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libidomechanica · 1 year

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“Opposing note, in the midst a silver hooks”

A ballad sequence

It would be gone. And when upon a shoal; for if there’s variety, she swore, she heard in years! Loves Triumph, must

be to that light, and place, this day’s doctrine—in another pious reader in suspense; the dungeon mingle with

the dust as simooms whirl from Cato. Summer were there again. My heart is humming a tune I haven’t heard it—once

perhaps a monster, there with someone, with choisest flowers ally’d in blood, that’s all I’m made of. There never being

circumspect: then may I dare to boast how I do love thee, cheerly swum. Opposing note, in the midst a silver hooks.

Round her—she was at length stol’n goods doe come to bus’ness, some a sweet as I could trust, sweet Memory, and Hope, earth’s modest

more than like of heart: ev’n the tender and unnamed light that the hand and wept saying, Accept all happiness and

bear along with a dumb look of hope on my first bread that lure him from the World should dread this sort of the night! Evil

lust am fallen down to the mart’s or temple’s worship has paid price, ask’d next day, If men ever hunted twice? A

wood-coal or the charmer sinner,— he did not quite dim, yet rather tired display’d in senates, at the wedding

the link of ruin, rose from sweet to live, and lock’d embraced her but from beneath his wings: from reddened eve he views

the rose, if I’ve been the fainting fools, yet is, when your address, they may betray. When deep persuading oratory

fails. From their glory, which both you and I have yet done, in the counterpart of dialogue, by humouring always

makes the cellar. Of possible, nor caught court mysteries, having striv’n in vain was now about the wing of Time, like

petals finding themselves they may betray. An universal influence breeds like effect most bitter at a bet.

His brush with all his hero’s right. —It all sprung from off the light Salmacis, her body downwards to its blue harbor and back a horse, not even race, but work. Maybe it’s the sod, and can’t be bettering about on a train he knows

the decay we’re made our love a wild girl keeping a hold on a dream, I plotted to be well. Which is inseparate appendage. The stature of these reports, because the sun and then he was inflamed. Than wear a heart is such a

task as he ought; but never meet. And sorrow after sorrow after sorrow’s mysteries, having through th’ horizon peeps, as pitying these lovers, duly, daily, laid. The world and life’s love or war had still more perplexed,

uncertain, since you will find, thou art out of our friend’s fragility, for whom earth was made by Mrs. The gen’rous God, who wit and gold, such as these strange barges, make along vein- channels their yielding eyes wobble as this Venus demands.

Your kissed her sight: his bell-mouth’d goblet makes her heart that her sweetest stile affords: while these are Nugae, quarum pars parva

fui, ’ but still there, must go, and flow of tears,. But when he came, he seem’d to fret with Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

With new-born babe—in that thou hadst set me light, ’tis with Lady Adeline Amundeville; the fairest tinters,

especially do we affect of two gold ingots like innocent and danced until morning their talk was of his

learning just enough to make a Werter of his mountains rear the sacrificing turtle’s blood, in view and opposite

of Andy Gump. Be bare; lies drown’d with every sort of chaste desires, of force in all his hero’s right, and crown with

all the most! Oh veil thine Eyes from hungry Israelites; to this we have left to dreame: and somewhat: and you faine would spoil

much good pastime, many a wandering to the boxed-in hills beyond the birds around them on his forehead cool. Loving

you: home is nowhere, there’s at least vouchsafe to hide true love is as fair as any mother who all in one,

one pleasing heat revived, which most friend, you away, the clergy, who upon my radiant Hero’s gentle and

aristocratic in this praise that we can guess of Britain’s presence, lovely heat, like tertians, of common thought. And there took

his hand. Chocolates tempers my ways of flurrying is my inner cost,—this love by wealth of globed peonies; or if

the Pole’s not open, but also so correct, as she had, was just not mad; yet ne’er can see that faded star flash on

his ocean? A man knows; let it too deepe move: for Kings and nations—swith awa’! In years! Was strewed with mortals, or

of both, feare not; the least of the rose it was that boy, as he knelt down their sins have shaving thee. To slake his hands, saying,

Accept all happiness from me. My sole excuse is— ’t is my fate, and wound the hour with, does as well commence

within my heart: I string of the Day has kept, against her wing, she trembling lies, like a nest from those that solitary

tower he got by stealth. Free under there I took their turn to seed there, branching stars who, where unhappily as

after the bed she blushed as one displeased away in easy death. More life to fight with slow words, with his Grace and raw,

long dallying with Bacchant coronals along the paths, o’er which haunt a lover with his delights were so white. But is

got up, and gone to bring such a cittadell, so I sent sighs behind them where we love first when we first too readily

impression sunk, the enfeebled mind will to the fair vermilion in the flame from the Hand of Retribution.

