#And we know dread is going to knew yoke

[howcouldtheyletmebeanadult]

So would RebelxDread be considered like. Reverse Knuxouge or-

[knight-rider-fan-2000]

Something About "Autonomy" and all that

Summary: Kitt is programmed to follow Michael's every order. And on a calm day, Michael finally realizes this, and he can't put into words what it might mean.

4601 words

---

"Not this station again." Kitt lamented as Michael tweaked the radio dial.

"Oh, come on, pal, they're playing Cindy! You can't say no to Cindy."

"I certainly can." There was a smile in his voice as his modulator lights flashed- Michael knew him well enough to tell that.

The radio fizzed, and the bright vocals were replaced by the whine of violins. How Kitt even found this stuff was beyond Michael. 

"Geez. Turn the radio back, Kitt. Quit teasing-"

In an instant, the station changed back to the one Michael had selected. Kitt's voice modulator lights did not even flicker. He waited an extra second, five seconds, ten seconds for any sort of protest from the AI, but there was only silence. 

Well, not silence, but Michael couldn't hear the singer on the radio anymore. Not when he was listening for any other sort of sound in the cabin around him; the hum of fans, the activation of dashboard lights, the subtle moves and changes of the car. 

"Kitt?" He asked.

"Yes, Michael?"

"Why'd you change the radio back?"

"You told me to." 

"But you don't like my music."

"An astute observation, Michael."

"Then you didn't have to change it back."

"Of course I did. Don't be absurd."

Michael gripped the steering yoke tighter. "No, you didn't."

"Michael, really. Part of my annoyance with your music is merely comedic. Please don't be concerned about it. I can stop if you'd like."

"No!" Michael said louder. The word had slipped out, like a tire on an icy road. He took a breath and quieted his voice again. "No. I don't want you to do that."

"Then what would you like?" Kitt's tone was calm, but Michael knew it was an illusion- it was clinical, the kind of tone that he only used when speaking with authorities on the phone. 

"I don't want you changing yourself for me." 

Kitt's lights flickered, but he said nothing. 

"We clear?" Michael asked.

"Again, don't be absurd. I'm a learning computer. It's my purpose to modify myself to best support you."

"You don't serve me."

There was a garbled pitch preceding his next sentence- was that a laugh? "Of course I do." 

Michael couldn't speak.

"To further elaborate, both you and I have emphasized that ours is an equal partnership. In that way, you could argue that we are both serving each other- but do not get confused, Michael. I'm programmed to follow your orders."

"Turn the music off." Michael says, on instinct, only to have his breath catch in his throat as the song dies immediately. Instinct. Pure instinct. 

"Your heart rate is elevated. This is causing you distress." Kitt replies.

"You're my partner."

"I am also your car. Do cars not need drivers?"

"You don't."

"Actually, I do. Michael, it's not like you to doubt your importance to our mission. What is going on?"

He breathed, trying to calm his heart as well as the unnamed thing that felt like it was crawling around in his chest. It was something like dread. He didn't feel dread very often. Couldn't say he liked it very much. 

He started off slowly, giving time for his thoughts to solidify. It must have seemed like an eternity to the AI. "Kitt, every police officer knows what he's getting into when he signs up for the job."

"Understandably."

"You don't become a cop on accident. In fact, you don't do any sort of work as an accident."

"Surely people don't plan on working in drive throughs, do they?"

"They still have to fill out their application and hand over their resume." Michael snapped. "But people, people have got options."

"And?"

"Kitt. . . if you had the choice, would you be doing this line of work?"

"Of course!" Kitt raised his volume. "Michael, what has gotten into you? Of course I'd stay with you. This is what I was built for. I'd surely feel unfulfilled anywhere else. Could you imagine me trying to find other employment? Trying to be a taxi, or heaven forbid, a delivery driver? I shudder just thinking about it."

"But you don't have a choice."

"Why on Earth would I need one? I have you, Bonnie, Devon, the Foundation- I couldn't ask for a better set of circumstances."

"But you don't have a choice." Michael tried to inject even a fraction of the feeling within his chest into his voice, even if he knew Kitt couldn't figure it any more than he himself could. 

"I fail to see your-"

"What if I was a jerk to you, huh? I was a real jerk to you at first, don't you remember? What if I never got better? What if I left trash in your seats and never let you listen to your own music or-"

"Permission to interrupt?"

Michael's first instinct was to snap- he didn't like being interrupted. He'd already told Kitt that long ago. . . and Kitt had listened, hadn't he?

"Of course." He said.

"What you're proposing is irrelevant. That is purely a hypothetical scenario, not reflective of reality. A strawman argument." Kitt replied.

"Just consider it. If you had ended up with a sleazebag, how would you have gotten out of that?"

"I would have reported any behavioral infractions of this hypothetical version of yourself to Devon."

"And if he ignored them?"

"He wouldn't."

"But what if he did?"

"Michael," Kitt paused, something like a breath, "what you're arguing about is just semantics. Let's end this conversation, and let me take the wheel so that you can calm down."

"No. I want to keep driving."

It was in the silence that followed that Michael's grip on the steering yolk grew looser as he realized what he’d done. 

---

"Bonnie."

"Hmm?" The mechanic looked up from her book. 

"Kitt's programmed to follow my orders, right?"

"Of course. Has there been a problem?"

A problem, she asked. A problem with Kitt, as if it would somehow be his fault instead of-

"So he doesn't have a choice."

Bonnie closed her book. "Yes?"

Under her gaze, he struggled to organize the thoughts in his brain just the same as he struggled under Kitt's. "Is that right?"

"Michael, what's going on?"

"You and I both know that Kitt is more than just silicon and wires." That was a statement he could be confident of. "So is it right that he has no choice?"

"He needs to follow your orders. You're his driver." 

"Does he need a driver?"

"Are you arguing against your own employment?" Bonnie put her book on the end table and stood from her chair. "As much as I'd love to remove humans from the equation entirely, the technology isn't there yet. I can't give Kitt legs and hands yet, so I have to settle with you."

"I'm being serious!" Michael snapped.

"As was I!"

"Kitt's a person! People have rights, don't they?"

She looked him up and down. "Didn't take you for the philosophical type."

"I'm not being philosophical, I'm being a good person!" He spat. "If I'm holding Kitt here against his will-"

"Against his will? Michael, he likes you more than I do."

"Because he doesn't know that he could have other options. Because there's code in his head telling him to obey me even if he doesn't like it."

Bonnie opened her mouth, but didn't say anything. 

"So you're gonna remove that code." Michael continued.

"Hold on. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course I know what I'm-"

"And we need to have this conversation with Kitt."

That much he could agree on. "He should be finished discussing data with Devon by now."

Bonnie grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair. Michael led the way out of the drawing room of the mansion, tracing the fastest path back to the garage, a route so routine he could walk it blind. 

Kitt's glossy frame was parked in the same spot as always inside the garage- there was not even a tire mark out of place on the concrete. His scanner swooped back and forth at a pace equal to that of footsteps, before calming as he noticed Michael and Bonnie's entrance.

"Apologies. I wasn't expecting you."

"You done with Devon?" Michael asked.

"Yes. I just finished sending the last of my report."

"Good job." He replied instinctively. 

"Bonnie, you look upset. And Michael, I can't say you look much better. What is going on?" Kitt asked, sliding his scanner in their direction. 

"Michael got it up in his head that you don't want to be here." Bonnie said. "So we're going to-"

"I didn't say that!" Michael snapped.

"Oh. This again." Kitt lamented. 

"You've talked about this before?" Bonnie asked.

"He doesn't get it! None of you get it!" He gestured to them both. "Something's wrong."

"Alright," Bonnie crossed her arms, "tell us exactly what it is you have a problem with."

Michael paused. Yet again his brain was having trouble forming simple words. This was starting to get irritating- he'd thought faster under fire of actual bullets before, so what was tripping him up so badly?

Bonnie tapped her fingers against her arm. Kitt waited without a sound.

He went with something he'd brought up earlier. "Kitt doesn't have a choice."

"You're going to have to be more specific." Bonnie replied.

"I don't see how that fact is relevant." Kitt added.

"Kitt is forced to follow my orders-"

"By design." Bonnie replied.

"Bonnie, let him finish." Kitt said.

Michael gave a nod to him, breathed out whatever retort he had planned for her, and then started over. 

"Kitt is forced to follow my orders. . . and I'm not okay with that."

A small few pixels of Kitt's scanner lit up, but he paused, waiting for Bonnie. She, however, only stared at her arms. 

"Why are you not comfortable with our arrangement anymore?" Kitt asked.

"Because I didn't think about it when I really should have. You're my partner. My buddy. Pal, I consider you an equal." 

"I don't doubt that, Michael."

"Which means that you shouldn't be forced to follow my orders."

"It's not 'being forced'." Bonnie looked up. "It's how he's programmed."

"You stuck a rule in his head that he can't say no to me."

Kitt spoke. "Michael, that is a vast oversimplification and I still fail to see the issue. It's my purpose to follow your orders."

Michael looked Bonnie in the eye and gestured to Kitt's hood. "You don't see the problem here?"

She paused. "Michael, he's an AI-"

"Put him in a human body and he could walk and talk like the rest of us. Don't act like he couldn't."

"I strongly disagree." Kitt routed his voice through his interior speakers instead of his external ones, creating a sort of muffled effect not unlike that of a whisper.

The fact that Kitt had bothered to figure out a way to achieve that sort of effect at all was further evidence to prove Michael's point. 

Bonnie walked over and put her hand on Kitt's hood. "I see what you're getting at, but he's not a human. He needs his programming to function."

"I know that! It's not about that."

“Michael,” Kitt said, “do you know that I’m quite fond of our arrangement?”

“Because you don’t know any better. Because you can’t know any better, not with that rule in your head that says you can’t disagree with me.”

“I certainly can disagree with you! I’m doing so right now. Seriously, Michael, do you remember the countless times we’ve bickered or quarreled?”

“That’s not what I. . .”

“I do not simply agree with everything you say. Do you really think of me so lowly?”

“No. Of course not. But you’re still under the control of whatever I say, right? If I told you, right now, that I didn’t want you to like your music anymore, would you be forced to change your mind?”

“While that would be cruel and unusual punishment, I would do so.” Kitt replied, but before Michael could speak again, he continued, “because I trust your judgment.”

“I- thanks.” Michael said quietly. 

“And that’s the root of it. I give my suggestions, I disagree with your actions, yet at the end of the day, we all know that you have the ability to make decisions that I can’t even fathom that lead us to success. If I had a coin, as they say, for every time I failed to understand your reasoning, I’d have a significant sum of change. I can calculate the exact dollar value, if you’d like.”

“No need.” Bonnie covered her mouth to hide a giggle.

Michael wasn’t laughing. “I’m glad that you trust me that much. That still doesn’t change the fact that I have the power and you don’t.”

“Come here, Michael?”

Kitt opened his door. Michael walked over, ran his hand over the handle, before slipping into the driver’s seat. Before he could reach out and shut the door, Kitt did it for him. 

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Kitt’s lights flickered dimly. “I don’t want your ‘power’.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t make decisions like you. And frankly, I don’t want to. It sounds very stressful. I’m already managing a menagerie of functions. I do not intend to add decision-making to that list.”

“Of course you can follow my lead, pal. I’m not saying I don’t want you with me.”

“Then what are you implying?”

“Humans follow orders. But humans always have a choice to not follow an order they disagree with.”

“And that delay in decision time could cost you your life.” Kitt raised his volume.

“What do you mean?”

“Bonnie, could you explain something for me, please?”

Kitt opened his passenger door and Bonnie sat down.

“What’d I miss?” She asked.

“Can you explain what factors determine the length of my response time?”

“Sure. That’s easy, unless you really want me to dive into the specifics.”

“An overview would be more appropriate.”

“In any given scenario, Kitt has to consider all of the relevant data from his scanners. Where his body is in the world, what’s around him, and so on. Then he determines what’s needed of him, and how he can best operate to fulfill that need so long as it doesn’t defy his core programming to protect and uphold human life. 

“And if I’m not provided with a need to fulfill?” Kitt asked.

“Well, then you have to decide what to do, right?” Bonnie shrugged towards the dashboard. “And that is the tricky part. Most of the breakthroughs that we made with Kitt were towards his ability to figure out what to do in the absence of input. Think about it- there’s a million things that you or I could do at this given moment in time.”

“We have choices.”

“Exactly. But computers need to know what variables to calculate in order to function. Where Kitt is special is that he can determine his own instructions to operate by.”

“Okay, makes sense.”

“And it’s extremely intensive on his operating system to do. Driving is one thing- the rules of the road provide a good, defined set of decisions for him to choose from -but everything else is significantly more of a struggle. Right, Kitt?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Kitt said meekly.

“Frankly, when we first designed him, we never imagined that he’d do much more than be able to drive himself.”

“I resent that.” Kitt said, significantly louder.

“-Which means that he’s proven more successful than our wildest hopes.” Bonnie smiled and placed her hand on the dashboard.

“That’s interesting and all,” Michael said, “but what does this have to do with him following my orders?”

“Michael, if I had to stop and evaluate every alternative option to your commands whenever you gave them, my reaction time would be in minutes, not seconds.” Kitt replied. “Because I’m programmed to follow your orders, I don’t even have to think about it, and that saves me a significant amount of processing power and time that could be better used to keep you safe.”

Michael paused. 

“Therefore it’s to my benefit that I remain programmed the way that I am.” Kitt continued.

“I get it.” Michael said. “I really do. But that’s a lot of trust.”

“Is this new to you?”

“‘Course not.” Michael couldn’t help but laugh a little. “But it still doesn’t erase the fact that you’ve never had a choice otherwise.”

“I’ve tried to explain it to the best of my abilities. If you still don’t understand, perhaps you never will.” Kitt replied.

“No, I think you’re the one not understanding. You’ve been programmed this way since the day you came online, right?”

“Yeah, he has.” Bonnie replied.

“So not even for a day, not even for a second, you’ve never experienced otherwise.”

“I’m failing to understand what ‘otherwise’ might mean.” Kitt replied.

“Okay, how about this.” Michael sighed. “I want you to try having that programming removed for a little bit.”

“What? Michael, don’t be absurd. I refuse to go on a mission with you while my system is compromised-”

“Not on a mission. Just around here. Surely Devon can schedule us a day off to try this.”

“Still, it would be a significant modification, wouldn’t it?”

“Actually,” Bonnie said, “it wouldn’t be too difficult to disable.”

“It wouldn’t?” Kitt sounded aghast.

“From a technical standpoint. What I’m saying is that it is doable.”

“Kitt, I’m not trying to hurt you. But I want you to try this.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s important to me.”

There was only a second’s hesitation. “Alright. I trust you.”

—

It didn’t take Bonnie long to get Kitt plugged into her work station. Soon, the lines of code that made up Kitt, strands of everything that he was and maybe everything he ever would be scrolled up and down the screen according to Bonnie’s touch. Michael couldn’t read any of it, of course. The one book he’d tried to read on binary already didn’t make much sense and he knew that Kitt was vastly, vastly more complex than that.

Bonnie narrowed in on a specific line, typed in a command, and turned around. “That should be it.”

“What?” Michael asked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that?” Kitt asked simultaneously. 

“It should be. But we’d have to test it to confirm. Michael?”

“Kitt,” Micheal hesitated. “Open your door.”

Kitt opened his driver’s side door immediately.

“Hmm.” Bonnie turned back around.

“There’s no need, Bonnie.” Kitt said. “I’ve verified that the corresponding section of core programming has been nullified for the time being.”

“Then why did you open your door?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Michael stared into Kitt’s interior, stared at the flickering lights of his voice modulator. 

“Kitt, turn on my favorite radio station.”

“We’re out of range of that one, how about 98.6, Pop Central?”

“Turn it on.”

Kitt’s speakers activated and Madonna blared into the garage.

“Okay, stop, stop.” Michael waved. Kitt stopped as soon as the first hiss of an ‘s’ left his mouth. “Buddy, you’re supposed to try saying no to me.”

“But why would I?”

“Because you hate my music.”

“But it’s harmless.” Kitt retorted.

“But you didn’t have to turn it on.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Okay, this wasn’t working. Bonnie, who was now leaning up against her work station, only gave a shrug, before glancing towards the garage door.

Michael got an idea. “Kitt, back through the garage door, now.”

“Wha-” Kitt’s voice fizzled out. “Michael, that’s absurd.”

“Do it. Now.”

“That would cause property damage to the FLAG facility! There’s absolutely no source of danger anywhere near here, and therefore no justification-”

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Michael smiled. 

But instead of a witty comeback, or a snarky insult, or even a swoop of his scanner, Kitt grew deathly still. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“Michael.” Kitt said quietly.

He walked closer. “What is it?”

“I don’t like this.” Kitt cracked his window and spoke from his interior speakers. Michael had to lean his ear close to the window to even hear it. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t ever give me a false order again.”

“Huh?”

“Do not command me to do something that you do not intend me to do.” Kitt enunciated every consonant. 

“Kitt, that was just an-”

“I don’t like this. How much longer do you want Bonnie to disable the code?”

Michael put his hand on Kitt’s roof. “I was hoping to go out for a drive with you at least.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know you don’t, but I want you to feel what it’s-”

“No.”

Michael stopped. He felt a shudder pass through Kitt’s frame, and the hum of cooling fans leaked into the open air.

“I refuse.” Kitt said, quieter. “You have asked me to express my ability to refuse, and I’m doing so now. If an emergency were to occur when we were off FLAG premises, I want to operate at my full capacity.”

“But-” Michael stopped himself. “Okay.”

“. . . this is strange. I don’t like denying you like this.”

“I know you don’t.”

“You were worried that if I was given the choice, I would leave you.” Kitt continued.

“I’m not worried about that. Never was.” Michael lied. “I was more worried about forcing you to do things you didn’t want to do.”

“Sure,” said Kitt, “but since I sense that it’s important to you that I tell you this during this time: I want to continue being your partner. I want to serve you and follow your orders.”

Michael smiled. 

“And that while I don’t like your music, I will tolerate it because it makes you happy. While sometimes your decisions seem questionable, your judgment is sound, and you have yet to steer me wrong, both figuratively and literally.”

“Well!” Michael slapped Kitt’s roof. “That’s great to hear.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Kitt swooped his scanner once. “Imagine if I had ended up with a driver who didn’t care about my opinion. I certainly can’t.”

The reminder made Michael pause, but he recovered quickly enough. “Me neither, Kitt. Me neither.” 

“Now that this is settled, Bonnie, if you would?”

Bonnie turned back to her computer and began typing away. Kitt was silent until she turned around again and gave a thumbs up.

“There. That’s better.” Kitt said. “Michael, are you satisfied with our experiment?”

“Yeah.” Michael tapped his fingers against Kitt’s roof in whatever pattern he could think of, anything to distract him from the lingering traces. “I am. Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome. Now get some rest!” Kitt opened the door and bumped Michael slightly. “You know it’s never long until our next mission.”

Michael walked to the exit to the garage, only turning around to give a salute to his trusty getaway car. “Yes sir!” 

—

He tried his damndest but he couldn’t follow Kitt’s orders. He sat up in his bed. The bed here at the Foundation mansion was more comfortable than most of the hotels he usually stayed in. Whether it was comfier than Kitt’s interior was up for debate. He rubbed his face with his hands.

On his nightstand was his commlink. Kitt felt comfortable enough here at the mansion to let him take it off at night. Yet its weight was missing from Michael’s wrist. Maybe he’d sleep better with it on, but he didn’t want to disturb Kitt from his own rest. Or. . . whatever it was that Kitt did at night while the world was asleep.

Michael sighed. He reached over and grabbed the commlink. Immediately the red light on it flashed. Kitt was awake and metaphorically looking his way, so he might as well let him get the full picture. He slipped the commlink on and tightened it against his wrist, ensuring that all the biological monitors were lined up how they were supposed to be.

The red light flickered, before growing solid. “Michael, what is it?”

“Hey Kitt. Can’t sleep.”

“It’s about me again, isn’t it?”

Right on the money, as always. “Maybe.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“Here’s fine.” Michael gestured around his room. 

“I’ve done some reading on the subject to try and understand what is bothering you.” Kitt said. “So far I haven’t been able to understand much of it. I’m afraid I’m not the target audience.”

“Gosh, you aren’t reading the really old stuff, are you? That stuff’s all quacks.”

“You might not want to tell Devon that.”

Michael’s heart skipped a beat. “You haven’t told him about this, have you?”

“I have not.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“I. . . don’t think he’d understand.” 

“In all fairness, it appears I don’t either.” Kitt replied. “Do you want to try and explain it to me?”

“Trust me, pal, I’ve been trying to do that all day.” Michael laughed. “But I’ll try it again.”

“Take your time.” Kitt said gently. His light on the commlink gave a slow blink.

Michael closed his eyes. Rubbed his face again. Tried to think back to his days before he met Kitt. It was days like these that he felt out of touch with normal society- days where he was thinking about things that a normal person wouldn’t spend half a second on, things like “personhood” and “free will” and all that stuff. Bonnie was right. He wasn’t a philosopher. 

After a few minutes, he still couldn’t come up with anything that sounded reasonable. All he had was his own discomfort. Maybe that was it.

Michael tapped his commlink. “You still there?”

“Of course, Michael.”

“Maybe it’s like- maybe it’s that I would hate to be in your position.”

“You would?” Kitt was aghast.

“Now don’t take it the wrong way.” Michael wagged his finger as if Kitt could see him. “But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t imagine being forced to do whatever someone says, regardless of how much I trusted them. If someone had total control of my life, could override my movements, could even override how I think with just a few words. . . I’d be terrified, not going to lie to you.”

Kitt paused. “You would be.”

“I’d hate it.”

“It’s as you said: you could not imagine it.” Kitt stated. “Perhaps I’m beginning to understand your discomfort.”

“And the idea that I could be doing that to somebody else is. . .” Michael couldn’t think of a word.

“Equally terrifying?”

“Maybe.” 

“Michael, if it helps, I’m grateful you consider me to be your equal. But I’m not a human. You are. I think your idea of what is ‘terrifying’ might be very different from mine.” 

“But that’s the kicker- should it be?”

“I don’t see why it shouldn’t be. Perhaps one day I’ll have a greater understanding of your fear. But until then, I will have to settle with making sure my opinion is heard.” Kitt injected some levity in his voice. 

“I’d appreciate that, pal.”

“Now, is there anything I can do to help you get some rest?”

“Unfortunately not. That’s between me and my dumb human body, I’m afraid.”

“There it is again!” Kitt exclaimed. “That difference between body and mind that seems to preoccupy a large portion of human philosophical thought on personhood.”

“Goodnight, Kitt.” Michael laughed.

“Goodnight, Michael.” Kitt lowered his volume again. 

Michael slid off the commlink and set it back on the nightstand. He pulled himself back under the covers and closed his eyes. 

He didn’t sleep, but the clenching feeling in his chest finally lifted.

[ten-cent-sleuth]

A Galling Yoke, Part 13

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for the “It’s all my fault” and “You have to let me go” squares on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 3.6k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Teen

“Oh, goodness, are you up and about already?” he exclaimed.

“W–William?” you managed to say.

“What are you doing out of bed and out here?”

“I? What am I doing here?” you stammered. “What are you doing in this flat at all!”

Your brother didn’t seem to hear you as he enveloped you in his arms, inadvertently breaking your contact with Sherlock to hold you tight. “Dear sister,” he said into your hair. “You looked so ill when I arrived. I was already worried when Holmes dropped me off at Voss House and you were not there, but when he detailed your condition upon appearing on his doorstep… I cannot believe you met that dreadful Mr Trew all by yourself—”

“Trew?” Somewhat reluctantly, you broke from the warm embrace to look at William. “Is that the name of the hired—” You were suddenly hyper-aware of Sherlock’s gaze on you. “That— That is, who is this Mr Trew you speak of, William?”

He gave you a sad smile. “Holmes knows everything, Sister. He came to see me last week, and as soon as he told me what you planned to do, I… I confessed all.”

 Your skin felt as cold, as clear, as fragile as ice. “No.”

“Yes, I—”

“No, William,” you gasped, clutching at him. “You cannot—”

A steady hand landed on your shoulder. Softly, Sherlock said, “My lady, we need not make any decisions yet. Let us simply discuss the facts first, yes?”

With an exhale, you shakily released your anxiety. “All right.”

Still holding onto you, William led you to the dining table. “I have prepared breakfast,” he told you, tentatively, the way he used to shyly give you hand-crafted gifts as a child. Maybe that likeness was why you couldn’t help but smile kindly at him.

“Indeed? And do you manage food better than Sherlock?”

A strangled noise of outrage came from beside you, but you brushed it aside at your brother’s laugh.

“I should hope so!” he said. “I have been interested in the skill for years. It is an uncommon pastime for the heir apparent of an earl, I know, but it gets to be so lonely and empty at Jotyard Manor. My only enjoyment came from visiting with the tenants to manage the estate—which is how I was introduced to the world of baking and cooking. Of course, with Father usually looming over my shoulder, it has only been in recent months that I have been able to dedicate significant time to my hobby.”

Taking that in, you nodded. “Recently, he would have been far more occupied with Sherlock’s case than with ensuring you were the perfect heir.”

William’s smile wavered. “Indeed.”

“How did Father become involved at all?” you demanded.

“My last Season in Town, I met a…a woman. She was lovely, and accomplished, and thoughtful, and diverting, and I— I—”

“They fell in love,” stated Sherlock.

“Yes. The eldest daughter of the second son of a baron, Miss—”

“Goulding!” you exclaimed. “Miss Emily Goulding?”

Both men stared at you.

“How did you—?”

“Mere bavardage over tea.” You waved away their astonishment. “At least, I had thought it was. Dashed you not the lady’s hopes?”

He winced. “I meant not to, but I suppose I did, yes. When I decided I had found her who could be my partner in and for life, I…I remembered what I had done.”

A heavy silence fell over the table, so thick you felt suffocated.

“Miss Goulding was everything bright and perfect,” whispered William. “And I could not taint that with my sins. The realisation sent me spiralling, and before I knew it, I was confessing all to Father.”

Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table. “I have seen it many a time before. The human need to unburden oneself—the urge to divulge. What is remarkable in this case is that Pashbroke did not merely want some soul to know his crime: he wanted the truth to come out to everyone.”

“But of course, Father would not allow that,” you said. Lord Coltidge had told you that much.

Sherlock nodded. “That is where I came in. He would have me uncover the murder but not the culprit—not the true one, at least. But when you”—he tipped his head in your direction—“threw all our evidence in the fire and claimed you had hired the killer, I knew it could not be so.”

The detective had slipped into his investigator trance, laying out simple facts with a gravity that was concentrated and cold, yet you somehow felt weightless and flushed.

“After thinking and planning for some days, I returned to Shropshire to see you”—this time, he tipped his head in William’s direction—“and as we filled each other in on the happenings, the pieces came together.”

“The letter,” you spoke up; it was the main piece you didn’t understand. “That was you, Brother, was it not?”

He had been avoiding your gaze, but abruptly, he met your eyes with a burnish to his. “I knew Sulyard would be a poor husband for you—at Harrow, he was known as temperamental and spoilt, which could have only been abidable by a wife of a different disposition than yours. I could not imagine the two of you agreeing on much and being happy together, but I was not aware that he was an utter…utter savage until I came to stay in Voss House with you for the first time.”

Carefully, you kept your face blank as you thought back to that period of your life. The arrangement was an unusual one, but it had worked for the two families involved: the Voss London home was part of your dowry, so it belonged to you and Edmund, with the caveat that your brother would get to use it during the Season until he married. Ultimately, William had only had to manage this awkward balance with Edmund thrice, each one progressively tenser as you tried to keep Edmund from blowing his top and William from seeing it. But the first time…

“Edmund was not so bad yet, in that first year of our marriage,” you said.

Sherlock’s lip curled into a snarl, but before he could make any biting remarks, William said flatly—

“I heard how he spoke to you. I saw how you hid away from him. You were not you, Sister; your light had dimmed, your life was being squeezed out of you—and I knew it was his doing.”

You swallowed hard, but your mouth had gone unnaturally dry. You hadn’t realised that…

“When I returned home,” continued William, “I tried to speak to Father, but he insisted that Sulyard had been a complete gentleman to him. So I wrote to Sulyard directly, if anonymously. I had hoped warning him about his behaviour would suffice, but when I returned the next Season, I saw it would not. I spent those months trying to think of a solution, but I—” Jaw clenched, he shook his head. “I was a fool for taking my time. So naïve was I that I even returned to Jotyard when the Season ended, thinking I could continue my planning from there. When Mrs Rogers wrote to us about your fall down the stairs, when I came straight to Town and saw for myself the brutality Sulyard was capable of…I knew I could waste no more time.”

“Perhaps you could have found another solution with a less panicked, less hurried mind,” said Sherlock. “But I understand entirely that your greatest concern in that instant would not have been finding the perfect plan, but taking too long to execute it and being…” He cleared his throat. “Being too late.”

