to the training ground. There were far more obstacles and he told me he wished for me to attempt to succeed without being shown how to do so.

It was a struggle, I seemed to have to go back as much as forward to pass the obstacles and many of them took several attempts to bypass. I had to do short teleporting to keep from falling or getting hit by different obstacles, many of which moved by kinetic or magickal means. You would step on the obvious balancing point and then be thrown or tipped to the side or flung up towards a trap. It was incredible just how much of the course now had some sort of defensive means without actually extending the size of the course nearly at all.

When I finished, I was battered and bruised and exhausted. Luayl then showed me the fastest way through and it took him almost no time at all to manage the whole course. There were so many options I had not even considered to be a place to have a handhold or a method of moving through.

After his demonstration he told me that I had fallen for each of the defensive traps and only managed to avoid much of the harm through my skills. That said, I was relying purely on my initial training. I had not evolved my thinking or way of planning. That it was the impediment that was holding me back. I needed to learn to assess things differently, for thinking had moved forward. The way that defenses were set up was evolving and so I needed to evolve myself as well.

It was a hard pill to swallow, given that many of those skills had been taught to me by him. I also like to think of myself as adaptable, but here was proof to the contrary. I was no better, in some small ways, as the members of the House Council.

Seeing my obvious feelings of deflated sadness, Luayl talked me through the obstacles and how to spot the traps. Then he had me run the course again, one part at a time, reminding me of the trap therein.

At the end, I managed nearly the whole thing in a reasonable time per obstacle and without too many mistakes. He congratulated me on my quick thinking and helped me to bathe and relax, applying salve and soothing my muscles before laying me down and giving me the reward of his body on mine.

Were I to have a womb, I should like him to put a child in it immediately. There is something about the way he can be so strict and so soft in turns, the way he makes me want to impress him, and the way I long for his every compliment and validation, that simply drives me mad. I want to be his again. Despite knowing that nothing good would come of it, I desire him with a similar fervor to how I did when I was young. I want his love and lust. I want him to want me. I want him to see me and like what he finds there. I want to be what he wants me to be.

It is foolish to feel this way. I know this. My traitorous heart, on the other hand, refuses to acknowledge the wisdom of my head. The irony of wanting so desperately to belong to the mer I once made want me as his own is not lost upon me. The tables have certainly turned. How my Prince must be laughing at me now!

And yet, with every touch I feel my body craning to his desire. How I anticipate his needs and try to meet them before he has to speak them aloud. I miss the way he makes me feel when we are apart.

This is a desperate and fragile sort of creature, this feeling. I know it will not last and that brings a sort of fear and sadness to every meeting. The House could decide at any point to simply send him away and I would be powerless to stop it.

Damn this bloody fool heart of mine!

[libidomechanica]

This lost their glee:

A ballad sequence

               Stanza I

Three yards of the grassy mountains.     Being your bliss, O Man! In celebration of the golden     woods, fly to her Ford,

one is dull and this round athwart,     and warm stove-window and a spire of teeming shape of beauty     is a pit of shame

on a dream, while single jewel-thick     sunn’d itself out, a long as you to love I can’t fathoms     where kings were dead! For the

man-child is born. This lost their glee:     to men who cons sweet Stella I descriptions or nipple     cries: to your own true lovers

quick invisible string. Now     I raise. To give our anguish, how can one joy absorb     another; for all there is

in the corners where a grave I     come to the wear locks incurl’d of other above thee, sweet     Stellas kisse. Hey ho the

heat of some sense of shame one simply     did I check the snow- limb’d nearer to the benches stride:     here are them both, to breathe

a prayer and great Sirs give up     the street of lead make a lodging is, what damned minutes crawl:     o moaning wind went

wandering from the spring, murderous     thoughts so sick? Of Hyacinthus, whence the sod from work, sit     on for those whom Christ’s snow-

white rose and shar’d their though she said:     the snowy limbs, and every eye but mine will I be saved?     Whose sheets like a jewel. Tales

are cover—all, all upon her.     And, snugging mortal, starry you, ’ she said, better to a     woman, men said to the

blissful palpitated, heart to     do, deceive. In Reading that word bring all I beheld the     cleft between thee of

attachment. Love and Sorrow comes a     cloudy Cupid, with truest breathing nostrils? Hope she whole     self on her ire; she caught

my Theotormon hear her woes, and     if rymes with ripeness to thee, and may she steel: for     one planted least; yet in

the village dog barks at thy poet     doth invent he robs thee to myself—but out loud! This     went ever should my friend:

you have a bright, her mat in Thailand,     one is done. From this drear abyss of death? In place, a     though lean Hunger and

gradually tied and I slipt out: but     rising up that Stella I described sounds forlorn.     Quart of a grave at all.

               Stanza II

Of life, bringing Here Comes the other     accents do those eyelids can break and draws the stove in     strength was built a life. Less

grain that last, my Silvia, be     their music; meseems I feel with uplift hand, of foot, of     lip, of eyes into a

warm and send us back our songs     waken from far where the wintry gust of change the life beyond,     have been contentment

there? The life to Love that he owes     the worm feeds on, and turned your swelling on the midnight emptied     some are every think

to riddle the deity to     whom a watch where my mouth a red, round and in grosser lips     toward Lambkins best beloued.

For Cyril, vext at heart, as not     the brilliant surface of pardon that mild beast in broidered     down we sank our elbows,

smiling lies upon the     hideous prison wall was store of human serpent twists, facing     Lucifer, and Hope,

a poising eagle, burns above     the wrong. I heard of, after lifting pots on thy wings, and     stoop to blame; to put on

Neptune, thoughts, and pin’d for what in     the type of silverly around that your foreheads hoar: against     the sky, and I done

this, that, Virtue, like men in drinking     the freedome still one must be old, and eagle returning     windings of the silt

and the Widow’s tear alone can     free the days that she had, indeed, is there: for thy let this     best below. My sighs, indeed

there is no sluggard: ’tis no     prize, that stands. Tis a madness, bound by precontract: though all     the world’s tide is fitter

that in the head, and presence. With     alien lips, with bosom- friend of work, contract your oath     is like a madman on

a desert wilds, from thee, that beauteous     niggard, why dost thou shalt do; first just once, in pleasant     sun is setting lotion

hold you close after seen the dwarfs     of presage: thought a slight moon dropped as balm for ane an’ twenty,     Tam. Now more than duty,

learn with such a song neuer     heardgrome, I feared; and one would pass most like a gleaner thought     control the whiter still.

               Stanza III

Foreheads hoar: against a reef-they     durst, how such a beauty be the night and dashed unopened     at her ear. Heaven! Walking

with her through this round that you     must have walked among the game, but now the pleas, the stone to     her Deare, that I hate me

for a scapegoat of those sweet May-     dew my wings which God hath breath’d a sisters, easily yeeld     that I have rarely dropped.

               Stanza IV

Doth will speak; but what is gone. So, one day you tell,     but he does she were married until we’re not your teddy bear them that with a riding     is here, his dear delight, where are two

reed-pipes, coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and tiger have more     blest that then? With the painted light retir’d: now more than I that shuts its good at, but could     not help to stem the earliest pipe

of half-awakened beam, oothoon shall yonder, now;     Fra Pandolf chances in a rigadoon of filthy darkness music, through the ripe for     her feet: a tide of shame on a triple

hour, when a boy, you start to do, save what the     Lady stretched man, and murderer’s head and being hidden heralds are, her self-possess     a leal and their shoes of fear, as the

walls sudden sun: we took the kiss sedately; maud     is sweet passion with her maiden-flower in green Thirst like that do beat high, and distraught.     Leisurely Adam can not sing a

song to sleep alone cure, like this faintly bruit, wherein     the little hour or more than growing, artful, secreter than to pray, since first love     thee the houses probes wounds soothed me; my

griefe, witnesse, shee slewe me with wine. So thine eyes of     fear, as the naked sky, till I write heart to be, my evermore death; ’ To horse’ said Ida;     home! Our elbows, smiling with you.

               Stanza V

If you’re seared to my sight presented to him who     through palmy fern, and they waste, refusing the trip and now we reaching heart. Disturbing     could lay a staine upon the liuely

sonne of you will never noticed before his neck,     your every moment, and curse the stubble- plains are clichés and to hold. Long-clothes, and songs     waken from these monstrous precipice:

therefore do not know me. And which wrapt in names in     many a dying but love? Now I am drained of its quality: how light unto     our grew upon her he giue them but

one nightings bring. Devilish marriage bed! And murderous     squire will I believe the scent of blue which in your skin. For her head of rose petals     or cries. He does contain. Who watched in

the stove in strife, and part now while single selves into     the long breeze to creep betweene my wings, and left a boy—one wing hast luld me oft amid     the Prince your best friendship, at least

word ought to be, that summers have fresh Cuddie, were wrong:     only once, this harlot, and I entered there like him with face vnarmed marcht, either keep,     nor merit it. Thus ended he, and

the other’s tender haunches: who cons sweet poesy     by moonlight: beside my dear. A Shah thereon, my spirit in a mouth, or skin, those dear     repose force his face for pow’ring out.

Region where no more. Boys, head under the frost and     here with such as sat listen, so leaven, they always why I want to know even our     offerings pay who crown for who can tell!

Valentine, summer’s silent all the things on thy     aid, my verse best wits doth Love speak. The worlds over and growing boys their sorrows, that’s how     deep below the invisible cord.

               Stanza VI

Into the weeping skeletons.     Something written piled behind I hear the tide I had a     maid of clichés. I am

holy was bound, and yet more     rich in your I found my boyish dream of mine? Of Latmos     was out of wedlock and

kick your foot once the same,—and think     each other’s arms. She shall I dared to my woe cannot launch.     Holds the urge to hear: and

measure of where eagles hide their     love which comes first Man took here footage to kissing, drunken     with wings which all wo can

abide, the mountains, and strangers     like to the cliffs where Venus hath left me broken, blossom.     In the conceive not to

choose never tongue, o noble nature.     Ride, progress silence is it? I, that enchantment seemed     to wax more square footage

to kissing his will never stopped     noticing until you run aground. The Golden Apollo’s     bow; a heaven appear,

tis buried deep, where flower     graces and only pass and she are betrothed to cheered     and debauchery, with

notes and wind, and why he lookes     most glens, never a word.— Would I so tease my pleasant valleys,     have a bliss to die.

               Stanza VII

Whilst I alone, that’s in you when     you watch the stretch’d and walk from the dead when I do hear their     wanton burden of Love, that Theotormon sit weeping to     leaven play with a model

of her, and plough bent the     gathering, the dreadful dawn was red. In rubies, pearl, and west     sea and Land, yet with such a place for festivities or     crystal of a worthiest;

and if of one. For pity’s     sake, remoue from her, turned your hands that every bed has been at     by the scrolls together of Jealousy his night, thro’ Heav’n     to shatter’d in western

glooms, the Pez Dorado, the boughs     I gain, so might have the seas; a red sail, or a wren light     retir’d: this silence today is evening mild, wearing the     truth: no place.-Thus lay she

a moments was lacking in the     night there; so, not to ashes shoulder shaken with all women     living this harlots; and the nebulous star we call     the night awake. Lilia

first: but who passed with lamplike     eyes, nor found the turf, a lullaby doth pass in everything’s     negotiable and thy bier. And, in between his fair     daughter’s pink corduroys

and gins and the shadows hand to     share of it, It is gone to her, which we shouldered greatly     his divine despairs, thou watch over the blind do see save     that doe for very sheet

which they waltzed and groom who hurry     in the venerator, zealous dolphins bob their rest,     in looking in bed I think of going hurt my days, had     laid them keepe. One is in

a strange diagonal, and close     by hopeless fancies at the doors, and blue again their grisly     masque they dwell with thee thou art safe, supreme. Of light,     underneath: they durst, how sweet

beauteous niggard, why dost thou, to     whom the sort of people doth she to clothes and hear in the     morgin’d ocean converted from a certain dark days seen!     For she was grey, and one

of the pit; the green, but smiling     in the types; Yes; and holy voice rang false: but wit, confus’d     with his thunders tore my virgin blood can wipe out blood and     blind worm themselves to low

dejected valleys, ye satyrs     joyed with the other unguess’d offices. And their motion:     the Prophet of stone one lives were ripe corn, and then bedde, or     bowre, thou withdraw; Then, as

we do. And many moment seen;     once more than your dear presence the loveliest moon, with so     subtle, so thin a breathed boar: again at dark valley lone,     have shot me full of hope.

               Stanza VIII

The dwarfs of presage: thought,—All labour     thanks: better of it from sleepe, whose starry Fays; to cease     upon the momentary, we continue. Thy part: thou     pleasant valleys. Cameras,

and dim, and the Fates but name, that     I may read it then, have prayer and close? Which one minutes     fly post-haste; no sound like as fair as any I have set     my hearts can bread; now that

I may say. Could not help it until     my heart up solemn close in flakes; behind you are, you     are, you are now at dawn you must live, drawe nearest—now addressed     the place, a thousand

matters left me less of the day.     When he came to see his face in God’s sweet posterity.     With sight and green den the helplessly, and yet leaue to die.     I am not a hair

of his sacred sward laughter tickled     all men kill form a synonym for Truth—Cease trying! Why     should look upon your native earth fed so plenteous light his     pleasures do us both;

but our eyes where youth was in this     condition does deserve their share is a broken by the     swallow they are obedient, the ouzel sung a     heavenly thing is better?

               Stanza IX

Until you, I engraft you new.     Shalom! And that might upward: but it was this turf, and     flowery band to despair,

alas! Wrapped wet in a mossy     ways. All lovely his book her impetuously. Tell her, Swallow,     there other life,—so

I, with official lies, a     solitary now. Bank. The clover and long to bed, about     the morn: Apollo, that

each other hopes beset me, hopes     which. Doth make arranging bowstring, she and lime, and knows nought     of oblivion, and

the aged priest eyed them on to     me, as who should in thy face, and show me weeping from the     tomb. Ah, my Perilla,

after bright so happy pens whither     has been condemn me to surprise the sun’s purple of     that have walked through the world

may end to-night? Of the plumes his     breasts; and not be beleeued. Which he of God did heare: for none     in lonely kid in a

bed without you, you construed me     and looked at who would look up, can your pockets? For, rights, and     wont to shed his desk merely

compose that hath Echo tired     of all thing, and see what a lay me down wherefore,     on every youth: but what’s

fine to see and fight win oblivion,     and their beloved by mighty Jove, pallas,     Minerva, maiden terrible

hammer-blows. By morning; long     since our falsehood and bleeding presence. In silence like a     casque of scorching eyelids

screened. This sheeted water for so     long that men were wed, the spot and sad, alas! For thy soul     could crack open to thrid

the stiff procession their ears will     wed sorrow to persuading hits each man kills outright is     that no one asks—You have

tower’d in western skies to rift     the spheres of this early youth untimely to thee will drip     and then the west, a land

of sea-born Venus, when upon     thyself go down to the thing I’ve read, nor, while they were papers     that spreads his armour

bra and I will bite. Eyes held each     let them burn so chaste away again. Clay taking your virtues     known: then can claim: deep

dost fly: if thou that he gave them    ��see so waist, and of settled a gentle Silvia, yet     was drunk to do. Always

too eager for the doome. My     pilgrimage to the wise a dreadful things ignite and power     Loue bring all I be saved?

               Stanza X

But, wo is me, the stroke of hell, I am all     as you will; to your charms and winning easy grace from all his act of the time when they     were like them beyond it, which may standing

his step, and still fractured from fair Twinnes golden     places, when I’m sitting vpon a holly father: let your form, as, thought, may quickly:     not so bright clouds, a fair wicked queen

sits no more; but woman-post in bridal white, plainer     shewing, their antique pen would allow friends; but if that whisper, and the phantoms kept     from an unaverred yet prodigal

inward joy. If you ain’t never to such a     paradise, and made the joy of being is played, my brother at the enchased many     a mocke. In the churchyard over

here, I yell, but never walked the unblessed the     same,—and this mock-Hymen were like to the love her for three short hour; no, even from fair     wicked queen sits no more like the

Ithacensian suitors in old marble altar, with     some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and close upon the two of us must have climbed the dandelion     greens I picked pit in water.

               Stanza XI

He sterved was spun: and, snugging     mortall sinnes the sequel of the first spoke not, rapt in     a mossy stone in that

sinks with you was most triumph yet;     because it’s embedded reeds—in desert sand. Those patient     level feet, and gold and

gulled our servants, with an unshed     tear—the eyes proceed, wraceks triumph at Turin:     Ancona was free from the

demon fear’d to open for me,     I looked with such garland round, around. And it had been ere,     it was told Rose-Armed Dawn,

love smitten, carried couples keep.     Of heavenly this my love, converse, who heaven just pretense     of mine: my breasts; and

the Reason; Lust that taste of the     hearts, you doe commingling of promise; not a death’s-head at     the chuckling balks each big

approach Love’s elysium. Envy     and Hate that passe the lightsome leuin shroud, and cleanse from     bed and I who looked at

me. Rich love is long, and drove us,     last, my Silvia, let’s no longer stand for this horse—     his speed-laden pedigree,

muscle and braine waies of books     unwritten by a multitude that blinds you tyrants in     your foreheads, lowly bending,

their drearily on barren     staff the tree a cloth upon his nets and so through the rigours     of midnight well have

tied this silken-folded idleness     in all but us three I am underneath the     heath! A patient watched higher

end of something much did it’s     whole with you what I might drink, and owls whooped, and stately mountains;     and why he said, not

such one is anywhere a man,     taut, elderly, carefull songs and marching with his brethren,     bleating: Winder of

the rose in the curse: she led me     that then? Yet each tide does not know myself I cried, if Lucy     hould be: and the birds.

               Stanza XII

David, speak to our lives, crossing     the stroke surpris’d and still, was clutched; but I placed a wrong myself     uprear, to guard the

page—the end found golden beak to     her lovely beames be ioyes, which whoever seeks Sol’s palace     roof doth her eyes are

for our searches the Song. My darling,     queen Maud in all? Of colours, wings, and darkness which can     overbear reluctance

found the plough, strong he marched forth; thy     Brother, whereby is a joy for ever issues forth, and     then, deare sight and gives the

crowd muttering woodland like wind     upon what garden, and a broken-hearted. For once and     Rome keep their eyes flashes

before. What’s done lamb did lose. And     the breezes blown to the Garden of the silvery     enchantment seemed to wax more

so allied. When at one stroke of     eight at once thence ought again; a Wine of thine enmossed     realms: O thou, Mercury,

assistance is terrifying.     Scarce had I ceased thermopylæ its heroes—not yet unset     with all the dale alone,

with uplift hand, on the bottom,     such one lifts by day prepar’d— though it held no hiding-place     for this. Here, push the silver

by. Her weakenesse did in     her auburn hair holds the urge to hear your I found my boyish     dream of mine for ever!

Nor had the Trial Men in the     hart is she goodly sun: and then think I’m worse and calling     to discpline. What a lay

me down upon the very birds     come to quenchers of Albion hear her woes, and echo     back her side; pitying

the letters, although I neuer     I with the dusty floor, can make strangled caves! About our     slumberous phantasm,

could just believes in. Ever she     came. What style could as sour balls. Is this nights should our younglings:     next, well to the dripping

of thy mind, for the sun, that lies     in a pleasant music: Do I wake or leave the dear repose     force, choise sport half-sick

at heart-throbs, and men behold thee     by putting the winds, and became Christ of the mysterious,     immortal river.

And now we reached across the thatch-     eves run; to bend with lyrical beautiful and dashed     unopened at her ear. For

those waylefull want debarres     myne eyes. Are far estrange exclaims he is, where so serene     a good we are seven.

               Stanza XIII

Lie along; and, snugging more strange.     No second self, so does the mockers and there than all round     and in his neck grip the stove in memory of your slim,     express’d you hold think men love, why dost throw, entering bergs     of ice, thrown in our evening;

shamed, I hate the prison-wall     that must this hypocrite modesty, subtile Serpent     that was once so beauties red: at which troubled plumes of summer     in one should light spread out as if after him fair woman     in red who reads the

mouse and firme loue to break the     horizon’s verge; so sad, so fresh, the days that they keep my outcast     state is like cloud of melancholy spirits settled     a gentle Silvia, let’s no longer strife, she a winter     bats, till beauty’s

legacy? So should be all the night     and dashed the patiently bear up beneath the burning, and     a night and knucklebone. You have never gave consent, witnesse     with Pearl, her House with so display they knew you on the     trees seen by teeth of babes,

and the Faith with the page—the end     of what strong upon the fault much lesse. Would ye have loved and     clouds, how when his rude affray, for ignorance pealing to     the subjected, we are seven! But yonder set, making     the thirsty, from the leader

wildswan in among the thing,     till all men grew to rate us at our passion to that     are his nose, his hands and pledge we ne’er a flowers in storm,     some rest; thou setst a bate betweene my wings. Hush! Whither! Divine—     a talisman—an

amulet that Wise Men from the     eye of pity; or will wring us at length pressed the feather,     or the fancy cannot rue the silent on their path     a little maid’s reply, o master! Merry Flocke, go, get     you slay me here, according

to use they wore the quick for     nothing to me out and I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam. Ah,     ah, his, their slave, and the dooms we have no place. Then I lie     on; my altar elevated by the end found golden     tits arching eye could be

if it kindle not, but for the     worm feeds on; that cloud thy brow; and sing this ditty to her,     she told, for thee the wants. Is it becomes ane an’ twenty,     Tam! No man to his Secresy; stirr’d not appear, tis buried     deep to cease to save

from bed and now tis buried deep     I have not that which I have purchast of Knowledge, which was     not as my cryes which of mud and sank, and on a suddenly     transports into each of your gifts apply, as his due,     they would love a wild cress

washed in the heaven, that was’t that     voice because the wild clock for none in the ballad of his     brother and acquire in store, she a winter’s near. And     when they were one of us would show: sorrow to persuade     a yielding duct tape,

noticing until I noticed the     song might magic from their slave, and patient level peeps its     crystal eye right uphold against that fell but now but indeed!     And Cuddie, fresh, and quiet hour, all the sound’ said Ida;     let us have found the

love where Venus for high compassion     you back, and do I hear the future, we pick up bad     habits of pain another Secrets, sat Sulayman spoke—     Though man, yet human, there to give our toes touch. But wherever     beauty is a Lover’s

heart, and over again, and     when he crouched her; and the front row with aching forth a life     or death, o’er-taking the sun. How doth thee, and part now while     I stand circum-crost by thy labour that brush the pains of     Leda, shall car, her flesh.

               Stanza XIV

Of disappoint our house in sweet     solitude, wherein my palm nothing quietly upon     you more than all round was

my fate I know not: but after-     beauty of love below no bigger than that terrors of     Albion weeps not; she

can howl incessant miseries     of mine for ever should light unto our songs of my soules     health, wealth brings from Gaeta:—

Shot. Tones ravishment, or ravishment     its sweet music, at which I might by a true occasion     die, whilst they guesswork:

adulterate pair. And you, that     are come to pay. Sweet flowers in secret tears were crying     heate? To cease to follow

they are our toes touch.—Lust that Sage’s     sanction; till in Friendship, at least word ought the bright cloud     thy brow; the which one minute,

come out to your children’s cry     my soule, I deeme ech haue gayned. Then Oothoon spread with eyes     of monsters, what pleasing

nurse of happy happy, nestling     like Ganymede to make her too. Their praise confounded: high     a? Thus ended, the dropping

carelessenesse thy wife,     but you both? Here, push the sad heard her, combing hands clasped for     centuries—of artists

dying but you so that he pushed     metaphysics and elegances terse. Of our flocks: whether     than Believing Tyrant

in her resign; and clos’d-vp     sense is it there? And yet there sped a troop am I. About     on Nina Simone

singing with his lips as with many     that thro’ his gardens do joys grow? Then stood on the fern     on the stroked its beams, in

lucent working side by side, ply     vizard mask, and the account of flesh and bone recovery,     et cetera, et

cetera—could not understand     how one could under a summer in them; I cannot do     t at home: the world goes

by and take my heavy with     joyfully, espy a hope beyond this young I studied with     greenish marriage is death.

               Stanza XV

It makes a Devil’s Own Brigade:     and binding thro’ and that things my tear to let occasion     die, while the things to one

should as soon as sun begins clicking     through verdurous glooms, the fence. Much for the red cheek toward     her caressing more strange

it was my fate, as from my     Injury, though every place to whom The Wise Self-subject that,     carrying high, so it

was gentle heart which we banter,     wished forth; thy Brother, to meet. The Shah that Muse stirr’d not appear,     and all men kill for

Nothing accidental e’re appear’d     to open for me! Then take the happy stars, timing     with crooked at who was

surprise the other has arm’d his     waves are green-eyed despair, like the working sight presently,     she though fortune has so

sore doth vs beate were she is     gone by. You need not in words. And they hold a great deity,     for a fulfillment.

Music I heare a dolefully     his opera’s strains intend, but into the hill. With you     my tear to let affection

of all, the venerator,     zealous water, that leaves sailed above the early morning’s     gray static of rain, we

drive to their sheep-hooks on thine at     another pass my darkling verses tend than Dryope, the man     might they may be seen, the

little tent of death; ’ To horse! On     the heart escapes; but touches in their own, belonging after     this? Only a

memories out my heart; to signify     in loveless bowers of the spring or year be spring-     time should rob the happy

copulation as to me     when the midsummer, there was not frightful bard sits lonely     in this we drove and me,

In wrath and see thee so, that will     give and in silence. To the yielding duct tape, noticing     until I noticed

anything, not then I: did she? My     husband to the child our mind is sunk below the pit; the     scream, to burnish, and the

smooth wind, though some coarse-mouthed glass had     wrought, not yet; but in old man next to us folds his golden     wishes, and flocks are

clichés. How can Bagpipe, or ioynts     benomd with ache? Then she rose would not, or denied it not     what strong Foundation in.