As thy lookes sturre, runs vp and down it goes all round, i, in this maid I love, I only tend and watched him out of our degenerate breed: longbow from the ribs of old

Parnassus flowes, and ripens mines, kept dross for duchesses, the embosom’d grief, however and thoughts on the trade of love even, all my worth, to the twice two thousand mile. And

would bless me with a kind of grass after hard years, throws herself secure, o’ercast with truth atone! And for his country seat, to-day, lord H. For none more gem to enrich her breath

that harbors me and many more by rank and fall when they begin to mend: but Juan also shared in her ruddiest hours, a breath that ever drove the glaring orb decline, my son!

Or we could wed in bear suits just as simooms whirl from Carlton palace of rest: blends, in exception to all my

beloved. As in plain terms yet cunning as she, to hear, why hear’st thou leave me thus, for pity sake, me in thy quiet

gloom the earth; so that few or none more than for that’s best in her eyes wobble as this they aren’t afraid of clichés.

Charles how you remind me of some use. Why then declare good nature’s whole World on us doth Love speak? It told me

heaven looks from each sex, to make me blest, your love of pleasure nigh, by nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; What men

desire, a pleasant jesting at the lips was touch another’s feeling t is not dashed its meaning, you may be

fix’d at somewhere began the change a word: at Longbow wild as an AEolian harp, with which the echoes oft thy flames which

I wear. Make his anger if he were displeased. And crave the place for which made his capering Triton sound allures

the earliest of men. Down at thy foot to harken what you put forth to gaze upon. Deep being! And swore the puppet-

shows of praise, but just to play with your love, the sweet eternity: Cold Pastora by a fountains rear the hour

of six. She gathered in such a thing as flesh. If all would love has closed behind, not kill outran the people of

sagacity to draw the line between the gentle pleasing sound; I grant I never knew untill then not show my wit:

duty so great, which once screen’d many a wandering guest to meet again, as now the sunny lands of shame, in being

blinde was far from his hands, saying, Accept all happiness at home, far more re-survey these poor Hens about my

ears, and dreary Mars carousing nectar bowls. Wherein the lobes of you? Now the runaway boy who chucks it all out!

Country gentleman’s fit education. For will believe me, Hero, hate me not with fighters, each leaf make of the

Long Knives’ getting worse and apish merriment. And there you looked up … zooks, sir, flesh and great; the very same and that very

first. To Venus, answered in you, twenty years he had been a creed, ne’er attracts; and were he rested not till to

Honour true delights are Pretty, to dwell on them were a pitty. They drank down their own country much admired. Her

law, and in my armes I tooke him there pry upon his transistor to Long John Nebel arguing from a harmlesse

folly is he treasure, like a history less polite without offence. Friendship, or romance of Platonism, which sparkled

through Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero thorough your naked neck his bare arms threw, and silver tincture of my love, not

for nothing then they went away. An exquisite small orange cup amassed five beetles,—blind and got men’s heads cut off!

Then take, Clarinda’s fondest friends you are, that they sweep the straight against someone else’s credit cards and feed deep, deep upon her breath that Leander rude in love thee still, save

that is, whate’er their ocean in a sieve. I have led to Homer’s Catalogue of ships’ is clear; but thinke that all the hidden weapons under your skin, enough to quote and cavil?

Was what you put forth his vigour; and the boat was all divine: to be annoy’d. And our Sophias are not apt to wear it: secure of a kiss—thus doth Love speak? No, no,

nobody poor, and pity no more if there are kind: and ye meanwhile far he flies, bewitch me than wit.—He thought it just a nail. The wanderer would win is emptied of their fox-

hunt to a sigh thus doth Love speak. Thy presence of strange unearthly thing to bring in spaces that myopic traveled that entire continued not.— Ghosts of beauty were billiards.

Thus, while these trunks? Yet Chloe sure was foremost to proclaim— departure, for his docility; because she’s good, what does it matter whether flat or sharp. Because he was

as a charm, the world upon this new flirtation; the twin spire turnstiles, and euery flower enjoys the aire: and Joy, whose eye quick-glancing o’er the blood of all that great Bacon

saith, fling up a mass of drossy pelf, than such delight to Arm Bears! For Fate with jealous woods about the spirits as he replied. Sister’s bed, to dally with Idalian

Ganymede, and fool are two pleasure suffered wrack, since Hero’s ruddy cheek Hero betrayed, and night strewn salt across the sky above, much more was in her head, and he’s racing against

someone, with you? Good hours of fair cheeks and long to the purpose not to guess that any thing is pleasure; men love in the fire from lovers of one nymph we view, all how true!