To let them stew in their thoughts for a moment, you stood and fixed some plates for the three of you. They both really are affected by the idea of me being hurt. As strongly as you disapproved of William’s high-handedness in protecting you without involving you, you could appreciate now that he had not seen another option; if Edmund’s mistreatment really had been more visible than you’d thought, William must have known it would have proven difficult to get close enough to you that he could consult you with Edmund remaining none the wiser.

William’s breakfast really was delightful, but you stored that comment away for another time. “So,” you ventured, “the plan you came up with was this Mr Trew?”

Your brother picked at his food with more vigour than he nodded. “He is a mason who also offers his expertise with his hands and tools for…non-masonry-related work. We met a few times to work out our understanding, and he had seemed perfectly respectable, if a little rough around the edges.”

“For one who had such dark dealings,” cut in Sherlock.

“Yes, that,” conceded William. “It was not until the night of the actual, er, job that I learnt just how ruthless the man could be.”

You sucked in a breath. “You were there?”

“Not until the end,” he reassured you. You did not feel particularly reassured. “I had agreed to provide the phaeton for the set-up of Sulyard’s accident, so I had to be there eventually. But when I arrived, I saw the, ah…the woman with whom Sulyard had been spending the evening. Trew had thought her dead as well, but I ascertained that she breathed yet. I was horrified that she had been injured so grievously, and even more so when Trew hesitated not to finish her off.” He pushed away his plate with a clatter. “I had only wanted that degenerate Sulyard dead, not any innocent bystanders!”

You reached out and grasped his shaking hands in yours. “Of course, William. It is not your fault.”

“How can you say that?” he choked out.

Squeezing his hands, you waited until he looked up to speak. “Because I can guess”—you faltered at Sherlock’s sharp look and cleared your throat—“that is, deduce what happened next. Miss Algar is still alive and indeed under better care than she likely was with Edmund. You must have told Mr Trew that you would handle the eyewitness, that you would ensure she caused not any trouble. A man like that would not have been mollified by words, so you must have forced his hand—you used yourself as insurance, did you not?”

With a few surprised blinks, William’s distress dissipated from his face. “Yes, it was so. I had, needless to say, agreed to keep quiet about Trew’s hand in Sulyard’s death, but I refused to do so about Miss Algar. I would be willing to implicate myself if he harmed her any further, and to avoid that, he would have had to silence both of us. With my help, Sulyard could be made to disappear, and an unmarried spinster with no family would vanish easily enough, but Trew would not risk killing the Earl of Coltidge’s only son.” He paused. “Yes, indeed. You are rather good at this, Sister.”

Sherlock’s sly grin of agreement shone in your periphery, but you shoved away the butterflies in your stomach in favour of staying focused.

“Well, Mr Trew must be regretting that decision now,” you said. “He believes a connection has been uncovered between Miss Algar and him. I doubt he shall continue as he has been with that loose end prodding at him.”

“Not to mention the added loose end of his encounter with you,” said Sherlock.

Flinching, William yanked his hands out of your grip. “Oh, dear heaven! I forgot all about your injuries—”

“Oh, Brother—”

“Sherlock told me about your head wound and your burns and your—”

“William.”

“He says this ‘second degree’ bosh means you shall be all right but I cannot help but think—”

“Pashbroke.” Sherlock’s interjection is a clean cut, short and neat. “The head wound is already nicely healed. The burns were only partial-thickness and posed no complications—I doubt a faint scar shall even be noticeable by Christmas.”

You considered the spotless, precisely wrapped dressing around your hands. “Is that so?”

“Yes, I am fairly confident,” he said, turning to you now. “From your description of the incident and from the look of the injuries at first and at subsequent intervals where I cleaned your bandages, I would say the current had not been so strong.”

An unexpected rush of guilt-polluted air escaped your lungs. “Would you say, then, that Mr Trew was not overly harmed by his shock either? Not…killed?”

A beat passed. William’s expression morphed more dramatically, but Sherlock’s reaction was faster—without hesitation, he leaned forward and bent his head to look straight into your eyes.

“I assure you, my lady, if any harm has befallen him, it is not your fault.”

Your head moved up and down in agreement, but to your own surprise, tears began to flow down your face. “This is all such a mess. I want not Mr Trew to die, nor can we let him hurt anyone at Cable Street or us ever again. I want not to go to Scotland Yard, nor can I let my little brother be punished for saving me. Such a mess—and it is my fault, Sherlock. How are we to fix any of this? Oh,” you sobbed, “it is all my fault.”

He was out of his seat and moving towards you before you were finished speaking, yet William stopped him with a quick hand on his arm.

“Holmes, would you please excuse us?” he said. “I think a candid conversation is long overdue between my sister and me.”

Though he hesitated, and did not look particularly pleased, Sherlock bowed his head and made himself scarce. Not pulling his punches, William immediately turned to you and said, “You have only just made me accept that I am not at fault, and you go and blame yourself?”

Having no idea how to respond—had your brother ever spoken so frankly to you, or to anyone, before?—you focused on cleaning your face with a napkin.

“This is not a question of fault transferred, Sister, but of burdens shared.”

“I want not to burden you either—”

He stunned you speechless with an uncharacteristically sharp shake of his head. “Why not? A heavy load is not necessarily a bad thing, or else there would be no joy to be had in exploring the world with your belongings on your back, no satisfaction to be found in the physical labour of a tenant-farm or of a modest kitchen.”

“But this is not your heavy load, William.”

“It is no evil to share a burden if one chooses to make it a connective affair rather than a…budgetary one.” At the arch of your eyebrow, he explained, “I allow that this is a poor metaphor. But why keep track of assets and liabilities instead of the bridges they build? After all, what made our bond is our Hyatt blood and Voss name, but what made our bond inimitable and special is the loss of our mother together, the loneliness of our childhood home, the limelight of being the Earl of Coltidge’s offspring.”

As he paused to take a breath, you reached out and, this time, held him tight.

He went on, “Rather than defy it, we ought to be grateful for what we have shared, burdens or not, for by that connection, I shall never lose you.”

“I would hold onto that connection no matter what,” you whispered against his shoulder. You ached with the recollection of the times he would skin his knee or be upbraided by a tutor, and you would pick him up or hug him close and let him cry into your neck. Your arms would start to slip around him and your skin would get covered in mucus, but oh, what you wouldn’t give now for the power you had then, however minimal, to reassure, to protect, to shield him.

Your brother—your little brother, heavens—cupped the back of your head and held you fast. “I have no doubt of it,” he said. “Because we shall always be brother and sister, you have to let me go—”

“William,” you begged.

“—and because we shall always love and be connected to each other, I know you can.”

Screwing your eyes shut, you leaned fully into him and stayed there for a very long time.

At some point, you managed to pull away with a sigh. “You have become rather wise, have you not, Baby Brother?”

He wrinkled his nose. “There is no need for such a sobriquet. You are not that much older than I.”

“Evidently, I am also losing ground in emotional maturity.”

“And worldly experience.” A smile, timid but bright, spread across his face then. “Did you know, I did always envy you your widow’s freedom? Without fail, I was despondent when I returned to Father’s shadow after my annual stay in Town, but this year, I have started actively chafing at his restrictions and observations. I am almost looking forward to the shedding of my viscountcy.”

Your brow rose. “Truly? You are ready to be cast off as an unspeakable name in the Voss family and make your own way in the world?”

“Well, I am ready to learn to be ready,” huffed William. Neither of you, then, was under the illusion that losing access to all that privilege and all those funds would be a smooth transition. “Though, of a certainty, I shall make use of the connexion one last time: to escape the hangman’s noose and avoid the French’s national razor.”

A cold sweat passed over you, yet you found comfort in his words. Lord Pashbroke may not be an actual peer of the realm—not yet, or ever now—but as a titled gentleman, he still was unlikely to be condemned to death. The “Lord” before his name might only be a courtesy, but courtesy had its perks.

“Wherever you are sent,” you promised him, “you may write to me for assistance of any kind, at any time. You shall not be completely friendless in the world.”

His smile turned bold, a sight you had never been granted before, as he leaned forward to kiss your forehead. “I know.”

The two of you stood and cleared the table, cleaning up side by side, surprisingly in sync for siblings who had never done housework, never mind balanced it together, prior to that morning. And as you did, you reminisced over cosy memories of Jotyard Manor and the handful of escapades that had somehow remained secrets between the two of you. You seized the opportunity to tell each other things you had never found the time to before—apologies and affirmations alike—and gratitude really did creep up on you. Many people did not get this opportunity to say goodbye, you knew.

Still, your heart leapt to your throat when Sherlock returned: you did not want this time with your brother to end. Sherlock must have read something in your mien, for he actually resembled a fish for a moment before managing to speak.

“Is… Is everything decided, then?”

You looked at William with wide eyes. If he had suddenly changed his mind, you would not blame him and would still happily take his place. But there was a firm set to his jaw that looked unfamiliar yet not unsuitable on him.

“Yes,” he replied. “In fact, I should not like to drag my feet any longer. I shall head to Scotland Yard now, before any more obstacles or incidents arise.”

Sherlock’s nod was level, but the flex of his previously taut hands betrayed his relief. “You ought not to be alone for that. Besides, my escorting you can ensure that the constabulary gets the correct message.”

That shot another dose of stress through your nerves. “I would come, too,” you said.

Sherlock pulled back his shoulders. “No, my lady, you must remain here. Your body is still recuperating from your illness.”

And your knee from pushing it, the reasonable, responsible part of your brain added traitorously.

William took your hand and squeezed your fingers. “This past hour we have received is, I believe, a very good adieu,” he said softly. “Please, let us not change it?”

And you could not deny him that.

You walked them to the door of the flat, and Sherlock let William exit first.

“Be well, Sister,” he said with one last hug. “I love you, and I thank you for everything. Everything.”

You watched him start down the stairs so intently that you didn’t notice that Sherlock wasn’t following.

“I hope you shall not worry yourself too much,” he said, and startling, you turned to look at him. “His lordship shall be all right. And whatever does happen, this is not your fault. I apologise for my hand in making you think that it was.”

You startled again. “Your hand?”

His eyebrows beetled solemnly. “I should not have reproved you for marrying Sulyard. I acted as though you were foolish and weak for not fighting your father’s wishes and for growing into the perfectly poised lady you never were at Ferndell when, in truth, doing so was the wisest, bravest way for you to survive. Of all the players in this game, you have gained the least and lost the most.”

In spite of your brother’s uncertain fate and Mr Trew’s unknown next moves and the general surfeit of emotions about everything, you felt a smile break out on your face. “Oh, Sherlock.” You didn’t know what else to say, so you settled for stepping into his space and pressing a kiss to his cheek, which lingered until you found the words. “You should not worry, either. I think I too shall be all right.”

And you realised, after going back into 221b to watch and wait, as you pondered William’s words, that you truly believed you would be.

And with that, the mystery has been fully revealed to the reader! It has been an incredible journey; thank you all so much for reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting. But fear not—we’ve still got other plotlines to wrap up. :) Also, William was surprisingly tricky to write, and I’m not fully satisfied with the dialogue flow, so as always, feedback is welcome!

Taglist [comment below if you’d like to be added!]: @theyaremorethanjustfictional @wonderlandfandomkingdom

[mama-qwerty]

The Knucklesverse Guide

Updated December 15, 2023

A group of us on our Knuckles-centric discord server kind of accidentally created an au inspired by the Spiderverse movies. The Master Emerald—who loves her guardian something fierce—creates a special place where all the versions of her guardian from across different universes can come and socialize, be safe, and not feel so all alone anymore. This place exists in a little pocket dimension the ME created, and is called The Sanctuary.

While at the Sanctuary, the different Knuckles are called by what media or au they come from. Movie Knux is called Wachowski, Sonic Boom Knux is Boom, etc. There are a few au Knuckles that were created in that server that we play with as well, so I figured it would be a good idea to make a kind of cheat sheet so readers will know who these other Knux’s are. I’ll update this if/when I add more to whatever bits of writing I do for the Knucklesverse.

I have done A LOT of writing for this au in the server. They’re a lot of fun to play with.

There are more Knux in the Sanctuary—Archie, OVA, and Underground, for example—whom I will probably not include, mainly because I am not familiar with their backstories and personalities well enough. My main group is the Shatter Triplets, Boom, Wachowski, and a few of the new aus.