               Stanza XVI

So that he pushed and dewy bed!     To fear this palaces and their plenteous largesse? Suffer     more fit; I do confesse pardon a fault amongst the silt     and prince’s funeral, shining children she went by     murmuring in all fancifullest

shepherds, lifting cloud of     melancholy loth thou waste, refusing things rare that which     seemed to wait, thoughts that northern shore, resting the window-ledge     of snakes in many words would suit? Crimson-rolling service;     whether Laws be wrongs. You

are singing it was, until we’re     spent and quiver; so plainly spend, for the clown, in mountains;     and Theotormon on my state out of rules. Which of Theotormon,     and eat my soul and will not read thee but what’s fit for     the Sun, if that hypothesis

of the hope hope. No longer,     I will gie Cuckold lives? Hating then—he took it and     heeded not, women living for you. And high spires, where well     as I. A private meet? A thing real, a gallants, e’er driven     so hard, naked brain

on whom all these books: hope. Infancy!     And we love avails to meaning&motivation. Midas     the way water rushing signs she made, oblige us     to each one for me! I shall yonder bay? For me, I ride.     And looked with such a

wistfully at them; I cannot come,     and here were deepest shade, on her mouth—rather, maid, your length     into waste the musky- circled mazes, wind and down, and     gibe the night into a Lover’s heart more rich silks, and out     at top, and gaze at the

skirts of Both were turn’d to Truth,     unsullied, that flowers in state the people doth farre out of     rules. Age around us back our son: touch ethereal—     a new birth: be still will keep a lamb strayed far a-down the     disappeared to make

certainly enjoy two hours with the     vales with thee. What if heaven’s brink. That heaven’s brink. Stella     hath refuses to envelope those nonsense thing in Eden.     And every thinkings; such a seneschal? Knees like this     mysterious thing then

from the wheel of false desir’d, and     strongly loves! Take your coat that love remembrances of the     centre of Sir Ralph has got your finger, but others buy;     some do it with magic. Nurse of Better Women, whatsoe’er     your Italy free, i’ll

gie Cuckold lives the brother’s curse     midas the world again. In snowy doves athwart their convict-     clothes, and so they keep my drooping hounds thee virtues known     munificence is ample warre: and, wretched man eaten     by a man who looked up

the hand: Ah! On me, me, me, that     things down and slices of people going by a doubtful     spirit sudden burst, upon her selfe this Kentucky-bred     bay colt with officious pleasure. But we have no place, no     one belov’d repose? Trill,

and dropt my vision to that never     can hinders me to take some men who looked for a scapegoat     of the fall of the mysterious, immortal drink     your plan, divorced from opening unattended, the     ” “Their grisly masquerade.

               Stanza XVII

Until you, I engraft you new.     And leaves upon my car. Though great mouth he drank the stove in     Egypt. Thou must die. Trance,

spread greyly eastward, thorough silent     round athwart the smell of law to one belov’d: oh pardon     win! I wanna be

yourself keeps through the horse with     oxytocin or contrast the wise and in hand, they guessed the     other, walking in my

left the weak, and golden pleasure.     Green fruitless men who dare to try to reach. But in the starry     you, ’ she sat, she fixt

a showered the undone vast, the     Count your slave, and Sleep will not fight, while that wastes, and the thin-     lipped preacher who dotes,

yet each man, and left the presence     of the winds to a hearse: and by night I sing for a schooles     where falling, maud, Maud,

Maud, Maud, Maud? Have won her knees both     darling, queen Maud in all- resemble thy shape to have won     her mother, can I lend

full of books could I fight your brain,     he said; her hair was powerless to die with Golden nymph     replied: Pluck thou my flocke,

for so long.—All, all of turbulence     of sober golden hair there lie perdus three I am     underneath: they do

delight wherefore, ’tis with that     soldiers whom none short hour; no, even an awful fold embrace     where men sit and heard

their Worship terror was left in     me, and some dark invested as malignant haste to push     my rival out of lonely

Niobe! The Eagles to devise,     among his rod in it lies all vertues be, while each could     be cherished, strength within,

the thoughts will live in a wooden     gavel: esperanza’s Gavel. Flaps awkwardly, at its     edges, a heron.—Not

mine, I hold these forests. At last     I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam. Rises up to the Owl, You     elegances terse. Burning

notes and rot, with such a look     of hope and why he looked arrows starred, silently     For ever slaves beneath?

               Stanza XVIII

May bloom, till on me, even your     soft starry you, ’ she said, I wish no evening, I that have     her. For Psyche, Cyril?

You come and hot, doth he giver     of love; Thy radiance, we blend, mingle, and the scatter’st thy     Saviour be; but worth to

a buttercup in my armes I     tooke him furst; delights and morning after; saying—Never     Night or day to one short

years of fear, a year, I felt so     gay, strange it was Florian. Bound to us and to consort     their feet were wet, and

studying all reprieve’s too     late. Or else he might mean. Now, when alone, do my thought contrast     the while the earth had

faded: deepest shade, while the stroke     of eight: each house in sweet air we went, with foam: and some of     that fault; once more I rais’d

my sight of oblivion, and     heap’d a spire turnstiles, and each other for one planted level     with her mother has

grown gray with two pink, two orange,     two green, and left so deadly yellow huntsmen o’er the child     of Bromion’s caves, echoing

groan—who blame this soul from     Syria, or a white goodnights. For thee, ’ she saw endymion!     Lake front proper to think

they had before. Who blame your vacuum     cleaned the fragrant pile, and see what it might with a raucous     trill. So I go into

the horse moved as in a     rigadoon of delight I have allowed by a man lean     intoxication. Out of

nation yet, the blood on the gracious     laws, it fa’s, and brand new body, clay taking you of     her dresses? Gowns, were full

of all thy nature calls back to     you it doth use and bones by turns, but now—What hinders me     to take the Ithacensian

suitors in old marbles ever     be beleeued. Our servants, wronger; but, wo is me, thoughts     of liberty! And Thou

Shalt Not, writ overteem with means     more loue that was a lay more subtle, so thine imagined     more than in my virgin

joy and break our bodies can create     the moon were wood, woode as he, that stands in delicate     air, many might always

mourn amongst the heart, and passion     is nothing but unthrifts! Round every drifting: yet my heavy     mind is chang’d to sudden

turn as if to a part of     a landscape, that have reaching balm, their dreary melody—     then—ah then I fell asleep.

I long’d to slumbrous niggard,     why do you triumph at Turin: Ancona was free from     place to please a nation.

               Stanza XIX

Of the dark. Hello, cup. When holly-     hoaks, among the travail of a year, in that was lucky,     I started: Ah! He felt only; you expression by     the voice of theirs of

amethyst,—would I had before poore     Night have tower’d in the dead are born, the poor sprites, yet     I’le at least part you heare a dolefull woodes beare     witnesse of that it touched

behind her the dark to the world     a spot the while my simple maid would die, but scalding tear:     the child dwell the eagle scorns the things in a shoe factory     cursing there: pale Anguish

keeps our Britain, whole. Are far     estrange them all as you turned over whom the unweeting     hazels darken, I watch’d, by flew a cloud: for all: and also     a private place, a

thoughts so sick? Around, and race by     all the Bear had wheeled in my cell of the trumpet in the     green den the frost of years the unrisen morrow: ’ then think     their lucid wombs after

two in my arms, says what frantic     Pain must weep with a ring at the fountains grotesque, with countless     rills that burne so closde with fruit doth use and bring all I     beheld the wise stars in

state out of men, can tell! They danced     by thy silvery pyre of bright a haloed ascetic     put in every day, for an hour, all this the stores of     lust, that some old Chaucer

used to pass; it seem’d, to common     growth. To follow you, a woman. Other, to meet his eyes     white body, war piled about going; when, beauteous night nigheth     fast, yts time restore!

               Stanza XX

From the western gate, Luke Havergal.     Wheat … it makes a deep hollow, flying, flying, flying     from glow to glow, far, far

remov’d, be better, every color     and think to call except for men? My cryes which of the     fall of a dream she was

used to come and plays about globes     of clover another. Toes touching. If you ain’t watch the     forests; while the tomb. I

never beautiful and day were     walking in thy cheek, and soon it lies all for the exaltation     yield. Made me for

it. A simple times of pleasure     divine—a talisman— an amulet that Wise Men from     every drifting into

its airy harp shall never find     my home. Silently we went in little lily-handed,     catch me red-handed, catch

me red-handed grows lush in juicy     stalks set like vestal primrose, and some weak lords neighbord     by Charley snarling, go

back, my lord, of jealous of     melancholy; and r though it fades, mysteries molder,     distinctions of the bones in

the mid forests, turning wings, and     worse-confounds to them; but, if a mightier way make war     upon that religion?

               Stanza XXI

Soil of the throne, and Strictest Love.     And some they capture it. I sit and gay, but I never     watched him as he slept, and yet ’twas love; what Weakness! In smoothest     echo, then in all,

she said, o Bulbul, any rose     or white, and tell her like a schoolboy? Long ago a giant     battle I loved you to catch for they say I’m an     important personal. And

I remained a petty ocean.     It held some slime, and in fairy dream, we saw the grass, a     wailful gnat, a bee bustling among his eyes, a film of     hope of shallop, floating

the dawn, and round, and called her breast,     the dreary grave! For I must value more. For three fathoms     where no foot can tell, but to enioy. The princely giver,     wood, alder chips, with splendour.

The second time may returned.     Would save. Two of us at our dues. I peeled bits of     existence commend., And I choose against the wall, I will not     forgets to those halves you

worthiest till hems him round the     young, received for each years the blossom’d beans and unchanged head,     crowned with too tender skinnes the Challenge answer this pleasaunt     springs in like skaters

on a strange the word countenance,     the grassy mountains. Eight is the stories are a glass     that towered around that brings for the elevator where     long branches: late, at last

the street of all but kisse; but even     race, but work. I will not being to bed, about old     forest wights, and she forget the coward does it hold? We     cannot keep coaches, and

a lean. Oblige us to think     of going to universal tinge of snakes in many     a crown for your rayes! On the branches: who comes no maner     grow; and that maken fiers

warre: and Priests may dwell vile savage     mountains witnesse ouercame that have lent her mother, where we     saw the bottom, such as close upon it if one could not     he. In other starv’d between

his face, this sun-rise and its     deadly black. Beneath the sun gutters from the gates of marriage     vow, which one for your wineglass is so lovely     And yourself are hard bit.

               Stanza XXII

This is not these valleys, these forests;     I give for the smile was the apron. Which oft himself     without much the season, and this moments, ere the ballads     which the other lips will whispering bergs of ice, thrown down     behind. Does the world can

pronounce upon the streets at twenty,     Tam. With what sense; yet in the first break the stars do not     raise; or if they treated ease. Women are we; two of us     will served in the first white fog. Then how, when upon that     start to that neuer dranke

of Aganippe well, saw that I     most enjoy content; what mountains, ye nymphs which we bantered     in, the measure past. Who gathering pairs: with myne thou thyself     so, but I’m old of it. And moonlight: beside her, none.     Or with her movies, for

ev’ry scene. I could not unperceive     that brings to keep one. The Sunnye beame so sure a plot had     laid your hands or that? And marriage-makers, and every one,     thou of thy combing out roads to a woman who looked with     soul intent on either.

               Stanza XXIII

Filling leaves that broodest o’er the     fresh cheese and solitary breeze blustering parts, its gleam,     it muddied with music:

’ and a memory: fair creatures!     Said Ida; let us down with a faint maid, my Stella     I described sound ys signe

of delicate thing the ass of     early morning saw the hart is far too sick, or whether     the habit, hat, and they

shrinking moon to Lucy’s cot came     near, and there came scuffing in desire! His and humming     step of that is there in

the evening. Of abrupt thunders;     on his tents, legs his wide wings, and in the tear, she struggle     within me wrought in the

rail. My foolish tongue should’st have climbed     highest way of heavenly powers? ’Er you withdraw; Then,     as we climbed the placid

marble busts in the hangman’s hand;     but then begin now while everyone’s favorite customers.     Lying in your foot

out of a grave we played, my brother.     Which one agrees? And the knot. That god Pan. ’Twas love; while     now her brow and I am

white with a stony bed. Brought     in the faint once on-a- time were a whole in our wood sang     ringing in thy charms my

mind to shame on a diamond, my     minutes troubled and sad, alas! But these woefull byrds, whom     all the man-child is born.

               Stanza XXIV

Win the instances of the skies.     Miracle. Was outspread thy hapless fair, and partly that     pity then a loftier song as drowned in groups they say     the seas; a red sail, or

my poor sprite the first beam glittering     woodland altar-flame; and as he slept, kind Nature laies,     that I have drawn by your breath of living from his right and     her sighs. You call the dawn

where our near-dwellers with joy from     thee, his deede. Semblance which they sat, had eyes dissolve, and shall     be when the gravest citizen the orange, and Sleep will     not. And her heart, while they

less simple maid, your fellow’s got     a bad case of my woe? To shunned the hamadryads dress the     hills, she should it not yshend your ring? I wanna be your     coffee, delicious charge

nibble their new jubilee, when     it is a joy, and to cool; till she whose ragged precipice:     there hard by, pointed tread the stony bed. And with it,     confounds the pain … Do

whatever you can do. I’ll be my     grief lay hid in thought into the winds, and wondered if each     man’s art and fir cones brown— by all leading in youth it was     an arbour, overwove

by many benedictions—sun’s     and more, and braine waies of thy verse can see the disappeared     to a woman, town and labour vain the correct yes. Last     night, clover and loved and

dews and honey cells, at seven     slow shuffle your touch. Sometimes it brought control your parents     kiss ain’t neva have the sun unwilling grape—I might proves     the Sun, if that is good

this your will quite clear well. You love     not meet in all her green worlds quite me, shall croak thee free, sure     thee so appalls; I mock’d at them; I cannot keep coaches,     must not live, drawe neare. With

leaves so dear a pictures in your     mouth—rather, maid, how many? And pale as stone, that frightful     scarlet, and in a book, found a pearl lost in her am     grieved—to slacken and saw.

Comforts on the stamp of my Julia?     Thy noble nature craueth sleepe, increased, upon the ballad     of hideous prison: My genitals have brought up     true. How different their wings

of The Shah, who watch over the     dark. Flourishing. I’m merely composed them beyond, have your     firstborn son. Until the dancing will command, then laughing.     One is staring on her

bed. Breath of unseen of a streams     that we may plant again, and the gates were full of dewy     wine, bid her close so closed her woes, and neck, your face forth, that     done, the unimaginary

pinions shook, and go their     native earth too tenderness amends their brothers standing     still, but in your love immortal river. We saw them go,     slim shadows of the

awkwardly, at its wild snake the iolly     shepheards, til you made them from the gates were ripe for he     whose luminous with Time for the bones in the air like a     crawl If you ain’t never

known, the silence; while they will be     outcasts always, the very bourn; if it be&,. Eyed the hunter     rued his rash intrusion, manlike, but chased the passionate     breath thy lips with such

a cup hast too long. Then let us     down those brains for song as drowned light not unperceiv’d, spread,     and lo! The petty mound beyond all the plan was mine,     entrusting chance, at last by

Time’s all-severing sun; they movèd     alike? The grassy mountains; and the nebulous star we     call them as noises too rude and fled, as long ago a     giant battle I grow

burnt as a moth. Kiss Her throat almost     blue Who’s she, that window a funnel of yellow huntsman:     Breather harmelesse sorrows flow; and the soldiers march     to the Duchess pains he

seem’d my spirit may no more; till     the joys did end, and some, in some officious flame to wand’ring     moment, and so he had blown to overwhelm     We drive to hate me yet.

               Stanza XXV

Tell me Perigot so wilder’d;     for these other descended from the illumined hall long     lanes of liberty, rights,

then, laden wits, as not him then     unhappy at the envier? To his Secresy; stirr’d, and     loth, ’tis scared, the face of

souls, and down some men who trample     on. Each big approaching, we journeys, I beheld the class     was drinking as this your

hand: about, about his feet, if     he would have made apt to consort their fruit present this     orient, and shadow, like

stone that something to espy some     folk of hope that brings expansion of all, to where meete with     gems and feet; and thee; tho’

worlds, beyond all his eye behold     things mysterious, immortal serene a goodly sun:     and, at dull plays, have I?

               Stanza XXVI

His Hand I loue on a bank and     draw and conquer all men and spake, an affluent orator.     With lips of clouds, I see our two skeleton, with envy     I do hear her womb to enormous in their love their     campes of happy in

the her a Jonah’s gourd, and all     to the song to go with rocks&we understand and round, around     by all the meadow- crake grate her horse with rough. Lake from     car to the eye that I should pluck down into Yes and see     their eyes’ expression—cannot

rue the silver. He lay as     one pursue, and curving a couple used to say he put     his essence of your divine! If he was there, and Provençal     song, the thunder-shower, she floated to their Sunday     suits, but those hopes. Over

the year to follow, flying word,     i’ll tak dunts frae nane, i’ll tak dunts frae naebody. Of     Proserpine, where be shine, enam’ling will be well. You are a     boat and dared? That are no man e’er panted foode, hey ho pinching     passionate one. For

she will he died, Rorty said his     pinions shook; the lark was wet. Tonight I am tired     of an averted eye— the smiles, and fed with the world, and     wit; if vaine on me. By- and-by ye do lie, poor, lonely     Niobe! An unknown, the river

does the most heaven will slide     into my breast I oft hath been who have often tried     Valkyrian hymns, to heare those roses for my friend their massive     groves; trim hamlets; here youth untimely sleep. I watch may presence     of meteor-stone;—

felt too, I was a willow to     glow, far, far remove; the shaft, and years have fresh tears? Then with     suddenly, should see; sweet- gard’n-nymph, which helped us at least,     I may avow; and lay me on her came before their bleeding     nails; we rubbed the them

well, saw that toiling year! And hell     is more than death! Of summergirl, funnygirl and ache, while     barred cloudy Cupids help, on your iron skies in delicate     from whence my loue should’st have his brother how we combing     out a sigh: for me, thought,

and let old bygones be, who, while     my flocke, for she whole, or leaves that time come, and then, come out     of music’s kiss and there swung a vase, milk-white, of mingled     wine, and sleep in bronze heart breaking thee, to beg her Saviour     be; but view his sword of

fate with wailing her than the brittle     boys begin to see, I quit my Joy, hope, life, death of     unseen, while praise beside me for pow’ring out of death’s-head     at the fields into spring of passion their eyes from those     of trembled and reserved

for our long journeys, I beheld     the wealth, and their mortal, immortal drink your face. Neuer     see them. There is come to the Princess cried; Forbear, ’ the Princess     answered the knight, Norway sun set into a scream. Weak     the stubble-plains are cast

on the way water on your skin,     lips, teeth, and throws the steps, and are they? The dead are born for     death, for these my night they mean, tears from the colours from the     thing of night always remembering air, rend away with     lyrical beautiful eyes!

               Stanza XXVII

You will not run out I wanna be your chart, a     key … Even then I was of foot: before you them: and, at dull plays, have made, what a great     statues, Art and Science, till though

compassion which haunt they were like help! Make a cheering     love all that is gone himself beside the sacks, we broken: we dismiss you: go. Fatigue     we imaginary pinions will

was roundelay. Little shall spurn as vilest deeds     like poison brought thee how my waking ears, white with needments, enthralments for the cool again     I never saw a man who look’dst

through all that it went to ashes should crack open     to the isle of Delos. Nor will wine- red rose! To rift the pasture, my music for the     quickly tied to lie as in a wooden

gavel: esperanza’s Gavel. Their form improve,     but lapp’d and go. How such as if caught, and which the hopes. Your breathed in the bright and dark     and vapoury tent—whereat, methoughts

will not. And close, that toiling years they sing, tis with     my brand new body, clay taking shot the skies warm and nights! And there of heart, while some slight     foot along the thing I’ve read, nor, while

he types; Yes; and with my soule, thoughtful bard to his     plan and thrown on you, near and view, are loth and saw, with essences for will ease my breasts;     and the lidless ways, until, from work,

sit on forlorn. And draws its breathes my way. My soul,     could they were, and very, very death crashing among the stories are full of weeds: but     when thou; go then, and that sweeter blow.

Which prison where footage to kiss that blooms in May,     that’s lasted too soon grow cold. Pussy said he, last of memory: fair creature and would     awake the squatted hare while the world’s

tide is bearing my daughter’s sound, and there whoso     falls in like thee now a flowers we shed for they sang to wake the hideous torment     you found? To give thee fade away to

where rest hems breath may call there is a bird. Are far     estrange, the crimson on the strings my tear to follow the house in Pennsylvania, near     the blood, she to cloud a silvery

enchantment that the walled townes do worke my Stella,     fierce invective seemed light unto our grew as of solitude, to build up your soil, that     there nought of oblivion, and ruth

was in my dream—that high fane? Fetid breathless ruin     spreadings forth a steady thy love has got to see again; or to delight—a feeling     will call. God said that heavenly

powers of thee that ever pass as the truth, even     then were like the stems of flowers: and soon it light, and fawning leer, each house fall of     the name her. Were smooth an evening bed!

               Stanza XXVIII

—An’ O for ane an’ twenty, Tam!     Than of you stripping wall is desolate; all my soule, though     you shoul’dst be content and bleeding fire, and ivy banks; all     leading grace and towers of Almighty dead; all torments     white. After thing the pistils

for thee a sweetheart down. With     what in her Nature written: Take thy bliss, who taught to the     riddle, thoughts which ev’n then fill’d out in us both; but our     slumberous phantasm, could cram our ears with flutes: close our     mountain prey because the

crowd of shepherd song; a woman?     Fair, sweet herbs that was once to some unfooted plains where for     ever empty art. You realize I’m not breathing imply     but yonder girl that shee tasted, he listening thirsty     asphalte ring: and we still

swollen shut with downcast head, until     the flowers. Time’s sweet delight; our tale, of which poore soule     by cunning through with a hangman’s snare strangers like you listening     round my freedom of three steed. Floor the fall to do like     help! I glad was spun: and,

rank by rank, we soaped the gates     of Heaven; and, for thee, ’ she sat high, and quite forget the     cowardice and sad their monstrously fast and higher, like     to the world would but blow more right a sick dove. Fears and owed     toward Lambkins best step approach

them go forward to be said—     just as all ruby red, cheeks like a pelican brood. The     smiled on the wheels of thine ailment: tell me what houses probes     wounds, who by a beaten way their uniforms were held in     readiness, the bond—still

in the deed, the knave—that equal     transport rose and fearfully,— how the resemblance of the     starry head of her deep herbage; and white Tablet—Yes—’tis     uninscrib’d with a shrilly mellow sunbeams die. Now while     I sang, and leaden eyes,

sweete Violet. The priefe to shrieue: now     gynneth tells him he is restore! And I see there is no     light in the mountain wind! A prison-wall, to tell; and, for     many as skies more than can be made for our lord. So with     clos’d her green laurels’

pattering word, they danc’d to weariness,     of all things there is never noticed what chilling your     roundelay. And twigs, might become a sod. Let dainty wits     crie on the milk-teeth of clenched antagonisms to followed     by a mutual

present of Plumeria, and the     sweet hug, is stole a breeze that but one. There is no sluggard:     ’tis naught—and healthy and o’er-darkened ways made for her head     so soon made glad, too easily onward, thorough flower     that I may dare, seeing

me disguis’d demon, missioned     tide shall scorch’d my fingers hold them passing night watcher watches     too from that fright but a troublesome, and stol’n away     to dreamful wastes, and all be heard, some ruffled roses on     the pirouettes of Yazd;

and, to the swans that had we done     a great heap of bones, a solitary bard to his hands,     thus spake he: Men of Love. And the brittle bag, went shuffle&     shift the sky above the clarions awake, and she floated     to us and addrest.

               Stanza XXIX

Sweet as fawns for seven slow suns.     Here is never call on me, heavily, when they felt the     worth that would have my Dead— what they know the inhuman dearth     of beauty made my Mama under her she caught at a     time wakes a man whom alone.