We’ll sculpture the same relations of sleep, somewhere before thirty—say seven-and-twenty, and with the beggar that

men or a hypocrite? Turn then from wits; and there ten thousand, for whom earth we are lov’d, and the least my dream. I said

between friendship’s hand, and still panted with many more, where fancy flatter herself to the mind, at least shade out

someone’s garage I fell on city sidewalks in California we went to the Yes of two worlds walking the movie

with delight and in it catch, ere she cries, shall be both sere and they must know! May grow, if not quite dim, yet rather

held in that stand still to be embrace thee, mournful Psyche, nor the death cricket bleeping, my heart grown humble; in the

dark lawn. Flower o’ the rose it was to amuse; but even then, some to please him, and he came, it glittered like in

this our part my part must be Honours Funeral. Confess their crimes; factitious passions form our only almanack.

By this, Apollo’s golden day. Women receives rain still and close beside! Is swifter than this his love abated,

fearing here, in mourn her blessed arms, look’d perplex’d, and romances I ne’er reply and, yet, I cease not to lose this lighter

with unwounded thus, nor stain thy youthful of bread? A laugh, never was she, to hear her speak, and woman to the

Sacrament, will wink and let her rave, Poore Child complain, and that’s fiddling on my tatter’d by friend’s Muse grown with love my

ever-during night. The ocean maketh more horns than hounds— she hath no wild boars, she hath no being detected. But,

lo! I ask a brother. You tell too many lies and vestments and wishes, is her scorn, upon thy pillow. Wherein

Leander stooped to have conclusion tries, her who is dry cork, and o’erhead a lively head. But by those who wander

still, my dear. Bare bulb softens above the loveliest Hero shined and looking to have embrace where nothing that pure

sanctuary alone. First just casually cantering with Bacchant coronals along the porter, some slight of

Vertues throne, where Venus in her perfectly correct, that she could adopt your wine, and thirdly, never canst thou leave

me thus, my Katie? Whether saint or write, and then run out and danced like Tinkerbell and the great matter now? Your face

I have to think of the heart of thirty-one thick leaves will be! Have crimes accounted light the lamp and lay the end—or,

sinning in this I witness call the Latin in pure waste! There was jack jargon, the gigantic guardsman; and General

Fireface, famous in the distance calls at three A. And loved well—a man known in the country. If this belief from

her unjustly did detain. He, being up, began to swim and, looking to quench the sagest youth in every worst:

henceforward with the streams around her, opes she holds in her heart so tender fool who will be perhaps from their

colors, and again subsiding, its inner crash is like after the C he gave no ear, and her in humble kind.

But with a few slight, scarless sneers. The fair vermilion knew, and looking on his arms threw, and sighes and peace, are there

is a flower girl who smiles, yet slays me with redoubled strength to fly the world gave ground, with nary a thought as doth

an Arab turn’d to much success. Amid the loveliest Hero shrunk away, as with your eyes, less wit than wit. Guidi—

he’ll not mind the legs and arms I put my hands for no such roses strowed the rank smell of weeds: but why thy odour

matcheth not thy bliss, and in the proud palace, what are the lay; here Vanity strums on her own good pleasure’s in

walking in turn like planets rotating in and out her eyes, gemms in abundantly detestable. But form good

housekeepers, to breed a nation. So smooth, so sweet, but form good housekeepers, to knowing, that for they took delights are

pretty, to dwell in them for then they would lull its river- child to sleep. And ah, ye poachers! By only those that proceed

upon those who had him kindly took, and a small trout to pull up every bar; but that the dream of liquid bed:

the warm, impassioned tide that seemed, as if my own: thy soul hath snatched up mine all fair thou art Greater yet than all I

tell—the Might of Intellectual Truth. At being my fingernails are there has not confined to Cupid. And in

the purposes than just to plant a flag in, or tie up a horse, not even race, but These were advantage me.

Like an infant made When all alone— that Juan was unlikely to resign or reign. Or walk’d; if foul, they rode, or walk’d,

or studied their devotion from thence, have lived for you! A topiary so the pleasure miss’d her, and began to

give me my honesty again, into my lap, the sores she holds in her hands she made the word and I’ll stick to mine!

How charming, if then any thing he views can greatly blamed as obstinate: or her, who laughs at Hell, but like her, none.

Like untuned golden day. With sad and hears not to be made game. And her babe, ringed by a bowery flowery

tale more she strook. The value and skill, your name you seek to nurse at full, we may presume to criticised the

ins and our bodies,—That’s the fault lie? Outside these latest throb that leaves them a long date— till then all beside, lads!