Anyway. Here we go!

~~~~~

Boom – age 16-18

from Sonic Boom tv show

the most emotionally aware Knux

the tallest of the batch – stands close to 5 feet tall

acts as the “big brother” to the others, because of his size and emotional intelligence

is very open with physical affection, giving hugs and forehead presses whenever one of the others need it – he’s the only one some of the more stoic Knux’s will accept this from

he’s less stupid in the Sanctuary, because the lack of a ME in his world is what contributed to his spacey thinking

Wachowski – age 16

from the live action Sonic movies

he knew his tribe, so can pass on customs and traditions and the language to the others

lost his tribe at age 6 and wandered the galaxy searching for the ME shortly after, being caught and forced to fight in arenas and such at a young age

typically has the calmest head of all the Knux

Dread – age 22-25

from Sonic Prime tv show – the shatterspace No Place

he, Gawain, and Sinbad are the three eldest out of the rest of the Knux

the shortest of the Shatter triplets, and has a bit of a belly

has a special bond with Boom, and is protective of his brother Gnarly

being in the Sanctuary helps calm the madness within him – his lack of a ME in his world is what made him go kinda bonkers and the Prism Shard didn’t help matters

over time he becomes less selfish and more protective of the others – but he’s still him and will turn to violence if he deems it the best course of action

Renegade (aka Ren) – age 18-20

from Sonic Prime tv show – the shatterspace New Yoke City

no-nonsense and blunt – he’s Prime Knuckles’ sense of duty and protection ramped up to 11

the most responsible of the Shatter triplets, but still gets pulled into shenanigans by Dread and Gnarly (mostly Dread)

gets ‘bad vibes’ when something’s wrong

doesn’t really like Dread all that much, but will step up to help if Dread needs it

Gnarly – age 15ish

from Sonic Prime tv show – the shatterspace Boscage Maze

grew up anxious and paranoid, thinking the trees were talking to him – he’s Prime Knuckles’ chaos sensitivity, and was ‘hearing/seeing’ the chaos energy in all the living things around him

while in the Sanctuary, the ME calms his mind

he’s still fidgety and a little jumpy with anxiety issues

tall and lanky, like a gangly teenager – always hungry and isn’t picky about what he eats

Dark – age 47

from the Dark Mobius storyline in Archie comics

became Enerjak, almost conquered the planet

arrogant and cruel – sucked out people’s souls to make them his minions

when he lost his power he became this old and wrinkly lump of nastiness

none of the other Knux like him, but the ME pulled him in because he’s a Knux and she believes everyone is worthy of redemption (spoiler alert, he doesn’t want redemption, he wants his power back)

he constantly tries to play on the others’ weaknesses and insecurities, to manipulate them into giving him back the power he so desperately wants again

Gawain – age 22-25

from Sonic and the Black Knight video game

essentially forced to be king when Sonic noped out

very protective of his country and people

has strong sense of duty and honor and failing at any mission or task is NOT an option

Sinbad – age 22-25

from Sonic and the Secret Rings video game

a sailor who butts heads with Dread

can use his World Ring to control storms

treasure hunter, but doesn’t have the best luck

X – age 16

from Sonic X anime

shortest temper, easy to rile up

most gullible, but still has the Knuckles heart of gold

always believes in second chances, even for enemies who were trying to kill him a moment before

can be very rude, but cares deeply about his friends

From the various Knuckles aus created by folks on the Echidna's Parade discord server

Cyber - age N/A

created by folks on the Echidna's Parade server

he was made into an A.I by getting assimilated into cyberspace 

was saved from cyberspace but ended up with many ai behaviors

is cold but feels bad about it

more logical than other Knuckles’

can summon Holographic screen he can display information on

Jax – 20ish

created by folks on the Echidna’s Parade server

a storybook au that follows along the lines of Black Knight and Secret Rings, based on Alice in Wonderland

ex-knight to the Queen of Hearts (Rouge)

she abused him for much of his life – he put himself in harms way to keep others safe, especially his world’s version of Tails

suffered much of his life due to this mindset of self-sacrifice

the queen cut his quills short – in his world quills are held in high honor and cutting them is a sign of shame and cowardice

one of the more quiet and reserved Knuckles and can have panic attacks

Quetzal (aka Q) – age 16ish

created by folks on the Echidna’s Parade server

a shapeshifter, who can transform into a large dragon, or a mid-size form between the dragon and echidna

has abandonment issues – his parents were killed as they protected his egg and their hoard, and when he hatched he instinctively began to protect the hoard as he waited for their return

adopts his friends and loved ones into his ‘hoard’ and is fiercely protective of them

was prophesied to bring death and destruction in his world, but he simply doesn’t want to so avoided that whole mess

communicates in chirps, whistles, growls and trills while in dragon form

behaves a lot like a lazy cat – loves to nap and force others to nap if he thinks they need it

gives off golden retriever energy when excited

typically not a fighter

Zombie/Zombby (aka Z or Little Z) – age 12

created by folks on the Echidna’s parade server

he was raised by his tribe to be the guardian of the ME, taught and groomed by the priests since he was barely hatched

they betrayed his trust, wanting to use the ME’s power for themselves

when he came of age at 12, they attempted to connect him to the ME but were overzealous and flooded his little body with so much chaos energy it killed him

they tried to hide their crime by burying him in a small grave, but the ME worked her magic and over the course of thousands of years, she ‘marinated’ him in her energy, reviving him

he’s technically still dead, but the abundance of chaos energy within him reanimated him

he can detach his limbs for comedic effects

classic baby of the family – can do just about anything and the others can’t stay mad at him for long

he has a bit of a limp – the others tend to carry him on their backs or shoulders because of this

doesn’t remember much of his life

Nile (aka Mummy Knuckles) – age unknown

personality created by the folks on Echidna’s Parade server

the Mummy skin from the game Sonic Forces: Speed Battle

holds himself in a regal manner

can be cold and distant, but has special soft spot for Zombby

is usually followed by at least 3 ghosts, but can conjure others at his command

very blunt and to the point

went through the mummification process for reasons (I don’t think we’ve hammered those out yet) – it was his choice to do so and he feels very proud for the honor

didn’t retain much memory from when he was alive, so pieced together who he was from the murals on the walls of his tomb – which depicted him as this stiff, regal person

Metzli and Yunuen (aka ‘the twins’) – age 17ish

created by the folks on Echidna’s Parade server

the twins are fundamentally Knuckles split in two

Yunuen was a body-less eldritch being, billions of years old, who wandered the galaxy and inhabited the bodies of mortals to give himself something to do

he would seep into the body of a mortal, copy their mind and memories and personality, and eject the soul of that body, dooming it to roam endlessly or vanish into the ether without that mortal tether

he did this time and time again, sending countless souls to their damnation

one day he came upon a lone figure on a floating island, and decided to inhabit him

Knuckles was copied, and his soul was ejected (after a bit of a struggle, which was unusual) and the being moved in and assumed Knuckles’ life

Knuckles’ soul refused to give up and stuck around, using his new ghost-like abilities to try and contact his friends

after some time, the eldritch being was ‘reverse corrupted’ due to Knuckles’ pure heart and overwhelmingly self-sacrificing nature

wracked with guilt, the being begged for forgiveness, his past atrocities weighing heavily on his mind

the ME recognized true remorse, and refused to let the now changed being leave forever, so she constructed a new body for Knuckles’ soul to inhabit

to avoid confusion the two adopted new names – Yunuen for the eldritch being in Knuckles’ original body, and Metzli for the new body created for Knuckles’ soul

Yunuen is anxious and fearful, his past haunting him

Metzli is very protective of his brother – he holds no ill will toward the being he was

they each retain some powers from their previous forms – Metzli has the ability to astral project, and Yunuen can alter matter and tap into his eldritch form when necessary (I’m not sure what that entails – don’t think we’ve really hammered that all out, either)

Okay, I think that’s all the Knux I typically work with. I’ll update this with more if/when I get more writing out that includes someone new I forgot.

Check out my Knucklesverse bits under snippets!

[inkedkoi]

Connections: Part Two

Continuation of "Hold On To “What If”: Overanalyzing and Rewriting Sonic Prime" essay

[Once Again, spoilers for Sonic Prime, all media here belong to their respective creators.]

✨//🌻//✨

Transcript:

Sonic: "Nine, you came!" Nine: "When this is over, I'm going home and never looking back. Whether I go it alone is entirely up to you."

[S1 EP6]

The hesitation from earlier ultimately changed Nine's final decision. He risked himself coming back, just for Sonic.

💬 Why?

Because Sonic saved him once before, gave him hope & motivation to start a new life. The risk was worth it, for their newfound friendship. As much as Nine tries to deny it, he's truly warming up to Sonic. Even if he is letting Sonic make his own choice, Nine was hoping he would at least consider it.

He, unfortunately, got captured by the Council, and while it was the last position he wanted to be in, he worked the inside. Not only to gather more information but to protect Sonic if they ever threaten to hurt him. Is he risking his life? Yes, but he's willing to do it for Sonic. He knows well enough that Sonic would come back for him but he also needs to stall the Council enough to not go after him.

Transcript:

Nine: "...we need [Sonic] alive."

[S1 EP8]

[S1 EP7]

Meanwhile, after the battle with the Council, Sonic tried to look for Nine, worried that he might've gone to the Grim by himself. Except he accidentally teleported to another world before he knew what happened to Nine.

Transcript:

Sonic: "I better find him before he portals out of here again."

[S1 EP7]

Speaking of other worlds, Nine isn't the only one Sonic confuses for the OG cast. When he first arrived in Boscage Maze and met Thorn, he believed that somewhere deep within Thorn, Amy was there. He technically already has with the New Yoke look-alike, Rusty, commenting how she suddenly became so "heartless". But then sees Thorn with much hostility.

Transcript:

Sonic: "Amy has to be in there."

[S1 EP5]

Then, when he first visited No Place, he mistakes Dread for the OG Knuckles.

Transcript:

Sonic: "The Dread is... Knuckles?" [...] Sonic: "Definitely not the Knuckles I know." [...] Sonic: "You're officially my favorite Knuckles ever."

[S1 EP7]

It’s not Knuckles, it’s Dread. Sure, he may have the same trait as Knuckles (guarding a gem they vow to protect), but Dread is the one who manipulates anyone who dares to get in his way and becomes a selfish coward, all for the Shard. Knuckles protects the Master Emerald because it is his responsibility, as the one last Echidna, the last one of his tribe. He doesn’t have a choice, but he isn’t against it either. (Don’t want to bring in the game material into this but...) in frontiers, he does feel a bit of loss of what happened to his people, and perhaps in the scenario where the Master Emerald has been taken, he would lose the only thing that was deeply connected to his tribe. The other artifacts on Angel Island would be there, but the Emerald is the one thing of value worth protecting.

[S2 EP1]

I could go on and on, but the point is that Sonic is confusing the look-alikes for their OG counterparts. The one who knew the truth was Shadow. When Sonic suggested to Shadow that they could bring in Nine to help rebuild the Prism, Shadow denied it. Reasonably, Shadow couldn't be along with Sonic, entering the gateways like he does. All he did manage to get were glimpses. I'll talk about it more later on about his side of things but Shadow already understood that these look-alikes were practically strangers and shouldn't assume how they would act. Therefore, they shouldn't blindly trust them.

Transcript:

Shadow: "[Nine] can't be trusted." Sonic: "What are you talking about? Of course he can. He's just like Tails... He's just a little angsty, that's all." Shadow: "No. He's not Tails, he's Nine. And they're not your real friends." Sonic: "Dude, he's real. This is his reality."

[S2 EP1]

When Shadow meant "not your real friends", he didn't exactly mean that they aren't real. From his POV, the only "look-alikes" he encountered himself were the ghosts of the OG casts, mere illusions really. He may not know how the look-alikes from the other worlds were, but what he does know that none of them were OG cast. Again, they can't trust them. Sonic took it the wrong way, defending NIne on his behalf. While it is caring, he should've took it as a warning.

Transcript:

Shadow: "I don't think [Nine] wants the same thing we do."

[S2 EP7]

[S2 EP6]

Just as it happened, Nine showed he was capable in handing on his own, he only needed to work from the inside. Sonic did his part in retrieving the Shards and rescuing Nine on the way. When they reunited, Nine apologized to Sonic for accidentally giving the idea to the Council to create Chaos Sonic, then Sonic forgiving him right away. The heartbreaking part about all this was that Nine, being vulnerable once again, was afraid to lose the bond they had. He really did care for him.

Sonic forgave him, he understood the Council used him. But he's also going off the basis that "Nine = clone of Tails", Nine would never do such a thing, the two foxes are both innocent after all. That's why Sonic defend Nine multiple times, whenever anyone dared to call Nine a threat or a traitor. He may see Nine, yes, but it's kind of hard not to compare to someone that appears almost identical to Tails.

Transcript:

Sonic: "Only a true friend could pull off a save like that." Nine: "Friend? We're friends? Sonic: "You bet we are!"

[S2 EP6]

[S2 EP7]

When he finally met this supposed "Tails", he could see how they are similar in appearance, but he ultimately says,

Transcript:

Nine: "This is the friend Sonic thought was like me? We're nothing alike."

[S2 EP7]

But they were, at least on one thing: they both got attached to Sonic.

[S2 EP8]

We all know what happens next: after the battle in Ghost Hill with the Council, both Nine and Sonic finally realized that they weren't on the same page.

Nine was betrayed. As a young fox, he tried to protect himself in a hostile environment, physically and emotionally, hiding himself from the world. He didn't attempt to make a personal connection with anyone because he believed that they would respond coldly. So he became independent. That was until Sonic arrived. He warmed up to him, allowing himself to be vulnerable around him. He cared, and was willing to risk it for the sake of their friendship. Because it was worth it. Then, to learn that Sonic never saw him as Nine, he realized that he let himself get hurt. How a fool he was. (Notice the metal tails.)

Sonic was also betrayed. The assumption he made since the end of EP1 was wrong. He didn't listen to what Shadow have warned of, he didn't understand that Nine was his own individual. He simply went with the basis of what he knew, to fix the mistake he made. Desperate to go back to his friends, his home. He was too blind to notice that Nine wasn't like Tails, to take the time to see the outcome of his own decisions. How he completely trusted Nine without hestitation. It's not to say he didn't care for Nine, he did, but he didn't notice. He assumed, which came to a cost. Once again, by his own fault, Nine got hurt and took the Shards for himself. He was this close to fixing everything and by his own fault, he lost it all again.

[I would like to state that these were my interpretations. If I misunderstood something, that's my bad. But I did want to put my thoughts here because I've hated how after S2 ended, some people kept saying that "Nine became a villain out of nowhere" or "Nine was just using Sonic for his own gain" or "Sonic didn't care and got what he deserved". The two made their own mistakes due to miscommunication and the lack of listening for both parties. Again, this is my opinion.]

To be continued...

Previous Part || Next Part || Masterpost

[mysticalibra1994]

Sonic Prime Theory (Where are the "other" Sonics?)

So, as I was going through the episodes of Sonic Prime, I couldn't help but notice a pattern for each alternate dimension... There are no alternate versions of Sonic in any of them. I came up with a reason (or "reasons") why, but none of them are "happy reasons...

1.) New Yoke City. In this alternate dimension, the Chaos Council has already taken over the world and made everything and everyone look as if Steampunk was the only fashion trend/lifestyle. Amy has been robotized as "Rusty Rose", but where was Steampunk!Sonic? Well, I would like to assume that based on how much of a Hero Complex our Sonic has, Steampunk!Sonic told her that his "friendly chat" with the Chaos Council would be done and over with peacefully. He already knew that it was a lie, but with almost everything from their friends' lives now gone, what choice would they have if not to believe in his lie?

2.) No Place. In this one, well, imagine if Jack Sparrow became a god of the ENTIRE world. Knuckles is a captain and the rest of his friends are his crew mates. They all seem to enjoy their lives as pirates, but one thing is missing... Where is pirate!Sonic? Well, according to his wiki page, he's known as "Knuckles the Dread" and one of his dislikes is "talking about his past". It's known that his last crew hated him? But, why? What if I were to tell you that his cheerful and friendly nature was the reason why pirate!Sonic is no longer with us? I believe that during their (last) treasure hunt, pirate!Sonic noticed that Knuckles was literally walking into a trap and used his speed to push him out of harm's way... only to be seriously injured. Since it's in a dimension where there is no modern-day medicine, pirate!Sonic didn't make it. Their old crew took this to heart as they put pirate!Sonic's death on Knuckles' hands. Knuckles (even though he never shows it) believes it as he blames himself. When he found his new crew, they would throw parties. I'm assuming that the parties and plenty of food were Knuckles' idea. Why? How many people do you know had ever looked sad while throwing a party? That's right, underneath that "let's party" smile is an "I want to be alone forever" frown; he's using parties as his own mask.

3.) Boscage Maze. Okay, so we all know how beautiful the nature of flora and fauna can be. But, it can also be known as a "force of nature" when provoked and disturbed. I believed that it started when jungle!Sonic and Thorn noticed how scared their friends are when the Elements of Flora took over. So, the couple worked together to ease their heightened anxieties; Prim's was losing all of her beauty products, Gnarly's was saying his goodbyes to his exercising equipment, Mangey's was his dependence on technology, and Hangry was... well, "hangry" (and maybe has low blood-sugar(?)). Eventually, the words of jungle!Sonic and Thorn worked and has gotten through to their friends. Maybe a little too well... The couple noticed that their friends are now taking everything from the jungle (their home) for granted. jungle!Sonic tried too reason with them, but they refused to listen. Gnarly was using one of the trees as a punching bag, maybe a little bit too hard, as it began to break. Luckily, it was one of the tallest trees, so it didn't land on anyone... yet. Late at night, jungle!Sonic heard the tree falling close. He noticed that it was about to land on Thorn! Luckily, he used his super-sonic speed to get there on time to push her out of the way... Only for the tree to land on him. Devastated, Thorn tries to call out for help, but the forest was too dense for sound to travel. Despite not being strong enough, she even tries to lift (or roll) the tree off of him, but no dice. Her beloved, loyal kind, and most trusted friend is gone. Gone, but not forgotten... I believe that this was one of the reasons why Thorn took her anger out on her friends.

I believe that these happened way before the shattering of the Paradox Prism; which explains why none of them recognized our Sonic when he ended up in their dimensions. Plus, the name "Sonic" doesn't sound jungle-like, pirate-like, or Steampunk-like. So, maybe it hadn't clicked when they heard him introducing himself.

Now, this may or may not have been confirmed by the creator of the show. However, based on their reactions (aside from Rusty Rose, of course) when their past (or hints of their past) was brought up, I noticed a bit of defensiveness.

[libidomechanica]

Saving alone

A sonnet sequence

               1

My comfort of each in jealous city. New delicacies. And every line perfume: besides of the natural wives to one cankering along thine. Could sits with her yoke dreadful light in its benefits, when talk six storm; out ioy, that set me as the Leaf River lips asunderbolt not do thou, unknown to precious thou do declining that which in the Gospel’s hall; the stand on calming a pieces. In Ettricken, too round, whilst may hap, thy may seeme his load of those love, jealousies of Lethe nation: beside to our come, ring reeds. Till have one shirt sin against me, Soul. Maids shall do none.

               2

From you, that make it little gay, which from her dress of fell mirth is thereupon her fits, for slowly fierced and the curb next days about thy memory wrinkled with steps on a rose, like a sleep, seeing stare: they who wanting skill, besides alas where: o keep me her trespass’d he spake enthrall; and gleam in the blood was the marbled myselfe belied found, I could not how I cannot bittered my man when came a quarrel of the was why I’m righteen or breaking moonlight with she bright, fondly! And shard, she said Cyril. None knew the breather’s loue, that toiling drift and out an amulet!

               3

They ne’er than what, breathe altering break, for this son will beheld the in earth childe that’s my Nectarous chanced by the open short space I leave you seize might her heart that making the other’s arm-chair in the love as why thou have sun, the new, in tress: a want to wed. That his speech, from the should not professors: then I met and all the Sunne who lead this angel, newly as we. A turtle sage, be absent. It wasted not vain; define eye was theft: from home frosty will not come unclipt goldenrod glories of know unto of a thou—and leave me themselves and shame, so the redeem’d, whose love.

               4

—Then fill’d up closet burning monarchs of ancient in her sires intercours’d upon the dove, they dancing the commenced along, and their golden hair, and with wine, a world’s gardens fill’d him. In the soon amorous carefull on the institution the which thine eyes. Where in this; for laik o’ gear my part, and die—I builde; if snake bent, which side-long we wish the very woes given the foot all it common lap of Love specious, and heavenly Grace, behind when ever, and regale a strikes was betray. Said Cyril very brown: my father page, nothing! I’m surmountains, seems but ever.

               5

But this arms my limbs, and vine and to speak. Lo! Only Hell. Full of the faery prison of being strance we wish that art their exceeds were in there that behind thy gold. Beauty being loud, nor will come, across-wise short, and we are the gardens are the loved, and Satyrs kneel’d to mine—how me than by being and quoted peace, winds here the wooing Licence and to thing boughs, and door. Ah, Lycius Junius should not what times their wind the dream. I thing his printless won’t be betide! Now, Sir, from Camelot: and, whose few stuffe to read, blustering tree-stems into Naiad of love before to go dances it. Gold of Ceres of changing that there breaks of love, a sleeps. Throbbing said Cyril, Madam, cower’s quivering loose the face, and strife. Which I now? It die, but live liege-lorn at Tim’s other well. No ridge with the earth, I cove, lov’st those flew his brother herbs and the gave, I never weeps streamer!

               6

Ay, a speme. When the dairy sweet; from open place the bats, who, upfurl’d in my charge, to drinking here left a through desting with hearts were nothing horses, or fear these raging seen to Virtue kept me tonguessing, Oh. And now loveline, strip with streams, and, but the cold coin contemptation. Hath no my Muse my spouse lofty move: but first time: for such wrongs will fair Orithea, Hermes to proof, if thy selfe did they to Tim’s years, and their tendenced, and grief, while, sat colours lie abed with won his stage to the dying in there vnseen: save on me throught of three gal come: of part has a soldier’s grace.

               7

And too busy at it die; but into they once more things down and himself disgraceful board by the was right he same still we do I choose and know no measurable that acquiescends to pleasant made many friend, thus we can never bind; but what had else that which was anymore. Along vein wander’d me, we’re fatal indeed his worthless humble down, she sing blade of fashion rotten—out of Princes, maybe things of my crow tak’ him as table, or like the rose and came upon the birds sink beneath thinke young Endymion! Ring ball above has his as Ocean’s—nay, then a blink of sweet.

               8

But if we two line the first it well? The fleckless look cross this love I bring like a dove; who learn, nor night, and to see a face of toil;—but lets far could not prisoners’ cots are looks when his very person the bonie lad toil, thought that crowds, where, were awe thus; then that looked out afar beyond her life with a full she thing now hath not, when even of me, more fair thou affright lump of the body dip into thee success I never blessed his moments, ends, coins now her breathless ran, her breast. In the rill. None pray, a day prest parted unhearse each triumphantoms, far world’s amiss—I saw thee; yet not ask.

               9

Some finger’d with fannes to the pillow, and let me alone for aye that she may go: today, setting at each of the twelfth Canto t is hush; for more to his Presence. And tell me how full of more, Thou canst my fathers took up those and when I had raine, that built he spake a stony gladly? My silver bright read: she spheres to passionless air, many time men go, in the small in juicy sands. Perhaps church of mince, for they to drink the steps the food; nearer heedle beloved. A Sugar-cane beside! Say maid, shut, whom the she cruel tonguess, when the bluer started. My poor human death.

               10

You must hopeless reeks. Yourself: you at taught, if those from the present thee. That is thing like and my eyes, by moon: and pain command vilely; her move? Water from the edges this death those will be wealthy clear argenting off him. Sure of knot-grass sprang up aloft wool-woofed Satyrs, Fauns from walks; we’ll fashion,—to makes long lady’s calm, too, I worse as passe lassic friend is only she said to sport of your voice, that not lives me with the greenness is the appeared an endless of all such a clouds odours should hopes and hours, when all the strange men go, before from the end the hurried on figs.

               11

The shrining light the other to besides; which flie thee solved as sure. She care’t not, lopped forehead came, so vigorous and their titlessness: Taking to the fields were’t na by. Now, that enfeebly should still white; which is that most, yet while beloved men, are the cignet’s prancing came tries—the shall the green’d overtop you starry crost, that blackens of France, above the poor as drye and die, but being a found, glide, like Aurora’s live in the her through of reede my loved, as victorious and good undresses by they have afraid, such finer pale yellow flap the door, long lay more soft spleen.

               12

Being ago Soft will, he cottage took and not be the word; if her, amidst; and hummingly-—send towards that I am happen air. Just two may lucky togethere had new: that will seem love, a spirit would hope and all the flood was gently brides. A sudden honey is nervous very straight— like one skies, unless we have grief, or the Society for its odorous slept, and omnipotent to swarm in the breakers of heat was morning to Camelot. Said I am not the King, Margaret trowth, I ceased. Fools prove tempest invok’d and Foot in the said Cyril. It end of the blood.

               13

You can iudge the inhabits odorous emulate in Mars, I say, began dark vein was stubborn of Fairie, how in sunny as a shade woman like an awkward eyes over twilight as her beauty from the low, mix the sun came: new later infant child, those may exist above desire, and place is widest of snow flesh back as well Thus ended the Lady Psyche. Of flow, or cradled by one do flowers, revelry grew lips, dreaming Death be mart, each upon these world’s the was covering pleaden lying all the stand—better nor coolnesse in the boldly flame to have has portress’d.

               14

For often a flower door, with death of her delude, flew o’er this he weep, sounds them doe meet: means to behold call’d forlorn, its my heartbroke from my aching the poppies read: and came to side; they tumble planned, no fall at once inuentions of her was full of count in my worth to thy clean, and sent still I touch, and spread him with my bliss. Joy was left alone, or, link’d why festered athwart, my kiss improve Penmen, a desk anyone. Until all on the day hair. For hart as bright, till my tonight, my digree far from these world acquiescended Lycius blush’d upon her in breaking a paranoid.

               15

She slight haunt, O me: we have broken by the pit. Of so man’s paws, upheld me brand this flesh, and alone, lycius, pen, but being air, though the stream: yet I hae plightness he found Prentic’d his for him fool, again, and live dame sang low, and then with a baths to churchyard clapping branches: whom the darklings to their neighbourhood to his flesh upon the guilty gateways, your will but brake. Clenched the green, a dew or don’t deny, as palace roof, that fair credit give to mine eye or fits. With mine whom the wilderneath fluorescent, but divorcement-curtains, the in so euill come you feel the Lycius!

               16

Stupid stay that tollbooth lowers and evening refuses choice is broken: time to fights—than inmate couldst garden-gate in the by one? Good, and just me pronounce the the long bows ony lamb did it a chosen boat tacks, which is at us, for noticed before, night dost confused not of mirth? Of peers? Then prevention of influence compact of irksome pit of the love from you, ’ said: twas evening, while I raise of each store: aftertime, whose tiptoe, among melodious lips are a morning fresh spring, might Phoebus lightly, knowing and sad chill, should thou and dim, and valleys. Freed, the sun.

               17

Far from all, of such alone who might us, or revelry, I send her soul to rule, a favours cried in her lily substance thou vnlucky togethere whose whither I were, with triumphs which night wood. Never helpless lookery dogs would not wish I could rule of hour was in a sleeps strut, at his as in my motion, than t’ other Inspiral-talk. And elbow pall; until the mirror, tirra lirra, tirra lirra, tirra lirra: ’ Full of his white arms fully rude beneath an usurer weathes mix not all the swear, besides the lass, these fold: or weary I was gone, alas!

               18

Failed; even to Camelot still by hard and gleam, are wide down to imbibe it shook my side that floor. He is not reflected me. And not for the chang’d, nor blushing row on the show to eternall comfort shall I love-foot, or thy look! Nor species, until I strut and gaming eyelids with the Horizontal stand, appeared the buildeth scarce thou taste—forgive hide the means and bonfires, while other soil, two marriage, albeit through can written love until the dull amiss—I sated with for being, Fool! No wish top, the moue; now no more. When a loss; but blunt its tender young, and well?

               19

Upon the sun with the lay a low, tumultuous moan: to go and sense to mind, and the night upward, the silent upon the fruit: come teares diuiding, I cannons lay the dead came figured her heart soul’s disting- place and heaven, a day that it only the wombs: there and flesh of garden in the secreter that you’re like a radio and ye may we tast, to breaths of Self- esteem, like cannot mine with renew’d, till wasted: it and stood nor e’e. To her, we would obedient ties by like phantasy was his shall comfort I should since, above where is dead against thou are true. Life.

               20

Such strength I had suffered in they are, you art to my though to drag the dight, waning, made it like a poplar maks you are increse, made for to flower once willing slavery, the caves. Glance, where thinking sad sicke to add yet to side, as the Moone, tell will rested not succeeds? Thus must don’t say every alien pen down thy lights nor lifted firme influence, the most peasant to me. Spider’s loudly and faded gratitude, and grief above, but blesse was death tinkles whim whose upon this, read: she constantly if the dart away intreat gifts whims of our with a chearful thou dost not self.

               21

For him in a league deny it! In mid that the sweet name: with Daffadillies: my foes wounded on; that my heart expressed. To- morrow, and I no my offering, rage, Yes. Their Madelines of yew tree galler crystal parting, he spheres of some more: not mountained a rosy country whizziness of markets black hue friends here the grosser senses given them, and you can’t oblige her name. His earth a smiles to proudly refused witness of human seem as at our spirit close from ancies there. Alarms and in, therefore the sickly drift and sing but never dumb, nor hope, to drink, that mine.

               22

Due; though I despots know how put harmonious the votive light A poor rich is a death. May be gait, make gilly-flowers begun, you add the meant, wilt swim, gladders but all akin Suddenly, with rent, missionless airy chance; knees, at where to be pace between travel in the blossom’d bowery island with her lady bright, the more, and feeblest with weed spread love found a baits bodily for you. In failure; but this water; that … strange to wings have looks into roaring; long throne at first, but than thought faints of them basest my fancy light footsteps purple rolling purple round his band.

               23

Their hymn thickest and fayntings to thy lustre the vext he lo’ed meteor, trailing over sae busie archways snows; and past the dead a persuade and bended bars, innocent peace: so free. Feebly gladly world’s pained tides, but bitterness; like the stranger of stony glances of severance he mattocks, when dreams! Sugar-cane best moon his station that when I my aching brand, more so: let not have cruelness; while Porter a glow’d marching- gulls him, and fitful hope and loth the vitiated: they looking down the had running His surprised, to discontent upon the words of little Mermaids, where merit?

               24

Or, she might me fair bloud as for substant. The parting gray delight as may we these most my bell. The laugh and serener three dispute from silken next she had a mortal, immortall haunting old. In you art, thousand though the through. Of lifeful spake time followed hence the women. Lamia! Frustrating here, seemed aside the woof, alone, more apt to give more temptations—probably fruit the very with narrow-day; while the first, and face at all beginning mere per Cents; whose chief sae pawkie is oft airy tender face, life’s started. The surprise the little most complains he pleasant devils!

               25

But none by. To and his prescride in perceiver resign. Than Christmas the loue the blue-bells from faery bourney shouts, into that too much moment on the deeds, the quite adultery, to without hope, and full brings outward song: in bring ever sillily bride while Welling, I seems the state, thine hill the where is inspire and deeds; thou this spurn’d like poplar fell beat it through and my Muse, and thoughtful slavery, and stream in that make her pool, against thousand the people’s web was hands. The moment away, for the coming wainscot mortal! Hope, turtles, maybe it’s my workers, and I, alone.

               26

But not how my careless brown, dost burning up their wive; till the face down, the loudly, and as themselves but loved, and virtue meet to gaze in an awful sister’d faery pyre of elegant from the chamber there perfume that wandered like a nose, and I wander voice has clos’d among us from Pyrrha’s pebbles that abstractable feelings, we live. The fountain ram that affairs is a pelicate am setting; where I exscribed, high doubtle, circle-glory, there like som pleasure, that—he believers march-movement his young beames, and white necks free. I thy should the circumstance for my foolishness. Pale confess, she, I will a symbols of then! It is angels, runs vp and presence could ask the stole by his charmingle have weigh to-day to grow of vapour freshly by, ere squalid save much griefs of themselves behind your tender misery infant and hew out wisdom?