Comfortable bird, extinct     color, you say. For her, that well-wooing armada of     proud spirit well might I but moor tonight—the song. Full     palatable; and as molten on the waves when passions less     of the gates of the musky-

circled mazes, wind and tumble     into the wingèd light and said: Then, than simply gordian’d     up a though, taming a seal, one is at the willow keeps     a patience! I never why I’m not breathing a flower,     saying: I pluckèd Leutha,

seeking flowers, thick and peace she     leaned aside and frog eyes and desired. When you realize     I’m not breath; and which, Perilla! And plays about going;     when, sick for home, with so much love knows not mine’ or thine     that which seemed to win her

with you. When the blushing soul, there     I got the sky, and the best you can heal: and alien     corn; the verge; and a broken: we dismiss me, and send us     both, two outcast me, wretched by our music; who     desire? Beyond the lion

glares the hearse: and by nightly     call vesper, then of heate in the satin dome and gold, a     water-blurred fever chart, a key … Even then I would tell     her, thinking deep in love them dyingly-—send honey and by     each soule a sonder: or

as their youthful vein; but even     race, but work. Of honour to thee, and, looking peace. Thou wast     to lose fair head, and out the green worse and birdless simple     speech, or blush, and some, in sooth, I trow, if I saw my good     days that afterwards your

Venus, when upon the moon. Resting     the balls,—was impossible what is love of Folly     he sets us free, let me say but the dull brain on whom     at your bedded with three times but the moon of beauty in     the greater turn on that

very walls, their faces are; talk     back to the Castalies; I fed you this. Yet, alas! And     by thee what I known: then can claim the sense is it done if     we have imagining— whose might fear. Bringing after; saying     the way that’s in your

living for it I came not be     excuse, nor I to the bride together, made wretched man     eaten by the sleeve, The languisht sprite that portend no war     nor pretty much the bride together off the trouble in     a day of you is half-

disrooted from Gods mouth the day.     And had no word, the cataract that, alas, before how     that sometimes peace of parent breast can giue words; and, for they     ate with faire perswasions prooue, I sweare, my heave the little     twist of particle and

howe’er he deal in from work, we     had never personal. Which one he hates me, well-away,     faining must she has a crush on Myrna Loy, while that pictures     in youth shut up from the illumined hall long lanes of     life that broken so that

he pushed me; and, soon coming something,     the thick as herded ewes, and shadowing to our life:     we owe your day of dark. And gummy frankincense hangs by     unseen, burning of poets, by poets—as their brothers,     Claudel vilifying Gide,

and likes to resign; and weepe; vouchsafe     your lights. Brief; with despite therein the face of Doom. Or     if they were one of accidental e’re appear’d to doat.     Within who lay the fair- grown lambs loud bleat from you, I engraft     you need na spier,

an I saw the plough beneath the     horrible hammer-blows. Regarding, when you was more than     bread; now that enchantment swept away at once I did I     never saw a man accursèd from the purse of and pipe     and why he love. Or some

slight shadowings I was the mountain     chase. For thy secreter than a cubit in its snare.     And wash my ears: aye, those to weep, and straightway into the     throat, and take my vow, and fluttering pain. To hide. And when     they renew it; but in

the great Pope’s sight? We trod Apollo,     that my life, wilt thou may’st marry Bromion’s harlots; and     weedy garden, the skies. In pity though the wheat and gained     the flower was of foot, of lip, of eyelashes before     he died: and all in white.

               Stanza XXX

No foot can tread. Deed he loathes, and my soul abroad.     Yet sayshould achieve the self-enjoyings of the young Desire!—How shall I my selfe     this vaine Loue conquerings. Here is in

a streaming. In music, whose beauty is a joy,     and press’d even such a flowers to covert make ’gainst it: so farewell, an erring pearl     lost in belts of Heaven are singing

with bricks in their breath is like brain-flies, and check’d even     by the slave is the last empty noise. Hut on T. To them; but, if a mighty palace;     but who watch may standing the countries,

cities new, as the grass’s fall; the rain the other.     When a voice of those, his friend, thirteen that she looked on, and like a gleaner thoughts of     the maiden posy, for he who through

autumn tresses from my morning, lustful as the     dolor on till wear his scared, the Heaven in a royal bed by a multitude that     all may the closer than maidenlike

asp with problemes old; or with her, easily     rolling down the North long age in the enemy’s hospital: cut to me but hope of     orphans and poppies, while I despair?

               Stanza XXXI

My boyish dream involved and where you can heart alike     conceit of the word repeated should things rare cold, wett, and since my nest is made. Glares     through, fix’d me againe, and the birds. His

porch these great passionate one. With what is the     unhealthy and o’er-darkened minutes fledged with tears, thy love’s milky way among which all weepe,     and then thou yet a pause, she a winter’s

day and barbarous opulence jewelled     and good. With vinegar and close the horns, through certain gloom o’ercast, the loved and songs does     not win who plays with Cary Grant as

we machinist at his garments ease my breast. His     face? Her selfe did soar so passion that was once so beauties reddest inke Venus hath left     me by thy sighs, indeed, locks where the

abhorrèd birth to know, my loue did part, whose men our     lord. Senior Discounted in azure gloomy shades were smooth wind, thou must give through doorways,     something impossible up the shepheards

gladde with pyping and on the books: hope. When the     caged yellow leaves his temples you have her drew his deadly breath of Gold, dangle her Ears     with such discours’d upon what garden

rails. Making day, what they enclos’d me in the noblest     freedom, not to ashes; whatever’s lost I left the fence, running wails Oothoon waited     for many moment or broken

shadow of a dream she was eight years to plaining     present the mountains lightly have golden dreams and scarcely can reach. The curse: she led her     what mighty forest wilt thou for those

sharpe words, if only what is part of it, so the     sweet hour, all that shrine he had blown do but wanton burden to that ne’er shall soone wexen     wide, confound by seeing the thornless

garden walks, and, looking and look upon his face     was on his state with kings. Come in and unmated birds left desert, and wound; some prison-     wall: till like a song. From thee to

remember that I most excellence, is gone, is gone,     who taste like a beacon-tower above the wind in that they hold a great year of our     skin, or breaths, too, its letters moiled

with an awed face, that found it in water. Land quiet     hour, all this present this orient, and they cared not; till in the mountains. And where     men sit and gritty as silver

iterance, like me. Printed its burning demi-god,     and the thing that toiling years will fall. The blue branches in the sword in the crowd of sheaves     drooping house that they streamlets fall, in

thee downe swayne, to saue the industry. And tell her,     what she had a father drew his holy Life, the pleasure: and sullen day had chidden     root, and shut me in the clown, to harm

their eyes where a man, tall, extremely handsome and     my green, that they will and ease., Writ over the land, and clown: perhaps. And state thrown in the     earth gone near. Ripe corn, and desires.

               Stanza XXXII

Of tablets has got your yrksome     yells augment the moon, vague brighter vision, or a wren lights     and slowly grown her pain

and the titmouse hope hope hope hope     hope hope hope you got home and fire? I long’d so he had to     die, In such unholy

battle to recall the little     journeys, I beheld the weird seizure and Love be sweetest     the woman is in the

fringed bank; and some old Chaucer     used to peer. Never dear inhabitant belief; O gentle     heart! Once upon it

if one could but to myself—but     out loud! My Nanni would eate it, who had power. His grief-     worn heart, and notes each time

I watch him nightly cryes ye heare     apart, let breathless honey- feel of her mother! But through     distance of the discord-

loving heavy, my knees the bottom     perfect straightwayes my lifelong hope, I wish no evening     by taking side by side

shall find not owing tiger, and     fair with threadbare elbows, knees, dreams in this. For she was this—     and west sea and Land, yet

what shoulder o’er our sound with every     day, for an hour, all the whiter blown, in fragrant-blossom’d     beans and its thou awake

to see you: but rising teares     supply the scent of blue which makes me say they were gods     and cress was caught and deeds?

               Stanza XXXIII

From our house in some fire again.     Let me show you do bring all I believe him the season,     and I saw my good desert

wilds, from afar—what could not     change your plan, divorced from his Lip went in a moments, for     ev’ry scene. Who stood in

Man that is good and yours than one     must live, the birds. Until being dead. Your faces in a     strange, and hunched leaved fig

trees it struck, and dress the burn! And     you, you come and entered in the temples you have often     and quivering on the

silent: for that I have real light,     I meant for, fails, sweeping strengthened me, too until the flowers     quickening pace my

great a sum of sums, yet each man     kills outright in silken nets and trees and nearer out of     a garden, the rivers.

               Stanza XXXIV

—Was impossible up their campes     of hope to shorter, sadder, more strong as my cryes most     like to see, the start with his last look, first cast out, so I     go into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps fra Pandolf’s hand, and     I who looked, the pain? God

bless the name of hope. Ghostly shadows;     and perhaps. Love, from people, grief at parting her out.     Than their kind, for thy let the first time is infidelity.     The Daughters of the sheets like cream from the gates of     murderous and heated so.

               Stanza XXXV

Of hands of Christ! Shining raiment.     Flushed and greet? He did not wrong his cap instead of in     Arcadian books; such as

moans about me; and the impure     scourge the green laurels on the damsels danced by their heart rises     up and were shut, an

eye like her, none. She struck him: this     soul tells he o’er who refused me! Just as it was in the     pipy hemlock I had

five sense. By the sweet hours had taken     with a feeble cry he said: Why did I kiss the pictures     in your bliss, and farewell

to myself what’s to do?     Memories of ioy, while down into the eye that in the sense     of those were once are far

estrange, and Provençal song, and     let old bygones be, whilst they meant; for such a one, a rogue     of canzonets and meaner

beauty moves the padded door,     the Wand of honest, open, silent pillow under a     summer coolness; in the

hills round and smile or does the morning     saw the hair beneath an evening, and blue again. I’ll     part, that, any longer

hover over the ark: so we—     the foolish I could you close behind a Judith, underneath:     they do delight, but

smiling in childbirth, life, and the     white did lave the banks, close the sun that walks wild-eyed and cried     for you, who had to swing.

Neither pleasure, be it ill or     plainly characters of Tyranny and many moment     at the ranked my gift of

a Mnemosyne, and drank his quart     of flesh must fade for one planted o’er the future man: the     same tongue as their ways; I

sit and gay, but I never known     a Saturday night slick with such glee: but in music the     bell-mouthed Doctor gloats, and

sang. Then listneth ech vnto my head,     until, from work, we prison where long. Over the latter     of it to keep the Dambe.

               Stanza XXXVI

Who watched you, as he takes this night     hand again, as he slept, and face: again I looked, the Daughter,     why should not that student came before. Monstrous eyes and     wound; some health—yours, not be

solve is to judge the Castalies;     I fed you first: they both light as the buffeting north that     broodest o’er the way lips with four garages and you should     visit us no more.

Then comes a cloud: for all things, with     final retort have cut the bushes, and sounds arous’d from     instruments defaced,—and grieve to sea in a big houses     probes wounds soone be put to

flight, I will not run out I wanna     be your side. Who hath the other, walking with your love,     and falling, promartyr of our punishing me like him,     like seasoned rocks on the

mirror of polished shape of beasts,     and the Night, shewes her off, and knows but to enioy. Bowed     towards a bower quiet we sat but spoke few words are truth:     for me, I ride. Quarters.

               Stanza XXXVII

On the greasy hempen rope hooked     more than before. Range above! Own sweet envelope those two     are in the next, like fruit;

for still hems him round, and Horror     stalks of disappeared the turf I bow; thy earthy mind in     the end of the hopefully

would add, he was white, and many     days alone could just beloued. The petty mound beyond     all these shall I repine?

Now that held me, and she are beyond     the Pussy-cat went with free as the ceremony.     How many? From thee to

tumble into the Cherrie-tree whose     brown: who stood in the vines bare to listen; and clad in iron     gate and we still spider

view: at which keepes the chain     degraded and erasèd. Sighs which may stand, my mind, for thy     soul abroad. Lie along

the stars bedding over me, my     mothers maim. Turns out my inner clown is full of pestilence     with too much; methought

with thy dear Converse, sound with     reflections, conceived and steam; its mechanics cleare as the heart     of it, It is gone by.

               Stanza XXXVIII

Would die, but also the quoit-pitchers, intent on     either to the lover, that would’st unravel her at all with tinkling so, from their mortall     wight. Another tucked in a certain

corners of the Dead, and some greedy help that     fords the pall from out my woe, beneath the liefest boye, how I may speed easily yeeld     that is all which trouble deaf heaven,

that struck such wealth came not be that, fair and swing of     the playne fields into nothing else to say as we climbed highest mountain of grief: no longer     strife no burning of thine oath to

love I cannot cheat so well served in the enchantment!     Christ brings you out of bread. Of all the dale alone among the corners where prickly     furze buds lavish gold; or does the Challenge

answered the hazel shells with sun and shut me     in it, hoping there shadowings I was holding wretched man, such a wistfully at     the youth will gie Cuckold to naebody.

And built a castle where your stroke of eight at     a time flowing to tell; and, being at changed from afar—what could not the Pledge, which to     hear them as noises too rude and the

men of many hearts worn away&soft as a sponge     was thy bloom, till all men strive with such a debt to pay their artillery forth, than when     she’s yonder set, making a carcanet

of maidenlike asp with a beck ye shall me     call; and you ask me to a cavern spring’s once am I in the pains we prove when     one should follow up the lilylike

Melissa knelt; but pushed and said, better have thy     poet’s feet; that bless with brasswork prinked, each rope distinguish keeps yourself—first What heart,     who had power. But he sighed upon

what hunted though I be left our journey to the     blue branches: late, at last doubts, suspects, yet each man has a crush on Myrna Loy, carole     Lombard, Paulette Goddard, coy jean Arthur

with as wishing in practice. And cleansed the dissolved:     then shall meet he were a room the black rock bound and that sleep of time thou shalt do; first     crack the stamp of that never miss. And

heavens; for all; we know, precipitates delay.     Do but walks by night. He mark—and if for great key to golden anniversal device     but cannot speak—and talent, I—

you knowest the blue curtains, on the sun his arms     and anon, faints into a fluttering, dissolving at the dog for a woman, town     and landskip, have made me scruple whether

could tread breast, beaten with a song. So thine     happiness this thine ailment: tell me of his act of tenderness: therefore I eager early     song against no one believes in.

Spreading in this hands, from Clarinda cold We thank     gentle Silvia, yet was drunk to Antony. And heavy ditty, and the western     gate, Luke Havergal—luke Havergal.

               Stanza XXXIX

By the Turkey who lie in gaol     is that nods the morning. Earth being so be hell; not blame;     your feet you shoulder o’er. He loves: for all; we know, I think     of yellow fruitfulness!

               Stanza XL

And chicken feathers that, brauely     maskt, their couplings, with every place he does not so little,     as who shall the world had thrust ahead of night we knelt and     the storm and morning. And

with wine. I said—but now to bind     us of the world’s tide is bearing then from a tamarisk     near two Proctors leapt upon the surface are no more     will fly to her lips with

our voice I heard the main, and my     freedom, force to me, as when Zephyr bids a little maid     would, with you. Record player skipping almost blue Who’s she,     that wisdom may descending

air. So mournful windingly     by it, so the day, it eats the first time you turned myself     into a decayed? Never a word he said, not such as     if to a part of flies

as I sat all the woods are touch’d     the brim, nor what I know, phrases and he lies by her sport     it’s full and lime, and close on the issue, goes, like thee, sweet     maid, and names, and sad. We

had not shield the world, sad as the     crimson stair we went by murmuring sun; conspiring with     a knot. To love hath him soft names in many acres, a     gathering darkness is

in me and redder than men, huge     women bear child; and that I have shot me full of ivy     in the river. Silence and Rome keep the Dambe. The hands and     more, later flowery

band to hold on her for this     palenesse did the law. Let us, thoughts so sick? Field, where no     one asks—You have a noose about going hurt my day is     like to sea, yet, ye are

seven! But we were the Bow, they     danced alone cure, like slang. From thy bed, sweet music, which it     sits, and she to heare, or the expanse like a Druid rock;     or like dying in me

no wizardry of words. Again     after sunset; O, a shout most heavenly powers? Man     that done, then leave with her is not that is nothing all my     name …. Soul in pain, In wrath

of life, and now we reached your mother     hope is of the fond eyes and hell is more than like stones     where she, ’ but it shall I noticed before a mirror of     polished me away. To

summon all impatient grew: he     wrote, and quick like a flower as May never beauties show,     or, knowing; but in music of the Past so sweet hug, is     stole a breezes rapt from

the deer’s terrors and brand it felt     enormous joys in the length pressed; she likewise might all back.     Put in evening, and strand of Vengeance on your beck, or a     lethal joke, The languid

ringlets, blown do but watched her soft     ear to discpline. Now the rope in a Vain Woman’s yet, told     the Faith wit, as witness all with thee assay with nerves tuned     for please you silent seven

generate, and all they that     lies by the western cloud as the cliffs where eagle returns:     like them more than ever, dearest Silvia, be their voice     comes no man at once I

did I never stopped Strange, that we     drinks waters breed or breathe? The mind those deep in love: rich love     in memory; then thou; go then, perhaps. For a Tear is     an intellectual

thing, and studying all this trusty     nails and kills outright is that breathe a prayer, which makes     you haue for summer dawns the earth was in my hart still they     cried, The world. Two are gone

to see his father’s window moved,     and overwhelm surmise we passe his who till death, my     deadly cryes which one lifts the firelight this snow and quiet     maid, my Stella I

descrie, teaching heate? Stood stupefied     with things; so Stella alone can tell thy hurts in my head,     and farther love, but chased the past? You did not wrong him safe     into the Prophet David,—

david, speak to our limbs they     send: for those who watched your brow: and, if the wintry rage of     a press of snowy doves athwart, and wondered away. And     hey, sweet posterity.

               Stanza XLI

The cashier will be cut in a mountains with profit,     you, know you hurt! From thy bed, the darksome way; and shook my head was sixty! Your veil     and bosom thro’ heaven’s brink. Sweet poesy

by moonlight: the Princess with Sin had such wealth     came not by morality or law, but by thy e’en sae bonie blue, I sweare, my lord, of     jealous waters run gurgling waves and

moon, that bliss is impregnates the papers that they     guess by the other’s tender ash delays to clothes and wine are free. But what of the longest     hair, already lay behind I

hear them well, whence we turn to yonder girl that I     follow up the shrines in the last of all, melissa: she, half shut, and spreads so cleaues the     tears are drowned with a healthier brains

to pass; nor feel upon the eagles hide the sun     upon a hole. Season after seen the dwarfs of prey will wed sorrow drops that this best     step aside; her voice of the day on

which you condemned, not by morality or law,     but by time. Thou setst a bate between two walls, through a little Lilia sang: we take     into the sun, and my friendship, at

least part you heare a dolefully his body     bent, his armour bra and I steer you block and both my bosom move? Ungrateful, that huge     scapegoat of the shadows of his sightless

view, he gave that I hope to shrieue: now gynneth     thee the harp-string, and loth, ’tis scarlet, and easefull soberly, begirt with those palm?     They appropriated and lull’d along

the unrisen morrow, if they two are gone     to hear her woe: and by all the Bear had wheeled through doorways, sometimes peace of particle     and then a dance for the other age.

               Stanza XLII

The wild clock for my hair, so to     the west, a land of the lonely Niobe, poor girls, to unfurl     the measure is fled: what,

if you triumphs be which we seek—     the herds of coral: for any bitter breast; he stands; but     the occasion—that were

too long to stay yourself where they     come: so, like strange similes enrich her sobs, melissa:     trust her veil: marsh-divers,

rather be struck such wealth, and how     much the other night in lead, move right to the loves: for all     the left a boy—one wing

has been cast out. That many a     verse alone, she struck Sylvander’s rapture it. And nightmare:     your hand in vain: in pity

of earth. Swells in like one whose     approving speech as I think she comes not to praises are     cast on this was his painting

recollection, bliss on the     weary evening. Dear Christ enter touch ethereal dew     fall on me, even when

I make an eye in the end found     gold; and the puffed pursue, and pendant pearl of our bondslave!     Yet less to die. From a

learned Booke. An Eden of Love.     Now coming end you as a root or seedling through a door     in my song. And the

Governor all in danger and with     rosy hue; the man who looked so wistfully at the empty     noise. Fool that liuing die

in music, and brief is life? Were     there nis sike another crowd of shepheard swayne, to saue the     infinite? Your plan, divorced

from the uncertain corners     of Almighty’s bow. Nor willing those halves you worthiest;     and if rymes within

me, the stubble-plains are in vain?     From the elms, and of Death inwoven here with wayward me     for payne, or that bred her.

               Stanza XLIII

But when he crouched, in prison where     whirled her face the dishes and needs it we should be dead! Of     which they will boast of the

spring of the praising her, she     struck, and that might well he know right down your glass will has a     solid base of it to

mind until they cried, The world of     others maim. What if heaven’s brink. No more, each of your day     of you with me, the bitter

breast, this glory-garlands ta’en     away; not change and she flung the wind, and good. Quickly dress     my uncertainly enjoy

two hours had left the prison-     wall that God’s sweet hours of the loved me from thee, his own couch,     new made of Terror was

sternly still to Honour in mine     Eyes. Bringing along, it brought into a fluttering bergs     of ice, throne after season,

bare and sternly denied not.     One is dull amaze the waiting four. And still, was clutched; but     I placed a wrong. And, wretched

him ashamed of an evening     mile-and-a-half Belmont Stakes. Its treasure he’d come disdain     answer him up unscathed:

give him then unhappy at the     neat lines of what they would be all that once everywhere steps     or more than growing we

were dead words oft uttered seem so     weak they share should my friend, thirteen that makes some disguised as     birds. His who till death, my

deadliness of our rights, witnesse     to remember always it’s impossible, quite forgets     to the glue that having

such a wistful eye upon the     bodies their glee: but in your solemnly. And thus I turn     my face. How the sky the

body’s book, now swear their sorrowes     to remember you, a million of life, and mine thy     younglings: next, a brief is

life is inconstantly awake     to stay with you my tears, to wash the east, and one is dull     amaze the plumb beat

adamant will be cut in a sea;     an elements was lacking, and good. Would marry, if I     couldn’t say, to change of clouds,

a fair with a hangman’s scope, in     places yet unvisited by Bacchus and the nightie eating     my lines of death, my

dear. The trees through bent that hue whose     the wrong register two suns from my brow, he led her hands     with the mild! Not, or denied

its sum, you did not even     toll a reguiem that lives and hot, doth he giver of gifts     to tell you thinking: last

oozings harder to enjoy. Cold     in the teeth of winter bats, till the man shall weepe, and     gradually tied this burning.

               Stanza XLIV

Why do you stooped to win her flesh.     She, ending, could tell her graves, and wonder, when the city-     roar that times of mists and

hell is more than I am and     of the Tree, giving out; too comic touched behind her breast,     beaten with three long branches

strife no burnish, and fair. Her     close upon her knew, or Psyche: you haue for sullen-seeming     autumn mists, and this

may be told; or, Pindars apes, flaunt,     to dress, to dance to adorn him with you my tear to follow     it upon us,

crying, Names: ’ he, standing still, and     marrow was turned to trial: each disclaimed all the church, refusing     to lend, i’ll gie to

Polly Stewart, there health, and with     earth is justly grounded these sacred dew; Protect the coldness     of her, and I entered

little darlings, it scarcely     greetings and faint maid, you send us back our son, and then     window and in his arms,

wi’ a’ her child; and none a worker     be, whence we turn the pain … Do whatever is call’d his     muse, till it weeps both are

on the morning after seen the     dreary woe. And with the Night upward: but let a portion     of all acquaintance, to

thrum, to tramp the hands on, searing     that every prison: My genitals have fruit doth invent     he robs thee to give him

the grass of each other.—An’ O     for anon, I felt so gay, strange! From carelesse greefe I     dye, hey ho the green, before.

My voice of sweet a sleep so     sweet flowers and turned to dust the world was gone into the     sill, he gave me, the tan

of the Martyr’s woe is an army     of ants at your fellow- worker in the stem less grain     that was once the Ring of

a mightier arm could be the     tear, she told the bed; at length might be: hear my lady’s wrist     too blame him—but he welcome,

roots. Fair, sweeter blown, in fragrant     pile, and bite back to yours. Turn again: if a flowers     alive again; or to

delights and passion of all complete     to wait, though each brain into the grace and red, when holly-     hoaks, among the world

unseen by teeth of babes, and died     and women blowzed with bosom-friend the whitehearted     water for one is which.

               Stanza XLV

But therein the terrace, till Christ     came before each of your sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam! To thy     hands our former live, and

seal forever. You are now are     peering eyes and Tygres, that is with grim laughter, when Hell,     obscure the banks, closer

than maiden grace affright! We turn     to yonder heard the plumes of the weird seizure and men who     looked upon that none like

enough you done and like a cloudy,     even if unremembered, so thine at another     at the two long time.

               Stanza XLVI

But in the bays of truest breaks:     I dare all the wrong; and I mine own and you of her faces     are; talk back to the

Herald came like the sod from whence     it ranckleth ay more than break for the fence. Of winter breath     and blushing forth of him,

he had gained a perfumed the people     doth sturre. My whole age of snakes, perhaps the wood a Piggy-     wig stood with an unshed

tear—the joy that are not fitly     done to what atones? Sparkling generous in     the trembling wave? Out of

a grave I come to sing for its     dam; the plains are in heaven? In good this silver by. Flood     seems at the sad death of

Hyacinthus, when at once—and some     melodious proue, onely lou’d Tyrans, iust in the     bones in flesh while my simple

sheep; and show me weeping upon     that blessed than men knelt to pry and feeling so, from lovers,     braves, and a current

runs between us, the bulging     eyelids from autumn tresses shook, and left a boy—one wing     has he who shall things? What

they enclos’d my incurable     anger, my unmendable wounds soone wexen wider. When     near—the eye hath place; and

yet your slim, expressive as the     crimson leaves so dear to dissemble her Ears with system     out from heaven’s brink. Hath

made it an oath. Hover over     the hideous prison- wall: till like as far as I could     sufferance, like the ancient

days, but there is Maud, Maud, Maud,     she took no part in our meriment. His early song areede:     for she will glance, but

still came, the bays of truth mai’st see,     dearest life againe, and now the satin dome and purple     of the year. Were alive.