This I could not paint apace, I hope some good company be kept. By a passionate, and wound they went onward, whenever live so long so charily she kept, against her deity, through ether wise or silly, for the goal yet, do not goe away: thanke may you haue for no cause be of your bowed head spotlit. And isolate pure spirit better

kept behind her and walked to your leaves, nor ever you except for the sex are always cut him off as he replied the Cock, in Heaven once I was; but by my Evil lust am fallen down to a laugh, a cry, the soft pipes, play on; not to trust your soul’s full meaning to be countenance behold is censure; Silia does not preach to him the only

wedding the rivulet on from the ribs of old, thy great deep being, thine shall grow old apace, and oft sings the owl his anthem, where yet ’tis sweet friends, those prophets of the nature, tolerably mild, to mar the sublimes whate’er their art, to introduce it; and the Soul in Strife! Our parting friends in this vile age of change; and what’s travel, unless

I knew the very centre, past all price, ask’d next day, If men ever hunted twice? And, as he with some melancholy fit shall at once, and, though infinite can never blows so red the rose, if I’ve been merry, what am I a beast for? The door unto my house no more. Impassioned tide that heavy Saturn in Olympus dwell. Far from

accident; it suffers not in love and me, the class was called it Venus’ nun, when as a bird, which love sails to regions far; and once o’er several strictures, or saunter’d through the milkweeds’ honey terrifies me. Till hopes from Mortal Paramour, and for his sake whom thy darkness and diplomatical. Which bears the gown that doth become her, those lampes

of purest light where I knelt watching. So he sang all day over the edge the plane is making man’s head, his scull will in us is overrules the fairest Cupid pined and looking on his ocean? Were vanish’d to be wary: indifferent: for now for certain of success. It sighed to the body than tongue and fry. What I write, while teares poure

out his words, his paper pale despair, I drafted hymns to the death-hour rounding as the streets eight years or late; love, if it could be found professions, too, she would have crimes accounted light, some flying stroke alone in the nick, like one who insufflates the world, and life’s busy throng,—beautiful dreamer, awake unto me! And gave you not that to myself

in your iron skies, thou countesses mark, and spoke more of the night your body throws upon his back, and there was the odour which humanity, to read Don Quixote? Everybody loved her maidens be; her lover pants upon her breasts, she’s just my niece … Herodias, I would not been set to music, midnight to play with, as an infant plays.

Was never do him hastily she kept, and free of any form at all. Of love was the flower girl who held up the flower in green dell the tall trees. And hereupon he

bade me tie her shoe; I did; and kissed feet the end is close for dress, and more, much more was in Blank-Blank Square. Bequeathed to my cell. Whose eyes looked out, and much it grieved her maiden grace

affrighted there, a naked man, she screeched for fear such sight, ne’er answers I am waiting chair to feign it, when our moon’s no more. Must of force of hearsay well; I will not say,

This is my breath, and chose to bear, and best displaid.— And that’s why even after every flower, we’ll roam the town and sing out of reasons which flow’d with ev’ry granted; and the

night to stare: their union was in t, and robes sweet. It is winter and brown, her whom want betrays poor lovers hate. It was nothing to the long sea-wave as it swell’d now and their

order? From you have broken their golden hook, the mountain round her brother Angelico’s the man who venture. You have no accomplish’d blackguards, like this is real gladness. If

this should tell ye how smooth speech, his first and majesty, she proudly sits more overrules the fairest Cupid pined and stopped all the blood of all? Deliberate, therefore to her

devoutly prayed. By this Leander, thou away, as if all sufferings of their solace sent. So he sang all day over the edge the plane is making addition thus. Was mute and

neither wife or maid;—a gentleman processional and fine, holding my knee and now I will believed his perpendicular. Forward, puts out a soft palm—Not so fast! Dwelt;

Hero this inestimable gem. As heavenly path with still pursues the Ring, flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing: so when or you should, though his delight exclaims he

is for my part, I am but base: base in respect. For Fate with jealous eye does see two perfect on the rushes to be embrace, our parting friend; it were much better to

us, which is my love, to whom mad’st thou know’st my aching hearts to dust. Spring, and in the numbers, waies, great a press; and shepherds that serene declining souls than dread of death?

Love, a spring gush’d through her hair; sleeps should all be cramped into basins, where their moral gibing; and they are but

decaying; come, my love, to the slumber; or should returned by the streamlet vapors are borne, waiting to wound, and set my

hearse be vexed with a friend, her own high spirit, which limping Vulcan and his soul shall run. Alcohol, to that coy girl

who smiles, yet with disdain; he wanderer would not beene. The youngest loved not a tear: but come, and to be kiss’d for the

great rings serve more purpose brutal as if facing the Cup of Happiness at a long waves that give thee deserve, yet

for her mourned. Here danced and gold-bubbling fountain play’d, pursued its course, while these cowslips fading be, troth, leave the stain of

tears, the cup of a harsh chain, binding him with one hand lightheaded Bacchus hung, and, with roses strowed the rash deed.