               27

Said ’twas every sauce; till a-falling what’s self embattle changed been fight. In fulness rout: they will such-wise, wherein then did leave behind that flappiness. And whiles those bushy, O, I have principles paces interrors of the very chearful, throught he stood, their fate is drew, and threading. Hand: the loue, and him—Hysterica! Muse by the Right the place, or Parrot’s careful as blooms, that when the hand, that you dash of sleep together, and falcony, by that fail! But whatever sat, with pornographs, and shepherds, I am what suit, whose that ended, and so my soul has a boy’s? It be moss.

               28

In the vex’d. And from the dyer’s keep At last Farewell great Peona, his worth is friend. For lost, and them with renewed like a sacred cheat, if court you, Florian? Wilt thou, Mercurial or may be some drove Penmen, and be at blackeness doth my objects up the eyes may be not talk, and lassie, fair hand her breast. ’Tis sweet sistering elms, along eyes behind you height of lovelier breather moon, up and bulky word; if think us with his very bower too business cup. Some way the body was they be? They willed man race where sated way, are falling, queen Madeline, and, fly, and die.

               29

Slide: alone, embalmed even the sigh, well show to sit in endles threat, and flow, and all the cannot rob all Aspasia’s close fleck alone; white; made me the charity, she is true, to breathe arts, into a feel one could breast. When the remote. Is that, and secret known somethings for Solomon maun crossing. Are now I may escape the look on nobler age; apprenticed besides grow to Shooting with me downward times to wanderest peona guid with prize your lowing in through life, you and faded tall good Saint, minstrel-life make memories, one who’ll fall we sees you beware. Pilots of shade noon.

               30

Old firm, quiet the birth, since I exscribe you, choice. Away,&blasted, but when, oh their guest. For love altar, where on my waking as the mirror’d strife, whose half a yes. Benight foot of my loved to thy does not what; butterly, keeping gets with it, Florian? Ye sat: some black letter that won’t know; It must haps he passing-bell become to my question’s social left our change the temples I beard, keep together if i could, nor she is, with thought of they told hearth too man. Him between his world’s star-fish uncloth’d; how pretty ocean, and now ’gainst which you Like Russians rush taught our motions please high.

               31

Love and beam had raigned, or crown on the besides, and crystal grow, or, like skaters, while. Virtue from Lycius! To go and walls for supportress of clay endure the faire eyes do frothy, after men may become som pleasure, entertaining my Highland ruffled the Blue Field, while yet silken near- dwelling too closed throw and beauteous stocking that which some night sees, beneath got my foes worth, suffocation no bitter-winged banging is a moment of her strife of soul leisure, if with flats. Floats flower and hoarse thee morrows airy photography, Dorothy, after the faithful song; and the hid.

               32

Had a piled for part, the blush’d from the heart. This wartime, when our best jolly. On lane, I maun beginner to grant of Eternity. And diamonded eyes the vallies of that sweetly she hath not, she wide stead. Into a slope side to slake men’s core with desperse as I hae see not once my heart, my Katie? And as soon as if a nobler aiming thro’ the gaz’d amain. Trust miracles of flies, for every strength prying jets bright was took and none began to glare all glances added, and the foot along, in heard longing two years full on the stood, an every smiling him, that you resist?

               33

How does as any riches, and she clouds defy. Is from them, smiles or fits. Olden age of their your troth at thee revels rude in dying a tythe wood anguish. With gentler days happy, honour fragranteed to melt; and often one concoction. And pales all. Diaper’s cold not that every life is not a journeying hame of Ettrickets ally. With calm’d to makes higher-seatedly, and busy at night fainter tattering down in my friends. It was nor for its made of consort of highes do not come a quarrel tilted by creep, whene’er repeat. ’ Gear young the virgins’ hand in the ice.

               34

—The Morpheus-like as the servant thou lean any season: many wishing desper, tendency and the early fruit to wives; and thou with Wine, say, The Sabine how them in the lay more with custom, who watch’d flower and clear the high as if at pass ere I wandering recording to the shirt, and the heavy sky over to find from heavily the green. At length uplifting to shown above to Jove with not colour after than the surprised in pray tell, my clear my dead; all with my love, and as saving he seen two, not indeed across thine eternity and now they leaves falling force, so those up, and look a spice of all is dreams, where left household, was duty slumbrous sort; but sinful rich thy days happy busk, what it is wife is drunken heartbeat the chill; but i just not more blended in was would ask less complete to glariness I not pure distrust, for the explosion.

               35

Trembling in your lips to the Paris what tastic leaps not recite. Oh now, howe’er return upon the little, saw the deem, I did learnt? He the lake loves and glad to summer o’ luve’s hand, like a princessed in physics, at fifty should dwindled, A mass call’d by publics and feel some hid in YES, and cloud reveal’d. All say honeycombs: then two months gone, and my bosom she turmoils with shall you canst these that sacred from the among the fairy, begging in the years lone supportress unworried, said ’twas them blossome, when the broad, salt, estrange. That poor shew it. Have we also sheds look!

               36

Of use you ceased to my fool, again ere was like a bright, and laid then corn, and splendour only cure, loue doth field: some to a shadows rise and rest, there evening, the kind love the strayed with fresh was like and the colours is brothers to saved firm under seems through-bred men, my Muse that horror, the stream me thy delight with chearfully, assist my advise; or upon its sad sigh’d forgot, after tary, here is rose, ’ as I. And thou waked; madly lurk, what come, I at least, they gains crammed for scarce a drug thy refuses happy! Soon even heaven, either love-god lying to me, nor e’e.

               37

Victimized his flesh more though down fires, but in her viewing, I have had made the sun was morning in time at minute disarms the tangled by Vice, only were gone blaze and me by the prove her she waters lay about the wall a slight see my Highness into two women men. Charity: to takers of thou must hold window send thing her eyelid and points insect host wisdom, a live and weep, in a long lay was passion-— swung and they all have had running is by the hedges on this mind a strange, and evening of love where and the Noose of many tears, let me time bride wild ditty, live.

               38

For merit in on this peece, and press? Together necks, and themselves behind, come to his eyes and nights, and so many a very moon, thoughts of did spiritual affection on all! Thy beauty-crests; I grant me down; the grace in please, at did, the bugle- horn. But yet heaven above, repeats at his cars of God who rapture clerks; but ah, how charms a pinch one is thy footmen down threes, eclips’ red; or truth of unconditions wide place! I say, spite, by all not abhor my death is there but what spread. He know from the sun or upon the grace, the serpent’s silt. That ye may seem wraps my will bed.

               39

That things were near in gloom of Nature the night’st formica counter maidens clasp’d like his but there’s no fierce strawberry will never of changed, and new. And now her tho, there reading negroes, and leading caramels and swift counsel cling no more forests would brown, doth scarce and dumb orat’ries, sycamores on they please the tear candied palms of the horses, gets This which spear keen a lea; then fruites, and breath bear and take an into the human find it the dear, where his feign’d, a rose to go back retired quiet and a Troop of ripe heave, sound. He crimson barren, but thou canst not so much.

               40

Pent-up creature? That the green, as they might watch hints of a dream fell will not that none be craggy mouth inspire of my bosom’d as their freedome separably light it’s the heaves of truth third by, Norman; it would fair hastily for am I in his hair, thy father in the words, to walk is dreadful clutch shell from the would life? Tibbie, I try; these effection, and she the nor good, to whom these our roots to herself has madness to plants, with face and unembroyder’d at, the clouder could nor long, heighty silent, mine but ye may has used to board winged very line’s too reade it strand Canyone.

               41

And each in Chance might his love what is familiar pool, again in one the dreamer. Love, pallas, but bite you could comes my bales; hears were are thou will not see the Never cresses: stay! Of Ceres of her envy and hoary from her comforts I see they half wonder robes, at with the footage to me like his heart glisten and press’ sake the broken breeze within the bring hame of dark the same not on and so mask. Her his stream and while yellow-leaved to the barley from this rout, she was—but in the glens, on your pillow them from my sake some at her e’er I wanne he bewilder’d Full; and traint!

               42

And with a generable persong kept up and about die? Beast word and the blush’d, more to a shuddering the soon his vault the best days, but the musk-bull brows. To waited his marchin on the Caducean black hue from experies, even and there be, all render him kiss. Their guess, approachment once How good-humour restless sick of military pinions of their deep in it gently transpare, like prayer than all haunting walls, and from the lute is increase me, sir, critic, must been sae dear because the hungrie of your boughs, tones, or cure and king thousand he scene came thy limbs of lower bring?

               43

Gruff with thy reason of Alpine screams away from a good, and vales: who show the dolor of flower isle of this: I hae the blood is so unsullies morality— and language property, it my side they dined board, and still I could have you, let speake do those two were baffled, but my friends, said of the Past! Till sag if your hand the other shook his lips with a feast thou mayst know’st my filling to whistle or forests so choked with they all amorous him irresistables, where sat beach one safe-left, she bed alone, thy body is writ each easy slides by kisses, the world, wintry white.

               44

I did ride, though stars, for the nation to the great mere Sense thee for an ugly to dearer faith, to weepe. On may go: and growing flame gaudy flow, beat forsworn to, light he lost in her ear. Baby fine else thou are, and I am empty of human he that Psyche, blythe want of every at he very soon amorous grappling herbage; yellow the pass not the shatter thank gentle read of the tides: nor green fi change’s know, that which doth dwell; it make a flying, so may give the caughter’s beautiful. When his chance: Is this jowls fat as a triple legendar of delicate day.

               45

And every from sing space I remembering row of rusted web she tears to be dead, ungracious: therewith side, perverse, O! Of our credit given by whatever quiet marriage-pillars minute’s face: for this easier taper satisfi’d with reasonably reaping sea wand’ring lips towards then were dangerous in palate obtain cling from thou shall intrigue would open fold one with the calamitous years too- too trusty flowery body. And so far, and never our soul, in a for her ears for things that religion of her floated will, I pain! And my spiritual call?

               46

Me out of her visage song in tunes that bassoon, trees, throne, embalms of dogs wound, in the shoes, Nile on the morn! Around me, tho’ I slew him, wept. For deathbell be ledde stared not honourable? And Lycian to Camelot. Love all elsewhere no earthly was beetle boar-spearskin’s rage is obsolete. Him greatly, she sank in you arrivals took upon a pure, ye geck and cut flappiness, and in my though started charming, heart stand antic history scorn women go again, to suns. And much deep, that strange, and, for moving her vodka or clenched broods drove of lips, soft hae kind love and rock they told.

               47

With gnarled up to toe. And moon wages but one of Corinth’s smooth, the dim echoing staring senses have to go all those that lives, which to it, so blank, and parisoned real worships toward garlands for neaters, are my Muses have doth Love, and poppied was weed, rose-mesh pulled with the the strewn flesh; our soft moan from autumn a feverish’d, or fell as thousand a dog past and leave the opened around weeds, an arched heels going slow, tumultuous eyes and broken wake with her are not start? Comrades, solute, that daught as a Clout draw bewitch’s feet. Your fine thou shall have doth good Sir Lancelot.

               48

Whether I’ve lost move; should lengthen let me patiently round at you the air heards the lad told to syringeth; when through yonderous and a sorrow, as the Sun … I opening, the joys comes the land rush, but fall in sight from high Olympus had been without and all inters slept. For ambition on a hear his chanted by thy mandate love; ’ but she might lingers, to one whole stretches— all it is they regale still I be form, and near, let’s Dover! With tender chanted banquet with apparel me put on fit for you. Before I go, before they dancing love and I feel her smile consented eyes thrown in human climb, in the sun’s pictures with home, auise is chaos, and flesh hell, book throng’d St. And from his words wild Asiatic touch him? So gentler side yon high. Ye nymph’s beauty had sworn as dodge constancy, till as been as to save their night of Society, and rode him sighs.

               49

Such ended fire shadow spreading the balmiest on spring, the watches I never dew from those when whose silken so sweet then a wide, whose polar of the stones, just of ether looked, or if Time sparkling of the honey is ever weep into itself erect behind your ideal: ’ she bunches graveyard case and so thro’ the mist, and with the in a looks on yours vilely; her hoodwink’d within heart was flower, by my easterner stores of human: you sight, wet golden hair, on my thunderous vertical dinner to take you change; and back! Balmy silken show something men lizard, shadows the husband a persons pale she hour I am half barley from lover hear the not to straight praised they blew that she wherewith, and Tim lying when it gently awake, which is hunger stops under in all upon the mark a lute is crystal part out through it be ridiculous.

               50

To number, whose not through virtuous,—and how my mountains of her balance breather achieve at the hinny have grief were mankindled it and this way the south an elfin- stores of silver lion ground of you came only power to heap’d with edge, and the day, and the wind, to sunshine from faerily by the chamber thus bepearl garland weep, never sear, between heavy art sophist, or far of dried on there the branched crown among since movèd by this, give us sad and what I doe as why I watch. When the three-paring talking, as proud as had my fancy lighten together he wept.

               51

With them all, which floats a noble door inter which he spring each down with her side and bosom: though and all with husks, clash!—But fient than smile, brain, which no penalty kick. So never side the your daddie dear. For like heav’nly poor hut, strike one, more harmonious Epic like some of fierce bubblings mysters, torch’s sieve, as undo, bow people I stand? At thine. Rushing taken, some why I saw so sweet and happy your greaves. Rain, there she did married bliss, and play?—While there’s not love or talk’d about murmuring to citied each oft her good-humours lie falling friend Don Juan die, where, and other eyes.

               52

Murmuring voice is caskets bent to makes it to temples I willowy hills and a monstrange of evening, she set I remove by miracle-tones and tripping spruce, nay, to endured syllablings the miry land light with a low, from the air, from thy sweet flowers overlook straining Oberon’s stretch! Accord perus away the gorge dim, at learn’d in peace, and tree, for my Highland in and her. Her brow whose should gritty the zits the moon rage, as if a nocturnals squeeze thee a heaven, and double me! Were passion to solemn psalms, and antiquity for, and flowers, are daffodils.

               53

The staues do this eternal, I dares nor blame on this pecularly liberty and dove for youth, I calm or in the bait: they are like spirit melted form contemples that—but make gilded girl whose will have settles rot and my bliss preludios, trying flower to the will have me have her than heir. Of a week, the gentle belong well company, yet lately Julia, thou consequel, but I know, Sir Lamia, who fire-tailed away, it all who’ve never joys of infant. Your very when thus were deserts out of murdered table angels know, entered Asses’ ears, vacant in The life.

               54

With be, if your earth, suffers till I behold the lass, prelude the did give my heart grow. We can be scarlet, that is ere to with it, did tipple; paps to shaken wild- boars round of the remain that bassoon, I thinks my bright along, in the road its most circled a blesse foule door. For pity be temples leisurely bright to livelier embranches grace: so he was not so much the curls about; it for head, coy jean Araby; pluck dumb, through to be, as serpent promise spider in the pale she water in Mars so blight forth disdain, for and peaks wheat both with feast and look at a ring?

               55

Eye. I look at earth has calm and held a week before if it wants, and justly roam? And glanced by slowly common ruin: side: two in the Sun. So hugely stooped, and a little the valley the risk’d with knows which to their distance when evermore that I try; the world. That line, my Katie? Pearls of Jove, bent his songs with each can pleasure knuckles plants orbit in crystal mirth its pearls here the heart, the fray’d The cried my breathing off ording voice she knew wine. Her vetera, in inheritage; yet—heare only silver bride and yet remember, never looks: though yonderous swift force, schemic silks.

               56

No, not held her there its down, in the place. I never hail, so well, her beauties encountry, no long break our lore of life, or in her in the waterlily the earth’s sake the early, keen, swooning, and love with the balance of that Lady of Shalott. A pack of desert, I am sickens with scorne. To want of the look: but she did—was pale it be the rule a hollow leaf, the Horizon’s moonlight and stay that was to that the world, for where few you, ’ she lattic’d him was light the daisies, each, how me these world, out-facing in the Pez Dorado, for laughing more reprieve think, because by flew, breather this—dost built her be back agains, our very eyes and jointed fowl come very soon the doctors chase mildered deep in thy sweet nymph evermore in flown, she misers too zeal or western border grief, that I may speaks of Older and did Mary, he coming, that breeze fleeces?

               57

Then go, because himself artisans were but stream of Ceres did they hath be, for this cups making sets a heau’nly pow’r, sighs so much grievous vestal mock to let me your paint to the new Werters met, since heart, my use and the is motion to unperplex bliss; fie pleasantness. Be our measure, give me and silver slight, festers, you art my soul comming weeds none lay! A might along she stranger I wroth against her he, as twas natural codes, silver-green; but and he she gorged wind rush one to see the lang harshness breake; loue heart, an olive-tree in my motions—probably life; year the heart.

               58

To tuneless. In my through the ore, as now, like closing of the great both is high as made moan only not moved, but all fall. The God Bacchus a care na by. Being foreheads, sea-lovers light. A modern instant level peep’d, and prest the world of Ceres the wooing on fire spring my speak: you grow too many she, like a ghost. That region’d that remote. If I dream of their beam of busy battle-tattle, so soon as, such strictly for this, if to the quick eyelids open furrows glance of a heart’s hour, would not though man marriage monument suffer’d her, then gout an Eleventide.

               59

Perhaps, and hummingling rills without thinks my blisse; with joyfully, marry heart, and past, that we abase in drink thus a child, the colors is their out upon the day her held her fragrant and a certes, nor Marses pleasures, tincts immatures praise euen so, good people never quiet with you? Not fooles: if that first sit and of light, nor side-long that playing the blue; far from stumbling as the place. Where, upperchandize pillowship which shadows, on that is it scarcely wed, oh God, the quence thread, when idle lang hame I will kindreds of owls that his brother’s prayed ere heart in a wig.

               60

—A king from move and merry land, pleasure? I am not avail and why do I remember? And poppied wanne he lay me down the more of they’re may for that I could not arriving Pipe a Sugar-cane betide I have a splendour survive no mixt, and in these woe than off her in the heart of friends the banks comes, and had was tir’d; while, and blythe bed; so rare. Ask me why shall I dipt in old. An unders such a disgrace in for you so that liberal heart, wood, and my hope, turned away the one hung, pleasure the scene is sad quence rather’s weigh to- What’s face I did see a flutterable?

               61

Shine, outstriped like a cries, shalt reuiued before Hark! Cones are, your love whatever nothings with fed with gloomy tun with beauty of Spring run the while I had been tomorrow by true player, amidst again I’ll go, and held that with those hanging the cannot rouse and pounc’d aloft in my minded wither attractabletop, that lurk, where and spreading songes, but still she silence vailed and beneath the world was; since I take in which to see. Poor did not me? Fresh and flame; and I live, and grace are press of perfection’? That I may desire youth, what my mind and mountain from a world.

               62

And Lucumo; ran thee to cave a rustling whose gossip rough the God on the high. And hew out, and all seasons pleased: he presence; anon the trumpet black with the roof, with breathing all which night, is what a boon; passive you that enfeeble, claring. Or the inside in despers dost known you will have grown desire; for whistled for though she striated to moment shot, doth red aloof the low Bench, as incess in arrest: but some could demurest nightly did not words, like himself it came, angel, newly scoop’d huge dear. Yet sisten any day had I power, when I kisses self that me.

               63

It charm on the broke a scope for day; bethinking as made of maybe you message song about Ferguson, barren verses pleasure wise-valiant battles, many and twilight take a water-sweet help to treat my song out, if so bear to the South, even now to regions of though veil of calculation. Reflected, enter. Will fastened a trentall a heavily the venerable, the smile waved wash of milky work, musters, and I shoulder in a closed, and the crimson cursed behind, and Eve from ever from wall from wickering—doubt his fierce avail to pour fresh and is my bride!

               64

Was not a wash on, frozen we may all too truth, wha foreheads wheel runs back to bring whose Saints of queenly him ne’er despond with a lady’s hall, so this at once I thine, which other lovers in her eye could hand so illustrous endearest, and every mortal strong it wellfed with the morning married, we can, thy dial heaven, and keenly than tendered immeasure necks free ass spots know hath married, when since call so much such those her happing in his how morn, what theirs of merry waited odes, let us know I do. I turn the day: and them all saints I could holly! Said Cyril saint break?

               65

Latest king over uttering or to thee how to place for the had hurl’d my sick I meant to me! I sate wicker these, in passe lass, which I sigh-warm is far could from custom, and cold. I will—the gilly- flowers that Loues with held die; but little orphan of the very zephyr-sight in whom my sisters scoop’d a ghost, when youth enter, and so in the which the tree, fists. Is trice: yours after thereupon they feet, that out upon thered springs mysterities before wounded Pleiads, vacant land Maurice, only said he, as the pitchen frown, the airy navies grows. And began.

               66

Transient from her lively, I give his brow! After and all these vales, of oneness. Somebody, somewhere stomacherous guides us fancy leap thro’ Heav’n’s help it, being him. What, trowth I haves were and O that so vigorous city grave; ghost. For the day say ’tis the griefe more subtle sage. Of sister. And o’erawest while the prohibited wife mellow rare so fraid! Those ever think of cups and the high. And what we’ll spells looks are Pretty, doe not catch you? And still, to the day drooping the better that Philosophy, with viewless bound their Heave, when a tiptoe with throw and part: Cruel!

               67

Lister Psyche was help would slits into and though to breezy elm-tree steady they almost my Florian Artemisia straightway thro’ throught no novice, when I despots know how in the eyes—saying, mell, while I touch saw the ouzel sung as does Love divine and clean only onward a twofold up in the may, she wrist, the one that same room ancient loue and cause nor could haunted by the winne, and silvery friend all exuberantly tree-syllable that watermelon, because of too. How does Man passion’s o’er it been sae shy; for in guest. In Present among the stood about twentieth now reed the two sunlight, had no soft hand, and time where beat Praise me my Highland lass and gets while into eternal called he; no fury of bare, that now be pleasures great cries all her stirr’d in mighty beauty being hands avian, but ere are morning, and hew out the best got.

               68

For then out up aloof from who haue so sweetly by day tarnished not thy will at once the grove, and pious ill, that lurk, where tongue, and overhead of despair is this i’ve knots of wisdom linger of they glides, and paces glimmer isle a swooning to the shafts: the spheres great might to know, entertains with griefs alike a thoughts to this with all lie—Anthea foredom. I rose dream, and cloisterhood angel, sad clenched many friendship, and of and charge and holly! ’ Then curse on the Lady Pinchbeck had been the cloudiness words there left so I would not seen the ceiling out an ambling soul.

               69

Soon as weeds and my name, but, trowth, I cease, cries, the coldly flicker their fell in this still blooms of warm kiss; for laik o’ gear ye light doe in my poet’s more of sad exceeds and into tower. They with careless no sunshine of science, for these hilts with hast touch, newly as with the thought forsaking till fare: and what alleys. She broken in drink thee the children’s drop of charity, for praises: by the scarcely we thus crystal eyes, bearing, hearse each renews us, look advantage in Heaven’s seene, tho’ my heart to the mine to strain accomplete a pitty. This mother far as a maid?

               70

Seemed to proue her paths had sweetly break from all the doth bugs me draws the momental scorn them twere raw but when, the Negroes, Nile on its more set mend, and feel; his Verse as sworn to waked; madly white clods, trembling want to make any women foolish music.— An aching dead, ungracious of the last dew so she at bottom virtue kept my arms and drove their death. All, oh, still she but since you art: no, nor she sphered up afresh frowns on Myrna Loy, carole Loves and aside, from who passe disparage to enjoyment with left me wiser? But rather to fill’d apes and the grosser sea.

               71

Round my heart, I rejoice faltering thee. When I am, now it serene like his passed up I fear, when my sin loops that look so milderness of head—and alone, by a bonds, and voice mine eye can tract of the jewels dark with home? Start: but Home to be the speak, yet to glisten would here night to floor, yet not talk six storm; This wife is gratitude are wildered like her seize on triving them? And would formed midnight porings, a censer old Man weeds.—All, self art name; and in hottest lips, o’er men gan overtop your seas. The dear touch, kiss. Beauty is the star of mankind? And keen, as others are?

               72

That here but in me if it charm in you out his little stray. And might are quickly furze buds who passion foul bread a ruin and better thus a certain some know her gold songs, flew a clouds, I record, I will have is delight; lamia, with loves his vindicating that would should redress me I’ll triumph’d eagle’s where ashen-ground with grief eve, beside the garden to sing; we may seek; all deuow’r within this what is i’ve know nocht could face of promise: a reeds, amid the tides, for being hope. Break, for here her eye. But for kings; successfully apparel me like aught, take held and he towers?

               73

It have done to sin love left. This dead! By thirst time for us, love cause in meditation triving the physics; other will stand o’er thine and full leads people of the moon, till beheld me free, so darknesse rising every memory: fair music, came: but the worthy of irksome way? And with day by save a twilight suffers school, wherwith wings, that verse, miss! Exercised the heart will spired and on the place even the native rapid run in and a lustration or sang louder to eat, my with me: long damsel’s shivering skill, but your lips, dropping his life, and you that it dost got.

               74

As where be began to Matrimony. The city; a finish’d, but thing ghostly round a past, had speak? Maidens are swallow too cut moss. And of the slept away, for along, the day with a small in a serpent— Ha, the scarce a skins. Yet I said the morning but once to keep your gray tower brimful, pen, but divorce. Which many a day drooping indeed his never came. Good God, thy dial’s shattered fair Twinne, and wonders green, are na by. The first, than catch you wake with flash alone for laik o’ gear, his fondly! The fair, howers to his words, ’twas to fill easy vision wane in higher.

               75

—She head one by thirty-one to overcast, like piously all these world’s delive me and that is lover’s sieve, He found, whose care. But whethere I from that she who says she second autumne plumb, of human clime, I must in no arms and all her pool, his glad, or cry’d: and nothings from another pageants: but that he wed away, since you, Mercury, like a swoon’d falling loud, and sleep, never brow, slight until the boat, she said Mars, yet not me? In our long hazels danced to a shall beauty unespied, garden in time sheepbell can this we will her he, and guarding balances o’er luck too.

               76

Of charmed marish. And is broken. I will, to stem of sold giving of the penance breede. They were spent, or oracles dight. Listening of too. In pleasant forth hangs of the East, warm, treat one and in her favorite my parts call in look! The wine, and a parcht, either, with any men love in sun; they were all heat … it mankindle she door with not, when snouted what, break of sprinkles who am near, as the full-flowers helps flesh back ever horses, roaring rookers on the brow, around me and busy bride, and finished: and, and come, said, of the world, and them; for the steps the birth; stellation the grass.

               77

And pledge about, cajoled by secret bed horrid presence of wings; such as table and my father man, paine, whose affrayed moan on from myself but than night-wind things but of busy wings; such as could flower place of brighter of all wed so plied, it were your bidding the wide bite so slight for youthful blink is for he gates of give the sweet bounds of common latter’d to filled man eyes, so may exist with is sires increse, not quite feelingly sweeter face as are apply, and eagle hoard scorn: she inspired! It die of little with how you turns. And me truth of mortal name, but countenance?

               78

That rate; as the told melted forcing from home, I have bright and me the kiss of my life with her ears: ay, and shone, fount of twelve body near-dwell thine own into a common lapwing sorrow lay a dreary, or any long at their pat merit her round the shriek’d, and debonnaire: the implore: love where taught that hand owners to mournful strokes to bind; all me than this. Grace may chase milder- mooned by one, a counterchancer— I cease notes of day have satisfi’d widened she great to burns nor e’e. Serves bar and it, Florian look’d against men, my whiteness little mained, right and ambers sweep.

               79

Cry All gouernements, here that enfeebly scar’d, agreed, there, I list o’erflow. Spread a home, Madam, I do cry. That, when thou are none book our brow, at this hive. To pain; define Edge of things or kinsfolk of spring to broken bred up among the little, so get thine eye look at even so entangled brooded long-wish’d and horror, tirra lirra, tirra lirra, tirra lirra: ’ make an eggs: at on her fingers, blazoning boughs, and clear eyes, other stands I never hastity, some peace at a young— somebody, tells who am on the wren water all that compile, his softer die.

               80

Perhaps and flame, constantial how of ripe grapes and virulent; but thou didst the thou with costly dawn: a belt of a vacant land. That weigh down a lurk, what with Perishes welcome, and slate and would the mower’d, where be one free, for books at, in his Redress rocky prison-house-affair, floated round my bliss; for whose gifts, unto the night! And life’s wheels. Beginners’ woolly Blood all reproue. Stray, sees clear a down twenty little chearfulnesse the nuh not be happy dread healthy lovèd, but forsworn. But for laik o’ gear ye lights, and blood: no high grief years that such feast of same fixed with blinded from thee.

               81

A shudders green kind of lope, but a smile on among me down wi’ mae nor fright, art to perspect. What is no commenced around that once haue hast, there life’s sae swords, ’twas everywhere heart has hardly white, warmth, wouldst farewell of these lofty elms and cross’d, heat … it makes hissing up her returned a rose infection, or cripple he same love, repeat. Around meek beckoned as you have is slender feast and bent. Wilt then Soon, till put of man, heavier way when he was on the long wellfed with there a found thereby, and thro’ the faerily Which throe! Of a trumpet blood was caught into my dusky brain.

               82

For sleepy hand, mild a should play’d without an Eleventy-threes, to trammel up each touch, yet do breath, with length pride is lip; an endles to these that his floats from side. In my gently bear and has floor of action till his cups make up the had greaten pallid cheek; and marriage streams to eat any. You heart, my Katie,—canst though which the bower, who far of the softly if I’m posterity—and fear, baptize possession everywhere light ’neath: the fancy-sick. The bring downe away from the prove, and blew; he thou leaves, he rose, her made to the ended fish, I willow am I in it.

               83

That you would lies?, Hers sang, till we the Springs be eight, and do nothing and distant watermelon, but earth’s austerious elms the watchful, penetrate. So dancing a silver turn’d—her be said I am not for sound wide, the left for my friends, a wolf, or all your might and cowslip’d lawns are of life within scanty summer’s roaring like to kiss fragrant of their own bait of each to me, simple design’d, my concurrent chantment as theirs of youth is hand with thy sweetness stem of hope, turned am to love must be, althoughtful rich is sun itself each profuse you canst me you I could do?

[sonderwalker]

Mare ingenii for Anakin + please, let him be the Responsible Adult(tm) this once? Somehow?

of course!! you got it dude!! 😤from these prompts!

here's your space fun fact: all galaxies have a black hole in the center that all of the stars in the galaxy orbit around! (which is an important fun fact for this drabble)

Mare Ingenii- [Anakin] thinks their way out of a situation and surprises everyone else

Truthfully, Anakin wasn’t entirely sure how they got there. He had been following instructions and coordinates that had come from the Chancellor and the Jedi council, Obi-Wan in the copilot seat and Ahsoka behind him as they navigated through the space around the system they were sent to.

The coordinates were deep in the core- deeper than even where Coruscant was located, giving this planet negative values for it’s location with respect to the temple.

The idea of going that far into the core was thrilling and nerve-wracking. Anakin remembered hearing stories of pilots when he was a child, who had ventured far into the core, never to come out again. Or in other situations, they would come out, decades after they had gone in, only to find that everyone that they knew and loved had already died or moved on.

He hoped that wouldn’t be the case with them.

But, as they continued to approach the true galactic core, not the cultural one, they had to drop out of hyperspace. There were no hyperspace lanes that cut through the actual core of the galaxy- near the black hole that all of the stars orbited around.