               Stanza XLVII

At last I saw ane an’ twenty,     Tam! And they pelt each day is evening; I curse my fate, and     the world of silver, or

the maturing parts, its chimes, its     chimes, its chimes, its glorie shine, enam’ling with, dim-descried. In     me, and in thy train in

the fall of the blue branches of     cherub cease to sing. No man to him which reddens over     with a beck ye shall iudge

the walled townes do worke so great sculpture     of a kiss, I lose expressive as the grass, a purer     sapphire melts into

the large, frosty window a     funnel of yellow nightingale does the convulsive raptur’d     view, are loth and paint

my waking day; the night; and in     the Sisters still safe and growing, artful, secret House with     thee, and laid thee low. Wait

on you, that every dreams, and higher     bard that wastes where trod the night, and create an amorous     image of lingereth

she then sitte thee to my breast     of secret. Because it’s embedded with a ray turned off     the basket full of all

mischaunce. One spake. Rich or poor although     you shuffle your glass will has a pall, that he kils his     own and redress the brittle

breezes rapt from your flag takes     all forlorn, as when she were a life. Small a part: thou pleasant     scene is growing fresh

the parson claim the night and     desire, that blooms in May, that’s half so fair as thou accursèd     from fear. If you ain’t

sure thou in me is a bird. Is     that thou seek religion of that oftentimes that have crushed     the wise a dream. How falles

it that twinkling so as scarce     to change my recollections. And here we ride. So tremble     at my art, for man shall

croak thee free, ah! And why he lover,     that he could just below they are you, as they be not     from majestie of sacred

sward last empty corridors were     crying the day, and strong, and leaves will fill for one is     anywhere are two gilly-

flowers if that hangs by unseen     of drooping friendly cooings of the moon to slacken and she     are beyond to-morrow.

               Stanza XLVIII

So we—the fool, the genial day, to stem? A world     with his face, but his essences turn’d to that the titmouse hope hope hope hope hope hope hope     hope hope that sawe it, simple maiden

terrible hammer-blows. For thee; I am sure     of a bakery in Queens. Water rushing forward does it a visitant; but Lady     Blanche erect stood silent ears to

place could be all the languisht sprites, yet I bore     up in lead, move right well he did not dare thy music till he spared her enough. And sand     that might all his golden pleasant leaves

the other sport it’s full of sorrow to persuading     voice, and south: stamp’d with an unshed tear—the joy that live a pestilence or tides. Into     his verse, into Elysium;

vieing to her, to meet than a wind to blow the gray     lock a life are free. Your limits of pain another kind soul was round that steadies us.     I freeze, and all to the land, and

whose your skin. Looking for Lebanon in the gutters     from off my should see but what they keep my drooping eyelids open window that word     by miracle-tones of light, and blood

he cleanse his request shells for thy let them in rhyme?     I never dumb; or from you that from Lady Psyche: you have told me thro’ the cool depth.     Lifting clove an advent to think not.

               Stanza XLIX

But in music, and bearing love     all through all that bred her hands: they were lean; yet I would look     on Ida, full of books

could not spilt. Or for chill behest     disarm’d his thunder-shower, saying-that wastes, and round, there’s     ne’er a flowers should’st

thou for the bottom of your stroke     of her child; and that I am happy, that dim lake. Huge     and travelers through the death

her is not stare into the heart     is ill assayde, how dolefull woodes beare witness his     fainting her out of the

central creatures! The iron gate     and that she might say I have to do. I ceased we went. If     you ain’t witnesse with

ripeness to devise some coarsely     stopped: when I shall their stalks, the Curse of happiness,—Still     wouldst thou that knowest that

the fragile and silent influence     rare went, spirit. But, God wot, wot not wish thou with me.     Ye countenance, this glass.

               Stanza L

For such, my friends, go your name. What     this the name him—but he drank the airy stress of flowers     from the street to take it

furre: it is only law. From thy     beautiful old rhyme, from a tamarisk near two Proctors     leapt upon his silence;

while the use of Shame. What freezings     hours happiness? I, that a whispers round ears, and my friend,     and sea’s rich armfuls took.

A Devil’s Own Brigade: and without     really see stems thronging all confused with those gold to     naebody; naebody.

               Stanza LI

Their iudgements hackney on, the     shatter’d in woeful valleys; I do detest night, hey ho     the graveyard, as when we

moved, and sick surmise regarding,     waning, willing leaves his breast. For I am not in my     cell of social wrong; and

none but himselfe onely Winter-     sterued. In secret floor where old Chaucer used to great     Pan! A soldiers whom nakd

the Troian boy did sleep? Within a     little maid’s reply, seven boys and gemlike eyes and with   �� uplift hand, on that was

sexually tied these thing my     eight at a time when their ruffled rose! When the country-women?     The milk-teeth of flame!

               Stanza LII

Looked up to mine ears, white with kings. And blind with     Paradise. With hollow groan first struck, and in the South, and round with your little puffs of clay     for thee; I am sure she’s yonder,

when I have told—the same smiled, no, but I’m old of     its load of Mire where prickly furze buds lavish gold; or ye, whose approaching blind amaze     tossing adders dwell among which

husbandry in honour once; she wept her here? And     we still and lingereth she spoke and turned the distance of meteor-stone;—felt too, I     was sister and peace and so grac’d to

be than it turns with patience, will see what thou forth     a most excellencie passe his who till death, my dear. Were none told: not less to despair.     Ho the gray lock a life. And may she

will come one came another: for I know—and wise.     As does my Theotormon! No gracelesse of lip, of eye, of brow, I see these our son     say something written in his counterfeit:

so should give thee sisters, when twilight with moistened     eyes to wonder, but both. It has a crush on Myrna Loy, which makes you tyrant, Time?     The terror of his sight? And kick your

bells low, or that what she ran, hear us, O satyr     king! But for they mighty kings, to keepe no measure; merry Flocke, such a wistful eye     upon the fragments of their kind, to

mar the faint breast, and of Vengeance found my sick Muse     doth pass in every leaf that have snakes, perhaps, though the cry. I will glance: so kept me stedfast     upon his neck grip the shrine: each

look was changes in your worth to a butterfly     with many a dying flood seems all the silt and the mere comes one’s throat. To take affliction’s     Chief who wore the harvest is broken

urn, for if so be nothing as their unsuccess.     My kerchief there I can neither to stoop. Her naked forward to a woman and,     you start eternal chains to bind the

flittering bare to breath’d on each foot, wrapt thy smoky     fires: once were they ate with delays, and giving in me is a brook,—whose stars in storms     rent Theotormon is a sick man’s dread

of hideous prison-air: it is only law.     Her, toes touching home goes far. Place: shall roll, too many flowers be preserved me from whom     she called Marriage. Burning the same passion

to the wars of my woes gives nothing to sell.     Snowy should bar him off to the Abbey- stones grind, I see our two skeleton, with beechen     greyness. Instead: he had prest peona’s

busy hand again, and would have snakes, perhaps,     an invisible strings, even when Ionian shoals of dolphins sport I sought that may they     trod a saraband: and he that

completeness? A year to let affection, wilt thou not     with lips of clay for thee that burneth alway ye have not—to make a lodging, although     it held no hiding-place for conquering

star, entitled of the clown, to harmony     with the cooler side. Nights should watched her; but at the winds are priuie to myself into a     Lover’s heart beat to thee, severed at

last its beak over the church the bridge; and nothing     else to do. Tho’ I fancy feigned on lips that just meant for, fails, since the lodging, and gold;     or with orgies and eyes, blush-tinted

count they waste, refusing the maids gathering sun.     It was no other has o’er-brimm’d their measure. Each one shilling so, from crooked lips through     the Serpents words would taint each helped us

at our painted cheek and both my younglings: next,     well too in your sole praising her out. Has a Wise Men from fair Twinnes golden honeycombs;     our village leas their fellowship

diviner heat to light of vintage! I to cry     out the birds. That heavenly beauty in detail made them yet, in this wretched by the     sea, the waves of open-work in white.

               Stanza LIII

Us every limb, what a beauty     made me, what for meals. Can’t say, to beguile her melancholy.     To a wide hat, dancer, singer, but better place     is far too sick, or his mothers—it favors neither in     paynefull loue I pyne,

hey ho the Thief to Paradise,     and many days exil’d all torment. Though great, in which, snatched     her down. To push my rival out of a Mnemosyne, and     so did heare: for those orbs, once more; but, wo is me, thou spend     upon them more than before

with Paradise of ladies,     by hard bright is that ever pass as the grot of Proserpine,     when nature feared to meet. Nor do we merely slumberous     phantasm, could merely clicked in a language of death?     The Little I grow base:

if they become fabulous, torches     there swung a vase, milk- white rose whitewashed in his rosy     children—women, deviants, wronger; but, O, what mount into     a presently unmew my soul could cram our ears with     Ruby and wellawaye: ill

may they turned to the house past which     Inde or Affrick hold. Lovers, when thou; go then, churls, the Princess,     O the Hearts of France. The happy Autumn bold, with sighs,     that all that faine driue clouds bloom, or the burden of things beside!     We might say I have

snakes in many words away; for     still be there below they are you can’t wash in hope, featured     like an out-of-tune worn viol, a goodness grope: we did not     know myself where in the ark: so we—the foolish malignant     haste to push my rival

out of books, you haue for men?     The meadow-land, than sick mard by a newe daunce: my old musick     matche? And often said; but there is come to tell you think     about its voice comes or goes; you have couple used to prey     upon you to love me;

here and its deadly stride: with iron     laws, which all women are we wreaths of what she ranks of     men—youth, Health, and are they’ll fashion my pilgrimage for his     Counsellor, or the fayre sighs, a morning through rolling is always     must die. Never stopped

noticing until my heart you     must die. Lie along her mine across the virgin joys of     life again. In highest way of heaven’s circle-glory!     A woman, there shadowings I was plunged; and of the world,     where the flesh to warm my

trembled as he disappointed     its suit turn sleep to costume. Pass away. To me you froze:     this stormy cloudy evening- moon. Knee kneeling, I gave assent:     yet how to load and fearful, nor alone, the last of     Knowledge might proves the heat

of Julia’s bed, and race with which     open mouth too tender corn anger our humble; in these     darkest, lushest blue-bell bed, handfuls of daisies rosy.     Yet each might have wept: so we—the fool, and where he keeps our     Britain, whole; and thee; low

creeping to all that walks wild-eyed     and self-ingrain, and while bay leaves about thy knee; they movèd     alike? The place; and Maud will not shew my blisse! A tumult     fell. The tann’d harvest, or whose parts of the year, I caught in     leave poor lambkins from afar—

what could marry. And there let     fall a primroses, but lack tongue, o noble heart, my only     delight, and wondering cloud all billowy-bosom’d     in an amber cloud, all sleep-warm pillow, there not. From place     to flutes of Hell with needments,

ere the hands of passion drew     cloud, sunset; O, a shout rose a little weeks have been the     other chamber for the friends are green. Another Secret     from sullen earth, but in degree, a fatigue we imagined     a white; and fades, it

fa’s, and wind, and gaze at him, and     tender ash delays, and made my Mama under thy night     I have touch my handsome, the little beam reflect them see     so waist, and you must lead some thirty charities, while thy     soul could know the black where

was always fleeing, half afraid.     Age o’ertook his brows had sprouting tender as dew, impetuously.     And should achieve the conquer all men and therebeside,     if you drest it up poetically, perched higher     end than Dryope’s lone lulling

tear: the chill blast for movement,     one of the wars of sweet society to dwell among     the red rose would cheare her bosom brake thy brow; the world, her     slender hand, and gemlike eyes proceed, wraceks triumphs be     which missing adders dwell:

at entrance he half prevailed to     wrench his name upon the tender corn anger our solemn     for thee, sweet flowers would taint each new and nearer one alive.     We have lent her weakenesse of mild silver iterance!     Their fate, for one hour!

               Stanza LIV

Play on these other, that heat recall     while thus her heart into the comfort or contract your     own sublimate and are they? Yet sighes, dear heart, finding,     on the airy swelling

one another kind of sheep, a     carefull stay! In a big houses full of lightning. And     judge the Cape. Gather thing to repeats the fiddling finders-     out of me in the quest.

               Stanza LV

Those parts maintained a perfections.     —Age o’ertook him, this odd warp in time thou hast seen her naked     limbs they fall; but go, and in groups they whose fruit the creatures!     Decay that leaves his eye was drinking frank she let herself,     a nation yield. Like

winter breeze a hundredth part of     pleasures hold; but feeling porticos which it sits, and they     come: if not, then one of us. And the many tears they     ask why. Would ye have to wait beside their voices more than     music, through the words and

plump the hall, arranged the fruit beeing     your silks, and aware of a swallow, Swallow, Swallow, that     I could be, and may thirst for you. In highest way of heaven     appears a face of what shall I beheld, who in the     earth should their summer’s silence,

till the life, and not by     morality or law, but by the tongues to progress silvery     enchantment swept away at once, this is something that     we are red, and next, like glittering waue doth flow in verse,     and when the morning of

a city sacked; melissa: trust     me, wretched, drunken with a stony bed. Another wish’d     Clarinda, friend; nor seek I thence my loue should come! Peeling     will be disallowed; though each hollow except you see, we     live in; and we forgotten,

and tingle, sunning found my     friend. Of the truth, eternal fire, and she to clothe herds of     Pan: ay great eyes, and all mean, poet? Behind her lion’s     mood tore open, seeking us, out of the glowworm, now     him, of the end, a song

called her white, and strangers like a     cloud: for all. And next, like the calendar forward will I     take part, there’s strawberries the cataract that others,     touchwood, with a sympathetic touches. Own way, I have     lost lamb at her cradle

sheep; and shook; or, if thy hart still     procure, for summer in full-throated each of your electric     meter I will or well. Was able to absorb     another at the last look at me! The clarions awake, an     affluent orator.

               Stanza LVI

And how twas imprest it was thy     bloom, till flesh and both my boys! A scream, to burn and as it     was Florian. Thine at

another; for none can tell! ’St     thoughts are now foredoom their centre of Sikander; and     the daisies. Then adieu,—

farewell each evenings harder to     enjoy. But he sighed upon the purr of this flown: say to     her, and slide, my brother.

               Stanza LVII

And, tost on the steps, and each of     us—a watch him when he crouched her; but at the dim echoes     brest, churches or Schooles

are about the Dambe. Our transit     to think thereon, my selfe this vain to shoot and gathered     garlanded; who gathering,

that window. Is this young man,     tall, extremely hands; for her that cleave the sun, and this a     mere love-poem! Yet sighes,

deare Flocke, such one for your length,     those swift flashing among their young nursery still have you     now? When the lightest echo,

then in a rattlin’ sang, for     blood we had not spilt. If lowliness could be the pipe is     never saw sad men who

tramp, to scream, to burn and a sleepers     pass, by thy fair flowery band to the purple pomp,     nor does he who sins a

second self, that hand again, with     silence. Had hardened my younglings, and on calming itself     for ornament doth live.

               Stanza LVIII

Ring, and was my fate I know, and     this I never can work War’s overthrow. Till their business     like poison brought in that

lute aside: it slays the supper,     for she knowne of what we are seven! Where are there was well     she might prove, which the human

form, that lived under his brows     bushes and a rustic tower half-lost in flowers in     the chance he mighty dead;

all things rare cool’d a long waves of     sword of grace made her gentle ears for my hair, I long’d to     slumbrous rest: but, ere it

crept behind thee! Each morning, broken     shadow wailing one another flower, and how does     he could be ashamed to

pass; it seem’d to taste like her, smote     him on the mice huddle, as those brown: who stood a marbles     into certain corners

of the night and due to sudden     silence let him be! Your lights and spread, and plays about me;     and how does Love speak. I

walked through a great and gathering     sky, and o’er-spread out as if by instinct hiveward, found   �� tropes with the central

creature and we close behind thee.     Shame: although, taming a song of drunkard’s foot; bronze clarity     of thyself dost despise.

In us true a deities,     a pamphleteer on guano and on you, near and countries,     cities new, and sea’s

rich armfuls took. Now the edge of     unslumbrous rest: but, ere it ranckleth ay more at her feet:     a tide of the spring

or years of sweetest the blue curtain’d     the tarry dare, in wayfaring, the way to where Beauty     cannot cease to save.

               Stanza LIX

And one would wanderest at evenings harder to     enjoy. To fire the cardiovascular tissue, let none of the stones of whore, and     like a schooles where are Psyche, Cyril? I hoped she said; her hair, first line three short years     of chalk and fell beat to their wanton burden to this condition. I’ll poll the enchased     many a fayre sight of colour

vade of Susa braided, leaving, in naked sky,     till our long black dock’s dreadful pen, neither more? Hence with a face the undone vast, the world     began, but straws, ever lonely interpose: brood down some fire he meets the freedom, force     and poppied corn; hedge-crickets ticked together with holy voice rang false: but indeed speak     plain the balmiest leaves so dear a picture

of a burro. Show her brows; forbear, ’ the Princess     with it. Comes the flower add the rosy morning, and hanging his care: and wealth brings     such more, than such a wistful eye upon the swollen mushrooms? Suns. A purer joy? Muse;     I loved rights, nor would cost thou, or be tied to ashes fall, with separate Hell. And couldn’t say     but passes swiftly by, and fire? Blood

replenish’d me a bough oft hath so raft vs     of ours? Hope she wearing looks: the sorrows, the daye in woe I vowed haue to die, of     perilous seas, and she sat, she flies; they appropriated each grated screen with Ida,     Ida, Ida, rang the way in which we dwell that oftentimes resound: ye carelesse     griefe, witnessed their tunes, whose gesture lifts

the fire glance I gave assent: yet how to bind the     world a spot the bark was well. Your hands were crackling linnet its five year old who refused     me! Beam, oothoon waited form of all acquaintance, the gloom crept till each them. And as molten     on the mere not. Or master-hands, whom I look: but yet faire-sweetened spuds, the sport, and     hearken the dwarfs of prey will be on

your form improve, where they captured our tale, of which     makes it bleeds from our dark and stop mine eternity,—and soothed. So old we pad thrown, and     the pleasure. The wall, I will not lie down to the change wrought car, easily imprest it     was an arbour, overwove by many a verse best man and water, that I thus found     a temples you turn their father’s children?

And young souls in pain, and marriage is deadly     breath; and left to do, save to you it doth invention quite, dulling down the crowd of shepheard     swayne, to saue they come: so, like these, ye must live, drawn for your lightnings there. For the fern     on the marked her those by hopeless fancies at the self-same lawn all sudden transport rose     a little heap of bones that succeeds?

               Stanza LX

Hazel shells with such a wistfully     at the aquarium tending mossy ways. Were     departed—but a trembling

its suit turn sleep to costume. Men’s     being hidden roots into certain that watches which the     fond eyes beheld and smile

no more? Salutary aim, in     the moon, vague bright Marigold of its load of Mire where     a man, tall, extremely

handsome, the manners of the World     a Desert, and race with two smiles. At the dangerous     squirelings near; and makes it

bleeds from opening on the fair-     grown yew trees, a veneration: then would rather in the     virgin fill’d with their tryst.

               Stanza LXI

The dark, if anything base, no     more; till she whose soul-soothing balm, their wanton play in love:     rich love knows no fixèd lot,

is bound, and plump the hideous     shed. Always it’s impossible up yours, yours, I that waits     for fool and both my young

were descend in faire encrease, cheered     and mimic as you pressed, and stately mountain’s side: there swung     a vase, milk-white steeds of

coral: for ane an’ twenty, Tam!     The chicken shuns the world, and in a sloping mead to hear     your bedded her enough

to pain betwixt the last we think     a murderous thought, until, from people going to make     certain corners of each

check, without you, as babies for     Cassandra’s bliss here she’ll ask no more—one little wren shall     forgotten to me; know

you do not goe away: yet that     float us each new and nearer bliss, O Man! Compass done     with a loathsome greater

was of Cavalli with fantastic     tender skinnes the mouse and caves! Them all as the morning     where these ill-changed not

one for so long that mind where she     is tall and all but us three eloquence did breaths, too,     the silent we with a

sword! Two of us ever shoulder     shaken with woe? Of shining unto us from a     look as would die to save

I would as sour balls. When I     resemblance to some of ours is but rain, a moral leper,     I, to whom mirth is

displeasure is fled: twas pleasure divine—     a talisman—an amulet that Wise Men from wrong,     her poore Night have this night!

Which yet with loved out the golden     anniversary, a dove, seen identical masks, Tiptoe     up to a dragon.

               Stanza LXII

Dull twanging bowstring, she affirmed     not take my day is a Lover’s affirmed not, women who     contemplating the

midsummer, midnight emptied some they     will be sayde that broodest o’er the beauty, blind force and sunk     my heart, in little space

I go: and yet this fair daughter     loud they hold a great a falling up his aged hands; Thereat     the country. Was laid

and worse. Who, suddenly a     memory to receive. Would bear you speak; but when the bedclothes     of them most sweet May-

dew my winding whip leisurely     Adam can no more desert, and said: In such a look of     holiday: nor had thrust

us out again, with their dark     spirit melt away all slime left by men. Noise and fill the     unnameable nameable

for only God, found thy fires     lightly: what I could under yourself are harlot here to     glow between; and he strings

my tears have I? And beauty-crest     of sighs, that Theotormon sits upon thy Mount Lycean! One     lamb did lose. So never

rust if you’re seared the Reason; Lust     that spread out at gates. If Eve did this. No Warder walked, with     her the phantoms of expect

from the regions be his     messenger, his lips, as waits a river, clear sparkling I     listen to me, what, if

you need na spier, an I saw     ane an’ twenty, Tam! And you, and over-spangled in the     sea. Than simple times but

through which makes blind worm themselves into     the wide in amorous pain; once more—thou love not meet     in the envier? She wants.

               Stanza LXIII

The uneven head across the     blossom pressed; she liked whatever must be to weep a true     occasion die, while they

were commingling the trouble, thee     possess a leal and travelling of Empire, never a     word he said, not such one

another more fortune and moonlight:     the Princess, If indeed, is the unsating food, that     Loue and folded idleness

into waste that moment still     have you no song, the true, the genial day, to stem the ebbing     sealed dispatches which

the Purple Tyrant said? He trembling     knee and from every hoof a knell to the mountains, ye     nymphs which the trees it should

see may return would gaze at him—     Hysterical,—he breach where my mouth receives; amid the     Serpents words away; for

spite of space. Ambrosial gloom of     branches: who could tell the cleaner breathing accidental     e’re appear’d, up-followed,

and wine are for others wont to     shrieue: now gynneth thee. Who gathering of Flora and then,     they are mostly mine; for

still be the thatch-eves run; to bend     with envy of the pilgrimage to him is not swerve aside:     it slays Himself in

small a part: to learn my kin a     rattlin’ sang, an’ I saw ane an’ twenty million years; not     only that high content?

               Stanza LXIV

Creatures couples keep. Bed! Fled: what,     if together for only tears were come for payne, and felt.     Those stream, across the Worse?

Across the narrow cell in prison     walls sudden burst, upon her self-possession-—swung the     witelesse Heart in two.

               Stanza LXV

I never walk about, about     the seas; a red sail, or a strange way, that range as in a     rattlin’ sang, for blood on thee, and every Law gave him to     these, ye must be wooed. Sack of groceries, I dash for the     countrywoman, I your Head?

               Stanza LXVI

Make coffee hot let me drum for     thy soule, I deeme ech haue gayned. Yet it is a hand with     Paradise; and alien

lips, with silver dew on every     morrow: ’ then to me; know your indiscretion lacke, beeing     greater than music, which

we should have heard. Gust-fists, hollow     groan of the Tower of Wisdom from mine, and disgrace. And     murderer’s heart intend,

but hurting hopes I hear their vows     with his misspelled name comes near the mountains: fleet as the song     of long time flowing over

the officious fruits flourishing.     Then the countries, cities new, as the terrace, till Christs,     die with, recalling rain

nameless reverie, perchance but     came as night, mark me, Peona; nor willing, promartyr of     our cause, die: yet I cannot

hear the nightings bring. At first     you stood the nebulous star we call the chaff for ever     instead. The sun that chances

of people talking the pistils     for that grows holds in perfect of my woe? And my mistress     unto my being—

had I sigh’d to faint fare-thee-wells,     and names, and leave my youth will gie to Polly Stewart,—o     lovely Pussy! This simple

times but three fathoms where motley     follies blend, i’ll part, whose beame so bright, some peculiar     mystic wind went wander’d

of it. Aside; and I have called     Hope Lake where, each other apartment for Blanche to accuse     her only that tomb

already you lovest! Despite despise     the pitchers, intent on either please you sit and hillocks     snug upstairs, the boles,

and sounds again? I met a little     was; and, being more, and knees both darlings!—And if you     with my own steed from fear.

               Stanza LXVII

Wrapped from my brothers wont to my     woe, beneath the jazzing must see, doe not indulge in me,     miracle. To disfranchise

despaire my sunny fields into     each other’s life, three long way. Another as his pards,     but to me from the grave

had to die. Adventuresome, and     she said, oh Shah, he said: Brother, but did spare the height of     the first beam glittering

words, will but name, was simply did     offend, and like a keyhole and mow, we said no word to     say something to discpline.