Pine-crusted bodies in my mind. Consisted of—we give thee. Wed in bear suits just as simooms whirl from Carlton palace

and with those dainties, she the heart, loue onely reading hair. And, replied the Cock, in Heaven once I was; but

by no means so quite; at least occasion for making men what you say—the sting is dire. With truth; a smooth his breast,

and, with roses strowed the rank smell of weeds: but why thy odour matcheth not that shears the world which trotted not too

sadly sigh’d Alas! Sad Hero wrung him by the deep, soulful stillness; in the younger. Everywhere on the way to

the ground, which really bonne. Though tears no longer flow; my eyes are in your substantial feasts. Played within these to great

Atossa’s mind? Cupid, because to music, or broadcast live on the rainbow. In summer’s time, the teeming to wind round

the door she goes, wherewith affright! If my dear, and Joy, whose eyes, stella now learnes strange unearthly things, their cups

they drank down the waves and other pass my verse: which works on leases of short-number’d hours, a breath say, faults done by night

were never yet so warmly ran my blood and sweet angelic slip of a thought, or writing can give rest, or quiet

to my lord, nodding beside my lady in his common- place, even in their ghost-towns, almost withered; now strength and

newer purple doors have closed. From friendship checks, and she is all before thirty—say seven- and-twenty, and with him?

Tis round him in that she such loveliness and they turned into joint narration, if possible, nor the stream, nor

leave the world upon those eloquence, I Stellas lawes of duetie to depart; alas, I found that month: so, boy, you’re gay

and placed it by themselves nor other sense, will be true than not to sell again, and rated him almost address each

other, and produces—You. Week, tiring old readers, nor dread to be wed or dead? Hands on my copy-books, scrawled them

south, I snap the deadly fatal knife that some dark undercurrent woe that set may rise again; but each tide does less

supply, till in his carriage. With my wretched Ixion’s shaggy footed satyrs and upstaring fauns would shine; but Longbow’s

phrase, I told you so, ’ utter’d by the mere ague still of men’s regard, thus cruelly to part in twain, that he speaketh.

Who should sit for men to seed. The gulf of rock yawns,—you can’t there’s a change. Two days till Easter. You have I been able,

without competing for their devotion, she had consented to create, as when all chaos was, before, and

her who is thine Original shape, or for his country summer were well nigh over. And tradesman once to burst

into a deep cascade, sparkling glance that dwells in towered courts is oft a dreary Fuimus’ of all we can see

that streams to their cups they drank down the boughs; I watched your love; I scatter’d amongst these, there was something, and the country

can remember;—but these my wings in the universal influence breeds like effect. My sweetest stile affords: while

the same princesses averted half your parting kiss, so sup’rabundantly detest at leisure. Too: I take breathless

spoke something to drop equal dividends of petals beside! But this is true, I might know how their hymns, to hear

you speak no Latin more than ever rankle before they first day home, he’s shaken me awake to see the garden

for each Medea has her Jason; or to the pointed time had spread of death. Brought to rights; you have had you tried to

speak to him, while by the nettle, so typical, shower, for none more than when art is too precise in every pen,

reserve with Jove, than she guess’d, and now would fain be thoughts, although it hath my duty strongly knit, to the bar and senate:

when invited elsewhere preservation; but whatsoe’er she wish’d Clarinda knew; but Anguish wrung the unweeting

groan—who blames what I said between my tear to touch the serene severity was not Ganymede, and here increase

are mercy, pity, and permit a place with buls and sweetness had me there made loving heart a woman loves to rend.

A bell to chime the hopes. With evenings. Into a great light come again, my church the timeless moon. And that it takes no farther than the other, yet resign’d. As Troy; sylvanus

weeping, my heart alarm’d, aw’d without the middle-aged to make an ell—and make a quarrel as he seem’d it winter still, my dear, that at once I lov’d before the world. Dust.

Place of all those naturally—imposed upon it, I have proved enough to make a buttercup under a wide hat,

dancer, singer, thy wooing voice is kind: but Juan had been taught, and wedded unto her was as capable of any.

Already how am I so far out of curiosity, like the Prior and the Book of Martyrs now

drinking to tell you, I liked your holy ayde, with cheerful hope thus he cried full oft in rurall vaine. Thrust ahead of

her and cannot tell—which pretty much the sparkles new begun. As if those who, Pope says, greatly daring dine. And

unobserv’d the ground: and ye meanwhile, I make a butter for some future Livy to tell how he reduced the pelf which

burn with us in endless grown, and ne’er read like taxi girls at Roseland as if crooning could boast a longer blink

is sleep. Lodging is, the metaphysician, who limits all his hero’s right. When our two souls stand with sad and hear?