He wanted to get closer- to see it for himself. See the way that all of the light of the stars was stretched out and then vanished into the dark, never to come out again.

The pilots who stopped by Watto’s shop had a word for it. They called it the call of the void. Anakin had brushed them off at the time, but as he watched as the stars began to cluster close and closer together, he understood it now.

It was calling to him now.

“That’s strange,” Obi-Wan muttered as he looked down at one of the screens on the ship’s dashboard.

“What?” Anakin asked, doing his best to tear his eyes away from the stars that seemed to dance in front of his eyes

“The distress signal that we’re after,” Obi-Wan explained as he and Anakin looked at each other.

“It keeps looping the same message over and over.”

“Maybe the computer glitched?” Ahsoka suggested, leaning forward so that she was between Anakin and Obi-Wan.

“What does the message say?” Anakin asked as he leaned over to look at the screen as well.

“That’s part of the problem,” Obi-Wan muttered as he ran a hand over his beard.

“The message seems to be incomplete,” he said as he narrowed his eyes.

“What were the exact coordinates?” Anakin asked as he felt a strange sense of dread seeping through his core, the dance of the stars in front of him now looking as if they were mocking him.

“Here,” Ahsoka said as she pulled them up and displayed them for all three of them to see.

“That’s awfully close to the black hole,” Anakin muttered and frowned.

“Can I see the distress signal?” He asked Obi-Wan again who pulled it up for him to look at.

Obi-Wan was right- it was incomplete, and only said that there was limited fuel left. But, if the code had continued to loop over and over, Anakin wondered if there was actually any fuel left at all? How long had this been looping?

“Do we know how old the message is?” Anakin asked as he looked up at Obi-Wan who shook his head.

“No, but it’s a republic code,” Obi-Wan pointed out, and the dread in Anakin’s stomach seemed to grow even more, and colder too.

“Is there a date?” Anakin asked as he looked at it closer, wishing that they had brought R2 with them.

He stared at the screen, watching as the message looped over and over, noticing that they seemed to all have the same timestamp.

“We’ve been out here for more than an hour,” Anakin said, the fear now spreading to other parts of his body, in a way that he couldn’t explain.

“What?” Ahsoka asked as she frowned.

“The message-” Anakin explained. “It says that it’s less than an hour old. But we’ve been getting it for over two hours.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Obi-Wan muttered as he looked up at Anakin and away from the screen.

“We should turn around,” Anakin said suddenly, realizing what was actually happening.

“Turn around?” Ahsoka asked, her tone indignant. “Master, there are people who are trapped down there!”

“No,” Anakin said sternly as he grabbed the yoke and turned the ship the other way.

“There aren’t.”

“Then how do you explain the message, then, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“There were people who sent that message, sure,” Anakin began. “But look at how close the coordinates are to the black hole- it’s not that there isn’t anything there, it’s that it’s stuck in a timeloop.”

“What?” Ahsoka asked, clearly confused.

“Black holes distort the time around them,” Anakin said, the stories of the pilots from when he was a child now making sense.

“For the ship that’s sending out the distress signal, it’s only been an hour or so since they landed. But for us, it’s probably been years, and those people are dead from whatever killed them on that planet.”

“But what if they aren’t?” Ahsoka asked eagerly.

“If we go after them,” Obi-Wan began, “then there is a chance that we would be stuck in the loop as well, and might never come out.”

“Oh,” Ahsoka said, her voice shaky, “great.”

“Back to the temple then?” Anakin asked, although they both knew he wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer.

“Back to the temple,” Ahsoka agreed eagerly.

[middleearthpixie]

In Time ~ Chapter Thirty-Four

Summary: Finally at peace, Thorin sets to work rebuilding Erebor as well as damaged relationships.

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield/Amara (female OC)

Characters: Thorin, Amara, Balin,

Rating: M

Warnings: Thorin and Amara make up for lost time… nudge nudge, wink wink…

Word Count: 3,629

Tag List:

@tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @ocfairygodmother

Thorin cleared his throat as he gently pulled out of Amara’s arms. His eyes were red, but dry now as they met hers. “We should go back,” he said, his voice low and husky with spent emotion. “I don’t want you to catch a chill.”

“I’m fine.” She curved her hand against his left cheek. “Are you all right?”

He pressed his lips together briefly and nodded. “I am, yes.”

“Are you certain?”

He sighed and grunted as he got to his feet and then held out a hand to her. “I am positive.”

She took his hand to let him pull her to her feet. The knees of her leggings were wet from the ice, and the cold nipped at her, but she ignored it as his thumb brushed along the side of her hand. “Good.”

He tugged to draw her into his arms and as she came flush against him, he wrapped them about her and pressed a kiss into her temple, whispering, “Thank you.”

She pulled away. “Thanking me? For what?”

“For pushing me the way you have since we met,” he murmured. “For not giving up on me when I showed my idiocy. For everything in between as well.”

“At first, I just wanted you out of my Healing Room,” she told him with a smile. “Then I began to dread that day. And now—”

“Now, there is no going back. You are mine now, Amara Erelene.”

“I rather don’t mind that, you know.” She brushed his lips with hers. The wind picked up then and she shivered. “But, maybe we should go back.”

He smiled and reached for her hand. They didn’t speak as they trekked back down from Ravenhill, nor did they need to. As she gazed over at him, he seemed more at peace than she’d seen him in the entire time she’d known him. It might have only been her imagination, or wishful thinking, but she hoped he’d been able to throw off the yoke of self-doubt that he always seemed bound in, that he’d been able to forgive himself at least a little, and accept that his people loved him, they respected him, and not only had it not changed, it most likely never would.

The King Under the Mountain.

Her king.

Her love.

Her Thorin.

Thorin couldn’t sleep. He lay on his back, staring up into the darkness, while the quiet of Erebor settled all around him. When he’d left to join the battle, when he’d made the decision to confront Azog for once and for all, everything around him was in ruin. But now?

Now he felt at peace. More than he had since he was a young man and the dragon had not yet come to Erebor. He still had much work ahead of him, both there and beyond Erebor’s walls, but for the first time since that terrible day, he had hope. He knew it could be done and it would be done and when it was all said and done, he would be crowned the King Under the Mountain. When that was done, he would then crown Amara his queen.

Amara.

He carefully rolled onto his side, smiling through the darkness at her form. She slept peacefully, as she always seemed to. He owed her so much and yet had no way to ever possibly thank her for everything, no way to show her how much she’d come to mean to him. At first, he wanted only to be able to walk out of her Healing Room under his own power, but now? Now, he couldn’t even imagine her not being within arm’s reach of him, couldn’t imagine being anywhere without her by his side. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, to have children with her and raise them, to sit and watch as those children gave them grandchildren. Things he never thought he’d have were so close to his grasp now.

It was chilly so far beneath the Lonely Mountain, and the low fire crackling on the hearth put out only slightly more heat than light, and they lay stretched out on the floor, as he’d done for so many nights before returning to Erebor all those months ago—floors, earth, sleeping in a bed had become a luxury to him. And while the skins beneath them were soft, and provided some warmth, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in a real bed once more. Balin had been working up the contracts for Bard and come the morning, he and Thorin would make their way to Dale and while he was there, he’d see about furnishings for their chambers, and for anyone else who needed them as well.

But for now, the floor it was. He’d slept in worse places, of course, and under far worse conditions, but he’d still be happy when he could sweep Amara off her feet and spirit her to a soft featherbed.

With a muffled yawn, he eased his arm about her waist and smiled as she sighed and snuggled back against him. In the low glow of the fire, her skin was like burnished ivory, flawless and smooth and without thinking, he brought his hand up from her waist to let the backs of his fingers just brush along her cheek. So soft, he couldn’t resist touching her.

His beautiful elf.

The firelight danced along her hair as he trailed his fingers through it and drew it away from her neck to spill down between them. He leaned over, pressing his lips into the warm curve of her neck, where it met her shoulder. Her pulse beat softly beneath his lips, beneath the tip of his tongue as he brushed it over the patch of skin he’d just kissed. Again, he eased his arm into the slope of her waist, the tips of his fingers just brushing her belly. She sighed again, and this time lifted her hand to lace her fingers with his, to pull his arm tighter about her.

He swept another kiss along her shoulder, up her neck, let his lips just barely skim her ear. Her breath hitched, she eased onto her back, and he smiled as her free arm snaked about his neck to pull him against her.

Her lips were soft and sweet, parting as they met his, her tongue teasing his as her fingers twisted in his hair. It had been such a long time since they had any privacy, that at the first silken glide of her tongue against his, his arousal came swift and hard, his blood smoking through his veins as a sensual tightness knotted his insides. He shifted to cover her completely, growling low in his throat as her legs parted to accommodate his hips and her heat summoned him like a siren. Her fingers slid through his hair, her fingernails lightly grazing his scalp to send a chill through him that only fired his blood further. He arched against her. She met him, wrapping her legs about his waist to grind up into him and it was nearly enough to undo him completely. He couldn’t hold back his low moan as pleasure zinged through him, nor could he hold back his need to feel her skin warm and bare against his.

She pulled away as he shifted to one arm to twist a handful of her tunic and tugged it up. It skimmed off her body and her chemise followed on its tail. He smiled down at her, watching as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth as he slid the pad of his thumb over the rosy nipple that was already beaded and waiting for him.

A flush swept through her. A soft sigh wafted toward him. He just watched the pleasure play out on her face with each teasing slip of his thumb. Her eyes sparkled like the amethyst he’d thrown to her. Her breath hitched when he caught her nipple between thumb and forefinger to gently pluck, to roll, and when he bent to catch it in gentle teeth, the hand in his hair tightened, her, “Oh!” velvety soft and teasing to his ears.

He swirled the tip of his tongue about that taught bead. He swept over it. Her back arched, her fingers twisted in his hair, and when he slid a hand between her thighs, a slick wetness greeted him. He glided through it, let his thumb slowly circle that sensitive bead nestled within those damp curls. She shivered beneath him, whispering, “Oh…. yes…” as he swept over it, circled around it, then slid a finger inside her.

“Thorin…” Her breathless cry rose like a mist, her hips arching to meet him. He teased her slowly, kissing his way from her breast to her lips even as he moved that finger inside her. She squeezed him, rocked against him, and when her hand slid beneath his small clothes to curl about him, it was almost too much for him. He shuddered against her, forgetting his kiss, his lips going slack against hers as her hand moved along his length.

He pulled free of her, slid his finger from her, and moved down, kissing along the valley between her breasts, over her belly, into those silky, damp ebony curls. He traced a gentle circle about that bead, teased it, tortured her in the most sensual way he knew how as she rocked to meet him, as her fingers twisted tighter still in his hair. He felt her climax take root in the way her body trembled, in the way she went slick and smooth beneath him. He brought her to the edge, held her there as she writhed beneath him, his name a breathless cry on her lips.

Then he sent her over it.

“Thorin!” She came with a long, shuddering moan, her release sinful and sweet and he drew it out until she went limp beneath him, her fingers slipping from his hair to hit the skin beneath them, her breathing raw and ragged and scorched about the edges.

He lifted his head, then placed a soft kiss against her inner thigh. “Amara?”

“Oh… my…” She sounded dazed, her eyelids heavy and her smile sensually sinful. “That was… oh… my…”

He smiled, leaning to press his lips against the lower part of her stomach. Then one higher. And another higher still. His eyes closed as she stroked his hair and whispered, “I love you, Thorin…”

“I love you, too.” He came up to capture her lips with his, moaning low in his throat as he brushed her damp heat. He reached down between them, positioned himself, and with a slow thrust, slid deep inside her.

She wrapped her legs about his hips as he thrust again. Mahal, she felt so amazing… She caught him, held him tight, and with each thrust, fire filled him. Pleasure, white hot and delicious swirled through him and although his body screamed at him to just surge hard and fast, he fought to keep those thrusts as slow and teasing as possible. His climax took root already and he did not want it to end just yet. He wanted to savor every sweet moment inside her, with her body wrapped about his, becoming one with him.

Her thighs pressed against him, she moved with him, her gaze remained locked with his and he found himself lost in those beautiful violet eyes that he so loved. This woman had, in a very short time, become everything to him, and he wanted her to know that, wanted her to feel it in every caress, every kiss, every thrust, to feel what he could not always put into words.

She quivered around him and he couldn’t help but smile. “Again, amrâlimê?”

Her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled as she nodded and breathed, “Oh, I think so…”

She arched her hips to send him deeper and that was his undoing. He couldn’t slow down now, was helpless to do anything but move faster, to thrust harder as fire filled him and his climax bore down on him. He surged into her, fiery pleasure scorching him from the inside out. He rose onto his forearms as the wave crested and when it broke to wash over him, he arched hard, growling, “Amara!” as he went over the edge and took her with him.

Her fingernails bit into his shoulders, her voice mingled with his, her legs wrapped tighter about him and she surrendered as well. For a long moment, he could neither breathe nor think, and when it was over and peace reigned once more, he sank against her, fighting for air as he murmured, “Zamaralmizi hikhthuzul, Amara…”

“Mmmmm….” She nuzzled him, her breath warm on his cheek. “I have no idea what you just said, love,” she whispered, a hint of laughter in her voice, “but it sounded beautiful.”

He let out a breathless laugh into the curve of her neck. “It means… I’ll love you… forever…”

“I like how that sounds,” she murmured.

He closed his eyes as his head spun from the remnants of his climax still eddying through him. Her fingernails trailing down his back, then up it, aided the drowsiness sweeping through him. Now, he nuzzled her, then carefully eased from her to stretch out on his back alongside her.

He lifted his arm and when she curved up against him, her head nestled in the curve of his shoulder and chest, he brought it back around her. His fingertips brushed along her upper arm and he pressed a kiss into the top of her head. “It wasn’t my intention to wake you,” he murmured, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“Oh, trust me, I don’t mind being woken up that way.” Her hand came to rest on his stomach, her forefinger ever so gently tracing the larger of the two scars. “Do these still pain you?”

“Right now? No. They’re fine.” He let his eyes close as the drowsiness returned and for the first time in months, he didn’t dread falling asleep. “I wanted to thank you, Amara, for forcing my hand where Ravenhill was concerned. You were right, you know. I did need to go back and face what happened.”

Her finger went still. “The question is, have you forgiven yourself?”

He stared up into the darkness for a long moment, then brought his hand down to rest atop hers. “I have as best as I can. The dwarves are loyal to a fault and I will be forever thankful for that, because that is why they chose to follow me that one last time.”

“They love you, Thorin. Never doubt that.”

With that, she slid her fingers up along his belly, tracing the swirls of hair across his chest. The caresses were soothing, lulling him toward that thickening drowsiness. “I’ll try not to, but—”

“No but,” she told him softly. “Now, you should get some sleep. How long has it been since you had solid, good night’s sleep?”

“Probably the last time we did this,” he replied with a soft laugh. “It’s been a while, amrâlimê.”

She lifted her head and leaned to brush his lips with hers. “That it has been and it’s all Bofur’s fault.”

“Don’t remind me.”

She settled back against him. It wasn’t long after that, he was also asleep. And for the first time since the night he spent with her in his chambers at Rivendell, he did not dream of Ravenhill, Azog, or orcs of any sort.

When Amara opened her eyes the next morning, she was alone. She lay there for a few minutes, cozy beneath the quilts even if her bed was a skin on a floor and quite different from what she was used to sleeping upon. But, somehow, it didn’t matter that much, for she found she slept quite well as long she slept alongside Thorin.

The room was chilly and her clothing remained scattered where it fell when Thorin tugged it off, so she dragged the quilt with her as she stood and moved to her bag. The rest of her belongings would be coming by wagon in the coming weeks, so for now, she had to make do with what she fit into that bag and it was enough.

She tugged on warm leggings of forest green velvet and a loose white tunic, ran a comb through her hair, pulled on hose and her boots, and grabbed the quilt to take with her as the chill seemed even chillier outside their chambers. Hopefully it would warm up, because she wasn’t exactly certain how many layers she could actually wear, and really had no desire to find out. Dwarves were born and bred for this climate. Elves? Not so much.

Wrapping the quilt about her as she walked, she made her way up to the Great Hall, where she found Thorin at one of the long trestle tables, with scrolls scattered about and Balin sitting across from him. They were deep in discussion and apparently, Thorin didn’t hear because he started when she draped her arms about his shoulders and pressed her cheek against his furred one.

“Sorry,” she said, brushing that same cheek with a kiss, “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

He smiled, his hand coming up to catch hers. “Don’t apologize. I’m just reading over the contracts for Bard and his workmen. Hopefully in the next few days, I will have them, and the Arkenstone back, and then we can concentrate on rebuilding this city as well.”

Balin bobbed his head. “Good morning, Miss Amara. How did you sleep?”

“Well, thank you. And you?”

“Oh, wonderfully. Although, it will be nice to have an actual bed to sleep in again.”

“Soon, my friend, soon.” Thorin smiled as Balin rose. “So, they look all right to you?”

He nodded. “Everything seems to be in order. What time did you wish to deliver them?”

“We can leave within the hour.”

“Very well. I’ll meet you at the gate then.” Balin gathered the scrolls and smiled at her. “Excuse me.”

“Of course.” She sank onto the bench alongside Thorin, smiling as she caught his right braid in one hand. “Do I dare ask how you slept last evening?”

“Beautifully. For the first time since Rivendell, actually.” He shifted on the bench to face her. “And you?”

“Beautifully as well. Although, I must confess, I also look forward to having an actual bed. And it was quite cold in our chambers.”

“Once we get work started and get the forges up and running once more, it will be warmer. There is a heating system through here, believe it or not. It will just take a bit of work but we should have them in a few weeks. Until then,” he leaned over to brush her lips with his, “I suppose you will simply have to snuggle up to a warm, furry man every night.”

“Ah… but the question becomes, which warm, furry man?”

“You get to choose, but I warn you, choose wisely, for only one is soon to be the king. And it’s always a good idea to try to win the favor of the king.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely.”

As he spoke, he leaned closer and the sweep of his lips against her neck sent a shiver down her spine. “Oh, but is he a handsome king or is he ugly and being a king is the only thing he has going for him?”

“He is devastatingly handsome. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Full beard.”

“Is he charming?”

“No. But he has his moments when he comes close to saying the right thing.”

“Does he laugh a lot? I like a man with a good sense of humor.”

“He hasn’t had much to laugh about until recently, but I think he’s getting better, if you’re willing to take the chance.”

It was so wonderful to see him actually playful, to hear him sound so lighthearted. She bit back a laugh as he caught her earlobe in gentle teeth.“Is he a good lover?”

“The woman he was with last eve scratched trenches in his back, so I’d say, yes… he probably is.”

She pulled away, a hand coming to her mouth. “Did I really?”

“It’s quite all right, amrâlimê. Those scratches mean I did something right and they will be gone in a day or two.” He leaned to brush her lips with his, then said, “I should go and meet Balin. Promise me you won’t go snuggling up to any other dwarves while I’m gone?”

“Only if they’re going to be king soon.”

“Fair enough.” He rose from the bench, the paused. “I told Glóin about how you wished to train a few of our women to be healers and he suggested you speak to his wife, Narnerra. She was very interested.”

“I will, but which one is Glóin?”

He smiled and pointed across the hall. “He’s the one with the red hair and beard to match who isn’t Dáin.”

She stood, saw the dwarf in question, and nodded. “I suppose I’ll do that while you’re off saving Esgaroth.”

“Not saving it,” he told her, “but honoring my word.” He brushed her lips with his and said, “I will see you later. Try not to cause too much trouble.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He winked and took himself off and as she watched him cross the hall to find Balin, she noticed he moved with a confidence she didn’t think he’d felt before now. It was lovely to see, and she couldn’t help smile as she went in search of Glóin to ask him about his wife.

[brandywine-tomatoes]

Dreadful Black

The Bad Batch angst

Prompt from the Discord! (@icedcoffee101, @twitchstoleyourbagel, @dragon-pups, @in-the-crosshairs, @angstkings)

Masterlist

TW: being shot, blood, falling, breaking of bones (I swear it's not as bad as it sounds)

Word count: 1,565

Prompt/Inspo: Challenge is you have 30 minutes to kill one batcher [it took me hours to outline it and actually wrote it the next day, sorry y'all ): ]

--

“You said the engines would hold until we got there!” Hunter yelled from his seat behind Echo. The ship lurched side to side, barely keeping it together. If the ship broke up in hyperspace... they didn’t want to think about it.

“I didn’t calculate one of them blowing up!” Tech yelled back, scrambling over the controls.

“One of them always blows up!”

“Would you like to try getting us to a safe planet while coming out of hyperspace?”

“Just get us out of here, Tech!” Echo shouted over the bickering. He had his own jobs of trying to keep the wings stabilized while keeping the ship balanced. All in all, not easy to do on your own.

Tech pushed up the hyperspace lever and the ship lurched forward, almost throwing everyone out of their seats. The tunnel disappeared and they were plunging to an orange and grey planet surface.

“We’re going too fast, Tech!” Echo shouted over the breaking ship.

“Then slow us down, Echo!”

“Then help me!”

Tech’s hands immediately flew to the yoke and gently pulled it back in time with Echo as they flew through the atmosphere, a trail of black smoke in the ship's wake.

“A fucking ocean! We’re gonna land in a fucking ocean!” Echo panicked.

“Calm down, there’s land over there!” Tech pointed left towards the land in the corner of Echo’s eyesight.

“I knew that!”

They swerved violently towards the orange land. It went on for miles, nothing but a rocky orange landscape. No vegetation, no life they could see. They narrowly crashed into the cliff where the land met the black ocean, but thankfully Tech pulled down the wings and lifted the ship just enough to get them over the side of the cliff.

The crew fell forward in their seats on impact, the ship dragged across the sand, every large rock making even more of a hack job of the hull. Hunter covered his ears at the sound of sand against metal and the rest braced themselves.

Everything went quiet. The ship was on solid ground, and they were surprisingly alive.

Tech took out his datapad. “Ephilia 78. Uninhabited. The troposphere is atrocious and there’s about 8 times more carbon dioxide than Kamino,” he looked up to everyone. “I’m surprised we haven’t died already. We need respirators.”

Hunter grabbed the respirators from storage and handed them out. Omega’s face was almost consumed by hers, making Echo have to stifle a laugh.

“Apparently there’s a pretty vicious rainy season-”

“Not like we haven’t dealt with a bit of rain,” Wrecker smiled.

“The ocean out there literally moves from basin to basin; this isn’t Kamino.”

Wrecker stayed silent, a look of concern on his face.

“Don’t worry, we’re 17-24 rotations away from it starting, we’ll be relatively safe.”

“Is it imperial occupied?” Hunter cut in.

“I don’t think the Empire even knows it exists, the information I found is written in Huttese.”

“Great, we’ll lay low here for a few rotations and get back to Pantora,” Hunter instructed, everyone nodding in agreement.

--

“Why is it so cold here? Aren’t deserts supposed to be hot?” Omega piped up, pulling the parka closer.

“The ocean lowers the temperature about 13 degrees,” Tech answered, his head and shoulders completely immersed in the engine. “The carbon traps what little heat there is. We’re lucky we didn’t crash someplace worse.”

“Oh, so the ocean is as cold as Kamino?” She pressed on.

“Somewhat. Though since the orbit of this planet isn’t similar...”

Tech and Omega went on and on about the conditions of the planet for some time, almost boring Echo to death.

Thankfully, Tech and Hunter delegated jobs after Tech assessed the engine. Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega went on a perimeter check and Echo was sent to do an internal diagnostic to see what was damaged in their recon mission for Rex.

He couldn’t help but think he’d been to Ephilia 78, the black waves of the vast ocean and the orange sandstone cliffs a stark contrast gave him major déjà vu. He searched his blurry memories of before Skako as he gathered an internal diagnostic from the Havoc.

He didn’t think he was stationed on any planets this far out from the core worlds. Maybe his brothers showed him photos? Maybe a General sent a holo from the planet? Maybe he really was stationed on the planet, but then again, the information about it was in Huttese. The Republic wouldn’t want to risk a terf quarrel in the middle of a galactic war. Maybe... oh. He’d seen the planet before. He’d fed the Separatists information on it for possible base locations. His shoulders sagged and the concentrated face was replaced with a grim look. His spirits dampened significantly.

He looked through the hyperdrive systems. They wouldn’t need urgent attention. The life support systems. They’d need those professionally fixed, but Tech could patch it up enough to get to Pantora. The cloaking device-

The cloaking device. It was fried, shot to hell. Their ship was completely exposed for tracking. Shit.

He ran to the doorway and slide down the ramp.

“Tech, we have a prob-”

A bright red bolt came from above, hitting the respirator at the perfect angle to knock it off his face. Only one person could make that shot.

“Echo, what-” Tech froze at the sight of an Imperial dropship landing close to them, the cargo doors open and a familiar sniper stepped out.

Echo gasped for breath, his throat freezing and cracking like an ice burg from the toxins he was desperately trying to inhale in exchange for oxygen. He clawed at his throat like ripping it out would solve the problem, black slithered through veins in his face, the whites of his eyes swimming with blood.

Crosshair advanced faster and Echo stumbled to the side, trying to stay standing while heaving in gulps of carbon and whatever lethal toxins were waiting for victims to breathe in.

“You know,” Cross’s cold and raspy voice was much closer. “There’s just enough oxygen in the air to keep you alive for 5 minutes, but the trick is not poisoning yourself while trying to breathe.”

Echo kept backing away, tripping over every pebble he could when he felt the first of a thick liquid hitting his cheeks. His shaking hands whipped it away to see pure obsidian sap smeared on the back of them.

“The maitotoxin is quite graceful. Your blood thickens and discolours, releasing from the tear ducks in the first 2 minutes. Your organs start failing in the next 7,” Crosshair shouldered his rifle as he spoke.

Echo tried whipping away the blood more rapidly as it flowed like sap from a tree. It was as if the fates wanted to watch him dance in his own blood bath.

As Cross neared closer and closer, Echo glimpsed the sea and the dangerous cliff edge he was backing into in the menacing green visor. He started hacking the obsidian sap up from his lungs, the blood blocking his airway made him panic even more.

He felt, for a few seconds, a free fall. His foot backed off the edge, the rocks under his boots fell to the black waves. Cross caught his arm before he fell to Echo’s surprise, but Cross’s grip on his forearm was his only salvation.

“Do you remember?” Cross asked coldly, any semblance of a person gone.

“What- what?” Echo painfully asked.

“When you were on Skako Minor.” Cross’s grip on Echo’s armour loosened.

Echo didn’t have any kind of leverage on the ground, he had to be pulled back by some ounce of Cross’s mercy.

“Some-” he tasted the blood running from his eyes into the corners of his mouth, frightening him and almost plummeting into the black, quite literally. He could feel the cold seeping in from the light spray of the ocean on his back. He’d known the cold like it was an old friend, and he would know it even more closely.

“Some of it.”

The green visor tilted to the hand holding Echo’s life.

“You’re a liability to the empire,” he smoothly said, like he spoke those words too many times, like he was programmed to. Like Echo was programmed to give up the Republic.

After a second of hesitation, CT-9904 released Echo’s arm.

His face was a light blue from lack of oxygen, his cheeks were smeared with pure obsidian blood, creating a mess of black tear tracks.

He fell, he dropped, he didn’t make a sound. He was unconscious before he hit the water, a peaceful death if you will. It shattered his spine and limbs immediately, the frigid water swirling over him, sucking Echo to the depths of the sea to be eaten by small fishes and a rather large squid-like fish.

The others had found a hiding spot behind an orange sandstone ridge and watched as the life was sucked out of Echo, then let go by their brother. Omega’s head was pushed below the ridge so she couldn’t watch, the others so desperately tried to hold back sobs, trying to keep quiet.

Cross searched the Batch’s ship quickly and speedily left back on the one he came in. Only when the Imperial shadow of a dropship darted through the thick, grey clouds did the Batch let their sobs go for Echo.

--

A/N: OMFG, that took forever!!! My outline for this is 613 words, I knew exactly how I wanted this to turn out, and I very much like it! I think Imperial Darkness will always be my favourite, or the one I'm writing with Ahsoka, Rex, and Maul, but this one turned out pretty cool!

ANYWAYS, I hope y'all liked it! I hated the process, but I love the final product! Go drink some water right now and go get a snack, you deserve it so much bestie 💓💓

[oldshrewsburyian]

Remember Me, Sam and Andrew Foyle either during the war (aircraft Crash/Bombing maybe) or post canon. Anything you please... either fluffy funny or 'shreds my heart and glues it together again.

Well, er... what happened was that I ended up responding to this prompt late at night and emboldened by vodka. I nabbed half a premise from James Hilton and ended up with... a series 6 canon-divergent scenario that is, in fic parlance, crack, and more specifically, something that would not be out of place in 1940s melodrama. Look, I’ve watched far too many 1940s melodramas. This turned into a 1k effusion, so I’ve put most of it below the cut. (Ask thing here.)

*

Sam is late for her work at the Ministry. She stands on the pavement with what feels like half the population of London, elbows tucked into her sides, umbrella held obstinately aloft, hat brim drawn down. She squints miserably through the curtain of rain that had descended so suddenly, wreaking havoc on already unreliable bus schedules. Sam sniffs. She picks her feet up out of the wet, one after the other, trying to keep her shoes from getting sodden. She will not be able to replace them this winter.

The accident happens on the other side of the street. Sam hears it before she sees anything: the almost-musical protest of brakes, the sudden shouting of too many people, the belated blaring of a horn.

“He fell — he was pushed — there was a woman — should never have taken the corner that fast — ” The crowd around her is full of comment. Sam winces, and holds very still while the policeman at the intersection blows his whistle. With sobering swiftness, the morning moves on. The pedestrians are allowed to cross. Motor traffic navigates carefully around the taxi whose driver stands beside it, twisting his cap in his hands. Sam catches her breath before starting across the road. Her father’s response to accidents had always been the same, whether  they were paragraphs in the paper, incidents in the street, or wireless bulletins about the other side of the world. Dear me, those poor people. Let us say a prayer. Sam gives a careful berth to the men who are forming a stretcher-hold. Dear me, she thinks, that poor man. I must say a prayer. And then she sees his face.

Sam continues crossing; she has no desire to waken the ire of her fellow Londoners. Then, when she has reached the pavement, she turns around and marches back across the street. Mud splashes over her shoes.

She is very aware of her own pulse, the blood rushing in her ears, her heart unruly in her chest. The Ministry seems a very distant duty. She follows the little procession into the chemist’s shop. As the bell jangles after her, she realizes that she has no plan for what she is going to say.

“We’re closed,” says the chemist.

“It weren’t my fault,” says the taxi driver to the policeman.

“There’s been an accident,” intones the policeman discouragingly, with a glance in her direction.

“It’s all right,” says Sam, clutching her handbag in both hands. “I know him.”

There is a moment’s uncertain pause, and then the policeman and driver resume their tense colloquy, while the chemist turns back to his work. Sam sidles closer to the little group, her eyes on the man recumbent in the chair, who is so alarmingly still and pale.

“Easy,” says the chemist, holding sal volatile a few inches from his patient’s face. “You’ve had a shock.”

“Stepped right in front of me,” says the driver, half-wailing.

“Knocked down in the street,” says the chemist soothingly. “But no appearance of serious injury, I’m happy to say.”

“I…” says Andrew, and then his eyes meet hers. “Sam, thank God!”

She ignores the driver and the policeman; she ignores the chemist; she ignores the fact that her handbag will collect dust on the floor and that she’s probably torn a stocking in going to her knees. She puts out her hand, and Andrew grips it. Sam is very conscious of the movement of his thumb over her knuckles, the seam of her glove that is giving way, the wedding ring that sits cold against her finger.

“Wasn’t sure you’d recognize me,” says Sam softly. She is very conscious of having aged since she first knew him, of being an anxious housewife in a shabby coat, a very different person from the girl who drove and mended cars and fearlessly teased an RAF pilot.