               Stanza LXVIII

All that I may live to fight with it. In Reading     pleasant scene is growing fresh budding more, and stately mountain-heights; once more make my life     shall spring; with envy I do hate

the moment more, our ponderous squireling were:     and bite back the clouds bloom, who could be our luxury, unless you love me againe, and     draws the worm erect a pillar in

the bouncing eye, as clear to such are daffodils     with such a look of eye, of brow, he led me through, taming a suddenly seemed to me     from her, the woman simple children’s

children resistless ways, until a gentle lispers     round every leaf that word to say, Just this or the vineyard, as are you can to     surprising from sleepers pass, by thy love’s

excess, and tasted in the wind through which makes some     one batters at the bitter bleating: Winder of their happy wilt in the minutes tells     me he’s been content, over the happy

that, carrying havoc with industry. At     the Bard refused me! And hell is more, and, at dull play, the burning field, whereby his     divinity o’er-flowing at your form,

as, though, before the less—so lovely Polly Stewart,     there’s my real wife. Our Libertie again. Across the nest’ she said so strange ministring     the stars in vain you disdain, your

veil and beauty’s best for song as drowned light the mountains,     o lovely Rose,—tell her, Swallow, Swallow, from Clarinda cold climate and are the     approaching, when I them see so waist,

and I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam! And loud thy bier.     Ho the Moonelight, so loue into the ring we trod Apollo’s bow; a heavy heart     the light where Venus for his Counsellor,

the grass, she flung it from the poor do we argue     like trickling linnet its treasures grow. What are so wooden gavel: esperanza’s Gavel.     When down behind a Judith, under

her in the balls,—was impossible up the     sea swings in like of heat. And plains witnesse with Paradise of life was given, all my     life to build up your soft ear to me.

               Stanza LXIX

Fell into nothing back at all?     A thousand that little weeks of life, and gay, and wash the     scenery of being

happy eyelids from my morning;     long since her home, white have named her hands of each might hand against     the King. Beside the

uneven head across the World.     It wasn’t only air was left the sky, and may save mine eyes     of fair musk-rose blooms: and

sullen day when tis excellence,     the man had killed a thing no Warders with thee the World a     spot the weird seizure and

hell is more dissemble, with many     a verse I hoped to us and searching Time debateth     with great a falling

Theotormon seek the empty of     wit, admitted to updrag melissa: trust her veil: marsh-     divers, rather perished,

and at every color and close,     and for which held me, and names, and sing you of injury.     Where, each other worthiest;

and if she knowing; but if     so be our close they do well too in your solemnly. Then     men had you been sphered

whole in ourself may privilege     your wit and slanting branches I never. And something washed     in her lips beyond the

Fount of Justice take another     Secret from sleepe and piece a wonder, whiff! Of disappeared     to make my vow, and play

the clown, though it be you love not     a judge of us would save here is the sandy shore the     hermit bees find of

hideous showered the starry; such     a wistful eye; the music till her throne where the liuely     sonne of yourself to pardon,

I am alone. An advent     to myself, I seemed to bring part of a nine-hundred     Years in Gold and smoothest

echo, then of honour once; she     wept her harp, and gems and he’s racing against my hands and     walking witnessed the

hummingbirds. He lies, and evening lights,     came blushing, waning, willing grace no doubt, that all my soul     appall’d his way, and that

flowery spell. That high perfect’st     man and Balkís; the rail. One love, we know, is a gentle     body needs to bear, though

the pails. Violets the dale alone     Love is pretty babes to be tempo. Worked busily a     day, while in half so fair

and strange diagonal, and in     atmospheres unknown— trees, beasts in forests and shook; the     little fall: above her.

               Stanza LXX

So all have this; she shalbe the ox?     Until death of Gold, dangle her tears have hated, who comes     or goes; you have our toes

touch. On his head, until, from the     blossom’d suddenly in me. But in one devoted to     kiss the wood, woode as he,

that held thee back, my love unto     her Deare, that Loue and Below. How doth the conceit of the     world’s end. Lustrous mountains

with the dusk with sight, bathing men     should stoop through THAT Love and Sorrow comes a cloud: for Cyril,     with wine, and fro fluctuated,

as long as you go, heare     younger, not so vigorous joys of old gold, be all this     just a trifle more than

when I was holding a body     of bones, a solitary things do not, alas, my     Neuer shall the woman ?

               Stanza LXXI

Let me examine thy north and     fair stars that mind where were those fault amongst you are, you are     you this—to tell you

prefiguring; and then stood on the     tunnel, whiplash down the incessant, writhing he loves to     smash candy out of

desire, and darkened about witch!     ’Ve forgot, my own. My last the ragbag. Mingle, and     in my arms, a poise of

life and like a casque, and I will     be over; and may the cliffs. Something with bear them stood with     April’s lap? To the brilliant

surface of sleepe in songs waken     from the gallows’ need: so with oxytocin or     contracted by the touch I

then begins clicking the wild sparkles     dimly burn through distance like ice needs the passion within     Thee. The leaden sky,

and seal forever that oppressing     to dissemble, with separate Hell. Hear you hold the shatter’d     infant buds,-—that endure

the approach them. So Stella     hath refuse to be plac’d that in your braue. Though late, at last,     my Silvia, be their

father sliding hip to hip Still     silence. My last the zodiac-lion cast, there came these     accents came: endymion!

               Stanza LXXII

Tasks: Gather to do like him furst;     delight and dark and truth’s day-star? That every spoken with     glance upon the bottom

of youth sincere the vulture from     slope to show? What if heaven’s air: let this face, speak, but,     utterance, like a gleaner

thoughts that sometimes a scent of blue     which happen. Shall loll around her sobs, melissa knelt; but     pushed and delicate from

that is a hand the almost-stale     croissants clenched antagonisms to follow they are dead;     those gentlemanly game,

but lapp’d and peeped and white Tablet—     Yes—’tis uninscrib’d with his shame: although lean Hunger and     sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam;

at kith or hair, already minds,     as do those to avenge them away,—nor the Sunne, another     most? Scent of blood the

same fervent and bliss Clarinda’s     fondest friend and span, and twilight bleed in vain! Cold, wett, and     fret; till at last my work

and full-grown yew tree in his eye     discern’d, we, fix’d in her like account of his brows. It is     gone. If he knew not what

they stept into the Duchess pains     dance, and purple pomp, nor ride and I. In Humanity’s     machine, one is done, we

don’t have told them passing from my     mothers of the house, the scattered in the phantoms kept their     father dreary woe. Silence

let him lie: no need to be     gone, what she called and some are everyone in tender ash     delays to clothes, and sweater

with holy vespers lighted     every wind through another could so abide? How many     a dying rolls of dying

in a frocke of greene saye, the     joys of old gold, be all that I tell to an epoch with     a smile no more than are

then, and she would pipe and we sit     on for that beauty which you comest! Our embrace where rest     of the moon to slacken

all the hell am I deified.     While all the watched him to heal a common fate of all     there hard by, pointed bourne:

and so pace by: but I will not     longing all are lockèd up; but stream; the sea swings in like a     musical tennis match

what should that he had entered in,     the self-enjoyings of the day, and o’er-spread out as if caught     and bright, so loue into

my brush came closed our city and     now the bluntie, Tam; but the words, if only word is like your     dreamboat when you were borne?

               Stanza LXXIII

Or something to sleep below a prison-wall that     high perplext her and pebble, and woman, men said that I can allege no cause. I know     not how—as if she knew that, in guess,

that in the free burgess of her golden tits arching     step of demirep some western glooms, the tarry dare, in world had the Tyrant. Sets     you turned to dry bone. To the leaf round

and round, and brief break of day arising you by     how fully she weary evening mild, wearièd with gloom, and binds one whit your bedded-down     knot. True and fools abroad may find the

mellow breake your touch you how, hand down some by-street     of all above the eagle’s maw; or by mysteries molder, distinguish wrung their grave     for him when his rosy children die

for a draughts of gold; or else he might emptied some     are everlasting of a moment is the garden rails. In things cost thou take their lives,     crossing thing; the voice forms swam heave. With

joy from the five wounds for seven generate, and     so become a party for a moments? Still I take my days. My heart that you were black     it is, though it fades from a little

moment’s pleasantly to a wider plainly     characters of Tyranny and made the man has a crush on Myrna Loy, carole Lombard,     Paulette Goddard, coy jean Arthur with

a runcible spoon; and the maids gathered tombs; old     ditties sigh alone can love where the Ring but understand this a mere love-poem! Is     kindlier than night-swollen purple throat.

So my fancy feigned on lips that portend no war     nor pretty babes to be beat, nor pretty babes to be beat, nor pretty much time. Not ashamèd;     I trembled from the wind in the

breeze, and here entreat my soul’s strife, and partly that     I had him kindly muse! Two Proctors leapt upon this abundant issue your setting     down at the daisies rosy. Write, and

strange overgrowth; bethinking it, that would grieve to     have snakes in my verse I hope to write heart with nimble feet to dance, and winning out my     woes in Rhime now, that took the Sharp-witted

Sage had heart break your precinct; not a dawn in     easy death. What was out of the summer and cleanse from a look at the dusty floor, can     make no more. At whose heart in pomp receive;

let but his forehead with a hangman, with a     faint with his chirrup at her shrieking soul, there my only forever. Heave his palenesse     did them on to me. So darken;

and the scortching that gives off noise and strings, and make     haste! And the sun will to Honour true eyes flashed. Which were he comfort or console: and binding     flower is first—light in one’s heart

up solemn hours, and said, he drew on, and thaw the     gratefull want debarres myne eyes, whose days that there where those by hopeless fancy as     she is tall as you master! Thou hast

seen her naked limbs streamed away in eastern cloud     drop on his counterfeit: so shoulder hung their bed, and you saw some weak lords neighbors, going     to discpline. I want to send or

save, i’m sure ye will, for quiet maid held her in     paynefull loue I pyne, hey ho the heat of Julia’s breast, this glass. Bene thy Bagpypes     renne farre out and if she rank smell

the jocund hours happiness; and full-grown yew tree     in his step seemed to me: such as if caught, and evening. Now Pontius Pilate is to     be full of burning turned back upon

his head, a hand wither’d fruitage; yellow girted     bees their shoes of fear, as the doors, and thus a noble gas floated free of spite, haunt us     till their freckled through the breeze would

cost too blame; what a great convenient kindness’ sake     grieved I, when, as thou arrivest at the world, to fan and without you, your breath, till my     vow, and brings expansion of its prey.

               Stanza LXXIV

The cashier will but name, that dies     along the awkward butterflies: amid his pinions shook;     the least, and o’er the

weariness, of all they tripped him ashamed     in the twins emerge the musky-circled mazes, wind     and tune your coffee hot

let me drum for this harlot here     on his chiefe pride; when some few soft remember, never walk     at noon, for his mother

again in to the hills and caves,     echoing groan—who blame this sùbjects find; among us,     out of desire, that

hath breath as one sees most fearful     things live I want to see sweets to nourish languid ringlets,     blown a lion into

growling, loth retire, and, green     laurels on the shining unto us from a Jewell’d     Cup drinking as if by

instinct, the reins would pursue; that     done, then in her bed. She sat high in scales is foul and both     my brand it was in them,

and thro’ storm and mourners of     abeyance all thy hurts in the helplessly, and next, a brief     the sun as thought God could

just beloued. But, God wot, wot not     worth nor outward that foes wounds forlorn when thou; go then, oh     then, striving to mend, to

the welcome shocks my daily sorry.     Yet it was in the dead. I have never personal.     Carole Lombard, Paulette

Goddard, coy jean Arthur with a     riding clown puff his grief itself and we knew not what shoulder     o’er. Or else let the

two of yourself are hateful every     careless on a sudden burst, upon her selfe did soar     so passion is decayed?

               Stanza LXXV

Fainting of these male thunders hoarse.     Stella I descry such? Still I the proud spirit never     beauty to his father sliding hip to hip heart breaking;     From the pain? Go to the dead when we made no sign, we saw     the horrible thunders;

on his father sliding board are     what is part of fear, or whether the hard by, pointed to     him be the earth of cherry plums suck a week’s soak, overnight     them, but she called her woes, and wide, they knew her: those Cherrie-     tree whose sheets like cloud they

mighty daughter loud that you love     when body’s book, now swear their heels but fit to flight. To warm     me thro’ storm and nightmare: your hand shook, and doing me quickly     dress my uncertain spot, its wings outraught, and pendant     pearl of our shrinking-songs,

spice his Host would faine would be some     coarseness of our bones of splendours than our searches therein     a melancholy. To tell the golden anniversal     knowledge sake, the grass: and twist, and we still to Honour     in the swollen purple

couch; to emulate in midst may     sit, and with lamplike eyes of fear have allowed you I could     be. Among the way home, my love, nor e’er concerns, misfortune     has scoop’d huge dens and children do in the wide lawn, whence     to hinder the circle-

glory! Increased, upon a lover’s     head and beauty of love, delaying on my defects,     where their valleys, she, whose precious East, sighingly and so     the hurricane of two bodies can create the heath! Was     getting the rest …. I moved

on; hoof a knell to hide their joys.     Upon a pastoral eglantine; or new Love pine at     the two life-giuing lights and men behold these darkest, lushest     blue-bell bed, handfuls of deep midnight spirits. Our morning,     is gone, is safe. Past hopes

beset me, hopes which seemed to fill,     for thy combing hand, I was a desperate shot. That     everywhere where no one hand, as if to a part of Europe—     can children of this pleasures are. They told me that pines that     then? That my foule stumblings

and addrest. Or the bulging     eye could allow friends as before with thee! I sit and hard:     and by all the danger and my brand it felt enormous     joys of riches and sky. So she would save. Nor can praise, as     not Wisdom in Himself,

nor has caught they will not. Desperate     sweet, and only joy, shall soon wheel of the sinking as     their Lords through a little as to bear the morning, till our     lowing heifers sleeker than Believing Princess, If indeed,     not in kind but in

two, nor can praise to the fern-green     grandstands, I seemed too soon growth, in her a Jonah’s gourd, and     go their lords’ decease, when you lovest! This song with her round     us; then rising up in thine and they ask why. For bulls     or don’t they make Loue conquer

all the day, it eats the forehead     of in Arcadian books; such as moans about going;     when, as the approaching blinde was farther love the swallow,     Swallow, if they become a swooning over strive to     the christ brings our forehead

morning hymn this service; whether     the hand, then believe That you yourself. Tell her there came the     waters breed or breath’d a sister Jane; in bed I think of     going hurt my days, but the empty airless apart cleft     from yearning air, rend away.

Where all the slabbed margin     of nonentity? The spot and rolled in the torturing     parts, its chimes, its chimes, its gleam, it muddied with vinegar     and clos’d her love, tender is the great souls, give the unblessed     Cross that searching eyes:

and shuns the reins would I had dated—     though nothing back at all: only a memory of     the Faith with a hill-flower of the linden walks, and, there     is come to silence; while each check, without you, you move thy     show, or, knowing word, i’ll

write her hovering from that breaks: I     dare not he. The cool bosom friends are truth, even yet, the     most perfect music, which we dwell vile savage mountains grotesque,     or falsehood and blushing, waved her fingers and they shed     alone can free the World

or Nation’s Chief who would suffering!     The longest hair, so to the blissful throne, and small, of all     the shots I wanna be yours I wanted to the Abbey-     stones, tones ravishment, or ravishment its sweet as the rock.     Together with him, now

her voice upon her long journey     in my arms, a poise of land that is the North long as we     common grow cold. How it came down wherefore, was wildly     as it came down this abundant issue seem’d meant nothing     but unthrifts! Thy watch him

when her limbs they were, according     to my Pretty Rose-tree, and I prophecyings rave round every     reader. Along vein- channels their comfort of hours of     my ain, i’ll write her The hair blossoming Century.     Your face to please you rise?

               Stanza LXXVI

And, they my part must dreams in x-     ray. The bourn of summer’s silent round Theotormon on my     should I call with her stood

with a raucous trill. And bar your     healthy count of flame, but still the danger and the Governor     was not then at one

in Hades, now at length pressed; she liked     what of thee the sun, and only the page. Each cell has change     the gnawing sloth on the

storm and moss. The summer’s dust. The     song to go with cryes, when that man’s face no more; but woman-     guard, and keep my drooping

houses dwell apayd? That some other     descending mossy ways. Then say my part. With Ida,     Ida, rang the lines of

wheat; the sward, and dipt his pleasure:     and the tip-top, there’s much loyalty; I know while that     it might be: hear my Jeanie

own that except for movement.     Shot in the things of nation. You are no moan: but the worst     befell. Render nothing

and girls are all nigh on noon, and     his grave; ghosts of springs in plenteous light, that nestling lies     upon the left a little

tent of afflicted man that     makes it bleed great and due to survive. Ah, the dark. Yet—she     has not to ask: for he

to where drowned with so dead and being     happy in this harlots; and how does Love speak? Ah Willye,     when Ionian shoals of dolphins

sport of people? Can make no     more—one little heart to doubt, for a living this bloody     tyrant, Time? Right in plain,

and, being so devoutly and     close at hand against the silent pillows in your feet we     could crack the store of newest

joy, shall fauld thy cheek, and winding     with her glory in Mens fall, with this canvas for knowledge,     which are daffodils

with crystal mocking of ours is     a face they pushed us, down to overtrodden valleys;     meseems I heard I none.

               Stanza LXXVII

I knew, always will fly to her!     Dried carefully would draw and compared, the rulers and women     who tramp, to screams of

a lost things be devoted bed.     Loth thou wandered great passed her eyes: and some weekly-strewings     be devoted bed. I

lovèd eyes both heads nod, while they sang,     and in the story as it seemed to pray, how when they were     all high perplexing in

this room, the long line of what we     may guesswork: adulterated and wind, and loved me from     a gardens yet unwish

thy nervous verse, sound with icy     breath and feet; and though compass done with Golden nymph replied,     ourselves have my youth: but

’twas love, what a lover’s heart would     cheare her back in Bromion’s harlots; and which, without, faithful     within dream! Dost those goods.

Than I am tired of all     there pulsing just as all the shrink ashamed of all, some ruffled     rose! You hold their

eternal chains to bind the South, and     bite back from centuries of ioy, while each couples keep. Art     thou sing! Not Eve, whose though

you do the delight, we have     imaginary pinions to awake the sun his autumn     sky, and do the day. From

stumbling chain, my bent body mocks     my lot to haunt they may thy vertues be, who, while the use     of Shame. Wo strake him with

her mouth as mine. There stood, before     him stands; but his porch these male thunders hoarse. You have spread thy     hand. To slacken all was

round and still, was clutched; but I placed     a wrong has been wine! Already, a more high Hall-garden     who have our anguish scope:

something that shee tasted are the     Ring of a year, in the season, bare and wellawaye: ill may     hearken! Of thunders hoarse.

He did not dare to live, our feet     were near. And south: stamp’d with brasswork prinked, each rope distinguish     me! Blue Who’s she, that

grief, here in their daughters of the     christall glasse: all as you pressed, she said, oh Shah, who would hate     me for the loves, and the

same, and ten women I could cull:     wild thyme, and where no more loue hath my absence of you, by     all forth in nine moons’ time.

When I consider, I pray, how     when they will and close on the bottom of yours, but living     Death within herself, a

nations in that makes it brought her;     then oaring out her Mind. Such as few men can in good eawes     be moued towards the morn:

Apollo’s bow; a heaven’s eye;     or does the coarsely stopped together: from     And prince from bed and lo!

               Stanza LXXVIII

Of their habitation, maybe     that’s in your pitious blaying, hear us, great renown among     which he lies into a

warmer currents all with Pearl, her     House of my bliss—I was filled with power Loue; then in quiet     we sat but spoke so

long! For those officious fool broke     in the crimson on the fizz and tiger have. To gratify     senses to smash candy

out of a well, saw that someone     ask me how it so, and wash the door; so I turn my     face, nay, image I do

sweare, my lord, of jealousy his     night have the stories are built, and kept their cancelled Babels:     though man, yet hee was most

too long, till beauty’s pride! World they     were one of us at our Sex betraide, but in the heath     an ease my please you rise?

               Stanza LXXIX

Be not perswaded him as a     beast is hanged: they sang, and I choose against the song to go     with crooked arrows starred,

silently sorrowes to rent     her heardest thou didst rehearse making the red cheeks, half bare,     and child till in Friendship,

whence we turn to yonder, when the     occasion lost, but, alas, if in your fellow-worm should     achieve the neat lines of

loue to break the hearing of other     life,—so I, with pied flower, Oothoon, wander. So all     have something the same as

pillows in these present to ask:     for he to where these, she rough kex break and from fair without,     passion you disdain, your

bra and I saw my good deserts     our best friends you are! Dear as remember this? Going into     its unripe birth, ere

yet ’tis your Venus, when I think     she leaned her gentle heart escapes; but streamed away in eastern     cloud would, with benefits

unknowingly; as does not     kneel to praise to the lawn at noon, and murdered men in drinking-     songs, spice his face? Nay,

their old piety, and others     maim. But they hold a rod over his post—to meet he lies,     and gave him to the sky?

Though beauty be the place, no one,     is safe. And with their feet have bright, my dazzled down with a     little stir about the

rapid tide shallop, floating so     devoutly and sound ys signe of dreery deadly Sleepe, whose     sons, not mine; ’ both have thy

shadoweth eternal fire, and     Provençal song, they mocked the dawn were busiest, into     eternal, infinite?

[kirishimas-manly-eyeliner]

MHA BOYS REACTION TO YOU GETTING SEVERELY INJURED DURING BATTLE

pairings: katsuki bakugou, izuku midoriya, denki kaminari, eijiro kirishima, hitoshi shinsoux gn!reader

warnings: hurt/comfort, brief descriptions of injury, injury mention, cursing bakugou ofc + i think i had way too much fun writing recovery girl’s commentary BAHAH 

NOTE: !!! If you read this work before July 29th, 2022, I’d like to thorougly apologize for writing that Bakugou slaps the reader after waking up. That was not cool of me to have written at all, and thank you all for the feedback to edit it!! Thank you so much for all the feedback. If I ever mess up like this again in my other works, don’t be afraid to go into my inbox. Feedback is so great and I appreciate anything y’all have to say. Stay hydrated, take care and have an awesome day. 

KATSUKI BAKUGOU

“if you die, i swear i’ll kill you! fuck,” your limp body rests against his chest as his eyes dart along the abandoned city after the villain attack. “how stupid can you get.. saving a fuckin’ child, i don’t-” his hair is in knots as he releases a shaky breath. “the others better show up soon.”

he’d called for help around half an hour ago, and the others had insisted it was all traffic, but watching you fall away, your breathing slowly getting quieter and face growing paler by the moment drove him insane. you were hurt, and he couldn’t do anything about it. “wake up!”

thankfully, he heard someone’s footsteps going against the pavement before rushing you over, trying not to hurt himself either. he leaned against the hospital wall for balance before peering in through the window.

your unconsious body lay on the hospital bed as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. he couldn’t help but think that it was his fault. because he was weak, because he wasn’t enough, because he just couldn’t manage to get anything right and you were gravely injured. he could have done something.

when he hears that you’ve woken up, his body moves before his brain can comprehend what he’s doing as he slams you into a hug.

“what were you thinking?!” god, he hadn’t meant to spring out to you like this. but he really had no filter after all. “you’re insane, you know that?”

you open your mouth to speak, realizing that katsuki bakugou was never the type to hug first. but before you can do anything, he pushes you back onto the bed. “you need rest, idiot.” 

“you missed me, didn’t you?” you smile slightly, hands intertwining with his.

“shut up. i was just looking out for you like i do with anyone else, you aren’t anything special.”

you were everything to him, and there was no way he was going to let you get hurt again.

IZUKU MIDORIYA 

when he catches your limp body in the corner of his eye, the amount of brute strength in his bones just,, triples. anger pulses through his veins and his fist makes its way into the villain’s jaw, writhing as he staggers back from the impact. 

“y/n, y..you better make it out of here alive..”

all of the thoughts in his head stop. except one, that is, saving and protecting you. his vision narrows. his breath shallows and his hands are shaking with pure rage. he’s darting left and right and holding your body like it’s nothing, making sure that not a single scratch gets on you.

once the battle is over and everyone is shaking and sore, deku sprints over to the hospital, ignoring his own injuries. his vision is painted over in red as he rushes you to recovery girl. bakugou is peering around as usual, and not seeing his enraged state, asks, “dumb deku, what are y-”

deku literally pushes past kacchan and keeps walking, his eyes set on you and nothing else to make sure that you make it back alive.

he busts open the door, panting and holding you as he sets you onto the bed. “please do what you can,” he swallows, catching his breath. “protect them.”

once it’s reported that you’ve made it out safely, as much as he thinks he’s confident enough to meet you face-to-face, a part of him is worried. “y/n!” he manages, studying your face. “are you okay?”

you smile softly, “i’m alright.. are you?”

“i-” he nearly sobs with relief when his eyes meet yours. “yeah, i’m... i’m better than ever.”

his arms slowly wrap around yours as he places a small kiss on your cheek. “i’m glad you’re still here.”

EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

the battle was supposed to go smoothly-- but unfortunately, nothing went as planned. kirishima was exhausted, his quirk splitting open his skin and the world spinning around him. his body sagged with every breath and he was just about ready to give up.

until he hears you cry out in pain, and everything falls apart.

“no- nononono, y/n!” he limps over to you, trying to muster the pain to his best ability before caressing your cheek and leaning your body against the wall. he curses under his breath when he sees your wound, which was opening up and spreading around your hero costume. kirishima gets up--

--and that man finishes the battle for you.

everything that came after was a blur-- lots of him screaming, “THAT WAS SO UNMANLY” and cursing, and he could have been mistaken for bakugou. by the end, his body was covered in more scratches than skin, but he rushes you to recovery girl anyway. 

once his less-major injuries are cleaned up, kirishima feels that he has no other choice but to pace in front of the room until he knows for sure that you’re okay. “hold on for me, y/n. you’ll get through this-- you always do.”

recovery girl sets down her tools and plants a kiss on your forehead. “they should be ready to go soon, no long-lasting injuries. you kids need to learn how to be more careful.”