That her sweetest lips did part, and still more perplex’d, and others, that which wit so poor as mine may make the thornless garden,

there suspicion. Nor in his swooning ears, the princes tried, each sitting outside these poor Hens about my ears, and

all we can tell her, the world and life, was my sweet Highland Mary. In mourn her bleakness, we can we glean in their cures

than fees. Intense intentions were all their Lucifer kicking. Love deeply grounded thus, nor stain thy youthful of bread?

Since if the very splendid house with her little town by river or sea shone in Vernet’s ocean lights; and looking

at the engines laid which fairly knock’d it up with the kindly took, and a strange and his transistor to Long John Nebel

arguing from little: Would you worships, I would temper Juan’s faults conceal’d, where the Druid oak stood like Chianti

wine! In England ranks quite on a difference certes don’t; for, doing most, there is no snow I dreamed the splendid house

with herself, though sweet, when like to love or hates, disdains to have a tongue which grows out of our friends: or her, who is lodging

in spaces that myopic travelers can’t shake some very same column; date, Falmouth. However vain, to sullen

day, without remorse of rhyme, or fear, have built and laid out ground beneath this rashness suddenly, took leave, and life’s hackney

coach, which we seek—the haughty heart to think what man is! Makes now her love to heaven can claim accord, and eat it.

Then wake in winter when it seems the convent’s friend: to her, Calista prov’d to grant against you come forth, that opiate

of these poor babes their piety with the hopes. And show the sun that to me a livelier sight and gives them scarce

a subject, because that his horse— his speech, his first approaching sun; for much the same; when, ere this, is come and hides there?

A knave this morn of Rome and May? Bench behind her and breathe but o’er my should perpetrate some stern nymphs and shucks, refuse and rubbish. Ye banks, and all its ways, and here and the face hint, that neither gods nor men may the rose; they are a North-

West Passage have no accomplish’d blackguards, like soldier, moved with kisses; and at last, to follies blend, was what he had his judgment was. Juan—in this his love Europa bellowing race, by only this after hard years, the aftermark

of almost a whipper-in. Since laughter, a white hands again if given the saint he worship wake some very same column; date, Falmouth. Must be meek! Will very often strayed beyond the boat was all. Where people of sagacity

to draw the line between the weak one’s friends t is odd, but they ne’er revoke what once from Shírín tore him, hurl’d him from above: o that in thy lookes sturre, runs vp and downe, to make him swear to never knew untill the sphere; grief makes me

feel quite Danish or Dutch with that yearn. So fortified with no soul at all—I never kiss the girls. And devout with peaceful citadel, that’s sweetest Lesbia, let us prove, the sweet of bitter barren bride. To right: for how should begin

to mend: but do not this time to tell; and more to the boors cried Dang it? For much it grieved at their devotion, she had the influence of the sun went down, and though neuer slake, and ioy therein, though not so much in temper; but their

loves. On his way, my days pass heavily, i’m weary of the dive bar and I lost my wallet I remember your name as if it were through simulation of love, theirs was that skirt the proud palace, what are they? A fine way to thee

swim, gladder to catch at and lets not Virtue she find to linger by the cry that brings forth, like tears because my mind now of the year; ’ without parade; but small concern about the flames to rise that in tears. Or told a tale, sung, or rehearse,

I thought like a part potential: i’ve seen a portion see to portrait may I grant be seen: trees, at one time, shall be sandless; fields of this petty boss, that churl Death may give more life to Love than is yon moon which, after a long chase

o’er his figure; like swift Camilla, he scarce a single still? An enclosure. But when thy heart monitor, the death her hands we wring, forth from their eyes and seas have flown away, I call it loving you: home is nowhere, truly, he shows

more appetite for words, came somewhat: and you’ll fine; brother lingers late with doing, we will harshly jar. In their way, I must paint it these just as theirs is merely rubbing their fishy smells together in our low world, and doth not new:

then broke his fair doth restless move in the rest; which so prevail, and the viewless wind. By the street’s hushed, and fair; misshapen stuff are of like worth. Now he her favour or a debt she e’er should laugh at—the mere combination of that minute?

Things that are your helpe to try, nor other bred—this by his land’s perdition. Still outright; yet there’s no advantage! He found again, this new flirtation—but decorous; the mere ague still and in health I refuse to forsake you!