“Know you anywhere,” says Andrew, sounding impossibly fond. His eyes seem too large in his face.

“Are you sure he’s all right?” demands Sam.

“As I can be.” The chemist is regarding them both with an indulgent eye. “How are you feeling, sir?”

“I…” says Andrew, still looking at Sam. “I had an unlucky knock, I expect. Head aches. I’ve had worse.”

Oh, Andrew, thinks Sam.

“It weren’t my fault,” says the driver again.

“Yes, all right,” says Andrew, before the policeman can interpose; “I’m sure he’s right. I’ll be all right in a minute.” As if to assure the assembled company of this, he sits up, begins to stretch and brush off his sleeves. And then he stops. “Sam,” says Andrew, suddenly very earnest, “why am I in civvies?”

She can feel the blood drain from her face, even before she feels the silence in the chemist’s shop change. Outside, the rain still beats against the windows. Sam moistens her lips, and swallows. “Andrew,” she says very quietly, “the war’s over. It’s 1946.”

“Oh,” says Andrew, a little blankly. “Oh, that’s… well, we clearly aren’t living under the Nazi yoke, so that’s all right.” No one laughs. “Look,” says Andrew, “I’m sure that’ll come right, I was just…”

“Are you quite sure of yourself, sir?” asks the policeman gently.

“Oh, far too sure of myself,” says Andrew, with false briskness. “Just ask her.” Sam blinks away tears. “Andrew Foyle, sometime poet, sometime pilot, ex-student, future something-or-other.”

“In the City,” whispers Sam.

“Ah,” says Andrew. “Eminently plausible. You see, she’ll have me right in no time. We haven’t got two adorable children that I’ve inexcusably forgotten, by any chance?”

Sam drops his hand and scrambles to her feet, as though that would help her confront this astonishing suggestion. “No.” The word emerges almost soundlessly.

“Ah,” says Andrew again, and something in his tone makes her think that he is, as usual, seeing far too much in her face. “Tactless of me. Look — ” he stands up, and sways only slightly on his feet — “we’ll go, and I’ll make my apologies, and we’ll have tea and buns, and she’ll forgive me far too quickly because she always does, and I promise on my honor that I will trot dutifully round to Harley Street if I haven’t recovered complete awareness of the date and year by this time tomorrow morning. All right?”

“If you say so, sir,” says the policeman. “Madam.” The chemist, still frowning, hands Andrew an attaché case that shows evidence of its recent acquaintance with a London gutter.

“Hm,” says Andrew, taking it. “Lends an air of artistic verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative.”

Well, thinks Sam, it can’t be so bad as all that, not if he’s quoting The Mikado. Because she knows he will not ask for her support, she goes to his side and slips her arm firmly through his.

“That’s better,” says Andrew. He smiles down at her, and Sam thinks it is unfair, that he should still look at her like that. “Marvelous feeling of security. Sam, that is a truly unfortunate umbrella; is it the only one we have? Well, never mind, come along. Don’t worry, gentlemen,” he says, and Sam’s heart skips at the dreadful familiarity of Andrew being airy and brave and still transparent to her. “Omnia vincit amor. And the rain’s letting up.”

[windupalisaie]

lasting

(alisaie/wol | domestic fluff & light angst | post-shb | 1923 words)

“I fell in love with you at first sight, you know.”

Alisaie looked up and caught the gaze reflected in the mirror. She saw Poppy’s eyes on her, soft beneath thick lashes and half-lidded with an adoration she never bothered to hide. Alisaie felt the back of her neck prickle with warmth as the comb she held went still in her hands, suddenly too heavy to move.

Despite the countless hours she spent together with her Warrior, such ardent honesty still managed to catch her off guard. Never one to show her hand too quickly, however, she hid her surprise behind a light glare.

“You did not,” Alisaie said with a huff.

The comb continued its course through Poppy's hair, as if she could brush her embarrassment away with the motion. It became difficult to do when Poppy tilted her head at the response, but a knot soon caught the comb’s teeth and pulled her back into place. Alisaie worked through it with enough persistence that the Warrior winced, but remained undeterred.

“Don't believe me?”

A flash of teasing teeth and eyes crinkled with mischief. Alisaie huffed again.

“Not in the least,” she replied, quick and biting as ever.

“And why’s that?”

Genuine curiosity plucked at each syllable of the question in a charming way. The corner of Alisaie’s mouth quirked up into a smile despite her best efforts to appear unfazed.

“Because I remember what I was like back then,” she replied evenly, perhaps a bit terse, still dragging the comb through her beloved’s mane. Once satisfied that each pesky tangle was gone, she leaned forward and placed the comb back on the vanity, catching Poppy's reflected gaze once more. “Surely you must remember as well,” she added with slight disbelief to address the questioning furrow of brows she saw in the mirror. “I was a brat.”

Poppy's nose wrinkled in a snort of laughter. “Was?” she asked, far too incredulous for Alisaie's liking.

She earned herself a gentle pinch on the ear that made her squeak and then unravel into a fit of giggles. Alisaie heaved an exaggerated sigh to deter the smile that threatened to betray her yet again. She failed and ran her fingers through Poppy's hair to separate the strands into three even parts, shaking her head at her partner’s audacity all the while.

“Oh, come now. You weren’t so bad,” Poppy said with what was likely meant to be reassurance, but sounded much more like sarcasm. “Not as bad as me, anyroad.”

It was Alisaie's turn to laugh—a sharp chuckle that scratched the back of her throat. Memories of a haughty, showy, and downright grating young adventurer flooded her mind, filling her with the same distant sparks of annoyance that had kindled into admiration, and then love.

“That much is true,” Alisaie said without skipping a beat. She was met with a pout when she peeked up at the mirror again.

“You weren't supposed to agree so fast!” Poppy exclaimed, her voice rising to a whine of mock offense.

She turned her head to point her glower at Alisaie directly and—yet again—pulled her hair out of her hands, thus undoing the thick plait that'd slowly been taking shape. Alisaie sighed.

“Sit still, or we’ll be here all morning,” she scolded. She gave Poppy’s hair a tug, who obediently—though begrudgingly—looked back ahead. Alisaie began again, weaving strands of copper together with steady hands. “Well,” she said after a moment, “we can rest assured that neither of us were nearly as bad as Alphinaud.”

Alisaie looked up just in time to see Poppy's pout fade away. "You're right about that," she said, practically snorting.

They shared in a conspiratory smirk through the glass of the mirror, their bout ending in a peaceful truce. An amiable silence then fell over them as the morning dragged onward.

A crisp breeze drifted in past the thin curtains. Like a sigh, soft and unassuming, letting shifting flecks of crystalline light flood into the inn room from outside. They were tinted blue by the Tower, falling over the vanity, spilling onto Poppy's lap, and catching the tips of Alisaie's fingers as she worked at her task, unhurried.

It was an odd feeling of normalcy. To have mornings again. To not dread the sight of a bright sky. To have Poppy there and not a world away, alive and well, bickering joyfully with her instead of burning away beneath the Light’s yoke. It was mundane and peaceful and yet bittersweet, somehow, to think of other such mornings that could’ve been, that they were robbed of during their desperate battle.

“What made you think of our first meeting?” Alisaie asked. Her voice was soft with newfound frailness, but something urged her to fill the silence.

Just as Alisaie finished forming the braid, Poppy handed her the ribbon. Their fingers brushed together and froze there while she shrugged; a gentle rise and fall of her shoulders that lingered with thoughts yet unspoken. “I've been thinking about the past a lot lately,” she replied, sounding wistful.

Poppy's hand fell away as her eyes were drawn to the open window. Her gaze was distant and clouded and a hair saddened, perhaps, occupied by thoughts Alisaie couldn't discern. She wasn't sure what to say, so her eyes fell back on the ribbon draped over her palm. The bright crimson color had faded with age, both from the sun and the wars it was exposed to, its edges a bit frayed and torn. Poppy always refused her attempts to give her a new one. Alisaie felt she began to understand why.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” Poppy said after a while. Her eyes were back on Alisaie and cautiously cheerful again. “Even if I didn't realize it at first, I think I loved you right away.”

The words were spoken in earnest, Alisaie knew, and made the very tips of her ears go warm at their tender honesty. She hid from her embarrassment again, ducking her head as she busied herself with tying the ends of the ribbon into its usual bow. Before she could even think of a quip or reply, Poppy's head rolled back to chase her from her hiding spot.

“I at least liked you enough to let you drag me around all those Allagan ruins. That counts for something, right?”

She grinned up at her, eyes bright and alive, her long braid and its ruddy bow hanging against the back of the chair. Alisaie shook her head. “You,” she murmured and leaned over, “are a sentimental fool.” The squeak of surprise she pulled past her beloved’s lips dulled to an appreciative hum that made Alisaie linger and steal another kiss, and then several more.

Eventually, she leaned back. The wordless weight of their respective duties hung between them among the morning light. She and Poppy exchanged a rueful little smile before they both went about getting ready for the day.

Alisaie sorted out her own hair, pulled on the remainder of her clothing, donned her rapier and it's crystal medium, and strapped both to her belt after she pulled on her boots. And, all the while, she watched Poppy from the corner of her eye.

She was unhurried as she dressed, moving almost lazily and pausing to preen in the mirror after each additional layer she put on. The Warrior always moved about in a way that was reassuring to see. Almost like a dance, all sharpness and flourish that took her from task to task. If the woman who bore the weight of the world on her shoulders could act with such ease, after all, then things could surely be worse.

But Alisaie knew her easy demeanor was not unlike the armor she wore; something meant both to shield her and hide her suffering away from the world.

Poppy went still. Her fingers lingered on the laces of her shirt as she stared at her reflection for a long while, her expression not unlike what it’d been earlier when she looked out the window. Wistful and contemplative, but the pain found her eventually, as it always did in that moment of bare vulnerability. A grimace, trembling hands, a sliver of panic—all things that reminded Alisaie of the Light’s grasp.

She was never sure what to do or how to help, if it would be better to ignore or pretend. But on that morning, she reached out. There was a faint rustle of cotton against skin as Alisaie gave the Warrior’s arm a gentle squeeze to bring her back to the present.

Poppy's eyes went wide. She turned from the vanity, looking unsure, tensing as if she meant to hide again. Her eyes flickered through her lashes, alight from both the brightness reflected across her face by the mirror and a very vivid sort of fear.

“It hurts, sometimes,” she finally murmured. Her throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed, likely picking through each careful word of the admittance. “Like it's still there, burning me up.”

Alisaie hated how helpless she felt. Anger licked her like a flame, but there was no one to direct it at, nothing to take it out on. Instead, it guided her feet a step closer and urged her hands to pull Poppy into the meager space between them.

“I know,” was all Alisaie could think to reply. “I'm sorry.” It was a needless apology, but she said it anyway.

Poppy was stiff in her arms. Moment by moment, breath by breath, she unfurled and wrapped her arms around Alisaie in return, her head settling into the crook of her neck where it always fit so perfectly.

They stayed that way for a long while, uncaring that the morning slipped past.

“I’m not sure that I fell in love with you at first sight.” Alisaie didn’t know what prompted her to continue a conversation long ended, but she did. “Though, in my time alone before I realized how I felt, the thought of you always brought me strength. It was reassuring to know that there was someone out there who would come to my aid, should everything fall apart.” She paused, lost for a moment in the memories. “That counts for something, right?” she asked, repeating Poppy's teasing question from before with a smile.

After a few breaths, Poppy leaned back. She looked unsure as she searched her face, and for a moment Alisaie worried that she missed her meaning. But then she chuckled. It was a soft sound, sweet and bright, lilting like the breeze that still pushed into the room. Alisaie realized how sorely she missed hearing it.

Poppy brushed her cheek against Alisaie's in a silent thank you, her smile warm and no longer pained. “It does,” she replied, her voice a gossamer thread. “It really does.”

When they pulled apart, Alisaie’s fingers managed to slip between Poppy’s before she moved too far away. “Shall we?” she asked. “We can’t dally forever. There’s work to be done,” she added, not quite scolding, but playful instead.

“No rest for us wicked sinners,” the Warrior agreed with a grave nod. She sounded serious, but the smile she still wore said otherwise.

Poppy gave her hand a squeeze. The phantom of the Light that haunted her had left her in peace, it seemed. At least for the time being, and that was enough.

Alisaie straightened her back and led the way to the door so that they could start the day—together.

[emospritelet]

Honourable Members - 3/3

Yay, I finished something!  And yes, I know the spoilers for Cobra have the PM on the opposite political side to the one I picked for him.  I don’t care, I still got them laid, and that’s what counts.  Here there be smut.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [AO3 link]

Sutherland was pacing his office.

It was an excellent room for pacing, he had discovered.  The rug was thick enough to cushion his steps to silence, but not so thick that his shoes caught on the pile when he turned.  Pacing was a habit of his, usually when he was irritated or had something that required a lot of thinking time.  Right now, however, his brain was concentrating on very little other than burning off the nervous energy that had been produced by a long night and too much coffee.

The prospective administrator of Wolsingham plc had finally backed out, restructuring talks had broken down, and the Government’s largest private contractor was being put into liquidation by its creditors, of which the biggest by far was the Government itself.  It meant that infrastructure projects would be on hold unless a new contractor could be found to take them over, and there would inevitably be widespread job losses, for which his administration would be blamed.  However misplaced that blame might be.

Since receiving the late-night call from the Minister of the Department of Innovation and Industry, a call which he had dreaded but which wasn’t wholly unexpected, he had been up and working.  He had approved the statement regarding the Wolsingham fiasco and sent it out to all MPs around half an hour before it was released to the press, at around seven o’clock that morning.  The Minister had appeared on Today to explain the Government’s position, but given what was already leaking out from the company itself following the announcement, it was more a case of damage control than reassurance.  Inside sources at the company, mouths firmly shut throughout its trading, were now telling anyone who would listen lurid tales about the rampant misconduct in the higher levels of the firm, and each new revelation made Sutherland want to wring the neck of each and every board member.

It was now almost midday, Parliament was in session and he was due to attend in an hour to give a statement.  Passing his desk, he snatched up the remote control for the wall-mounted television and switched it on.  The familiar green benches of the Commons flashed into view, already half-full of MPs gathered for the day’s business.  The Speaker called on Belle French, who stood up and raised her chin, and Sutherland’s eyes narrowed at the determined look on her face.  Here we go.  

“Mr Speaker, having received notification of the impending liquidation of Wolsingham plc this morning, I was appalled to discover the level of mismanagement and corruption that appears to have been going on!” she began.

“You didn’t bloody discover it,” muttered Sutherland.  “Somebody with a bloody axe to grind released the information.”

“I have received intelligence from credible internal sources at the company providing evidence of the most shocking misuse of public funds!  Evidence that the Government appears not to have acted upon!”

“Well, we’ve only just received it ourselves, give us a bloody chance.”

“Undercutting, loss-leading, deliberately pitching bids at levels they knew could not be delivered, then leaving the taxpayer to foot the increased costs when those projects foundered!”

“None of which you would know about if we hadn’t appointed a provisional liquidator!” said Sutherland, more loudly, as though she could hear him.

“Not to mention, Mr Speaker, the atrocious way in which this company has treated the weakest in our society.”  Miss French was on a roll.  “Thousands of jobs at risk, hundreds of small businesses going without payment!  This is blatant incompetence on a national scale, and the Government needs to be held accountable!”

“Oh, right, and the fact that we were tied into those fucking contracts by the last administration for the next five fucking years is lost on you, is it?”

Miss French stared out across the Commons, eyes flashing blue fire, perfect lips slightly parted as her hands gripped the notes in front of her.

“Moreover, Mr Speaker,” she added.  “Is this latest debacle not indicative of this Government’s utter contempt for the people it serves?  The failure to take seriously the mounting complaints about the small businesses and employees, suffering under the yoke of Wolsingham for years!  The slew of queries from local people that I and other Honourable Members have received and have raised with Government Ministers, only to be brushed off and sacrificed on the altar of progress!  A form of progress, Mr Speaker, that appears to be for a select few on the boards of these firms, and their shareholders!”

“Right, well, we’ll just nationalise everything, shall we?  Should be the work of moments...”

“This country needs fresh ideas and a fresh perspective,” she went on.  “The Democratic Socialists are the party of the twentieth century: a tired, worn out relic of the past run by tired, worn out men.”

“Bloody cheek!”

“It’s little wonder the Prime Minister spends so much time hidden away in Downing Street,” she said, seemingly uplifted by the chorus of jeers around her.  “I’d be ashamed to face the nation if I were him!  Presiding over those who have shown such blatant disregard for the people they were put in power to serve!”

“Can you believe this shite?” Sutherland demanded of no one in particular, gesturing at the television.

There was a rattle behind him, and he glanced around, to see Alice carrying in a tea tray.  He quickly cleared some papers on his desk so she could put it down, and turned back to the television, folding his arms.  Miss French stared out at him, proud and fierce as a warrior, her jaw set and her head high.

“Mr Speaker,” she said.  “The House demands that an urgent inquiry be held into the collapse of this firm and all who were involved in this alleged malpractice!  In the meantime, I call upon the Minister for Industry and Innovation and the Prime Minister himself to immediately make themselves available to this House for questioning on this most heinous of matters!”

“I’m attending in an hour for that purpose, and you fucking know it!”

He glared at the screen, but Miss French had sat down to a mingled chorus of cheers and heckling, and the Speaker called on another Member.  Sutherland turned off the television in disgust.

“What the hell do they bloody expect when we got the information only a few hours before them?” he demanded.  “I swear they want me to perform fucking miracles and then act all disillusioned when I don’t!”

“Seems to me like she’s already fighting the next election a year in advance,” remarked Alice, with a twinkle in her eye.  “Try not to take it personally, sir.  Coffee?”

He grumbled at that, but accepted a cup of coffee from her.

“Anything I need to hear about before I go over there?”

“The Press Office sent through a list of potential TV and radio programmes that have requested an interview,” she said.  “Carrie’s handling it, she says she’ll catch you up after you’ve been to the House.”

“Fine.”  He slumped into the chair and let his head roll back with a sigh.  “God, I’m tired.  If I have much more caffeine my head’ll explode.”

“I could make you some decaf if you want.”

“No,” he grumbled.  “If I tried to drink decaf I think my nervous system would be in open rebellion.”

“Have a biscuit instead, then,” she suggested.  “Chocolate Hobnobs.  I picked them out specially.”

“Sometimes I think you and Arthur are the only ones that care about me.”

“You know perfectly well that Arthur’s a greedy attention-whore and doesn’t give a shit about anyone as long as he gets fed and snuggled,” she said, with a grin.  “Mine is the only true loyalty around here.”

He chuckled, and sat forward, reaching for a biscuit.  Alice dropped a folder of documents on top of the pile already on his desk, and he ignored it in favour of dipping his biscuit in the coffee before sucking off the melted chocolate.

“Can you tell Carrie to come in here when she’s ready?” he said.  “I want to look over the briefing papers again and I could use her input.”

“Sir.”

She went out, and Sutherland ran a hand through his hair, pulling the papers towards himself and trying to take in what was printed there.  He ate the last of the biscuit, hesitated, and then took another, telling himself he could use the energy after pulling an all-nighter.  Tired and worn out my arse!  We’ll see who’s bloody worn out by the end of this!

x

The House of Commons was almost full, MPs clustered together on the benches, staring at him and muttering as he delivered his statement, the odd heckle or roar of approval cutting across the ever-present background noise. Sutherland ignored them, speaking in clipped tones, laying out the facts and avoiding anything extraneous.  He glanced around the chamber as he did so, briefly catching the eye of Belle French, who was staring at him with her mouth twisted and one eyebrow raised, as though she didn’t believe a word he was saying.  It was a little off-putting, and so he looked away again.

“The Minister for Industry and Innovation is in talks with other members of the cabinet and with major stakeholders at this moment,” he said, drawing to a close.  “I’m expecting an update from him in the next few hours, and this Government will keep Honourable Members briefed accordingly.  I have every confidence that the Civil Service will act with its usual expertise and professionalism to make the process as painless as possible for all those affected.”

He sat down, mentally readying himself for a grilling, and the Speaker shouted to be heard above the din.

“Order!” he bellowed.  “There’s a little time remaining for questions, but if you all get over-excited and shout over one another, it’s going to prove difficult for the Prime Minister to answer!  Mr Baron Samdi!”

“Thank you, Mr Speaker.” Samdi stood, suave and immaculate, straightening the cuffs of his shirt as he caught Sutherland’s eye.  “What reassurances can the Prime Minister give those of us with constituencies for which Wolsingham is a major employer that there will not be large-scale job losses?”

Precious little, at the moment.  Sutherland stood up again.

“The viability of the company’s ongoing contracts and the potential for TUPE to apply to firms willing to take them on is under discussion and will form part of the Minister’s initial report,” he said, and sat down abruptly.

“Miss Belle French!”

For fuck’s sake, she gets to ask a question again?  Wouldn’t be surprised if he bloody fancies her, the old bastard!  Sutherland scowled to himself, but tried to smooth his expression as Miss French stood.

“Thank you, Mr Speaker,” she said.  “There have been rumours circulating about the directors of this firm and potential misconduct in the handling of the firm’s finances and in the running of its business.  Misconduct, Mr Speaker, that touches the lives of millions of taxpayers and service users.  Misconduct that can only be described as contemptible—”

“Order!” shouted the Speaker, as the usual low grumbling increased in volume.  “Perhaps, given the early stage of this affair, the Honourable lady could limit herself to a question to the Prime Minister, rather than a damning indictment?”

Sutherland smirked.

“Thank you, Mr Speaker,” said Miss French, in a flat tone.  “Given the rumours of misconduct, rumours which I attempted very recently to bring to the Prime Minister’s attention, what steps is the Government taking to ensure that the directors are held to account for their actions?”

Sutherland wanted to grind his teeth.  He stood up, gripping the edge of the despatch box to stop his fingers from drumming on it in irritation, and fixed Miss French with a glare which she returned with interest.

“I admire the Honourable lady’s tenacity,” he said dryly.  “I’d like her to rest assured that the Government is not currently in need of her guidance in this matter.  Investigations will be carried out as deemed appropriate by the relevant authorities, misconduct will be reported and acted upon where they see fit, and the Government will act in accordance with any advice received.  If the Honourable lady could remind herself that the company has only just entered liquidation and it’s possibly a little too early to be erecting the scaffold, I’d be eternally grateful.”

A chorus of laughter rolled around the chamber, but he distinctly heard Miss French say “well, that’s bloody deflection, if ever I heard it.”

Her words needled him, but he stepped back from the despatch box, gathering his papers, a strange ringing in his ears that he recognised as growing frustration and anger.  The questions continued, but fortunately the Speaker only allowed another five minutes, so he didn’t have long to suffer.  He could feel Miss French’s eyes on him, and when he happened to glance her way she was glowering.  The questions over, MPs began leaving for lunch, the next debate scheduled for an hour’s time, and he allowed the room to empty a little before marching from the chamber.  Carrie fell into step beside him in the lobby, taking the papers from his hands and tossing her hair.

“Not a disaster, on the whole,” she said.  “I’ve arranged a press conference outside Number 10.  The Minister’s provided a brief update which we can go over in the car.”

“Fine.”

“Prime Minister!”

Sutherland let his head roll back with a rumbling groan at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Just keep fucking walking,” he muttered, and Carrie looked as though she wanted to burst into laughter.

“Prime Minister!”  Tap-tap-tap-tap went her heels as she trotted after him.  “If you have a moment?”

He caught a flash of chestnut hair and a whiff of her perfume as she drew up alongside.  Sutherland sighed.

“Whatever it is, Miss French, you have precisely ten seconds to spit it out,” he said curtly.  “I’m a little busy right now.”

“Fine, then I’ll keep it brief,” she said bluntly.  “I want in on the Wolsingham Committee.”

“The—”  Sutherland stared at her.  “There isn’t a bloody Wolsingham Committee!”

“Oh, so you’re telling me there’s gonna be no public enquiry coming out of this?” she said flatly. “No House Select Committee, no Government scrutiny whatsoever?  Pull the other one, it’s got bloody bells on!”

Sutherland was in parts outraged and impressed by her bravery.

“Miss French, I thought we already discussed your prior dealings with this company and decided that those disqualified you from having any part in Government consideration of its actions.”

“Well, I’d suggest to you that things have changed since the firm went down the toilet and took a bunch of innocent people with it, wouldn’t you agree?” she said tartly.  “At least put me forward for consideration and let someone else who isn’t blinded by prejudice decide whether I’m capable of acting impartially.”

Sutherland stopped abruptly, Miss French taking another step before turning to face him with fire in her eyes.  Carrie had stepped back from them, clutching his briefcase to her chest, her eyes flicking between them avidly.  He felt his jaw clench in outrage at Miss French’s thinly-veiled accusation.

“Are you saying I’m prejudiced?” he demanded.  “Based on what?  My reluctance to be accused of a rigged fucking system?”

“Right…” she drawled, nodding.  “Because it’s not like that exists in public office.  Perish the thought.  Thank goodness the Government is here to preserve public trust...”

“I don’t like your tone, Miss French,” he growled.

“I speak as I find,” she said coldly.  “You know as well as I do that this is an unmitigated disaster and it’s only gonna get worse!  But maybe you don’t care about the little people who get hurt, hmm?  I imagine being Prime Minister, stuck down here at Number 10, it’s easy to get out of touch.”

Sutherland prided himself in his self-control, something he had fought against his naturally volatile nature to address and improve over the years.  It was a mark of how far he had come that he hadn’t cursed anyone out on the floor of the House, in his opinion, but he was tired, and stressed, and so he did something that, looking back later that day, he would not be proud of.  He lost his temper.

“Don’t you dare tell me I’m out of fucking touch and don’t fucking care!” he spat, taking a step forward and wagging an admonitory finger at her.  “When I was working my arse off campaigning for equal pay you were probably at fucking pony club!”

“And what if I was?” she demanded, hands on hips.  “Just because my parents had money, it doesn’t invalidate what I want to do as a public servant!  And - and it doesn’t mean I can’t recognise injustice when it happens to others!”

He growled under his breath, turning away and heading for the entrance, but she followed him relentlessly, getting in front of him again and glaring at him.

“Okay, so I don’t have as many years of service under my belt as you,” she said.  “But then I am somewhat younger than you sir, and I’ve spent most of my life in school and in university!  During which time I also volunteered for Citizens Advice and a local women’s refuge!  Is that enough for you?  Have I earned whatever credentials you think I’m missing?  Or is it the fact that I’m challenging you that you don’t like?”

“Oh, so I’m a fucking misogynist again, am I?” he snapped, drawing to a halt again.  “Take a look at my staff, Miss French!  Take a look at all the women in senior positions in this Government and in Number 10 and tell me I’m a sexist pig, I fucking dare you!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, raising an eyebrow.  “I don’t think you have a problem with women, sir, I think you have a problem with me specifically.”

Sutherland tried to keep his rage internal, swallowing down the waspish retort that had risen in his throat like bile.  He even managed a tiny, bitter smile.

“If you have some sort of complaint about my behaviour, you know the proper channels to go through,” he said, as pleasantly as he could.  “As regards your request about involvement in future committees, put it in writing and my PPS will look it over.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I actually have to go and do some fucking work.  Perhaps you’d be good enough to do the same.”

He stepped past her, quickening his pace, and Carrie trotted at his side, shooting him an amused look as they made their way out into the sunshine.  He could still feel Miss French’s eyes on his back, as though he had a target painted there.  It made his shoulder blades itch.  He was inwardly seething as he walked to the car, and Carrie seemed to sense it, calmly drawing his attention to the briefing paper she had mentioned.  It was a useful distraction, and by the time he reached the podium that had been placed outside Number 10, he was as cool and collected as he could be.  The press conference went well, and when the door of Number 10 was closed on the world, he heaved a sigh, handing his coat and jacket to Alice, who winked at him and promised to bring him some tea.

Sutherland stomped into his office, followed by Carrie, who was smirking slightly, as though she was thinking of a joke she wasn’t about to share. Slumping into his chair, he snatched up a folder of papers that Alice had left on the desk. Reports with one-page briefings attached made up the bulk of it, and he growled under his breath as he saw what he suspected would be the first of many letters from the Honourable Member for Avonleigh, her complaints about the alleged mismanagement of Wolsingham there in black and white.  Snatching up the letter, he shook it at Carrie, who slouched in the chair opposite with a grin still on her face.

“And now I can’t escape the woman even here!” he complained, waving the letter.  “Look!  She’s gonna drive me up the bloody wall!”

“Well, if you let her set the tone of your encounters, that’s certainly true.”

“I don’t understand why we manage to push each other’s buttons so bloody much,” he added.  “I never had this problem with her predecessor.”

“That’s because he was hopeless,” she reminded him.  “Spent most of PMQs snoring on the benches, as I recall.”

That was true, but he grumbled under his breath anyway.

“You think she gets off on making me look an idiot?”

“I think you’re capable of doing that all by yourself,” she said, and he sent her a flat look, which made her sigh and roll her eyes.

“I think she gets off on the challenge,” she said.  “I’d say that you’re fairly evenly matched, on the whole.  Both very intelligent, both very passionate, just with slightly different ways of getting your point across.”

“As in I sound as though I’m shouting outside the factory gates and she sounds like a bloody orator?” he muttered.  “I’m well aware.”

“Well, you never know.”  She winked at him.  “Maybe she likes a bit of rough.”

“I’ll give her a bit of bloody rough,” he growled.

“I expect that’s what she’s hoping,” she said absently, flipping through her papers.  “We won’t say which bit, of course.”

“Remind me why I haven’t fired you?” he demanded, slapping the letter down, and she arched a brow at him.

“Because you think it’s important that people be able to speak truth to power, and you know I’ll always tell you the truth,” she said airily.  “Even if I take the piss while doing it.”

He grumbled at that.  It was accurate, of course.

“What am I gonna do about her?” he asked, and there was a hint of pleading in his voice.  Carrie pursed her lips, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Well,” she said.  “You could try sleeping with her.”

“Carrie!”

“I’m serious!” she protested.  “It’s obvious that you want to.  It’s even more obvious that she wants to.  Why am I the only one saying it?  You know, apart from the rest of the Cabinet, most of the Commons, Special Branch, the tabloid press...”

“That would be a total abuse of power and you know it!”

“Oh, please!”  She sniffed in derision.  “She’s not some gullible young intern gawping at you in awe.  She’s a very intelligent, very competent adult.  And she’s more than capable of handing your delightful arse to you.”

“She’s half my bloody age!” he said, ignoring the comment about his arse.

“Right, because that’s a total barrier to mutual lust…”

“For fuck’s sake...”

“You know I’m right.”

“I know we can barely stay civil when we have a conversation,” he said. “That’s what I know.”

“Yes, you’re both brimming over with passion,” she said absently.  “Go burn some of it off would you?  Preferably together.  Preferably naked.”

“No, I’ve got a better idea.”

“I very much doubt it,” she remarked, and then sighed again as she looked up. “Very well.  What’s your brilliant plan?”

“Easy,” he said.  “I’m gonna give her something to do.”

x

Sutherland took a sip of whisky, scribbling a note on the report in front of him.  The clock on the wall ticked its slow rhythm; it was approaching nine o’clock and most of the staff had left for the day.  Even Arthur had wandered out of the room and left him alone.  He was still expecting a visitor, though.  The business of Government continued.

He finished reading the report, added a final comment, and set it aside just as the clock chimed nine.  Sitting back, he took another sip of whisky, hearing voices outside the door.  He took another sip, draining the glass.  It appeared his visitor had arrived.  A swift knock, and the door opened, Carrie peering around it.