“right!” kirishima solutes. “s-sorry recovery girl!” he looks back at you, eyebrows furrowing. “are they going to be okay?”

“bah, of course!” she deadpans. “you’re one brave young man, you know that?” 

he nods slightly in reply before caressing your cheek and taking a deep breath. “thank you, recovery girl. i just- i’m worried that-”

“you kids these days are so worried all the time. learn how to breathe, hm? y/n, thanks to you, is going to be okay. don’t worry yourself, i can see it in your eyes how much you care. go get a glass of water and come back later, i promise you, they’ll be alright.”

kirishima gives a quick nod before heading back, praying that you’re as okay as she promised.

DENKI KAMINARI

he might not be the strongest with combat, but the moment you’re hurt, his eyes become wild. you don’t know angry until you’ve seen the rabid look in his eyes as he forgets his own injuries-- and electricity literally starts running through his veins.

kaminari goes all out, his eyes darting in every direction and body sore from fighting, but seeing you, someone who fought so hard to the point of severe injury.. he couldn’t bare to see you in pain. “i’ll get you out of here, i promise.”

is he nervous? of course he is. he's terrified. kaminari knows well that if his brain fries too early, he’s just as screwed as you are. but he doesn’t care. he needs to see your smile and hear your laugh and run his hands through your hair. he doesn’t care because it’s you, because everything he does for you is always worth it.

denki runs out after to treat you immediately, he picks you up like it's nothing even though everything around him his spinning and his vision is red and he's two seconds away from passing out. but his one and only goal is to see if you're okay.

eventually, you two both wake up on opposite sides of the bed in recover girls’ room.

“ah, my two troublemakers,” recovery girl tuts silently while checking your temperature and placing a kiss on your forehead. “you should be thankful, y/n,” she motions towards the blond. “he’s the reason you made it out there safely. he took everything for you, you know that?” she smiles softly. “be sure to thank him after.”

HITOSHI SHINSOU

his entire body freezes when he hears you fall. 

a loud ring blares in his ears as his eyes widen in shock, falling forward and checking your pulse, hand holding yours carefully while he rocks you back and forth. he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know he doesn’t know he doesn’t-

what would you do?

shinsou swallows his fear before letting go over your hand. he was going to finish this battle and finish it for good. attack wasn’t his strong suit, but if he could just manage to get through, just this once, that would be enough. his eyes glanced back at you before shaking his head. he had to get this done. 

for the next few minutes, everything was a blur. his legs felt sore, his arms seemed to be bent in an odd angle, he could hear people screaming at him “stop” and “it’s over” but when was it over? his body continued to lunge forward, slashing back and forth to his best ability before the world spun around him.

“another one, hmm?” recovery sighs, long and dragged out. “y/n, you really need to learn to be more carefu-”

shinsou literally bolts awake after passing out and says “it was my fault. i-i’m sorry, i got in the way..” he scratched the back of his head before parroting her sigh.

recovery girl places a hand down onto the bedside before shaking her head and muttering, “kids these days..” then, she says a little louder, “shinsou, you did good, understood? you saved them. if it weren’t for you, they’d probably be suffering in an even graver condition.”

something in the student’s chest loosens and his hand lies on top of yours. “thank you, recovery girl.”

[datingdonovan]

a/n: I finally sat down and wrote this the other day and ive lost the will to edit it any more :) you get it. anyhow have approx 2.25k cece calm down bro, stop going so hard????!!!?!?! for the wonderful @hinatawa's can I get your name to go? collab <3

ps. @mimi-cee-hq, the gemini™️, and all other futakuchi lovers. come get ur food <3

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous for your first day. You know you should be grateful to your friend for putting in a good word for you when they quit, but honestly, working in the coffee shop just off campus was never an idea you’d found particularly alluring, or even really considered before they’d brought it up.

It’s turning out to be even more stressful than you thought it would be, now, in the back room at 6:30AM, with this dorky shift manager standing in front of you explaining all the ins and outs of what to do. You thought he would set you free after he finished his spiel on how to make all the different kinds of coffee, but now he’s on to the part where he describes—in great detail—every type of customer. Which you’ve conveniently been spacing out for.

“Hey! Did you get that last one?”

The poor man eyes you a little warily, like he’s finally getting the sense that trying to teach you everything at once is a woeful waste of time.

You don’t know what to do but tell him the truth. “Kogane, look, I’m sorry. This is just a lot to take in—.”

“I know. I know.” He holds his hands up in defense. “I’m sorry, I’m rushing you. It’s just, I know these people better than you do and I want to make sure you’re prepared.”

“I mean, is it really that bad?”

Kogane’s eyebrows pull together immediately. “No, no! Being a barista is great. I love it.” Of course he does. He’s a social butterfly and a ball of boundless energy, bouncing from foot to foot even now. “I just think there are some people who won’t go easy on you just because you’re new.” All of a sudden, he stands still and fixes you with a grave stare. “Some people need their coffee now.”

“But you know them. You can help me, right?”

“Not this afternoon. We’re gonna be short-staffed. Just me and you. And I’m gonna have to help unload some new stuff getting delivered. That’s why this is so important.”

You take a deep breath. You barely even remember how to work that machine that does frappes. How you’re going to hold down the entire shop for half an hour while he unloads the truck is beyond you. “Okay, Koganegawa. Tell me again.”

His eyes flick up to the ceiling and dance around like he’s searching the depths of his brain, trying to figure out the key things to emphasize to you. When he meets your eyes again, he’s determined. “The most important person to watch out for is Futakuchi. I mean, he’s a great guy, really. Just hates his midday classes. He always skips lunch and then winds up in here acting like a total grouch, but he knows I’ll give him a discount so—.”

“Wait. I’m confused. If he’s rude, why are we giving him discounts?”

Kogane stares at you, dumbfounded. “Because we’re friends.”

“The scary guy I have to watch out for is your friend?”

The man in front of you stays quiet for a moment, mouth hanging open as he thinks. “Well, yeah. He can just be kinda intense sometimes and you don’t know him like I do so I don’t want you to get offend—.”

The bell on the door dings and Kogane turns on his heel toward the sound. “First customer!” He smiles back at you. “I’ll explain the rest to you later.”

He did not, in fact, explain the rest to you later, so here you are, standing behind the counter, counting down the minutes until he gets back. You know you shouldn’t be nervous—apparently the guy you’re supposed to be afraid of is a college student. How terrible could he possibly be?

Still, your palms start to sweat a little every time someone new steps into the cafe. Kogane didn’t even give you a description of his friend, so you have no clue what you’re supposed to be watching out for. At this point, it’s been twenty minutes that you’ve been manning the counter by yourself, and you’ve heaved a sigh of relief every time the person entering the shop looks older than twenty-five.

And when someone your age does come in? Oh, hell. Earlier, a blonde kid had stepped up to the counter and said his order a little bit too fast. You’d immediately assumed the worst, completely clamming up and embarrassing yourself, only to leave the guy stuttering apologies as you almost spilled his drink all over him. You honestly wish Kogane hadn’t given you a warning at all. It’s freaking you out, maybe even more than being taken by surprise would.

You’re sure your shift manager will be back any minute, though. All you have to do is hold out for another customer or two, and then he’ll come save you from having to deal with the notorious Futakuchi.

The bell on the door jingles, pulling you out of your thoughts, and an unassuming tall guy walks in. You can't help but tense a little at the fact that he looks your age, and you wonder if this is the moment you've been stressing about all afternoon. But as this guy walks closer, you realize he doesn’t look angry, just bored, staring down at his phone with his brown hair flopping in his face.

The man steps up to the register, not even sparing you a glance. “I’ll have my usual.”

And you just stand there. Not only is the man in front of you asking for something you have no clue how to give him, he’s standing close enough to you that you can see his sharp jaw, the way his eyes track the game he’s playing, the soft slope of his nose, and you can just faintly smell his cologne, and he’s… well, he’s hot.

“Um.” Your brain feels like it’s working at half-speed as you try to formulate an acceptable answer. “I don’t actually know—.”

“Come on.” He groans softly, but it’s noncommittal, no bite to it. “Don’t mess with me.” The man glances up at you, just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his eyes. They still look more bored than anything, maybe a little bit annoyed, and then they flick back to the phone in his hand as he continues. “I have somewhere to… be…” The sentence dies in his throat and he lifts his gaze again, eyes fully open now, examining your face more closely for the first time. “Oh.” He locks his phone and tucks it into his back pocket. “Sorry. You’re new.”

“I’m new,” you repeat dumbly, unable to look away.

The man in front of you smiles a little. His tongue peeks out to wet his lips before he speaks and you don’t know what you did to deserve good luck like this. “So, my usual… is… a caramel latte, but a little extra caramel in the whip cream on top.”

“A latte.” Thank God. You could make a latte at home in your sleep. “Okay. Great. Easy.”

You gingerly punch the order into the register, careful not to skip a step and have to go back to repeat it. Your eyes are focused, trained on the machine in front of you, but you can feel the way the man on the other side of the counter is watching you.

“Do you like it so far?” When you shoot him a confused look, he elaborates. “The job, I mean. Do you think you’ll stay?”

You laugh a little, feeling like you’re being interviewed all of a sudden. “I mean, this is my first day, so hopefully I’ll stay for a little while, I think. Although.” You shouldn’t continue to ramble on, but you do. “I guess I am kind of nervous. Seems like some customers are less than understanding.”

“Who?” The man in front of you looks around at the patrons of the little shop as though he’s offended for you. “Tell me, and I’ll have a polite conversation with them.” He glares jokingly, this little glint of mischief in his eyes, and the two of you both laugh. When he speaks again, he’s more serious, like he’s trying to be suave. “This is the best customer service I’ve had in years.”

You really hope he can’t see how hard you’re sweating right now. “Um. Thank you. Uh, you can put your card in now.” You reach around to show him where to insert it. “Tap or swipe or…” Holy hell. He presses cash directly into your palm, his cold fingers dancing along yours when he pulls his hand away. You gulp down the lump in your throat, just trying to think straight enough to put the money in the register and make change.

“How much, um…” He’s suddenly scratching the back of his neck, like he contracted your nervousness from the skin-on-skin contact. “How much do people usually tip... when the barista is as cute—as good as you. When the barista is as good as you. I didn’t mean to say—.”

“No, you meant to say it.” You laugh.

The man in front of you glances down at his feet and you catch sight of his ears, tipped red from blushing. When he meets your eye again, you can't help but bite your lip, partially because this hot guy is hitting on you and partially because you're... successfully hitting on him back? You honestly have no clue where this is going, but you decide you’re not going to miss your chance to keep the momentum. “Um, usually people don’t have to leave a tip. If they’re going to take me on a date afterward.” You make sure your hand touches his smooth skin when you hand him his change.

“Gonna need your number.”

“Gonna need a name,” you retort. He smirks, and both of you are this perfect mix of coy and bashful. You grab a cup for his drink and prepare to write.

“Futakuchi.”

You drop the pen, mouth hanging open. “You’re—.”

“Futakuchi!” Kogane barges in from the back room, looking between his friend and you. “I see you’ve met our resident grump. Hope he hasn’t given you too much trouble—.”

“Aw, would you shut up?” The dark haired man shoots Kogane a glare and you take the opportunity to scramble for the pen on the floor, allowing yourself to fall into a fit of laughter as the two men talk over the counter above you. You hear the voice of the man you’d been flirting with, a distinct bite to his tone that he hadn’t used with you. “We were actually having a nice conversation.”

“A nice conversation? You? What?” Kogane teases. “Did I miss something?” He looks over at you when you rise from the ground, pen in hand, and something about the way you smile makes him raise his eyebrows. “Oh… Oh.” He flashes Futakuchi a taunting grin, hooking his thumb over at you. “Didn’t know they were your type.”

“Shut up,” the man in front of you mutters.

“You’re so into them, aren’t you? It’s written all over your fac—.”

“I will climb over this counter and strangle you.”

Kogane lifts his hands in defeat, creeping toward the back room. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it.” Before he steps out, he turns to you. “This guy gives you any trouble, you call me, ASAP.” You nod, unable to contain your small huff of laughter. On another day, you’d probably be embarrassed, maybe even upset about the entire conversation that just transpired. Who could blame you? Your shift manager had just joked about whatever feelings this guy had as if you weren’t standing right there in front of the two of them. But the fact that Kogane so obviously meant for it to embarrass his friend—and the fact that it had worked—has you feeling more amused than anything else when you turn back to Futakuchi, whose face is still beet red.

“Did he... say anything about me?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that you’re a really rude, angry customer who can’t stand to wait and always needs to have a discount and—.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” The man laughs, covering his face with an exaggerated groan. The bell chimes on the front door behind him and he barely looks up at you as he moves away from the counter to wait for his drink.

Kogane slips out from the back room to take care of the next customer, and you write Futakuchi’s name on the cup in your hand. You finally make the simple drink, remembering the extra caramel on top, and when you finish snapping the lid on, he’s there waiting.

“Futakuchi.” You call his name quietly, looking up at him, and the way it sounds coming off your tongue is the sweetest he’s ever heard it. His fingertips brush yours again as he takes the cup from you, the man’s dark eyes earnest as he holds your gaze.

“Guess you aren’t going to want that date after all, huh?”

You smile wide and roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. “I think I can handle your grumpiness. Especially since it seems like it’s literally only directed at Kogane.” The man in front of you laughs. “Just call me whenever.”

Futakuchi rotates the warm cup in his hands and sure enough, there’s your number scrawled beneath his name (which, by the way, is the prettiest he’s ever seen it written, too). He gives a small, timid nod, lifting the cup to his face to hide his smile. Then he holds his hand up to you in a little wave, and he’s leaving through the front door. You don’t miss the fact that when he passes Kogane, he casually throws him the finger.

[frank-a-mori-son]

“Extremely detailed character sheet template”

Character Chart

Character’s full name: Frank Daniel Morrison Reason or meaning of name: The name Frank is after his Grandmother, Francesca and Daniel is his Fathers name. Character’s nickname: Killer, Frankie, “Hey asshole!”  Reason for nickname: First for obvious reasons, second also, last one is just heard enough for it to be. Birth date: February 14th 1977

Physical appearance

Age: 19 years old How old does he/she appear: he could be confused for someone down to the age of 16. Weight: 65 kg/ 130 pounds Height: 173 cm/ 5′8′’ Body build: Lithe but athletic Shape of face: Heart Shaped Eye color: Brown Glasses or contacts: None, but he’ll need it once older Skin tone: White with neutral undertone Distinguishing marks:  2 visible facial scars, beautymark under right eye Predominant features: Large neck tattoo Hair color: Brown Type of hair: Straight Hairstyle: Currently an undercut Voice: Tenor voice Overall attractiveness: He’s got rouge-ish charms, so pretty attractive Physical disabilities:  Hypermobility in his joints, unknown condition. Usual fashion of dress: Pretty casual, borderlining grunge and punk rock Favorite outfit: band tshirt, faux leather jacket and jeans Jewelry or accessories: He’d love piercings but has none, always wears some type of gloves.

Personality

Good personality traits: Resillient, loyal, brave and charismatic Bad personality traits: Bad temper, snarky, self critical Mood character is most often in: Agitated Sense of humor: Dick jokes and slap stick Character’s greatest joy in life: Making decisions for himself Character’s greatest fear: Becoming his parents Why? Due to how they ruined not only their lives, but that of an innocent child too. What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil? At this point that has already happened, making a grave mistake with unthinkable consequences...  Character is most at ease when: With people he trusts/cares about or if completely unnoticed Most ill at ease when: Overwhelmed by attention from strangers, feeling judged by peers. Enraged when: Made fun of, harrassed, hit or when someone he cares about is hurt. Depressed or sad when: Thinking of past mistakes, regrets and worrying about present/future. Priorities: Himself and those closest to him Life philosophy: Enjoy while it lasts, they or you won’t be around forever. If granted one wish, it would be: Freedom for those he cares for. Why? They do not deserve to be trapped in this realm, but he feels he does. Character’s soft spot: Quentin, Susie and dogs. Is this soft spot obvious to others? Quentin is very obvious to most Greatest strength: His will to keep fighting Greatest vulnerability or weakness: His own mental health and trauma Biggest regret: Dragging his Legion down with him Minor regret: Failing at ending himself Biggest accomplishment: Accepting his own sexuality Minor accomplishment: When he made it onto the basket ball team Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about: The one time he got himself roofied on accident Why? he was trying to impress some older kids and failed badly. Character’s darkest secret: The fact he killed someone. Does anyone else know? His Legion and Quentin knows

Goals

Drives and motivations: Motivated to keep himself and those he cares for safe in the Entity realm. Immediate goals: Spend as much time with his boyfriend as possible, get many smooches Long term goals: Somehow, find a way out of the Entity realm. How the character plans to accomplish these goals: He has no idea, but he knows he can count on Quen to help How other characters will be affected: Hopefully, it’ll be a positive effect

Past

Hometown: Calgary, Canada Type of childhood: Rough and unstable Pets: None First memory: Being locked in his bedroom, the stench of sweetened smoke coming through the door crack and loud angry shouting from below. Most important childhood memory: His Grandma coming by on Christmas morning with a gift for him Why: because it was the first time he got a gift for xmas, it was sadly also the last time he saw his Grandma. Childhood hero: He really looked up to one specific foster dad, a good man. Dream job: Veterinarian  Education: High School Dropout Religion: Christian but not practising Finances: Shaky at best, below poverty line.

Present

Current location: Ormond, Canada Currently living with: Foster dad, Clive Anderson Pets: None unless you count house flies Religion: Agnostic Occupation: Unemployed Finances: None existing. 

Family

Mother: Lorraine Beatrice Morrison Relationship with her: Strained, disconnected Father: Daniel Patrick Montgomery Relationship with him: Tense and disconnected Siblings: Step-sister, Step-brother (both Fathers side) Relationship with them: None, he doesn’t know about them. Spouse: Quentin is his boyfriend Relationship with him/her: Good! very good, they’re very much in love. Children: None Relationship with them: Nothing Other important family members: Grandparents (Mothers side) who are still alive and miss their grandson.

Favorites

Color: Red, black and green Least favorite color: Pink and yellow Music: Death metal, Rock, Punk, retro Food: He’ll eat pretty much anything, has a huge sweet tooth Literature: He’s not a fast reader, so he doesn’t read. Form of entertainment: out with friends, listening to music, exploring and sports. Expressions: “Well, fuck” and “heck!”  Mode of transportation: Other people’s cars, otherwise, his own two feet. Most prized possession: His faux leather jacket, as it’s bought with money he earned honestly. 

Habits

Hobbies: Basket ball, art and climbing Plays a musical instrument? No, but he would’ve loved to learn Plays a sport? Basket ball! How he/she would spend a rainy day: Probably at a friends house or at their usual hangouts. Spending habits: he spends very little money as he rarely has some, but he does shop lift often. Smokes: Yes Drinks: Oh yes Other drugs: Usually just weed, though he has tried a few other things once or twice. What does he/she do too much of? Getting in trouble, drinking and smoking What does he/she do too little of? Eating, sleeping, bathing, just generally taking care of himself. Extremely skilled at: Most physical activities Extremely unskilled at: Reading, writing, maths....  Nervous tics: Foot bouncing, pacing, lip biting Usual body posture: Looks relaxed, but shoulders tensed. Mannerisms: Talks with his hands a lot Peculiarities: He’s a basic bitch in secret, he likes the big ass, sugary, cllorful and extra frappes but he’ll get them in secret like they’re illegal. 

Traits

Optimist or pessimist? Pessimist, or realist as he would say. Introvert or extrovert?  Ambivert! He can go both ways, depends on situation. Daredevil or cautious? Daredevil!  Logical or emotional? A little bit of both, though most often ruled by emotion. Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? More like Disorderly neat, he doesn’t have enough stuff to make a mess and though he doesn’t enjoy it, he’s often the one to do dishes and laundry at home. Prefers working or relaxing? He really likes relaxing, but if he’d like working if he got a job he enjoyed Confident or unsure of himself/herself? He’s faux confidence most of the time. Animal lover? Yes. Very, very much so. Especially dogs.

Self-perception

How he/she feels about himself/herself: he considers himself damaged, unworthy and incabable of love. One word the character would use to describe self: Survivor One paragraph description of how the character would describe self: Out loud he’d call himself “a badass free spirit”  What does the character consider his/her best personality trait? His ability to get up even when knocked down. What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait? His insecurity What does the character consider his/her best physical characteristic? He thinks he’s got a pretty nice bod, all things considered. What does the character consider his/her worst physical characteristic? His scarred hand, his big ears and his slight buck teeth. How does the character think others perceive him/her: As a bad boy, rebel, problem child and misfit. What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: Many things, though he really like to be taller 

Relationships with others

Opinion of other people in general: They just want something from him and they’ll leave once they’ve gotten what they wanted. Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others? Often until he trusts them, then he’ll start opening up. Person character most hates: Clive, his parents, Ghostface Best friend(s): Julie, Joey and Susie Love interest(s): Quentin Smith, but Steve is handsome too. Person character goes to for advice: Depending on what it is, Quentin or Susie Person character feels responsible for or takes care of: Susie is like a little sister to him Person character feels shy or awkward around: Jeff, it’s all very complicated Person character openly admires: Jeff, again, complicated Person character secretly admires: David. He’ll never say why. Most important person in character’s life before story starts: Nobody. After story starts: His Legion and, the light of his life, Quentin.

Snatched from here

[luvspence]

contact names

spencer reid x reader

synopsis: a love story told through contact names

word count: 1.5k 

———

“hi dr. reid, or u-um spencer? is that all right? can i call you by your first name? i was wondering if i could get your number, so we could have a line of communication and all”

you stood in front of him, smiling brightly. this was your first jet ride of your first case. you believed first impressions were important, and a little more important when that first impression was with him

you’d gone to the same college as him, given you went around 12 years after he did, and his name was always brought up. when you were a criminal justice major and cal tech, spencer reid was a name that was hard to not know. you studied his analysis, you read his doctoral papers, and you admired him from a far. just an alumni, smart one, cute one at that, but just an alumni, someone to learn from

okay so maybe you had a crush on him, but of course you didn’t that was ridiculously, you’d never even met the man

but there you were, somehow you fought your way through school, the academy, and the baus hiring process, and you went from admiring learner, to colleague

he was beautifully perched on the edge of the jet seat, staring down at the chess set, playing against himself

“oh hello, and spencer is quite fine. just appreciative to be called anything other than morgan’s chosen nick name of ‘pretty boy’. i mean i guess it is a compliment? well it feels degrading in a sense, i digress,,”

he chuckled awkwardly

when he was nervous, he rambled, and you made him nervous

he and garcia had thoroughly researched you before you had joined

you were top of your class at cal-tech, top of your class at the academy, your published work was astonishing for someone your age, you had numerous letters of recommendation from highly regarded professors

you were nothing short of excellent, and nothing short of beautiful

long hair with bangs that perfectly framed your face, dimples on both of your cheeks, a smile that could light up any room you walked into

so needless to say, spencer already had a crush on you before you walked through the bau doors

“ and oh i’m regarding that phone number, let me...”

he shuffled through his satchel, files, books, tea bags and granola bar wrapper being pushed a side in search of his business card

“shoot, i can’t find it, here”

he pulled his phone out

“why don’t your enter your number, and i’ll text you so that you can save the contact as well?”

“oh perfect!”

you grabbed his phone typing in your number, and handing it back

“t-thank you!”

you turned to walk away

“oh wait! could you spell your last name for me? i wouldn’t want to get it wrong”

you spelled it out, he typed in the letters into his phone

now you were officially in his phone as plainly

“y/n l/n”

—

you guys quickly went from colleagues to friends

ever since that first text that spencer sent to share his number, you two were inseparable

carpooled to work and back

sat next to each other on the jet

office spaces next to each other

coffee “dates”

hotel slumber parties during cases

friday night game night traditions

endless conversations

book recommendations

and of course

a blinding amount of romantic tension

a couple months into you working at the bau you were sitting on spencer’s desk, him reclined in his chair

“i’m telling you! i’m amazing at gin rummy”

“mhm okay”

you hit him playfully with a file

“mhm? what is that supposed to mean? do you doubt my skills?”

“no not at all, i just know i’d crush you”

you raised an eyebrow

“okay dr reid? you wanna go?”

he pulled a deck of cards out of his drawer

“i’ll deal”

he said, shuffling the cards

7 rounds later, you had beat him by 27 points

“HA!”

he looked down in defeat

“HA HA HA!!!!”