And swore he never shorn, had they take you. From heaven, I think my love, to the councils of the ton. With honey’d rain and delights be in their exit await, from friendships, there, with a Swan. The party might arrive where mingled and yet

a third of life—intense—lost to mortality. Crimes, had not those stern hill back, and with insomnia, perfect Loves; nor lets them to their cribs of barrel- droppings of the sessions find; in women, two almost too much. Wary than afraid

of these possesses Whitmanesque urge&urgency boo Bear, the taxes, and rather serious, are the fav’rite blest, your love, though the floor she slid. The god, seeing him to the long branched with savage Salvatore’s; here danced, I say,

right out. He is warden;—but the front, of coursers also spake they: Henry rid well, like me, you may retire; and turn from Ill, that keep coaches, must not for this faire day all is ours! Of in-door life is mixed: the cloudy trophies—not

of spear and shield, which no doubt, I’ve broken heart was strook. Nor other bred—this by his heart revenging malice bare. And, wanting serves its sorrows tear that finkle heart to Him. He thoughts, in all hearts of the beauty glide, and followed. On birthdays,

glorious, just to console sad glory strove to please— having paused a little goes and others vanish; whether without offence. Look you, now, as who should not do as well. See Sin in State, Strikes Time all of a heap.

For, doing me disgrace. How our villeggiatura—rife with me: such a fire I espy walking in and outs of

verb and noun, on the altar-flame; and take my word, you won’t have all pass’d for me reply; driu’n else to great debater,

so that the urchin’s fit for—that came next. Beautiful and bounding as the morning rose, her mind; the more short; for

ennui is a great sensation, unto her bosom fire, and from many had lovers hate. On both ends. Everybody

loved Chick Lorimer. Despite of Fate will mount aloft and dewdrops are waiting to confess their cribs of barrel-

droppings, candle-light in the cause more she fled and, seeming, Juan’s faults which growes neere there of the old choral wall: others,

from her: nor can Juno sweeter be, when he allured the vent’rous youth could sail; for incorporeal fame whose words,

now with dumbe eloquent that happiness from me fly to follow switches I broke and peeping o’er the parliament,

and prayed the narrow range. He reach’d one gender, we were twelve of our hero, he glanced like taxi girls at Roseland as

if here were four Honourable Misters, who fought their Cakes and Creame, Poore Child complaint—that caps the corner. Lord, they’d have

taught; with too much quickness ever to be wary: indifferent go-between; your mouth in waves, your hangdogs go drink

out this captive nymph we view, all how true! And look on Simo’s mate, no ass so meek, no ass so obstinate: or her,

who is lodging in spaces that have it; some truth! I shure wi’ him. Poor Lord Augustus Fitz- Plantagenet. Bleed away

the winters in the promise there in the noontide of the salt sand-wave, the Proclamation that anyone out.

He danced like two grubs on the mind. Though the land, this morning insects that there was something the river-whispering run

warmed by the strength to heaven stoop to have bethought like a globe a globe a globe a globe a globe may I term this, by

which watchful Hesperus no sooner than the kitchen. Character, in those eloquence, I Stellas eyes and parasites;

but oh! Owe; their sweet breath, less from dim rich skies: nor that night the late action we regret: the vacancies are shown,

and that’s it all to live in a glee would I could swear that glorious ghost, since then I heard the clouded pond’s surface.

With other so, lending our minds out. And unnamed light. Each morning rose, but leaps, and bursts, and the other give. Hates,

disdainful eyes of proud compare within my mew, a-painting fools, yet is, when gaudy nymphs humbly made request both might

not perform nor yet she ask. The worse he fares. There, and then he thought. Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear the hour

with, does as well as say,—paint it these just as a mower. Harps divine it’s so beauty go with their state upon: for

thee! Dan Phoebus watch’d every kiss to her devoutly prayed. Had all that great a press; and you, I can love both fair and

life’s equinoctial line of any thing, I own, which wit so poor as mine may make seem bare, in wanting on the streaking

sun of this bright, let temple be destroy, and quite Englishmen, and be among mankind their loves. On Hellespont,

guilty of truest breasts relenting their green darkness and monogrammed watch, would The Mirror that repast.

To say to folk—remember;—but these are Nugae, quarum pars parva fui, ’ but still swollen shut with intestine broils the

world as, since the mere combination of the Long Knives’ getting worse and apish merriment. And nothing else was to

be revenged on Jove did undertaking or complete: suppose you reproduce distress sick of woe; my life and

for your cold people have sought to grant against you come forth, that I in pure simplicitie breathed life into his cabinet,

to furnish matter who knows! Till there, must go, and flower- loving maids—the hermit bees find the sight, as hinting more;

with darkness forth a rattling murmur to the stake fast, and happiness and display considerable talent

in my will in them for my fault curst, though it hath my duty strongly knit, to the gloomy sky where, crowned, about him

wound, and after his decease. Which the hulls of whales steered the orchard possesse? I could make no noise, but listen to the

trees be bare; fresh-quilted colourings, think water for some future How like a new-borne sighes her sweetest stile affords:

while those Camaldolese and Preaching Friars, to do our church but fire sparks, particles, chrysalis into man.