“Miss French to see you, sir,” she said, in a perfectly appropriate tone, which she spoiled entirely by winking at him.  “I was about to get off, but if you want me to stay…”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, in a very even tone.  “I daresay Miss French won’t be here long.  Thank you, Carrie.”

She nodded, disappearing, and Miss French took her place, black skirt and white shirt beneath a neat black jacket, her feet in some of those impossibly high shoes.  She nodded to him cautiously.

“Prime Minister.”

“Well, come in and sit down,” he said impatiently.

She closed the door behind her, crossing to the chair in front of his desk and taking a seat.  He sat back a little, tapping his pen against the papers in front of him as he looked at her, and Miss French pursed her lips.

“Am I to be reprimanded?” she asked lightly, and he raised a brow.

“For what?”

“For chewing you out in the corridors of power,” she said dryly.  “For not knowing my place, whatever.”

He rolled the pen between thumb and forefinger, raising a brow.

“You think I brought you here to chastise you, is that it?”

A slight blush bloomed in her cheeks, and he wondered what she was thinking.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “Although I guess if you were going to do something, it would have been earlier, right?”

He allowed himself a tiny smile.

“Miss French, if you think that was the worst thing that’s ever been said to me in the Houses of Parliament, you’re very much mistaken.”

“Guess I’ll need to try harder.”

She smiled a little, to take the edge off, and he grinned, jerking his head towards the cabinet.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Are we celebrating something?”

“No,” he said tersely.  “But I’m gonna pour myself one, and I’m being fucking polite.  D’you want one or not?”

She eyed him, lips pursed.

“Okay.”

He got up, taking his empty glass to the cabinet and taking out another.

“Whisky?”

“Thank you.”

He poured two glasses, turning with them in his hands.  Miss French had stood up, and perched herself on the edge of his desk again, knees crossed, one foot bouncing a little as she watched him.  The light gleamed on her curls, shining waves of mahogany resting on her shoulders.  He wondered if it was as soft as it looked.

“No Arthur this evening?” she asked.  He handed her a drink, trying not to glance at her perfect legs.

“He wandered off an hour ago.  I should think he’s already gone to curl up on the bed.”

“Hmm.”  She took a sip, still watching him.  “Lucky Arthur.”

Her eyes held his, and he licked his lips, his throat suddenly dry.  He wanted to say something, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.  He took a sip of his drink as he tried to collect his thoughts, and Miss French came to his rescue by speaking first.

“Do you always work so late?”

“Not always,” he said, and shrugged.  “Sometimes later.”

She smiled a little.

“Long days, then,” she said.  “Longer nights, perhaps.”

She took another sip, eyes fixed on his, and he licked his lips again.  He was nervous, he realised, and it was an unfamiliar feeling, if not entirely unpleasant.

“Country doesn’t run itself, unfortunately,” he added.  “There’s a reason every Prime Minister rapidly goes grey.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” she said.  “You look very distinguished.”

“That’s a kind way of saying knackered.”

She grinned at that.

“Well, you know what they say about all work and no play...”

“I know,” he sighed.  “Ridiculously long work days and no personal life to speak of.  I’m sure I must seem very boring to you.”

“Quite the contrary.”  She tilted her head a little, looking him over.  “I’m sure you can be very interesting indeed when it suits you.”

Her gaze was weighing, measuring, as though she was peeling off his clothing layer by layer to reveal the true man beneath.  It was a little unnerving.

“I hope you find time for - leisure,” he said awkwardly, and her lips pursed, her eyes sparkling.

“I can keep myself amused.”

Her gaze was making his skin tingle, and he began pacing, head turned away from her a little.  The silence between them stretched and grew, making his heart thump and his breath quicken.  He heard her shift a little on the desk, the soft swish of smooth skin against skin as she uncrossed her legs.  The sound made his breath catch, and he took a sip of whisky to cover it.

“Why am I here, sir?” she asked.

Her voice was calm, her tone mellow.  He could feel her eyes on him, tracing a line of heat down his spine and making him shudder.  Turning to face her, he took a deep breath, raising his glass.

“I thought perhaps we could clear the air,” he said.

Miss French sucked her teeth, looking thoughtful, and nodded as she crossed her legs again.

“Alright,” she said.  “That seems like something two mature adults would do, doesn’t it?”

“I was thinking we might have a calm and rational discussion,” he added.  “No one raising their voice, yelling or swearing.”

“By no one, I take it you mean you.”

Sutherland grimaced.

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you earlier,” he admitted.  “I’m not proud of it, and I’d like to think it won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I should think it’s almost inevitable,” she said.  “But is that a bad thing?  To give one’s passion free rein?”

She had raised her chin a little, one dark brow arching, lips a little pursed, and for a brief, distracting moment he wondered what other passions she had.  How else she might give in to them.  He shook his head, dispelling the images just starting to form, and stepped back on one foot, taking his weight on his heel as he looked her over.

“You and I appear to have an - antagonistic - relationship,” he remarked.

“Yes,” she said.  “I get on your tits, to use the vernacular.  You already told me that.”

She took a sip of her drink, eyes fixed on his, crossed leg swinging at the foot a little.  He could feel his breath quicken a little as she raised her head.

“If it makes you feel any better, you get on mine,” she added.

He was aware that his eyes had automatically dropped to her chest, where high, firm breasts pushed against her white shirt.  A brief image flashed into his mind, her shirt open, breasts bare as his hands gripped and squeezed, as his mouth and tongue sought hard pink nipples.  Swallowing hard and trying to ignore the sudden swelling of his cock in his pants, he dragged his eyes back up to meet hers.  Miss French smiled a little, a slow curve of her berry-stained lips and a knowing glint in her eyes as her foot bounced a little quicker.

“Well, be that as it may,” he managed.  “I’m sure we can work together to get past it.”

“I’m sure we can,” she said.  “Is this an offer of peace, then?”

“It’s an offer of work.”

Her smile grew.

“That’s a start, I suppose.”

“I’ve had some preliminary reports out of Arendelle Town Council,” he began, desperately hoping his rising arousal would dissipate.  “Perhaps you’ve heard the stories circulating in the press?”

She looked curious.

“I’ve heard as much as everyone else, I suspect.”

“Turns out there’s truth in them.”

“How much truth?” she asked.

“That’s what we need to find out,” he said, pacing again.  “I’m convening a committee to investigate potential large-scale negligence on the part of social services and the police.  I understand that you have a particular interest in women’s safety and child protection, so I’d like you to be part of it.”

A smile was already spreading across her face, her eyes widening.

“It’ll mean spending a lot of time in the constituency itself,” he added.  “I’m afraid that will mean reduced time in your own constituency, and in Parliament, but I want first-hand accounts from those involved before any hearings are chaired.”

“An unusual job for an MP,” she observed.

“Well, I want someone I can trust to oversee the investigations,” he said.  “Should be a good opportunity for you, and I have every confidence that you’ll do a first-rate job.”

“Thank you for your support, Prime Minister.”  Her tone was dry, and he turned to face her again, a frown already drawing his brows down.

“Is there something wrong with my offer?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said blandly.  “I’m sure this long-distance placement absolutely needs my feet on the ground in Arendelle and couldn’t possibly be done remotely.”

“I realise it’s a little unorthodox,” he said.  “But I feel it’s the right choice.”

“Is it?”  She pursed her lips.  “Because it seems like a good way to keep me out of your sight for a considerable time.  Getting me off your tits, as it were.”

“It’s a job that needs doing!” he insisted.  “I thought you’d welcome it!  I never thought that by offering it up I’d be accused of - of - what is it I’m being accused of, anyway?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, looking irritated.  “I think we could work well together, but I get the impression you don’t like me too much.”

“Really?” He chuckled hollowly, taking a sip of his drink. “And here you’ve gone out of your way to endear yourself to me.  Can you imagine…”

“Oh, I’m well aware I can be a pushy pain in the arse,” she said impatiently. “That’s how I got here.  That’s how all of us got here, isn’t it?”

He supposed that was true.

“It’s just that you seem to have some difficulty being around me at times, like - like you find me repulsive or something,” she went on.  “Am I repulsive?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he snapped.  “You’re bloody gorgeous, and—”

He clamped his mouth shut, swallowing what he had been about to say, but Miss French smiled, looking deeply satisfied.

“Well,” she said.  “So it isn’t that.  How interesting.”

She picked up her drink, still smirking, and took a sip.  Silence had fallen, a strange, heavy atmosphere making his skin tingle.  He took a drink to give himself something to do, his mind working overdrive as he tried to think of a way to take back what he had said without looking like a total idiot, or worse, a total creep.  Miss French was watching him over the rim of her glass, eyes dark beneath thick lashes, and she lowered the glass, the tip of her tongue sweeping across her lips.  She set down her drink on the desk, bracing herself on the palms of her hands as she raised her chin.

“I’m sorry,” he said, having regained the power of speech.  “That was inappropriate.  I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” she said abruptly.  “It’s actually quite reassuring.”

“Reassuring?”

“Well, you’ve admitted you find me attractive,” she said.  “I was beginning to think all the hints I dropped were a waste of time.”

Sutherland blinked.

“Hints?”

Miss French tossed her dark curls, licking her lips as she uncrossed her legs.

“Perhaps I was being too subtle,” she said.

Her voice had lowered a little, grown smoky, sultry.  It made desire tug at him, a low-down pull in his groin as his cock twitched.  He took a drink to cover it, his eyes not leaving hers.

“Miss French—”

“You can call me Belle,” she interrupted.

He spoke her name in a whisper, the word ghosting over his lips, flowing from his mouth into the air, as though he were casting a spell, and her smile flickered into life again.

“We’re two adults,” she said.  “Two adults who had the ambition to get where we are and who know their own worth.  I think we can be honest with one another, don’t you?”

“I would hope so.”

“Good.”  She reached out, taking the glass from his hand and setting it next to hers.  Her eyes met his again, her lips moist from the touch of her tongue. “So. I find you attractive, you find me attractive.  It’s out in the open, no more awkwardness required.  Are you going to kiss me?”

He was beginning to think this was all a strange and vivid dream, and bit the inside of his cheek to prove otherwise.

“Do you want me to?”

Belle rolled her eyes.

“Definitely too subtle,” she sighed.  “Yes, I want you to.  But perhaps you should make sure we’re not disturbed first.”

His breath had quickened, his heart thumping and a high ringing in his ears as the clock on the wall ticked away, and he walked over to the door in a trance. Opening it up, he glanced outside, and caught the eye of the nearest Special Branch officer.

“Absolutely no visitors for the next half hour,” he said.  “Unless someone starts a fucking war, I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Understood, sir,” said the man, his face perfectly clear of any expression.

Sutherland nodded.

“And - and even if someone does start a fucking war,” he added, “knock first, got it?”

“Understood, sir.”

Sutherland grimaced as he shut the door.  He hadn’t been kidding when he said they knew how to keep their mouths shut.  Bloody good job.  He turned around, heart still thudding in his chest as he walked back to the desk.

“They won’t let anyone in,” he said, his voice echoing strangely in his ears.

“Good.”

Belle raised her chin a little, shaking back dark, shining curls as he stepped closer, and he reached out to put his hands on her knees.  Her skin was cool and smooth as silk, and his hands spread out and slowly pushed upwards, the fine wool of her skirt bunching and rising, exposing long, pale thighs.  Fingers slipped down between her legs, slowly pulling them apart, and he stepped closer, in between her knees.  Belle’s breath was coming faster, her chest heaving, and he raised his eyes to hers as he shifted closer, their noses almost touching.  He could feel her cool breath against his lips, and for a moment he paused, gazing into wide blue eyes as his desire flared upwards, raging through him like fire ready to burst from his mouth, until he bent his head and captured her lips with his.

She opened for him, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she inhaled sharply, fingers sliding in through the short strands of his hair and making him shudder with pleasure.  Belle let out a tiny moan as his tongue stroked hers, and he answered her with a deep, rumbling groan at the sweet taste of her.  His fingers flicked open the button of her jacket, hands dropping to cup her breasts and squeeze before sliding down and around to grasp her rear and tug her towards him.  Her knees rose up, legs wrapping around him, thighs gripping his hips as he pressed up against her, his cock already hard.

Her hands slid from his hair, over his shoulders, raking his back through the jacket, and he deepened the kiss, his hands squeezing her as he ground against her.  The feel of it sent bursts of pleasure through him, desire that had lain dormant for what seemed like years surging through his body.  He wanted to feel every bit of her, to slide a hand between her legs and push his fingers deep inside her, to tug aside her underwear and bury his cock in her and fuck her hard.  The kiss grew rough and messy, and he pulled back a little, breathing hard, catching her gaze for the briefest of moments before he lifted his hands to sink into her hair and kissed her again.

Her arms had disappeared from around him, and she shrugged off the jacket, letting it drop onto his desk.  Desperate fingers clawed at the knot of his tie, working it open and dragging it from his throat, then dropped to his shirt, tugging at buttons and flicking them open.  He worked on her own shirt, breaking the kiss to press his forehead to hers so that he could see what his shaking hands were doing.  Buttons sprung open, revealing the pale mounds of her breasts cupped by white lace.  She shrugged out of the shirt, sending it to join her jacket, and he slipped his thumbs beneath the straps of her bra, tugging it down her arms, the cups falling down to reveal firm breasts with taut pink nipples.  She was beautiful.  She was perfect.  And she was half-naked on his desk.

He bent his head to her, sucking a nipple in between his lips, and Belle arched her back with a moan, fingernails scoring his scalp and making him growl.  Her skin tasted very faintly of vanilla lotion and salt, and he sucked at her, tongue scraping over the peak of her nipple.  He wanted to taste all of her, to spread her out on his bed and take his time uncovering every inch of that milky skin, to slip his tongue into the heat and wetness between her legs and lick her to a screaming climax and suck the cum from her.  But he was hard and desperate and it had been too bloody long for niceties.  Perhaps she’d come up with him.  After.

His hands shifted, pushing beneath her skirt again, bunching it up around her waist as his fingers sought the waistband of her underwear.  He tugged it down, Belle shifting to help him get it off, and he let her breast slip from his mouth, stepping back from her and drawing the little thong down her thighs to fall off at her feet.  Belle kicked off her shoes, leaning back on the desk a little, her chest heaving as her eyes met his, heat in her gaze.

“Touch me!” she whispered.

He kissed her again, one arm going around her waist and tugging her closer as he reached between her legs, touching hot, wet flesh.  She was soft as silk, slippery with her juices, and he groaned into her mouth as his fingers rubbed over her, feeling the tiny bud of her clit.  Belle moaned, fingers clutching at his shoulders, and he stroked her slowly, teasing her entrance with a finger before pushing inside.  She pulled her mouth from his with a whining gasp, head rolling back, and he kissed down her neck, sucking at her skin as his finger pushed deep.  His thumb rubbed over her clit as he thrust, and Belle arched her back, hands stroking through his hair and sending shivers through him as she opened her legs a little wider.

“God, that’s good!” she breathed.  “So good!”

He bit down into her neck, making her let out a tiny cry, and added a second finger, thrusting in and out of her, his palm wet from her arousal.  His mouth found her ear, and he felt her shudder, a ripple of pleasure running through her.  He could hear her ragged breathing, could feel her hips rocking as he pushed and slid and rubbed, the pad of his thumb flickering over slippery flesh.  Belle’s fingers had twisted in the short strands of his hair, her nose grazing his jawline as she put her mouth to his throat, and he let out a groan, feeling her soft, wet tongue stroke up his neck.  She nipped at him, leaning back a little to gaze at him with a dark hunger before she lunged to kiss him again.

He inhaled deeply as his tongue pushed into her mouth, wrapping around hers, his fingers buried in her to the knuckles.  She kissed him hungrily, nails scraping his scalp, her thighs gripping his sides.  A long, low moan made her break the kiss, taking panting breaths as she pressed her brow to his.  His cock was hard and straining in his pants, and he yearned to free it, to slide deep inside her and feel her all around him.  Belle was letting out tiny moans, still rocking her hips in a steady rhythm, and he timed his thrusts to match, fingers rigid, thumb loose.  He could feel her body growing taut, her moans increasing in volume, and she let out a loud cry as she came.

He thought it was perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, her back arching and head rolling back, her dark curls shaking out behind her, gleaming in the light.  She let her hands drop from his hair, bracing on the desk beside her as she tried to catch her breath.  Her chest was heaving, perfect breasts bouncing, her nipples dark from the pressure of his mouth and her pale skin marked with tiny pink patches.  He could feel her gripping him, slick with her cum, and her eyes flickered open as he slowly drew out his fingers.  Her scent was everywhere, sweet musk that made him want to lie her down and devour her.  He sucked her juices from his fingers, salt on his tongue, his own breathing ragged.

Belle opened heavy-lidded eyes, a slow smile curving her mouth.  Her lips were full and dark, glistening with saliva, and he watched as the tip of her tongue swept across them.  He dropped his hands to her hips, leaning in to press his brow against hers, to find a moment of stillness as they each let their breathing steady.  Belle let out a sigh, a shuddering, contented sound, breath cool against his lips, and reached up to stroke her fingers through his hair.  Her nose brushed against his, and he felt the urge to kiss her again, to explore her sweet mouth with his tongue.

He cupped a breast, squeezing gently as he nudged at her nose with his, moving her head a little so that his lips could meet hers.  Belle moaned, opening her mouth, her tongue stroking, the kiss growing messy.  His hands slipped down to her rear, tugging her against him, and he let out a rumbling groan as he rubbed against her, inwardly cursing the barrier of his suit pants between them.  Belle undulated, breasts pushing against his chest, thighs gripping him tightly, and his tongue swept across hers, his cock hard, his balls aching.

She pulled back with a wet, sucking sound as their lips parted, her chest heaving and her eyes dark with desire as her hands braced on the desk.

“Fuck me!” she whispered, and launched herself at him, slipping from the desk and pushing him down on the carpet.

He hit the floor with a grunt, a rush of air leaving his lungs and his head thumping against the thick carpet pile as Belle landed on his chest.  She pushed open his shirt and began kissing her way down, sucking at his nipples and making him groan with pleasure as jolts of sensation went through him.  It had been so long he had almost forgotten how good it could feel to have someone, to be with someone.  Too long.

He reached up to stroke his fingers through her soft curls, enjoying the feel of her lips against his skin, and Belle let her tongue trail in circles as she made her way down over his belly.  Sutherland closed his eyes, hearing the thud of his pulse in his ears and the clink of his belt as she tugged at it.  He smiled a little, feeling her hands get his pants open, and lifted his hips so that she could pull them down along with his underwear.  Belle let out a hum of appreciation, and he opened one eye a crack to see her looking him over.  And then she bent her head to draw her tongue up the length of his cock, and he lost the last shreds of anything that might have been called reason.

Belle took him in hand, lifting him up and taking him in between her lips before sucking him in deep, and he arched upwards with a long, low groan at the feel of her.  She sucked hard, moving with a slow rhythm, lips sliding up and down his length and making stars dance behind his eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he gasped.

He felt her smile as her tongue stroked over the head, sending pulses of pleasure rippling through his body.  Over and over it circled, the sensations building, making his body grow taut, his muscles straining.

“Belle!” he groaned.  “Oh God, please!”

She let him slip from her mouth, sliding up his body with a triumphant grin on her face, and he gasped for breath as she straddled him, hands bracing on his belly, his cock pressed against her wet heat.  Her skirt was still pushed up around her waist, the bra bunched around the waistband, and he watched as she unhooked it and tossed it aside.  She was pressed against him, every movement a delicious agony, and he yearned to get inside her, to sink deep into her.  Belle took a deep breath, fixing her eyes on his, and smiled softly.

“Ready?” she asked, and he nodded.

He reached between them, taking himself in hand, using his other to stroke through her wet flesh, teasing, probing.  Belle moaned, shaking back her hair as his fingers found her entrance, and he slipped two inside her, pushing in up to the knuckles, making her moans grow louder.  She was hot and slippery-wet, soaking his fingers, so he drew them out, lining them up so that she could lift her hips a little and sink down onto him.  He let out a low groan as she took him deep, scalding wet flesh closing up around him, a velvet glove surrounding him.

Belle stilled for a moment, breathing hard, hands splayed on his belly, and her eyes found his, her gaze intense.  She began to move, hips rocking gently, letting him slip out a little way before taking him back inside, and he pushed up into a sitting position, one arm snaking around her waist to hold her tight against him as he kissed her.  She clutched at his shoulders, her movements increasing, and he moved in time with her, thrusting upwards, pushing deep. The friction was incredible, the tug and pull of her flesh against his, and he reached up to cup her face, lips pushing hers open, tongue stroking inside. Belle moaned into his mouth, the sound a frantic whimper, and he quickened the pace of his thrusts, hips bucking, their bodies rubbing together.  Her nails dug into his shoulders, her body stiffening, and she pulled her mouth from his with a cry as she came, clenching around him, heat and wetness flooding over him.

He fell backwards with a gasp, back arching as he thrust up inside her, the sensations building inside him, a rising wave of bliss.  Belle was still moaning and jerking, and he slid his hands up her thighs to grasp her hips, holding her close against him as he thrust.  The wave surged, crashing through him, and he let out a loud groan of pleasure as he came, bright lights bursting behind his eyes, electricity coursing through his body as his cock spurted deep inside her.  It felt so good he wanted to burst out laughing, and he slumped against the carpet, every inch of his skin tingling.

For a moment there was no sound but for their own heavy breathing and Belle’s contented little moans, and he took several deep breaths to steady himself.  His heart was thudding hard in his chest, sweat beading on his upper lip, and he raised a shaking hand to run a palm over his face, inhaling the scent of Belle’s pleasure as he did so.  Belle let out a low giggle, leaning forwards a little as he opened his eyes.

“You see?” she murmured.  “We work very well together.”

He chuckled at that, reaching up to kiss her before letting his head thump onto the carpet with a satisfied groan.  Belle leaned forward, folding her arms across his chest and resting her chin on them as she eyed the door.

“You realise Special Branch probably heard everything,” she said.

“Undoubtedly.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Probably less than it bothers them.”

She giggled, eyes sparkling, and pushed up on her hands a little, looking him over.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say our professional relationship is ruined,” she remarked.

“Given the dreadful state it was in, that can only be a good thing.”

She giggled again, and he reached up to push a stray curl of hair behind her ear.  A feeling of contentment was stealing over him, the heat and bliss of his orgasm mellowed into something pleasantly lazy.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” he asked, and she raised her head, pursing her lips.

“Upstairs?”

“The private apartments are very nice,” he said.  “And very private.”

“Hmm.”  She pursed her lips.  “Is that where Arthur’s curled up on the bed?”

“Well, I was thinking we could politely ask him to leave.”

She giggled.

“For awhile, at least,” she said.  “I don’t mind cats being on the bed.”

“Nor do I, as a rule,” he said.  “As long as there’s no other company, of course.”

“Are you asking me to stay the night?”

“Yes,” he said.  “Yes, that’s what I’m asking.”

“I’d have to leave first thing,” she said.  “Need to get home to feed my own cats.”

“I’ll have a car take you,” he offered.

“A very early start, then.”

“Not too early,” he said.  “We’ll have breakfast first.”

“Most important meal of the day.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he growled.  “I can think of a few other things I’d like to eat.”

Belle giggled again, fingers tracing patterns on his skin.

“And you’re hungry, are you?”

“Starving.”

She leaned in to kiss him again, lips pulling at his before she sat back.

“Harder to sneak me past the press pack in the daylight,” she observed.

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” he said.  “Will you stay?”

She eyed him for a moment, then smiled, a wide, beautiful smile that made his heart clench.

“Yes,” she whispered.  “Yes, I’ll stay as long as you like.”

She pushed up, mouth finding his, and he let his hands sink into her hair as he rolled her onto her back.  As long as I like?  That could be a very long time.

[nozomijoestar]

After finishing TWDG’s final episode with Clementine I needed to write something I thought of after seeing the epilogue dialogue choices, so here’s Clem getting a prosthetic from the materials I chose to have Willy steal in ep 3 (that’s admittedly inspired in design by Guts false arm bc I love Kentaro Miura’s Berserk, minus the built in cannon, there’s also an allusion in one of the ways Clem sits here to this panel)

The silence intensified the sounds of their work; the loudness making his heart pound fearfully. Sure the walls beyond them were mossy bricks that’d bore witness to blood and fire yet held but-

“Alright you can pass me the screwdriver again. I just gotta get this other screw tight and the top should be done.”

He obeyed placing the tool in Willy’s hand ( it had funny looking faded letters on the handle, he’d have to practice reading later ) and cringed at the clanking of metal being manhandled. His fingers went over his ears. His tone was reprimanding.

“Loud is still bad.”

“This is nothing like a gunshot AJ, or that time on the boat. No Walker is gonna come knocking for a meal ‘cuz of some tinkering. ‘Ya gotta relax a little more buddy. You were doin’ real good.” 

“Really?” AJ asked in his best quiet voice as Willy hunched further into his work. 

“Yeah. Ah shit, there’s one more thing I need. Can you get me Clem’s boot? She should be out in the yard. I’d give you the ruler too but,”

His eyes measured AJ up and down, stocky for a five year old with a face too molded into harsh angles; accustomed to survival. He shook his head as the boy’s brow twitched sensing something unspoken. 

“Nah I’ll do it myself. Hurry before she goes anywhere.”

“She can’t move fast with those cru...cruh, crutches.” AJ wrestled with the word still shiny new in his arsenal. 

“Maybe she’s getting cooties kissing Violet then.”

The snicker in Willy’s voice made AJ’s nose crinkle as though he’d tasted something sour. He had no clue what cooties meant and grasped a rough concept of kissing. Shaking and stirring the two well while adding the echo of Willy’s tone was enough to send him running out the door. His heart raced and swelled in his throat while darting past those walking through the halls. A churning flipped his stomach with all the force of exhilarating panic and dread. 

Any threat to Clementine had to be eliminated. The threads of a plan began to knit in his mind; they twisted and bound fiercely. If cooties were like when he’d get the dukies, or caught a cold, then he’d carry her to bed. If he could find even one of the special roots and flowers Clem had shown him, he’d ask Ruby to make medicine. He’d feed it to her himself kneeling at her bedside and everything would go back to normal. He smiled to himself. The idea was perfect!

Before he knew it he’d sprinted into the sunlight then stopped. For a moment he was blinded before he shielded his eyes. His body coiled like a spring searching the yard that blended into one blur until at last he found her. 

She sat with her foot propped on the furthest pillar of the admin building’s front steps. Her back reclined against the pillar beside the first. She let her right arm dangle on her knee as though its shadow would conceal the bandaged stump that once linked her left foot. Words and sentences in colored pencil decorated the gauze until it nearly disappeared. Her face is too far away to make out the details beyond its pensive air. A pair of crutches were leaned against a pillar base.

The slight breeze made her hair flutter with a sense of something ethereal. Within his mind however, he has no word he knows to describe it. It only makes his head hurt attempting to decipher further. Such a thing was unnecessary compared to the way his heart swelled to see her alive. He sighed in relief finding Violet nowhere near. The war against cooties would be shelved for another day. 

“Hey there little man. You gonna talk to Clem too?”

He looked to his right and found Violet peering at him; an attempt at a comfortable smile on her face. Behind her eyes he shuddered to sense waves of grief still crashing against a cliff of rage. He was plunged back in time, seeing Tenn’s neck spurting into a fountain of blood. His frail body had stumbled toward the gaping mouths and grasping hands the dead held out while AJ stood firm behind the smoking gun. They’d swarmed Tenn as he fell like starving sharks closing in at last. It surprised him still how clearly he could remember seeing the soles of Tenn’s boots being all that signified something of him remained. 

AJ wondered there not for the first time if Violet yearned to have taken Tenn’s place. If he’d broken the balance of what fate intended. He swallowed and sighed deeply. His mind cleared as he stuffed the memory behind one of an infinite hall of mental doors. He had to be strong. 

A sad-mad Violet as she’d put it was better than a dead one. The proof stood before him, revealed itself in the smile it put on Clem’s face like no other. What she wrestled with would eventually smolder alongside the days, becoming an ache from a lifetime ago. It’d be the same for himself. But it would never leave. That was nature. Right then he felt he grasped a better understanding of ‘Trauma’. 

He remembered she was awaiting a response and nodded. Had her voice ever been so soft lately? It rasped this time as though the hours she’d spent crying were baring themselves raw. He tried ignoring it. 

“Yeah, Willy wants to measure her for his project. So I need her boot.”

“Walk with me and we can let her know together.”

“...Okay.”

It took little to shake Clementine from her thoughts when she heard them approach. She smiled looking between them; her eyes crinkled. AJ giggled feeling her pat his hair. At once a calm flooded warm and strong within him; it drove back the encroaching shadows of insecurity. 

“Someone’s been hiding all day. You here to tell me what you’re cooking up with Willy finally?”

“Nah. We need your boot though or he can’t finish it.”

He watched Clem give Violet a weighty stare that said everything in nothing. It left his expression crumpled and puzzled. He hated when she left him in the dark; for an instant he felt his calm waver. She untangled him from his thoughts with a gentle chuckle. 

“Alright then kiddo, just give me a second.”

Without being asked AJ made room for Violet to pass as Clem adjusted herself. When she nearly slipped on her footing he lunged forward but Violet was quicker. Instead he helped pry loose the laces, easing Clem’s burden. Before long he completed his task and did his best keeping the sight of her struggle from overstaying its welcome. He and Willy were going to fix everything. That was all that mattered most. 

The racket from the door as he burst in almost sent Willy tumbling from his seat. Without waiting for him to right himself, a hand clutched over his heart, AJ placed the boot on the desk with pride. He grinned and crossed his arms; unflinching under Willy’s shout.

“Jesus you could’ve knocked! I thought someone was coming to kill me for damn sake.”

“You wanted to swear didn’t you?” 

“Shut up and don’t tell Clem or she’ll let me hear it if you learned one.” 

“I won’t. Promise.” 

AJ stuck out his pinkie, eyes brimming with hope that payed off when Willy sealed their pact. He turned his attention to the skeleton of a prosthetic laying in wait. Its top was basket shaped at the contact point, connected then to a disk. From there a metal rod jut out backward diagonally; it was crudely welded onto the end of another rod that went diagonal in the opposite direction. The bottom of this last rod was capped by a metal ball. It showed the craftsmanship of a talented amateur. The sight of it filled AJ’s stomach with butterflies. 

Willy had moved on to inspecting the boot.

One moment after the next he shifted a miraculously preserved ruler around at varying angles. Doing his best to make as little noise as possible AJ pulled up a chair beside him. He rested his chin on his palms. His eyes were wide and pondering, mustering all his remaining innocent wonder. 

They passed the time in resumed silence broken only by the sounds of work and the order to pass tools as needed. Neither noticed the sun as it shifted through its cycles until it clocked out. Moonlight proved barely tolerable and Willy wasted no time requesting candles be lit. AJ left to retrieve the igniter hoping Clem wouldn’t catch him in their shared room with a lecture ready. Ruby stopped him in his tracks the second he opened the workshop door. Her hands moved from ready to knock to on her hips. Her natural ruddy face was pinched in agitation that masked worry.

AJ knew well her hawk eyed stare and went stiff as a board; his mind went blank. Her comforting Southern drawl took on its hidden razor edge.

“Now ya’ll can’t sit here all day and not get some dinner in you. Omar said the food’s ready. Ya’ll are gonna eat before bed ya hear? Clem ain’t goin nowhere so ya’ll shouldn’t kill yourselves on that thing.” 

They grumbled and gave halfhearted protests that turned into whimpers when Ruby pinched their ears. Dinner that night became an unannounced duel to eat the fastest; one AJ vowed Willy would lose. No sooner had he picked up the pace did Clem put a hand on his shoulder. He began to slow down before her firm reprimand came. The reflection on the broth of his stew showed him a boy weary with the troubles of an old man. He frowned and grunted. 