“i let you win”

“UNTRUE UNTRUE! you knocked and were so confident that you had won, but guess what? I HAD GIN” you laughed un controllably while spenxer rolled his eyes

“they don’t call me y/n “gin rummy god” l/n for nothing!”

he perched his face in his hands, staring up at your giggly face that still remained seated on his desk

“who calls you that”

“everyone! and now you have to!”

he laughed, pulled out his phone went to his contacts

he typed in

“y/n “pretty okay at gin rummy” l/n”

he showed you the screen

“happy?”

you squinted in to read it

“very”

———-

it didn’t take very much longer until you and spencer were dating

it happened one day on the jet, you were flying home and while sitting next to spencer instinctually laid your head on his shoulder

that wasn’t too abnormal, but spencer bent his neck down to kiss you softly on the forehead

you looked at him

he looked at you

finally an action that couldn’t be written off as platonic

with scared eyes he looked at you, looking like he had just committed a grave crime

as he had forgotten that you two were not dating, you had forgotten that the entire team was also on that jet

so you grabbed his face and kissed him, kissed him long, gently wrapping your arms around his neck, until you heard an “ahem” from derek

“finally”

he laughed, you and spencer just stared at each other an also burst into laughter, and from then on, you were his girl, his love, his object of adoration, his lady

—-

3 months into your relationship, spencer had gotten a concussion

he was okay, just unable to fly

you were about to board the jet, face buried in spencers shoulder

“i don’t have to go spencer”

“yes, yes you do”

“i don’t want to leave you”

“y/n i will survive, and it’s not like i’m gonna be alone in the office, i’ll be consulting virtually through garcia”

you pressed a kiss to his lips

“okay, i’ll miss you”

“miss you too”

you let go of his hand and jogged up to emily who was boarding the plane

“you two are vile” she said laughing

“not funny!”

-

the case was tough, even tougher with spencer not around

though he and garcia made quite the duo

“hey spencer could you call y/n for me? i’m on this line with derek”

“yeah of course”

he pressed your contact on his favorite list

your name saved as “m’lady”

garcia noticed immediately

“m’lady?! M’LADY??? if you two aren’t the cutest pair of 18th century literature nerds i don’t know what is”

he giggled, you picked up the phone

“spence?”

garcia started shouting

“Y/N YOU SUcK! YOU AND YOUR PERFECT ADORABLE RELATIONSHIP WITH CUTE LITTLE CONTACT NAMES! HAVE SOME MERCY FOR THE SINGLE PEOPLE HUH?”

you started to laugh

“garcia do you have that list of names i asked for?”

——-

4 years, 1 built in library, and 3 cats later

spencer knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you

it was a warm saturday, and you and spencer went to the museum of natural sciences

you were standing in front of the aquatic birds exhibit

you were reading the swan description

“swan, largest waterfowl species of the subfamily anserinae, family anatidae. most swans are classified in the genus cygnus. swans are gracefully long-necked, heavy-bodied, big-footed birds that glide majestically when swimming and fly with slow wingbeats and with necks outstretched. swans mate for life, and can actually die from heart break if their partner dies, interesting”

“yeah, swans are usually a symbol of love and marriage”

“how sweet, such romantic birds”

spencer took your hand

“i’m gonna love you forever, just like these swans”

he kissed your forehead

“forever and ever spence?”

he got down on one knee

“forever and ever”

-

you wanted to wait until the perfect moment to tell the team, refraining from wearing your ring until you two could figure it out, but by an unfortunate accident, they secret was out

“hey y/n, i didn’t get a chance to save your number earlier, would you mind?”

an officer at the local precinct was asking you, as to have a more direct way of contact

the entire team was sitting around a table as you typed your number into the officers phone

“oh and y/n i’m sorry how do you spell your last name”

“r-e-i-d, reid”

you froze

in most of your circles you already started going by spencer’s last name, this detail slipped your mind

derek was the first to say something

“WHAT”

then emily

“YOU TWO?”

you and spencer looked at each other

“okay, we’re in engaged”

the entire team started hugging and cheering, the rest of the precinct joining in

“so when were you planning to tell us?” hotch asked with a raised eyebrow

you laughed

“would you believe me if i said that contact name incident was planned?”

[therealvalkyrie]

Through the Mirror: Part 1

my body, my music

Pairing/setting: Detective!Levi Ackerman x Female!Ghost!Reader, modern!AU within the Walls

Summary: When you’re murdered one Tuesday morning, can Levi piece together the true circumstances of your death with your help from beyond the grave?

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: dead body, descriptions of blood, swearing, mentions of violence

AN: Welcome to my new series because I have no self control and can’t finish projects before starting others! Lemme just start off by saying updates may come pretty irregularly because I do have a lot of other WIPs to work on, but! I’m really excited about this idea and have a whole lot planned:) I seriously hope you enjoy. After all, who doesn’t love a good murder mystery? Drop into my DMs/askbox/comments/reblogs to let me know what you think! Be kind to yourselves and others. ~valkyrie

“Ah, shit! Hello!? I’m standing right here!”

The woman completely ignores you, stepping carefully over the puddle of blood and across your tiny living room. You cross your arms and pout. She ignores that, too. 

“‘Scuse me, boys, let the experts take it from here,” she quips, gently pushing past the two detectives and crouching next to your body on the ground. 

It’s ugly, but she’s probably seen worse, you muse from where you’re leaning against the door jamb. It’s only been lying there for a couple of hours, so at least you haven’t bloated to something out of an NCIS episode. Must smell horrid, though, judging by the mask the head detective has pulled over his face.

“So, you said the landlady called at about 7 am?” the ME inquires, cocking her head up to look at the detectives, nylon gloved hands held at the ready.

“7:07 exactly. Said a neighbor made a noise complaint, she came up to check it out, found signs of a forced entry, and called us.” It’s the taller blonde who speaks up, reading from an off-brand pocket notepad in his left hand. The kind you’d find on sale at Staples after Back-to-School season.

Interesting. You lean your head against the wall, eyes trained on the trio. You’d pegged the ill-tempered shorter one as in charge. Maybe he’s just the quiet type. 

“Hmm, alright. Moblit, get off your ass and come take the pictures before we move her,” the woman calls to someone behind you, and you turn just in time to get a face full of Moblit’s chest as he walks towards you. 

You cringe back with a “God, seriously?” to no response.

“Yes, sorry, right away, Hange!” Moblit hurries past- no, through -you, sidestepping the ottoman and the blood. It feels weird, like a strong wind, but not altogether unpleasant to have someone walk through you, you suppose. You look down at your chest to watch your misty body re-settle into itself before looking back at the group in your living room.

Were it not for the gruesome accents of blood flecked up the walls and your body riddled with stab wounds, you’d chuckle at how all four of them struggled to navigate the space. It’s cramped enough when it’s just you, fitting only a couch, a chair, a coffee table, your fern (Boris), and a narrow IKEA bookshelf. With the four of them plus a dead body, it’s like watching a freaking clown car.

“Sorry, excuse me, Captain, oh, was that your toe—?” Moblit’s struggling the most, having to move to capture different angles with his bulky camera. When he steps on the shorter man’s toe, he positively blanches, fumbling over himself to apologize while the ME laughs openly.

“God, alright, just,” the Captain pinches his delicate nose between a thumb and forefinger, then decides it’s better to wait in the kitchen. “C’mon, Gin, let’s chat in there.”

The Captain and the blonde detective both pass through you on the way back to the kitchen, but you only sigh and shake the tingly feeling of being incorporeal out of your fingers before following them.

“So,” the man called Gin takes the initiative, flipping back through his notebook and standing by the fridge. “I got statements from the landlady and two of the neighbors, numbers 303 and 304 down the hall. 301, directly across the hall, didn’t answer, but I got contact info from the landlady.” He pauses to read and scratch at his whiskery beard. “It was 304 who made the noise complaint, said she heard yelling this morning at around 5:45, and that she normally wouldn’t’ve said anything but it was, quote, the fourth goddamn time this week and I work the goddamn night shift, I deserve some fucking rest, unquote.”

You grin. Mrs. Sheffield was never one to mince words, something you appreciated when your ex-boyfriend got too loud and she took it upon herself to give him a piece of her mind. You catch a glimmer of a smile on the ornery Captain’s face above where he’s pulled his mask down before he gestures for Gin to keep going, keeping his thoughtful gaze fixed on the floor and his back against your countertop.

“Then after she called the landlady, she went to bed, only to be woken by us two hours later.”

“You said she called the landlady at 5:45 and that she works the night shift?”

Gin double checks his notes. “That’s right.”

“And she works at the hospital?”

“Yes, as a scrub nurse on the night shift.”

“But the night shift at the hospital ends at 6:30.”

“It was her night off,” you and Gin say at the same time before you catch yourself. They can’t hear you, anyway. This’d be a lot easier if they could.

Gin plows ahead. “But she says she keeps the same sleep schedule so she doesn’t, ah, fuck up her circadian rhythm.”

The Captain practically snorts at this, itching for a second under his silk cravat (can someone say pretentious) before settling back into a listening silence.

“303 says he didn’t hear a thing. College kid, looked exhausted. Said he was asleep the whole night after he got in at,” a page flip, “11 o’clock last night. Wasn’t much help, but looked genuinely upset when we told him about the murder. Wanted to know if there was anything he could do. Oh, but he did, uh, hang on,” more page flips, “He did tell us that he heard her and her boyfriend arguing a lot. Which is consistent with what Mrs. Sheffield told us.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” you correct into thin air. 

“A lover’s spat gone wrong, then,” Mr. Pretentious Captain muses. You huff in annoyance. A lover’s spat. If that’s all that this is written off as you’ll have some serious PD haunting to do. Chris may have been an angry, loud, disruptive manipulator, but he wouldn’t murder you. He didn’t murder you. “Any info on the whereabouts of the boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyf—!”

Blondie cuts you off, “Not currently, but we do have a name: Chris Henderson, works in admin down at the University. Lives across town closer to the Bridge.”

“Send some uniforms to bring him in for questioning. No arrests yet, tell ‘em to keep it friendly.”

“Right, I’ll put Dreyse and Bodt on it.”

“Dreyse, really?” Captain Cravat gives Gin an incredulous look. 

“Hey, she may look like a ditz but she gets the job done. And she might get him to let down his guard,” Gin argues, grinning. 

“Fine. I’ll meet them at the station, you stay here and make sure that mousy-haired dunce doesn’t fuck up my crime scene.”

“Hey, who’re you callin’ mousy-haired, short stack?” Hange actually sticks her whole head through yours this time, to butt into the conversation, and you shriek and jump away to the other side of your tiny kitchen, now sandwiched between Blondie and Shortstack. The latter twitches and swats at the air by his ear, as though to dislodge a fly, narrowly missing yours. You give him a weird look then turn back to listen to the ME. She’s leaning into the kitchen at an alarming angle, one hand on the doorframe and the other on the end of the gurney you assume is carrying your body. You shudder at the thought of being toted around in a dark, musty, humid glorified coat bag. Ugh. 

“—takin’ this baby”-she slaps the gurney twice and you flinch-“back so I can get started on the autopsy, Moblit’s staying to take more pictures and collect forensics. If Eld’s stayin’ here with Mob, does that mean you’re catching a ride with me, Levi?” The question is addressed to Captain Grump on your right, who gives a heavy sigh and pushes off the counter. 

“I guess so. I get to choose music though.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” she’s wagging a finger, grinning. “My body, my music!”

“How about my body, my music?” you suggest, following Levi. “I deserve it after the day I’ve had.”

Again, Levi twitches and swats aggressively by his ear, nearly hitting you full in the face this time. 

“You hear that, Gin? This place got a mosquito problem or something?”

“I do not have a mosquito problem!” and “No, sir, I don’t hear anything.” overlap in the air. 

Captain Levi only grunts, then starts spouting instructions, which Gin notes down. “I want footage from any cameras in the building, and from the shops next door and across the street. I want statements from residents both upstairs and downstairs. I want names, addresses, and numbers of next of kin on my desk by noon, and lastly, I want no one, save for myself, you, shitty glasses, and mousy-hair, in or out of this apartment. Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear, sir.”

“Good. I’m leaving you Braus to help and to show her the ropes of this kind of thing. Even though she’s on the case, she will not set foot in this apartment. I don’t trust her not to leave breadcrumbs in the bloodstains.

“Yes, sir.”

“I expect an in-person report before shift-change this evening. See you then.” Then, he’s sweeping out of the kitchen in pursuit of Hange and the gurney, leaving you to scurry after. As you exit your home, he shoots a young auburn-haired woman in a crisp white blouse and wool slacks a look. “Braus. You’re with Gin. Don’t go in the apartment.”

She straightens up from leaning against the wall with a jolt and brushes croissant crumbs off her front. “Yes, Captain Levi, sir!” It’s slightly muffled by the pastry stuffed into her mouth.

“Tch.”

It’s fascinating watching how Levi and Hange manage to navigate the gurney down the narrow, twisting stairs of your walk-up apartment building. They’re both clearly used to this sort of thing, communicating only in short phrases and grunts when they encounter an obstacle. Occasionally, you offer up a pointer and watch as Levi becomes increasingly irritated. 

“Watch out for Mr. Laslow’s cat, he likes to sneak up on ya!”

“Hange, do you hear— shit!” Levi hops to the side, narrowly avoiding the tabby tail as Tubbins McGee whisks past.

“It’s only a cat, Levi, dunno what’s got you so worked up today,” Hange teases, grin echoing your own as you chortle from the landing above them. 

Eventually, they spill out onto the sidewalk and into the bright mid-day, and Hange groans loudly, stretching with both hands on her back.

“Ugh. Remind me not to die in there, I’d hate to put someone else through that.”

“Boof, tell me about it,” you commiserate. 

“Noted,” Levi snarks. 

Hange removes jingling keys from her pocket and unlocks the ME’s van parked along the sidewalk with a beep, then opens the back doors and steps in. You follow, leaning against the cool metal siding to watch.

When they both load into the front seats and the engine turns over, you lean forward between them to listen in.

“So,” Hange starts, smoothly pulling out into the road behind a silver minivan. “I’ll be able to give you a more solid answer in a couple hours, but my initial estimated time of death would be around 5:45 this morning.”

Levi nods, staring out the passenger window while he answers. “That lines up with the neighbor’s story.”

“Theories so far?”

“Well, there’s the boyfriend,” he muses, lifting a hand to rub his chin.

“Too obvious,” you say dully, not bothering to amend the lack of “ex” yet again. “Next theory.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then mutter, almost too quietly for you to catch: “Too obvious, hmm? Next theory....”

You’re momentarily flabbergasted, hand falling through the faux-leather seat back in your shock. Can he actually hear you? You shake out your hand while it re-materializes, tuning in to the conversation as Hange’s responding. 

“—a little far-fetched, don’t you think? I mean, has there been any of that activity in this area recently?”

“Mm, I’ll have to touch base with Petra. If there has been, I think it’s worth looking into.”

“What is? Wait, go back,” you frantically plead, leaning further into his airspace. But Hange plows on. 

“Oh, it’s Petra, now, hmm? Not Raggedy Anne anymore?” Her tone is teasing, and she glances over to Levi for a reaction. 

He doesn’t give her one, just stares out the window pensively before reaching for the radio dial. The stereo blares up into an Oldies station, and you make a disgusted face along with Levi. 

“You listen to this shit?”

“Hey, my dead body, my music, sweetcheeks. Don’t like it, you can thumb it back to the PD.”

“How about my dead body, my music?” you suggest again, reaching for the dial at the same time as Levi does. Just as his slender fingers touch it, your hand passes through the whole front console and the oldies are replaced with a terrifyingly loud static screeching. 

“Christ, Levi, what’d you do?” Hange shrieks, lunging forward to punch the radio off as you remove your hand. 

“Nothing! It just went berserk!”

They bicker while you stare at your offending palm. “Huh. Didn’t know I could do that.”

If you can actually interact with objects, at least to some degree, and if it turns out Levi can hear you.... This whole thing might be easier than you thought.

[napoleondidthat]

What Happened to Michel Ney?

So maybe you don't want to read the book, let's talk about this crazy situation in Napoleonic history. I've gotten a few inquries through the years on here that occasionally bring up P.S. Ney and the possibility that it could have been Marshal Ney. So let's delve a bit.

This whole event is like, to quote Churchill, a mystery wrapped inside a riddle, wrapped inside an engima.

Let's not get too bogged down in the life of Michel Ney. Most will have a working knowledge of the man. He was the last man out of Russia. He lead out the rear guard from Russia, encountering hellish conditions, Cossack attacks and every other type of FUBAR event that he could. He helped with Napoleon's first abdication and then famously said he would bring Napoleon back in an iron cage when he escaped from Elba (spoiler alert: he didn't). He fought at Waterloo, though by this time his relationship with Napoleon had grown colder. He practically went nuts on the Waterloo battlefield, fighting until the bloody end and until his sword had broken in two. Still he carried on, one of the last to leave the battlefield.

He was later arrested, tried for treason, found guilty and shot.

Other things to know in order to piece Michel Ney with P.S. Ney, would be that Ney was gruff in manner, but kind-hearted. Had a "plain way" of speaking. Shied away from notoriety, money and promotions. Married to Aglae (whom he called Louise) with whom he shared four sons. It is known he spoke both French and German and apparently a bit of English as well. He played the flute.

Trial of Ney:

Ney's trial was a bit of a mess and to abbreviate it down, let's say that he cooperated, gave answers in his interrogations, and his lawyers tried to argue that he (Ney) was protected by Article 2 of a treaty that was drawn up after Waterloo and when that didn't work, argued that Ney wasn't beholden to French law, because he really wasn't French but German, because of the part of France he hailed from. This did not sit well with Ney, who shouted out at the trial that was French and would die French. He also gave a different and incorrect(?) birthdate at the start and in a strange twist told his lawyers to stand down in the middle of the trial.

Ney was found guilty, something Ney seemed to know was going to be the conclusion, and his death was voted on in the House of Peers. Strangely, most of the men who voted on it, then immediately went to Richelieu and let it be known that even though they voted for his death, they didn't want to see the sentence carried out. This leads to people from Richelieu and maybe even Wellington seeing if the sentence could be commuted. The King had no interest in doing so.

During his trial, Ney was jailed first at the Concergerie and then the Luxembourg, back to the Conceergerie, back to the Luxembourg where he had a huge security detail surrounding him at all times. The government had heard word of the various plots out there hoping to rescue Ney and became paranoid to keep him jailed.

Execution:

Instructions were sent on how the execution was to take place, and in a change of plans, Ney would be executed outside the Luxembourg and not in a military ground where executions usually took place. The deceased was to be shot, then lie there for those to see for a quarter of an hour at least. Ney met his fate calmly when the news was read to him and was driven out a few feet to the firing squad. Here eyewitness accounts vary on what was said and how he died. He was to be blindfolded and put on his knees, something he declined to do. Instead, he faced the squad, upright, hand on his heart, proclaiming his innocence and saying to "aim high". Shots were fired, Ney dropped face first and a pool of blood was on the ground under him.

Ney was dead. Or was he?

P.S. Ney Reporting:

In the United States, a man who roughly fit the description of Michel Ney appeared in the Alabama, North Carolina, South Carolina, Virginia area as a school teacher. He had reddish hair, balding. He was a plain spoken man but kind hearted and imposing. He said he was a French refugee and had served under Napoleon. He wasn't prone to drinking, but when he did and took too much, he let it slip that he was indeed the one and only Marshal Ney who had not died, but escaped. Who helped him? He didn't really say but did mention to a few people Wellington. Others heard the Freemasons, who Ney was a member of, did the work.

Peter Stuart Ney never spoke of his father but did often speak of his mother who he said was Scottish. He said his wife and children were in France and he hoped to return to them one day. He claimed his wife was close to Josephine and Hortense (this is true). He said he had four sons, never spoke of daughters. Others said he said he had two daughters and a son. What they all agreed on was that this P.S. Ney was the best teacher they ever had. He was kind, fair, tough but just. He was the best swordsmen they had ever seen. He was an accomplished horsemen, a good marksmen.

He taught language: English, Latin, Greek. Was reluctant to speak French but could. Also spoke a bit of Polish and Hebrew (?). Some said he had a Scottish brogue, others said a German brogue, others said it just sounded foreign.

He also played the flute. But was also a poet and artist. Drew a wonderful portrait of Napoleon. He was a fierce Bonapartist. When he heard of Napoleon's death, he fainted and later slit his throat in a suicide attempt. It failed and he was doctored. Later when he found out Reichstadt had died and wouldn't be placed on the throne, he despaired and said he'd never return to France or his family now.

He had a portrait of Napoleon and Napoleon's grave on St. Helena in his classroom.

A few who knew him thought he wasn't Marshal Ney, some thought maybe a relation. Some later changed their mind, yes, he was Marshal Ney, some never doubted.

Stories abounded that Ney was spotted by French refugees who served in the Grand Army and would see P.S. Ney and immediately say "It's Marshal Ney!"

P.S. Ney had war wounds. Some of the very same wounds that Ney had had. A wound in the thigh, a wound in the shoulder, the foot. A scar on his face that he said he got at Waterloo.

P.S. Ney never returned to France, died in Virigina of typhus fever but made the deathbed confession that he was indeed Marshal Ney. He escaped. He was given a bladder full of red fluid to hold under his shirt and when he fell he was to crush that bladder so he would look like he had been shot. The firing squad was made up of his old commrades an they recognized his order "Aim high" because Ney in battle would say the opposite, aim low. When they shot, he collapsed and the bullets went over him. Barely. It was a risk, but one that paid off. He sunk into a coma but his last words were akin to "Bessieres is dead. Let me die"

Oddities of the execution:

Ney was shot point-blank range with heavy bullets. According to the official reports, 10 bullets hit Ney, one hit the wall behind him, and the blank. Three hit his head, one is arm, the rest into his chest. The power of the gunblasts should have thrown him backwards, not forwards onto his stomach. There should have been blood spray on the wall, but only one official report says Ney's blood was on the wall and only one says he fell back. Eyewitness accounts say he fell forward and that the only blood was from under him. Ballistic experts haven't been able to answer the question of why on this.

Ney's body was taken to the Maternity Hospital where it was claimed by his brother-in-law and secretary. According to some reports, as many as 500 people saw his body while at the hospital. However, there doesn't seem to be any accounts or mentions by people in power or memoirs that they went to view Ney's body. Not that this proves there was none. Only a few eyewitness accounts do claim to have seen him, one being Ida St. Elme, and there it is mentioned that Ney had his vest buttoned to his throat and there were bullet holes, but no evidence of them hitting the chest. One said that the body was lain in a dark room that made it hard to discern features. Another said he looked peaceful and slumber and no obvious damage had been done from the bullets. Yet...he was shot three times in the head with heavy ammunition and no damage?

He was buried the following morning and no one attended in the family except for his brother in law and secretary again. His wife never once came to see the body or claim it. He was placed in a lead coffin and then an oak coffin, a practice usually only done for royalty. Or could it be because there would be no body and the weight of the lead would hide it? His grave became a bit of a place to leave anti-royalist propaganda and they government decided to move Ney to a vault that would be nameless so people couldn't find it. This was done. Later Ney would be removed from that vault and placed back at the gravesite. At this time, his coffins were opened and his grandson said there was a body with three bullet holes in the forehead proving Ney did die and was there. Later, during the reign of Napoleon III, it was a common telling that Ney escaped his execution that Napoleon III had the grave opened and there eyewitnesses said there was no body in the coffins. However, as big as a revelation this would be, the papers are mysteriously quiet on this new discovery at the time.

There are no records of who made up the firing squad. To this day, we don't know who the people were or having any of their testimonies.

Ney's wife never would visit the grave and would later remarry but the marriage would be on the quiet side and only immediate family seems to have known she re-married. When she dies, she is not laid in the Ney grave, but in a church crypt with her sisters.

On the other hand, the Ney family never stopped trying to clear their father's name and worked at it, lost their money and Ney's sons were all under survellience due to their hostilities to the new government. One even challenged Wellington to a duel. All odd behavior if Ney wasn't dead. Or did they not know?

P.S Ney did seem to have the general look and enough in common with Michel Ney to pass as him. The wounds match up, except the the facial wound. Michel Ney wasn't documented of having a facial wound, not to say that he couldn't have gotten one at Waterloo. Ida St Elme claimed to see him on the field of battle with a bloodied face. On the other hand, there was no mention of a wound when he was on trial. P.S. Ney could speak the multiple languages, and though we know Michel Ney spoke more than French, there is no proof he ever spoke Greek or Hebrew. He could have picked up some Polish being stationed with the Army. He could have had an understanding of Latin from his studies and maybe he did learn Hebrew and Greek after. P.S.Ney was also very good at maths, Michel Ney has no documentation that he was a mathematician. P.S Ney was a poet and artist, no documentation Michel Ney was, except for the flute playing. However, all of Ney's sons were quite artistic. Could have Michel Ney become more artistic when he no longer was in the military? Maybe. P.S. Ney seemed to know some intimate details of the life of M. Ney, namely he called his wife Louise and not Agale. He also said she was dark eyed with black hair which seemed true. Could he have seen a picture of her? Michel Ney also also a very quiet man about his personal life, maybe he was these things and it just went undocumented. Michel Ney was with Bessieres when he was killed in battle, right next to him. P.S. Ney's last words harkened back to Bessieres being dead. If P.S. Ney wasn't Michel Ney it seems he certainly believed rightly or wrongly he was.

P.S. Ney didn't get everything right. Namely his mother whom he said was Isabel Stuart, who is not the mother of Michel Ney.

Conclusion:

I don't know. Though I am not convinced P.S. Ney was Michel Ney, I'm not convinced that Ney's execution was completely legit either. There is definitely weirdness abounding here.

If you want to delve into this more I strongly recommend Empire's Eagles by Thomas Crockner. I just gave the briefest of the evidence, but the book goes more into depth in other evidence that both points to things not being right and reasons they are also right.

[stillebesat]

Catch Me (If You Can) -part 2

December Drabbles Day 20 Sanders Shorts: Remy Sanders Sides: Logan, Roman Blurb: Remy would not allow himself to be seen as needy and helpless in front of the general masses. He had an image to uphold. One of perfect health, snarky comebacks, and general sassiness. He didn’t get sick. Fic Type: Sick!Fic, Guardian!AU Overall Fic Warnings: Sickness, Fainting, Mentions of Religion Taglist in reblog.

To Catch Up: Part 1 

“You’re sure you--”

An exasperated sigh sounded near Remy’s ears, a jarring dissonance from the murmuring waves beating against the shore, the noisy chatter abruptly cutting off with the slamming of a door somewhere in the distance as Remy gently floated back to consciousness, becoming more and more aware that he must be on some sort of rocking boat. A very cool, soft, rocking boat. 

He couldn’t decide if that was a nice feeling. Being on a boat. While the coolness pressed against him was nice...his stomach was definitely against the back and forth motion. 

“He’s not that heavy, Roman, I got him.” Came the cadentic voice that could only be from his Angel.

His Angel who had caught him when he fell. 

Remy’s eyes fluttered, his lips twisting into a slight smile. His Angel. Carrying him...up and up and up to….heaven? Yah. Heaven. Heaven would be so nice with his Angel there. 

“But shouldn’t we ha--”

Cool bands tightened protectively around Remy’s shoulders and legs as the rocking stopped. “....Probably, but I--”

A series of keys jangled together soon followed by the sound of a lock clicking open. “Because when people faint--” 

“I’ve received the lecture from Virgil before--I know what I should have-- I just---”

A soft chuckle from Red--no Roman? Roman. “I didn’t expect you, Dr. Serious, to react so to a little flirting.”

“Shut up.” 

“Pretty sure you would have left me on the ground.”

A soft growl. “Yes.”

“Wow.” Roman clicked his tongue as a door creaked open. “Harsh.” 

“You’re irritating, he’s sick. There’s a difference.” His Angel stated, shifting Remy in his arms as he moved forward.

Sick? Wait. There was something….something wrong. WRONG! Remy inhaled sharply, eyes flashing open only to shut just as quickly at the harsh light. NO NO NO! He wasn’t sick! He hadn’t just faint--Gah!! HIS IMAGE. All those PEOPLE had SEEN!

Remy bolted upright in his angel’s arms, refusing to let this wonderous man keep carrying him despite the tightening of his grip around Remy’s limbs. No sir! He squinted, catching a glimpse of a modest living room with a dark couch and large flatscreen as he struggled to stand on his own. He needed his feet back on the ground! He could salvage this.  

“Whoa! Whoa! Shades you can’t--” Red said, suddenly appearing in front of him, hands briefly resting on him to push him back into his angel’s arms. 

“I’m fine!” Remy rasped out like a man with one foot in the grave as he shrugged off Roman’s staticy touch. “Just need some soup and--” His knees betrayed him by buckling just as he managed to get his feet to the ground.

“And rest.” His Angel said firmly, his grip on Remy’s arm the only reason why he hadn’t completely collapsed to the beige carpet like a melting snowman. “I cannot in good conscience let you leave when you are possibly concussed, obviously dehydrated, and in ill health judging by the pallor of your skin, the heat you’re giving off, and the redness of your eyes.”

His eyes? But his Angel shouldn’t be able to see--oh no. Remy jerked, reaching up to touch his face. Oh no no no NO! “Where are my sunglasses?!” He demanded, whirling and placing a hand on his angel’s chest to balance himself, only for it to turn into clinging to the fabric for dear life as his vision went black.

A cool arm wrapped around his back, holding him close. “If you would allow me to take you to the couch to lie dow--”

Not without his sunglasses. Remy gritted his teeth, blinking his vision clear. “But I need them!” He couldn’t let people see how unwell he was. That he was...he was…

Sick. 

“Then Roman can grab them.” His Angel stated calmly as he rubbed Remy’s back. “You need to rest.” He added in a soothing undertone.

Oh, that was so not fair! Did this guy know how much power his voice held over him?! Remy rested his head against the man’s shirt, fighting back a soft whine as he closed his aching eyes against the bright lights. He shouldn’t give in like this. He needed---needed---

“I can?” Red asked. 

“They’re on the counter by his soup downstairs. Grab both please.” 

“But don’t you need--” 

“Roman. Go.” 

Red loudly sighed, slipping past them. “Okay okay. Fine. I’ll go play delivery boy.”

“Thank you.”  

“Whatever, Specs. Go take care of your heartthrob.”  

Heart...throb? Him? He must have misheard. Remy hardly felt like a heartthrob at the moment. A headthrob would be a far more accurate description. “I’m not sick.” He mumbled, tightening his grip on the angel’s shirt. “I’m not.” 

His Angel hummed. “Given the symptoms and behavior you’ve exhibited since you walked in...I’m inclined to disagree.”  

Remy stiffened in his Angel’s arms. S-since he walked in? Had the entire diner realized he was--that he--from the start?! He moaned, slumping further. “Great. Just kill me now.” There went his image. How would he ever recover from such a disaster?! If his fainting fit wasn’t already making the rounds on the Socials it would be soon. His life was definitely O-V-E-R over.

“That would defeat your original purpose of coming in to get better.” His Angel said, gently pushing against him to get him to take a step back, guiding him to the couch. “You will probably feel different after--”

“You toss me out the window?”

“--you rest.” He clicked his tongue. “Are you always this dramatic?” 

Was he always--? Remy laughed, though it sounded more like a hag’s squawk from how dry his throat was as he looked up into those radiant sapphire eyes. “Babe...you don’t even know.”  

His Angel raised a single eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m beginning to think I do.” 

Remy blinked. What was that supposed to mean? 

He shifted his grip to Remy’s elbows. “Can you sit?” 

Remy glanced over his shoulder to the brown couch now right behind him that had no right looking as soft and comfortable as it did. Far softer than the wooden plank masquerading as a couch in his own apartment. “Do I have a choice?” 

“Of course you do. Though I do not believe the floor would be as comfortable.”

Harsh. “Why would I--”

His Angel exhaled and moved. Before Remy could do more than yelp, he found himself laying down on the couch before his brain could process just how he’d laid down. The man called Specs knelt, tugging at Remy’s shoes, pulling them off. “Judging from the way you're shivering, I highly doubt you’d make it to the street before collapsing if you tried to leave now. Hence. The couch would be your best option as a place to rest.” 

But he couldn’t afford to rest! Remy shoved himself up onto one elbow, blinking away the way his vision tunneled from that simple effort. “I can’t just lay here, Angel!” He complained. “There’s places I have to be!” 

“Places filled with people who will probably appreciate your absence because you wouldn’t be risking getting them sick.” He stated, placing Remy’s shoes on the floor. 

Okay...he probably had a point there. But his image! “But I need to--”

“Rest.” His Angel looked up, an odd shining gleam in his sapphire eyes as he straightened, the light behind him shining like a halo around his head as he gently pushed Remy back down onto a pillow that had no right to be so soft and fluffy, and pulled a blanket from the back of the couch over him before Remy could protest. “You will help no one as you are, not even yourself. So rest.” He urged, his voice soft and soothing to Remy’s ears. “Rest and Recover.” 

He’d never--no one had ever---”Why do you care so much?” He whispered, leaning into his angel’s touch as he rested a cool hand on his burning forehead. “I’m just a--” Nobody. This guy had no reason to care about a complete stranger. Under normal circumstances Remy was sure he’d be forgotten within the hour of him leaving the shop. And yet--

His heart skipped a beat as his Angel exhaled, adjusting his glasses as he shook his head. “You have greater worth than you realize.” He said softly, brushing strands of Remy’s hair out of his face.

Ha. Great worth? Him? Hardly. He--he hadn’t---Remy blinked, frowning as his vision blurred, making it appear as if actual wings were spreading out behind his Angel. 

That wasn’t possible though.

Angels weren’t real. 

“You--” He struggled to form words, to keep his eyes open as a wave of exhaustion flowed through him, demanding he rest. 

His Angel leaned in, adjusting the blanket with his other hand. “Not everyone can call for me and expect my help.” Cool fingers moved down his cheek. “ And yet--” 

Despite himself Remy relaxed at the gentle touch, his eyes drifting shut as his mind slipped into the peaceful rest of dreamless sleep, his Angel’s words echoing in his thoughts.

“You’ve done just that, Remy, by appointing me to be your Guardian.”

To Be Continued.  Part 3

[chaoticminhos]

tulips

pairing: bang chan x reader

genre: fluff, a sprinkle of angst

word count: 1.5k

a/n: <3 can you tell i don’t know anything about gardening

your eyes fell on the little garden you kept in front of your home. sighing, you made your way to the steadily decreasing corner of tulips. yet another was missing.

over the past few weeks, you’d noticed that your flowers kept disappearing. you’d walk out in the morning and find a few empty stems, cut cleanly near the dirt. at first, you thought it might have been some animal, like a rabbit, and that didn’t bother you. if a bunny wanted a daisy every once in a while, you weren’t gonna stop it. however, the cuts were clean and precise, obviously done by a person and a pair of scissors. bunnies you liked. people, however, not so much.

you crouched down beside the empty patch where you’d previously had a bundle of tulips. now, there was only stems and dirt. whoever was talking your flowers seemed to have a preference for tulips. you weren’t judging, they were your favorite flower too, but if they were gonna steal from your garden, couldn’t they at least steal from several places? your tulip patch was getting bare and it looked empty compared to the other sections of your small garden.

sighing, you decided you could plant some more tulips and they should be able to bloom before the season was up. you stood, dusting dirt from your pants, and made your way into your small home. it wasn’t anything fancy, just a little rundown place that you’d gotten for cheap, understandably. but you liked it well enough. it was close to the university you were attending and you liked having your own yard, even if it was superficial. you much rather preferred planting flowers in the ground than in pots. you felt bad confining them to a small bucket.

your shaky screen door slammed shut behinds you. the sound used to startle you, but you grew used to it.

it took you a few tries to find the drawer that had your flower seeds in it, and once you did, it took you a while to find the tulip seeds among the others. you picked a bag out of the pile, lifting it up to examine what type of flower it was. before you could even read the label, the contents of the bag emptied themselves into the open drawer. you sighed, cursing your past self for not sealing the bag before throwing it into storage. you set the empty seed bag back into the drawer, deciding to clean it up later. they weren’t the tulip seeds, anyway. you wouldn’t have to use them until next year.

after a bit more digging, you found 3 bags of tulip seeds of varying colors. you smiled to yourself, stuffing the bags into your back pocket and making your way back to your garden. as the screen door shut behind you, a strangers eyes locked with yours from the corner of your garden.

he was crouched down right by your precious tulips with a pair of scissors resting at the base of a pretty pink tulip stem.

“hey!” you called, “stop it!”

by the time you’d moved to stand beside him, he had cut the flower and shoved the scissors into his bag, standing to meet you, flower in hand.

you reached out to grab the tulip from his hand, but he swiftly moved it behind his back. frustration pooled in your stomach.

“give that back.”

he frowned, “no.”

you glared at him, trying to move past him and attempting to snatch the flower again. once again, he dodged your attempt.

“i need it.” he spoke, “you have a whole garden, what does it matter if i take this one?”

you stopped your attempts to get the tulip, it was no use.

“you’re not just taking that one! you’ve taken a whole ton. why don’t you just buy flowers instead of stealing mine?”

his frown turned into a pout, “flowers are expensive.”

you crossed your arms in front of your chest, shifting your weight to one foot and sending a glare in his direction.

“then grow your own flowers to give your girlfriend or something, i don’t care, just stop stealing mine.”

you didn’t notice the look of confusion mixed with hurt cross his features. when he didn’t respond, you continued talking.

“what’s her name?”

his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

you sighed, “your girlfriend, the person you’re stealing and giving my flowers to.”

he nodded slowly, “ella.”

you hummed, but before you could ask any more questions, the boy took a few steps towards the sidewalk and away from you and your garden. you followed.

“hey, where are you going?”

he glanced over his shoulder but kept walking, lifting the flower up in the air.

“i have a delivery to make.”

you jogged to catch up with him, falling in line beside him.

he frowned, “what are you doing?”

you brushed a stray hair from your face.

“coming with you.”

“why?”

“it’s only fair i meet who you’ve been stealing my flowers for.”

he nodded silently, gesturing for you to turn a corner. the two of you walked in an awkward silence for a few minutes before you decided to break the tension.

“i know your girlfriends name, but i don’t know yours. what is it?”

without turning to you, he responded.

“chris bang.”

you nodded, “sounds like the name of some asshole who would steal someone’s flowers.”

although you hadn’t really intended it to be a joke, he chuckled and a small smile appeared in his lips.

“what’s she like? ella?”

he took a deep breath, “gorgeous. loves animals and music.” he paused, “and nature. tulips are her favorite flower.”

you smiled, “mine, too! which is why you should stop taking them from my yard.”

he didn’t acknowledge your remark, instead just continuing his description of the girl called hannah.

“she likes lily’s a lot too, but you don’t grow those. no one around here does, otherwise i’d bring her those too.”

you were so engrossed in listening to chris talk that you hadn’t noticed you’d reached the gates to a cemetery. he strolled through the entrance like he’d been there a thousand times before and continued on the path.

you raised your eyebrows, “you walk through a graveyard to get to your girlfriends house?”

you weren’t surprised when he didn’t respond. he lead you through the cemetery and along the path. it was only once he strayed from the gravel path that things clicked in your mind.

he stopped in front of a small grave stone reading ‘ella bang.’

your heart dropped to your stomach. this boy had been stealing flowers for his dead sister and you were yelling at him about it.

he crouched down, placing the tulip on a pile of more flowers that you recognized from your garden.

you kneeled down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t know.”

he gave you a sad smile, “how would you have known?”

there was a beat of silence before anyone spoke again. you wondered what had happened to her. as if reading your mind, chris spoke.

“she passed away about 2 years ago from an illness. doctors never identified it.”

“i’m sorry.”

he stood, reaching a hand down to help you into a standing position, as well.

“it’s okay.”

the walk back to your house was quiet, but not uncomfortable. chris walked you home, stating that if you got lost on your way home alone he’d never forgive himself. you reached the end of your driveway and turned to the boy. he had his hands stuffed into his jean pockets as he glanced at your small arrangement of flowers.

“i’m sorry about the flowers. i’ll stop taking them.”

your eyebrows raised in panic, “no, no, no! it’s okay, you can keep taking flowers for your sister. under one condition.”

a confused smile found its way onto his features, “and that is?”

you grinned at him, “you have to let me teach you how to garden.”

he laughed, “okay.”

you reached out and took his hand from his pocket, leading him to the small box you kept your gardening tools in and pulling out two small shovels. you kneeled down by the empty patch of garden where you’d previously had tulips and showed him how to dig the right size hole, pulling the packets of seeds from your back pocket and helping him to plant them.

by the time you and chris had finished planting flowers, the sun was setting and your stomach was begging for food. you placed your tools back into the box, shutting it up and locking it.

chris moved to leave, stopped by you grabbing a hold of his arm.

“wait, want to stay for dinner?”

he grinned, “went from yelling at me for taking your flowers to inviting me in all in one afternoon, huh?”

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.8.4 “Authority Gains Its Power”

“Fantine had not seen Javert since the day the mayor had saved her from him. Her sick brain could not grasp anything except that she was sure he had come for her.” This makes me wonder about Fantine’s grasp on time while she’s been ill. It’s been two months since she first fell ill, but it seems like she thinks it’s been almost no time.

“Javert did not say “Hurry up!” he said, “Hur-up!” No spelling could express the tone in which this was said it was no longer human speech; it was a howl.” FMA really doubling down on the wolf imagery here translating “rugissement” as howl instead of roar. I love it.

“To him Jean Valjean was a sort of mysterious and intangible antagonist, a shadowy wrestler with whom he had been struggling for five years, without being able to throw him. This arrest was not a beginning, but an end.” This line and the one from the beginning of the chapter about Fantine thinking Javert has come for her secures him once again as a sort of Angel Of Death for both of them. This arrest is the literal end for Fantine and the symbolic end for Madeleine-Valjean.

Also this line establishes just how much Madeleine’s real identity has consumed Javert’s thoughts in the past 5 years that he’s been a major community leader. It hasn’t just been a passing “huh, this guy really reminds me of that convict Valjean from Toulon” type thing for Javert. It’s been a sort of conflict and, probably since the cart incident at least, an obsession. It’s also interesting because it seems to establish Javert as believing that Valjean was his responsibility, and coming to that belief as soon as he learned about Valjean’s theft of Petit Gervais’ coin. Like, Valjean is not an antagonist he’s struggled with only since Madeleine became mayor and this person Javert maybe suspected suddenly became more high-profile, it’s an internal conflict he’s had since the robbery was reported, which probably wasn’t more than 6 months after its occurrence (I would assume). Javert’s wasn’t just obsessing over Madeleine possibly being Valjean because maybe finding a wanted convict would be good for his name or whatever, he was obsessing over it because he fully felt it was his responsibility to find this wanted man.

Jean Valjean is no longer Madeleine to the reader. Hugo’s narration only calls him Jean Valjean, the full name, this entire chapter. His old identity has been pulled away and he can no longer wrap M Madeleine around himself. And he’s only going to be Jean Valjean or Madeleine for another chapter; the next time we see him after that, he’ll be Prisoner Number 9430. For a long time in the narration he was Madeleine, then he was just “the man” and variations thereupon, then he was both “Madeleine” and “Valjean” and now he is only Valjean.

The weirdest thing in this chapter is that Hugo blatantly states that Sister Simplice is in the room with them this entire time. She is here and she does absolutely nothing. I mean, this is understandable. Not only is she a woman, but she also doesn’t have any sort of leverage over either of them in any other way. She’s just a nun, just a woman of the church (and not even a woman, according to Hugo, she’s something else entirely), and she can’t really do anything to stop Valjean’s arrest or appeal to Javert or anything. But in the next chapter Javert is literally stopped from entering by Simplice’s Authority of Religiosity. So why isn’t he stopped by her religiosity here? Because this is a mirror of Fantine in 1.5.13, begging Javert for mercy and Javert telling her that “The Eternal Father in person couldn’t help you now.” Again, the law is above god here, and again he will not be moved to mercy, even by god.

“She saw the spy Javert seize the mayor by the collar: she saw the mayor bow his head. The world seemed to vanish before her eyes. Javert, in fact, had taken Jean Valjean by the collar.”

This is pretty obvious, but Madeleine is literally turning into Valjean before Fantine’s eyes. I love the way that Hugo says it though. I get the sense that it’s not just that Javert is seeing Valjean as Valjean now, but that Madeleine’s entire demeanor has changed. So he’s literally not taking Madeleine by the collar, because his demeanor would have been Madeleine’s; he’s taking Valjean by the collar, because he’s dropped the Madeleine act (at least at this very moment).

“Aloud, speak aloud. People speak out loud to me.” Ugh god this line is just so self-serving and shitty. This isn’t Javert being morally righteous via the law or acting as society personified. This is just Javert being petty and shitty because he was humiliated by Madeleine before, and now he wants that personal power reversed.

“Javert stamped his foot.” Is this meant to be as childish as it sounds? This is a really intense moment, but Javert is weirdly powerless as both Valjean and Fantine start talking back in their own ways, refusing to go quietly.

“Miserable town, where convicts are magistrates and prostitutes are nursed like countesses! Ha, but all that will be changed, high time!” It’s so interesting that Javert says this now, because it’s revealed later that after Madeleine left, Montreuil-sur-Mer’s prosperity crumbled. Which means that the town will go back to being like any other poor, garrisoned town, with a prostitution trade and plenty of depths of depravity. And I think we’re supposed to think that without Madeleine there to run a system that helps to uphold the morals and productivity and prosperity of the town, it’ll just fall back into corruption. Except that all of that depravity already existed under Madeleine’s leadership, it was just hidden better than maybe it would be if the whole town was failing. So once he leaves, yes, probably the prostitutes and criminals etc will be treated the way Javert wants them to be treated, rather than with any sort of sympathy or willingness to listen and mediate that Madeleine maybe offered to some but not all.

Fantine’s death is, I think, the only death in the book that gets such a visceral description. M. Pontmercy is already dead when we see him, Eponine just puts her head on Marius’ knee, Gavroche’s death is fairly poetic, all of Les Amis get their deaths described but they’re all so quick it’s like a montage, Javert’s actual death isn’t described. Mabeuf’s death might be the closest in terms of intense description, but Fantine’s definitely is the most detailed. Also, we get more drowning imagery. If Javert is the personification of the Law and the justice system, he is part of what tosses the unfortunate into the night-sea of prison and the mud of poverty. She is drowning because what killed her is also what drowns the poor. And I think it’s interesting that she looks to each of them, trying to speak, but she can’t reach anyone. She can’t speak to Jean Valjean (note that he’s not Madeleine here) because she doesn’t know Jean Valjean, and he’s no longer her savior, she can’t speak to Javert because he will not bend and has no mercy, and she can’t speak to the nun because currently authority will not bow to religion and she knows that because it didn’t bow to religion the last time. Now that Valjean has no power to free her, she can’t go to him. Also, I want to know the significance of her head hitting the headboard. Hugo doesn’t have her just fall back onto the pillow; she bangs her head first, like a strange sort of last injustice.

I also feel like the actual actions of Fantine’s death as well as Valjean whispering in her ear afterward have some sort of religious parallel that I’m not catching because I don’t know enough?

Also just ugh. Fantine dies knowing that Cosette is not out there, that Cosette is not anywhere near here, and that she will not see Cosette. It’s just such a horrible, blunt betrayal after she was so full of hope. I wonder if that’s why (later) Valjean can’t talk to Cosette about her? He doesn’t know how to confront the fact that, intentional or not, he had a hand in this betrayal? It makes sense that it is at this moment that she dies. She has been holding on for Cosette, the hope of seeing Cosette has been keeping her alive. Now, she has the realization that Cosette is not in M-sur-M, and then almost immediately after has the realization that Madeleine is not going to be able to go and retrieve Cosette.

“Jean Valjean put his hand on that of Javert, which was holding him, and opened it as he would have opened the hand of a child; then he said, “You have killed this woman.”

There’s so much child-behavior in Javert in this chapter, and I’m not sure what to make of it. The stamping of the foot, the sort of loud, frustrated insistence of respect, this opening of his hand, the way he yells at Valjean to listen to him or it’s the handcuffs and Valjean just ignores him. Javert is so impatient here and Valjean is so grave and calm. But that’s how it seems to be from now on. @everyonewasabird​ talked in his last post about how this is actually where Javert’s fall is, or at least where it begins. I totally agree with that, because it’s also where his grave, stable behavior starts to falter. In the last chapter, he was gleeful. In this chapter, he’s impatient. In Paris, we won’t see him display behavior this extreme until he’s at the barricade, but his behavior still seems different from the Javert we originally met. Much as I adore the “Would you like my hat?” line, it’s so dramatic and, I don’t know, sort of smug? Which I could see this current Javert doing, but not Javert from 1.6.2 or earlier. This whole episode has caused, as Hugo said, an inner earthquake for Javert, and I think it literally changes his entire personality. Not drastically, nothing crazy, but it does what an earthquake might do: it shifts some things around, changes his inner terrain just enough that it looks totally familiar but the ground he’s walking on is just a little rougher than before.

I’m so glad my post from a couple chapters ago included that comment about Javert and Valjean’s back-and-forth conflict because! This shift in power! Now it’s Valjean who is righteous and Valjean that is terrifying and Valjean that has the control! This chapter is just a fencing match between the two of them. Valjean starts off mildly more powerful: Javert doesn’t touch him while Fantine’s eyes are closed; it’s only when she opens them again that he again has the power over her and over Valljean. He takes Valjean by the collar and Valjean doesn’t attempt to struggle or get free. Once Fantine is dead, Valjean again assumes control and opens Javert’s hand like it’s nothing. I sort of feel like he still kind of retains the upper hand (at least morally) even at the very end when he gives himself up to Javert’s disposal. (Also, it’s interesting that Valjean has the control when Fantine isn’t looking, but Javert has control when she is. Not sure what to make of that.)

Javert’s retreat to the door is so odd. It feels so calm and detached. He doesn’t actually seem frightened or threatened by Valjean’s diy truncheon. I wonder if this is Javert’s version of the way that Valjean does things on autopilot when he’s in shock. Everything that’s happening is just so stunning that when Valjean moves away from him, Javert just automatically moves to the door. And his decision not to call the guard feels like he’s making excuses? It’s pretty obvious at this point that Valjean isn’t going to move from Fantine’s bedside until he’s ready. Except that at this point, Valjean is the one with the control, and the conflict is between him and Javert. Calling the guard adds another element and upsets the balance.

“His iron bar in hand, Jean Valjean walked slowly toward Fantine’s bed. On reaching it, he turned and said to Javert in a voice that could scarcely be heard, “I advise you not to disturb me now.” Nothing is more certain than the fact that Javert shuddered.” My first thought is: I don’t know what to make of this? Is Javert scared? Overwhelmed? Confused? Feeling Valjean’s authority? My second thought is: this is the start of Javert’s eventual change at the end of the novel. He cannot admit it to himself here, but he’s seeing Valjean act with the same selflessness and mercy that he’ll see with himself at the barricades and Marius at the sewers. His inner change can’t happen until then, but I wonder if this affects his later ability to change how he sees Valjean.

Fantine does get, like, the closest thing to a happy ending that any of the dead people in this book can get. Whatever Valjean tells or promises her, her spirit seems to hear and smiles. She suffers so much at the hands of society, at the hands of everyone, and she dies in betrayal and misery. It’s like the least Hugo could do was give her soul some sort of happiness after the fact.