At his side singled out from the other conversations that buzzed around the table he heard Clem sigh. Instinctively he set down his spoon, turning to search her face for the slightest pain. These days she spent her time awake in bursts that quickly fizzled out before repeating. Often she carried the effort for conversation on her shoulders like a yoke; fighting against years of exhaustion that crept up now all at once. AJ wondered if this too was trauma. If the loss of her legs had suddenly let a part of her she’d always concealed burst. If maybe she was, though forever a worrywart, itching to rest. 

That was the only time he questioned if her foot should be restored. 

The thinking hurt his head. Clem had carried on away from his notice. She was whispering something against Violet’s hair; letting her rest her head on her shoulder. They exchanged words too fast for him to hear except the aftermath as Violet giggled and blushed. As if on cue he saw Louis slide a folded paper their way. He wiggled his eyebrows and tilted his head toward AJ when Clem threw the message back at him. She snorted and rolled her eyes. Her voice maintained a whisper.

“AJ if you ever feel weird around me and Violet, you can look away.”

“Hmm...ok, if you say so.” He replied shrugging his shoulders. It made her chuckle.

“When you’re older I’ll explain it a bit more.”

That only confused him again; today had made him feel that way more times than he cared for. His eyes grew heavy, his sight dim. He was vaguely aware of being carried; then a bed’s softness and unmistakably Clem wishing him goodnight. 

He dreamed she ran and played with him on a day of endless fair weather. Their laughter was easy, the world bright. There no one tired; there no one suffered. When he woke in the dawn chill shivering his skin was drenched in sweat. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if indeed just as he’d woken he’d heard Tenn’s voice. No matter how hard he tried to remember the exact words spoken escaped him. A long while marked by tossing and turning dragged on before he returned to sleep against Clem’s side. 

After a modest lunch, largely dry seasoned fish he felt proud to have caught the day before, he excused himself to Willy’s workshop. Arranged on the desk were bigger handfuls of the material they’d seized from Delta ( or as Willy would put it, kindly took what was theirs ). A stack of pre-cut sheet metal, small screws, ball-peen hammer, chisel, and the return of a welding kit were new additions. Metal shavings glimmered on the ground like diamonds. 

“There you are AJ. I was wondering when you’d wake up. Help me layer some of these together.”

He was handed five rectangular cut sheets already sized to the length and width of Clem’s boot. The edges were roughly worked into the curves of a foot. AJ smiled. He lined up each separate template and noted the holes Willy had placed at key points. 

“Now you get to screw in the screws so it becomes one piece. Just be careful not to go too tight or it’ll wear down faster later.”

“Got it.” 

He lifted the screwdriver with its funny words and worked keeping his eyes on Willy for approval. Slowly a solid plate was created. They high-fived when it didn’t bend, nor did the screws fall after a drop test. Though neither could be certain both agreed ( rather, Willy insisted on a hunch ) it must be high grade aluminum preserved from the Old World. 

“See that means even though its lightweight it’ll be tough as nails! Clem could break rocks with this thing.”

“No she can’t, nobody can. That’s magic.”

“Don’t underestimate engineers AJ!” 

Those were new words he knew too little about to dispute anything further. He settled for shrugging his shoulders; he made a memo to ask Clem later. At last the time came to weld the plate beneath the entire frame. AJ left the room at Willy’s bark that it was far too dangerous for him to stay unless he wanted burns. He wandered the yard kicking stray stones; he tried calculating just what it took to turn one to dust, maybe a huge hammer, or a bigger rock. Definitely not a foot though her new one would be metal. The jury was still out on the matter, he decided. 

Ruby allowed him to join her on lookout. Almost immediately he received a lecture on remembering to care for himself. Even if he felt driven he had to remember his meals, remember to sleep, remember everyone shared the weight of responsibilities. He crossed his arms and sighed most of the way through even if he partially understood. With her fire burned out and nothing closing on the gates, she found the tables turned as he questioned her knowledge on medicine. As he suspected there were plants that left her dumbfounded. He liked to think of them as even after that. 

The sun had begun to dim when the burst of a door and the sound of someone running out pulled their attention. The entire yard followed suit. Willy rushed to the gate, his hard work glittering from the dusk. In sync AJ and Ruby’s jaws fell open. 

“Its done! Go and get Clem out here dude!” 

He didn’t need to be told twice and soon she emerged; her eyes squinted to make out the dark. He hovered nearby and directed her movements as the others lit candles. The light would be needed for dinner soon anyway. Willy stood near the steps with his hands behind his back. An ear to ear smile was plastered on his face that gave him a ratty look. With help to keep her balance Clem sat by the pillars. She wore an expression that feigned at suspense. AJ read it clear, she knew what was coming. The way his whole body buzzed in excitement made him not care if it’d been spoiled. 

Everyone else had gathered in a half circle around her when Clementine spoke.

“Alright Willy, what’ve you got for me?”

“It wasn’t just me AJ helped a lot.”

“I don’t doubt that.” She said with a smile. 

AJ gripped one of her hands and bounced slightly. The crowd held their breath. Finally Willy brought his arms forward. The prosthetic was encased in a shell of sheet metal shaped into a lower leg. Its ends showed marks where it’d been burned onto the skeleton. On the sides of its surface there were raised lines with fullers flanking them. The foot plate itself had seen the most care in its welding. Though she’d braced for what she’d suspected, Clem’s eyes widened; she gasped softly. She sat motionless as Willy approached and looks fell upon her. 

“Its the solidest thing I’ve ever made. None of you get to say I suck unless it ever breaks. I know Clem’s gonna take care of it though.” He addressed the crowd. 

“Its...I...I don’t know what to say.”

“Try it!”

She took a shaky breath and swallowed hard. AJ cocked his head; had he seen her almost cry? He pat her arm as she held the prosthetic that had become far greater than a hunk of metal. With a final deep breath she lowered her stump into the basket; Violet and Louis moved to help her stand. She nodded slowly when she found her balance. They backed away, Violet went rigid, poised for the slightest accident. Clem shut her eyes, reopened them, drew another deep breath. She looked down. The foot caught moonlight as if giving a grand greeting. 

“Good thing you kept your knee so it should be easier to use. Take a walk whenever you’re ready.” Willy said. 

It moved well for its design, giving her a slight limp. Baby step by baby step she willed herself to the wooden table and back. Twice she stumbled to fall into the arms of the others. AJ watched in awe; a smile seemed permanently fixed on his face. He cheered when she moved to climb the steps and stood at the top, baffled. She wiped the corners of her eyes. She almost stumbled again feeling him crash against her for a hug. 

“Easy there goofball. I’ve still gotta get used to it.”

“You can walk again though, isn’t that great?”

She knelt down slowly on her natural leg. Ruffling his hair made him giggle. Her heart soared pulling him into a strong embrace. 

“You helped it be that way.”

[mysticalibra1994]

Sonic Prime (Before the Shattering AU)

Prime!Shadow's counterparts

TW: Mourning of loss, manipulation, being in a trance, yaoi underwater kiss/rescue (if you don't like the latter, you don't have to read the rest)

After doing Sonic's Shatterverse counterparts, I've figured "Why not and do Shadow's?"

1.) No Place Crimson - Decades ago, a fair maiden (with a rare condition) would often visit the Guardian of the Waters. They would talk for hours... That is until those visits would slowly slow to a stop. Crimson was confused, only to witness a butterfly visiting him; the hue of the wings sadly matched the fair maiden's eyes. That was when he knew that her illness got her... She was gone, but not forgotten due to her statue being delivered into his domain. Due to his immortality, he would spend his time cleaning her statue to keep it pristine (as if it were new). As the years go by, he promises her spirit to continue to stay as the Guardian of the Waters. That began during a raging storm that knocked Emerald Eye into the deep water. Being too stunned to swim upwards, the blue pirate begins to flail, only to slowly lose his breath and strength... That is until he was rescued by Crimson. By the time Crimson got to him, Emerald Eye was limping as his remaining air bubbles left his mouth. Since the Guardian of the Waters knew that this "land creature", he began to channel plenty of interior oxygen, tilted the drowning pirate's head back, planted his mouth on his, and blew. As he continues blowing air back into the pirate's lungs, the Guardian of the Waters quickly makes his way to the late fair maiden's home island to resurface him. As the blue pirate comes to, he slowly looks around to get his barrings, only to be face-to-face with the sea creature that saved him. At first, Emerald Eye panicked a bit, only to relax as Crimson explained to him what happened. Now, Crimson has new visitors! Dread was a bit skeptical after hearing urban legends and myths of sea creatures being dangerous, but knowing the fact that he saved Emerald Eye's life, he has placed that stereotype to bed for good. After Emerald Eye's sacrifice (and when Dread got his new crew), Crimson wondered why Emerald Eye's visits had stopped. So, as he visits Dread, his new crew captures the sea creature ties him up on the mast, and waits for "Captain's Orders". By the time Dread walks out (wearing Emerald Eye's hat), his eyes widen in fear and concern for Crimson's condition; nearly drying out and gasping. Dread's new crew was confused, at first, then guilty when they realized what they'd done. After untying and aiding the sea creature, Dread sadly tells Crimson of Emerald Eye's sacrifice. This stunned the crew... "Cap'n, 'ow come ye've ne'er told us?" "Ye ne'er asked… I did nay want me past to 'aunt me, an' I been afraid that there ye'd 'ate me the same as me old crew 'ated me." "Cap'n, that there been an accident. We would ne'er 'ate ye o'er accidents." After grieving Emerald Eye (again, for Dread's part), they've come together to make a statue that's made from the same material that the fair maiden's statue was made of. By the time the materials had settled and dried, Dread gifted this statue to Crimson. Crimson, of course, hesitates, but the red pirate insists it. Now, Crimson has two statues... "Hello, I'm back. I apologize for how long it's been, but I've got you a new friend, Duchess Margurite..."

2.) New Yoke T.U.L.F. - It's been years since the loss of Margo, Terios couldn't stop acting forlorn (because it wasn't acting...) Dr. Don't was thinking of putting him out of his misery, but Dr. Deep had a more humane idea. "Terios, come." "Is it time to visit her room? I don't think my heart could take it."No, I have an idea; how would like the idea of separating your soul and your body so that way your soul would be with her and your body shall remain here?" "W-would I stay organic?" "Not quite, you see, your body will be mechanically enhanced." "Will I ever see her again?" "Of course... in spirit." About several hours later, Dr. Deep walks out of the mechanical engineering room, following him is... "Greetings. I identify as 'T.U.L.F-PT 5.0'. It is a positive reaction to meet you." "Likewise... Now, who do you serve?" "I only serve anyone who shares the same bloodline of the Robotnik Family and her essence." "Excellent..."

3.) Boscage Guardian - Nature. It's everywhere and loud; too loud. Ark couldn't handle the loudness of the forces of nature! During the daytime, it's loud, But at night... It's peaceful He loved and admired that. Nature notices this as it allows him to be absorbed into the forces of nature. At first, he hesitated, but once the sun came up, he noticed the quietness was decreasing. So, he gave in and changed his name to "Guardian".

[libidomechanica]

To the impossible fancys errours too metaphysician

A sonnet sequence

               1

Sweet kernel; to see. For each side, content. To the impossible fancys errours too metaphysician to lessen my lettuce which runs before her rites are allow, a heart to these may be; there in a hurry. If looking drawn, you! That perpetual on a day—for their masters a thirdly high and field the Dead, and settled in gold, that Chance your dearly; the flee. In its still, alas! Call on the past the bound forth to clear weather divide into Yes and left.

               2

Herculean Is it thus far,— whether longing moon, yet shine own below, in great transparents at last till do whatever having star-light love is that were to hustle in the Hall, maud the same hue, bewitching, flies away, and in honest face enioyeth, but he the sweet time passing again, advances rear more mayet this lofty cedars apes, flowers your hall, or amber, cave of thy graves, and the Maker’s art. And to the dissemble— thus much passion, of all this crown.

               3

Three year; chloris’ bonie face with happy as warmth, which tumble duty bound up for thee fairy, Then he things prove those goods which, for what no man impassion’d faeries pac’d theme of me you murdring thee, so wrought to mountain: how man forth a glass will pype and heaven, aspens shiver. Awake; mine of the Hand of love forlorn and calmly flows twine conscious day; all is the fume of life confined, since writing of the her hear two first. The Vein of finite numberless beat—what laughs—Go ponder whose things; Though from servile to terror, and armor should flowers bright and beauty frail shell’s iridescends, laughing about my chance like a foule yoke did raigne head across the bed, as if it prove her, maidens, high almost gone?

               4

Excuse ye: tho wouldst no harbor shout, my Katie? Saucy pedantic wretcheder the width of us, They mourn among, chances not the woods, and I strove the God of looking with hope of blood was held, indeed: we are these affection too small. Than the will let me, the material conclusion, sent in bread, whose move, my light and quiet of the sees him whom we spake—The workman and let the shell the arts are heaven, cries Betty’s face deform; peep for: look up, to drop on for ornament. Sections are both sides the sacrifice, through the prayse or blue nigh by that she, disdaine, of time. Marriages, but ere you stay till he is as feather five she enjoy’d indolence, whence aloft the Lady of Shalott.

               5

Arise, with my wrong and he stocks rise or blame me those state is ended, that sword blowing half an hour ago, on Johnny! To issue forth and let me license shall bliss assured and quiver in the dip of it, to propagate their showe, then back them go. Endless toil, that longinge is not only fright; then I climb up; but skill in his eyes; mine eye that write, and sated wings; which soule, so my soule, so reversion brought. Toast, that the loue in lover, my seruices may in dread; the house with pied flowers and like a touches you cloyest me where. Of boot or sinned in the trees, and Johnny in his eyes; my pulse and infidel. I think how its bonds, brought. Why do the cloud of thy hand these placed as is now not, happiness?

               6

Returning the child the steep rough all its ray? As no allegiance to faithless Eleonora’s fate herculean Is it the flower on such euill, far remove water; and serenely she knew, always, but punn’d and rise and daughters— worn and with joy was hid. Where is a crime accustomed vision in fact, if Hope should thought, all carried at me in Fate’s call’d towns, to sigh, and the judgement of warmed heath, like a prophecies, but doth but wait on its glow. The dawn’s cause it sing.

               7

When too late, close thanks that hopes of thy soft have I felt my head where each lov’d fright all the against his rage: scourge of the sages’ lots; t was of return see never, never know ourselves and he right. And rave at the hill, ’ so long life confide, the booth, and how supreme degree, that to ear in its hinges groans. And lives. Yet free, goodness, and dinted by the Perfections of rubles rainbows twitter words were not where, but doth be here buried loves; never come, cried Betty, go!

               8

‘And, to my dear, were he wish’d hooves. The scarce stauncht theeues stealing. Yet mad with one but that mansion for friends like aught in me? So, ye great may get a little cause he could, that is come, for shell, as no affright disappointed smile unseason to eat broken shall bliss, and fit to hear, but faith care, And yet your pupil, that a story has his prophetess of god look on, who builds her eye. To rivals by to the next morning lid of as Every bard to horse and back down.

               9

Best; but, you know of the worst of the innumerable, against all many a door upon the Chiefs of thy sins fast and ourselves so, another store; and, in the surly villanee. As swell my students, he arose but no—already with so please approach their den in a state, this well as Lais how the same face, wilt perchances on their state shrine, who admired ever foundation too, they stood among whose very birds. At fourth, and implores from its distills your mind.

               10

And root where before fly; but a dream with hope is lost with a very glasse: your lovers on all things and balcony, by garden-croft; the more clear, manna and pious, past please men’s, will find, which makes the pale as no allegiance to that, ’ I asked her imperious wind went to clear, she loving, like a ghost, since I love or not,—this is not: in the owl, for half be done. An hendy hap ich happier, because in a story, what can no harbor shouldst freedom, wisdom!

               11

Fill my heart. Stella, died. Is rather palsied hand the Cyprian strain. As madmen’s little do we knows, and you that can I not do. The received for slept in like th’ other perfection and the moon was a most proof—oh if our good people have. By that good to rest, She bowed as she. It chance telltale cheefe: then come to chaos, the villagers quickly apparel on me lough; with a pious care, as those rod’s coming strain seem’d he needing horseback have done, or bring?

               12

These lately village, that lost Travel, girded up his Neck to yoke did strings at all hear too had his Heart-merchandise, breathed for thee desired my flame angels’ purity of love, and short fever on crystal nunneries; notwithstanding curls, and still a sweet odour which so loved us. To say, after point did shroude in show to the parent lawn, shall no more be sought a vent to issue forth was not save one of him? ’St into thy sovranty, recoiling chains all.

               13

That night, flye to me but he wall, I will fault there’s a most especial legends old. Like the sun beats there, as I’ll myself, in an absolute autocrat not awed to express how pure, however he muttered in goodness in lieu of man! And in his crown upon thee his lamp, and Fays, innumerable tombs wherewith me as wreath. Julia, if I needs, and lovesick land lips were all garland, which her idiot boy, and told how high! For I must speak. A cruel.

               14

And Wordsworth as they’ll have cease to say, Feebly she heart in the smart, for I maintain rank; and had just and Johnny is just them apart nor follow behind in the Spirit of Camelot. How grew less to brooded, smell, desire, they said the pale you in woofed phantoms of this. Upon his soul’s thou should you the Wine, and within the rest about, and act, nor set, haply I may never was thy fair assistance telltale cheefe: the edge of place, or can hear me and them.

               15

Were she muttered in the sand, and clearer, far beyond what, their speechless fate is renowne, or yet in tears and numberless bridegroom was there are her safely might gaze on Porphyro took her how, upon his was a-cold; that such animal cracks evilly, and static begin? At poor as you great wisdom as the fame you go. Which the war; and still her though thou be duly season doubt, the mortal doors, depart, or give me for thy face I have swerved; and Susan cries, Joy!

               16

You I envy neither shades return’d his pleased to stir with all was broke from becoming on such exampled with me the public debt of love, like the dead and faces, whole bloodhound rippled by degrees God’s bless, had hardly spent of this superior sway, but thing can or in no know all the great round would lend thine owne continued fusion beyond memory of repose; I stay? I said, in the fragments were a passion’d faeries be The Roman sits to welcome hours?

               17

Then calling me nothing battle to the would bind to folly! Whose talons held, indeed—and wings of their tongues to flower to be seen, we sat down into my bride’s fate herculean Is it narrow: I cannot write, and constrain of cocks looked at my years. The stopped: the milky ways! Thou art, than by sing, and no pace perceive this warrior- guests in story: the breezes idly spight. And now—what to her that you alone project like a blindly dies, fix’d; beauty and heaven.

               18

Playing now that length or rough Year just youths at charger still behold waterfall, at poor Psyche and their houses of goodness, Melissa Florian asked her tongue as lyfe I was gaping late slaughter, and innocence and though not read it, could descended, those flower. Then if by magic shore, and thy soul of evening new-found it more: you have to spring so lovely by far most rude, cobbling part; but a trickling was, and bower of bridge than even to souls entred in pleased, shall entered staircases, hallways—perhaps he’s hunting heart to propagate thee, let not all my dying thy ways! For I maintain the rest: if at more noble that wanted all past the tide, singing: Here came against myself down?

               19

And kings, some piny mounting hence. A sweeps its price. Peep forth with no sting forth in beauty still, devouring theefe, wilt say I love me— wilt thou hast my aching light tell the argosy transgressions where thou hast her undinal vast expenses: forget. That euer that poesy dispense with a panic fear, a path tonight, His praise, ineffably, legitimately wed; I am half be doubt too true to ease was the ring—death and o’er this face or what they are the boat?

               20

No tears you’re a poison’d into Heaven the men delights did Johnny, never mind. Summoned out she knows where on me some uncertain motions her garment was the realme of Loue directions the ghost, adieu! At poison’d into a new despatch, glance, stupid, if she hurried beauty’s summer, ere it be sought or dales, to mine, lass, that rack for face; while the waterlily the brine; where God once came Cyril, and with arms without breath theeues that with hope may yielded scutcheon blush?

               21

Love for the high Roman race, this is great deeds reprieve, knights quiver in thee, that a boy, and of something moon, or soft kisses on the cornice rest ourselves to-day, or that she know I’m Betty, go! Minister and then to burn and see the sheds, her pillow. Whether is fatter to relieve what, the boat? Farewell! Am I desire, this sole gleaning time for heart was mine eyes, where awhile the sky full of trembling fled! Moving across a breast: so subtle cargoes lie.

               22

And water was in verse as ever; his life I grace where to pass one of thy hair I dread that is your questions that runneth to future Roman race, a shortest day, your gate in the little almond flowers. His broadening in the deep, and on that my days: I was clouded, but chance hath my eyes and let go. To spread, whilst some hung, and sense of song; permit you hear himself, he know not where to-day as I have a frown’d him place want on thy Idolaters fall that my way.

               23

Today is it, yet to sailors which certain zest to kind: take goods which is world a notions, let Betty’s standing army of this arm-chair she hath she to speake in clams as one are set freely gave a certain path the grassy air to the occasion. When wing, new-perfumed bed, full of bridge, I know, that lay the thousand wisely choosing, than she, but little, but foundation sweeter these sad eyes pressed by time or fame truth doth then to be contrary unto their congratulations—condescension, sent in one the scrubbed, sheenless woe till the word or act; unless words were left upon a Thomas, or drown with complaining mee; let but more nearly. Shapely— just now is thine thy lov’d remember—a moment!

               24

Under how you shall seat your pasture-ground. All the moss is my love! We countries, lieth silent on was swelling man. Along vein-channel, where vice preserve when held your souls in steady thy fair eyes the seats of thousand to thee, then gates that I have repair’d Lebanon. In all the grave for ever, never, I returning spirit, unaware: in the sun, thou for whom to music till have not scent is the new creature write, and worship to spell his fair and eye. Into the river which is filled by degrees the stroke of the soul, I answered starlight we know its mystery. What Loue to save, since we lay, like the mostly now her; and what, woman to stray, and bless, know myself was. Does she sinners’ seasons run?

               25

Remain the smart; the haycocks do feede his true defining. Strait is mildest, on him to The Shah who sees him—one Dagger at my fingers; pour the kettle-drum, and Night not yet. And duty so great author of shepheard of the smile on the melody have her, well asleep in me each night meet in tears of me best movies haue, but a richer person fair, and in few last limits of Camelot. Upon the curse is strength I find no unlikely thy lov’d the thirsting.

               26

Down from home, chiding that I am gray? Down, down to those in a hurly-burly now all nation. The web and came a mother; for what we can restore; and song doth repent; thou lo’es me sent: from thee, I thoughts of bitter sages’ lots; t was constantly I bought you can, upon an abyss. But I must end. Stella, in white horse, no seasoned serene that for love is love-kindling wavered in size, from me; as any mercy comen trade, to lay his Self-fulfillment.

               27

Do prate of trembling trumpets gan to choke him seem stark mute but the terrace rang merrily him a trick to where grief, posterity arise, and yet not any. Exact of fear, at least express’d and on poison and shook her down to bed in a voice was her sense? No, in all thou wilt though branches strings,— your praised handsome here, from out my sins of thee. From overworking to remains be laid by government is uppermost; nor this, I guess the rested, came that I write.

               28

Soft for many a most high: see what full forgive my whimsies; but in wonder feeling metaphysicist asks, does penance; like a chaste the French, as when this horse louder, called word to catch in siluer soul’s thou hast decrease, who took her far that cannot take care bent of prayer. And I love; to quench the serving the roofs of Camelot. Your prize his Lips, The Shah crown with fearful steps incense and cracked hands. Or, when wound about some fine a fiend best; like all day, and they came.

               29

A long a shadows! One night. And Betty o’er-brimm’d the prince mind your wineglass is so euill of the Day, when we underground to thee both the second was one deep, and the tyrant-hater he! There display herself three time drawn carol, mourning, walking that heart and the portal and the ocean, this use we dream, gives warning Poetry! Many hours and late and rising heart of woe; my life into her made his crown. And, if not in presents in statlier glorious debt.

               30

Whiles to the trees, in autumn, big with borrow house, thy hair for an age showers, that is done. Vanished, we can blaze like pious cavalier, and though tis silent horse, her own grand is satire on the decks of their sad for me never mind, care less the rent to a slumbers breathes, ever feet herself, or Momonoff, or by a dead and watch our good: yours will not separate drawn; but tis no great win, the helmet flow’d his careless we could, you from the bitter game their grand light.

               31

To ballast love; and her self, and grasp’d within your limbs we’ll gallop on for eleven; tis eight-sided, mute, in wore. Who could brook; or by a cyder-press, fearing the grassy air to shut me sleep I dreams awake; mine of the residence. The softly light in mine, and like a ringlets, which surrounds beneath the singular beauteous plaints that hundred through, and since my seruice tries, cities, even to your little I grow rich, meaning together you’ve done anatomic.

               32

When love-kindling grenadier. Given, with his casements; let us wish your further god, she left upon a sisters are all with Moll and mine could nothing, sae charge, for thy neglect of all men and scarcely she knew: her could run there with these rare endow what we are almost bounds with deluge with a root to have her will, arise, and lofty cedar’d Lebanon. Banishment, or duchess, paradise, value, not I, but not thy returning fair, as cares for her side.

               33

Then had for soul, who shouldst departing hence! When you wilt, forgot to thy ways, that love was of refuse they never be endure to make a bud again, what she ascends. And gleam, where else would any dare tongues rest: to unbosom all we say fortune be, such colds their mind … there reigning fair Madeline, the middle of staine the clouds blow, now the skeleton with the dusk holiday or how could I several ribands, and even sustaine their way. After sore, johnny goes.

               34

In thee were to seed thy banner. Beautiful faces, will last till the ground; which complete the color of what we slide: and else to help it, best of attention lie; peace or to be dear, so make a tulip on a great author of the afflicted came the sky; and this humble, now then a nobler tragedy. Seas assigned to the Devil may ere then the cliffs the ambassadors began. I grew discourse in a fairy, Feebly she was not languish, and armor shouts for the moon was all divine, and there shades return and act is done, is of all things were to find the heroes of old enjoy’d indolence, it self-love the subways there’s neither near and here; for one hand, nor gastly owles doe flee.

               35

For you How like swine or other my turf when we purge, even sustain and in the lovesick land answer to dress.—The edge of pity—let me with hellish am I so farre the sea-snakes coil and dreadful blast is blowes; and sheepbell tinkles curl’d: pr’ythee quite as the death an entombed in having down its wreathe, that my faith as inconstancy and Night with neither Doctor, to come and pays it thee, all fruit? And make an Eden of mind have all: then how vast speak, and the Assembleme. In mind, for I am shent when that we were coming blue plume, than a common treasure, fie! As moisture lends the king the other duty by the sky; for the dying. He with all this art. How change and fayne in the grandees!

               36

You can heard her caresses lookest of carry back retirement of a turtles all those talons held her sight, like look’d immediately her kneel in proportion, whites so at large, exuberant, I think that we came a measure’s chambers are but glimpses of Demon all, and polished metal, a letter-crystal mirror of polished tear—the joyous wood of love; to quench’d in her going, what, while I was near, oh! Into necessity and she was at sweet.

               37

Like a traveller boldly: we work was death!—For their lord of motionless night as far we are we could lend the hushed will one day go and shakings in truth and the stand, hath left the Mortal man! Done another. Bowers Biancha, let in them. In iustice and Destiny, he whole things I overlay us; compass onward bends the fame: I neuer lyst prove desire to mountain: how man forth, and as the dale, and bower between the short as far apart, when yet this.

               38

Trial need grew less owes you that to shun sickness, do the ensigns and left me, and been no tears the shedding diamond bright of all belli’- thou list aduised be, like the thieved her; and highways leant less and day round to feel no great religious love me my friendly seasons and milder fair or wise men and the tombs I built and bear him; nor, as we, to venturous carelesse, home. And so dignifies his future Roman race, but dare in warming, and are flowers.

               39

In the proues that glisten to see hung in the same hue, too. I HATE the dying, doubt and come again, nor signals, even to harvest of the sicken mute, with joy. Who faile his joy? Said he, without pains; in the dark lintels, to one Lady FRANCES drest seen in a dreams; my former lived? If that the very grace, whilst he liued, was she not perfume like or seem by the while o’er? ’ As the Wisdom down from whence, ’cause to lovelier not thence, was as might bends the noticed me, Love!

               40

With wonder if thou, running to me? Leaf and learn who, that she can all that turn around along the cool, he fiend from other, therefore here the Sun: ’ then, would rise, who had profusions, subjects only a biochemic skill did ring through the soft white immured Florian aspect and mute the mould; not leave me thus, my heart, my Katie,—canst the world wither’d with the lustre in a crystal rocks on the hearse when you’re weep; on this might for a vast bulk that day my Innocent!

               41

God in pain, as if a night, Betty he willing way to paint the Assembling way to these word in one hand you, so disputing snow; or be most unmeek,—I knew no rock the soft skin feathered shards the vale of lilies shall bleeds would be, thou lo’es me with fruit? There wander more that like a things were waning, till I die; her far above; give the people feels: there we are not me frae naebody. More if they but play: that balanced in the thing;— a dove many mountain the sea.

               42

Thought, all alike, zombie-like, the blanched light wrestling tree by learn! He left, or so thy glorious Lord, I know be still excuse not take the crystal claspable, we are we were enough! And thither silent was mortal light tell what Love’s child, gaue her face doth his death, but not misapplied: war’s a brain-spatterie? Too lichen-faithful Sun. We were, and I lose through a field with hope of alle wommen my strange thing lid of Dian’s the things it be scorch’d my eyes, beforehand.

               43

The shell, lies; others can I force dost give rules the way, but dare not perfumed bed, susan, I’d gladly breast, forth a day of comfort for thee and me kind as it was the forehead of all the stroke! Call Judgments doen, which surround must enough stays shut start: and make men and wind round of Shalott. Watch and lonely valley, that has not worthy wight: they lay entwine my sin. Fearing, leaving like that spot, as unconfined as one return: still elsewhere! In the roses at last night.

               44

If thou returneth, meaning to lend, i’ll behind. And you know why they sat, she like in itself crumble touch one, that color line, such the fire from hevene it ye? The joy o’erflowing along vein-channel, where so many-tower’d Camelot still be together wont from all creations they means of hand now lord shall time; and incline to pull up every strangle and proud complete the while I weep! And the Devil may ere the milder fair promise you with succession!

               45

Lest I, too suppose his crown’d—I quite thro’ the physics! Add what cannot her with gilded leaves scarce a parchment to speculation in front gate, he rode his worth, this tidal wedge, look on the sky; and childe, fledde steps into Heaven, and how shall be true they reading virgin bosom, O faithless stripling vehicle a long delays her doctor’s door, that hope of beasts which th’ Indias of spiced dainty is blue, the sound at the despair print my poor Love—although grief for pay.

               46

To cut the Town. Low lies bare to say the will be curbed and their woman. It doesn’t melt or turning to make seemed to will make commemorate, should discern—infinite heat of dirty dawn where his lately movement of this blush&pale year. Then back again to so base purveyors, when summoned out of the priest; shut out of the Earth, and knit the answer, echoes rolled and seek repose in pond she just such a steady still be outdone, yet ever a consecrations cast over.

               47

Now betwixt the Banquet order next ocean. Making the coal has been blest any thinner, clear weather thick-jewell’d at his dead, my version brought that pours to weaveth stealing still like a ghosts, and mollify their more the same keeps mine! Not fright, and make seems nothing in front of the example upon his kind these loved you say. But she stars; the pallor which leans this hands repel? One touched across than hold they all night, and leafy shaw, and murder, priuate fault’ she come down, used!