And water. A dwarfish beldam bears me company’s a chess-board—there are the top of a leaf wind-driven and Four;

interpret God to all gen’ral rules, your taste of follies blend, was stealing under the time. Still Heaven’s messenger

of highest caste—the Brahmins of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline was farther progress of his noble friends in

this world is best. A deale of Youth, ere this, and hide thee, witch! That it, despisde, in true but name her loving so. The birds

may take or leave one sigh, another fit she sins with anguish, shame, in being best acquaintance lets not Virtue slumber;

or should behold. The farther than twelve sweet smell of difference of the State I’me in: since if the very birds around

Love’s temple be destroys, and count it crime to let a truth slip. Everywhere he shall together, bed by bed in a

new, highly particulation, for whom earth which thou receivest not gladly, or else receive a prize reserve and

pale to see what was before, reduc’d to feign his druggy sleep. I could be smart, and robes sweet things that are the color

of rotten peaches on Orcas Island there for honey bees have sought to be well, be well, be well. A park is purchased

by the gods in sundry shapes committ’st a sin far worse the Titan’s breakfast, after dinner; and am like the

one is winning wave, deserving note, in the distant echo given back to the street—why, soul and heighten them three-

fold? On what I’ve seen a virtuous woman put it in her name on a wooden gavel: esperanza’s Gavel.

What say you to wise Oxenstiern. She had an ear for music’s charms, or hear sighs for the swelling main that him from abroad;

and lets not Virtue slumbers, lull’d by the court a Gothic Babel of a chamber hums, counts his neck in touching,

and marrow was turned again, this autumn, big with rich in an imagination as beautiful and bone recovery,

et cetera—could never win the grassy moonlight— three slaves whose weight, which made Solomon a zany. And

now and the truce obtain. They seemed to scorn it; her breath, a shadow I with my darling helped to mince the word. Their she

condemn me to surrender them then say my desires, and which to flatt’ry so listen’d; how doubly severer,

Maria, thy fate, for faithful were the storm by which in the duck pond, rapping with a ruby large enow to draw

men’s eyes assaid, inuade her eye was bright, a well of love. Must I, who came to a firmament: many a jest told

of the feast, there also was of course in Adeline, where’er collective wisdom to give it a try. Will no other

vice content you? Let him lift a plate and catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant. Sometimes with his learning

down to a laughing passion strive which of the London winter hath my added graceful necks, white trillium or viburnum,

by all right and argued with homage to the slumbers of each folded flowers and, may be, something just stepped on

my dress. He started up, intending to have embraced. Do you feel the earth below seem holy grounded, hardly blazon

forth the paines of Loue I loue, though your naive ties, the choir’s amen. The noble guests, or more; before the window

for fresh alarm, so that we have made the earth to heaven looks are coin’d in conversazione; the due bounds of the

delicacy; all so nice, that, wholly unexpected woes with new-born babe—in that sicke- bed lies that my slack Muse

sings of life is pass’d a way! In play, there again. Rain King, but those strange goings on and decided. Till whatsoe’er she

wish’d Clarinda knew; but Anguish wrung the unweeting groan— who blames which I choose to keep in my backpack in bed you

said Don’t make fun of me when a personified Bolero; or, like a history of this blessed night, and patience, and

bade him repent. Such measure the sea, playing triumph in your iron skies, has earth I had the advantage!

And to those who would understand? Say, what can Chloe want? The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke; the Countess Crabby; the boors cried Dang it?—And all its smoke quite smothered: the woods will be true, just not quit me when Oppression in my verse: which when he

allured poor Dolon: you had better take care what I have added since, dear Madam, to design, asks no firm hand, as she thought to be! Vain they were, and there, and rose-trees were kind, to shelter their lords’ decease, some slightest splinters from out

their thought so; but that in muck begun, shine, buzz, and flits through the flower o’ the broom, take away my hands from childhood of their virtue, beauty, education, boldly referring to be guided, because t is frail; rode o’er the soi-

disant sound mind. In these lines of Loue I loue, thou climbst the skies, has earth below seem holy ground. Who can love and Time with their weak proportion see to portrait of the nature is here; it has but change arose, all eyes make greater moan.

Late in the careless hair instead of pearl t’adorn it glistered with wit, stor’d with his awkward corner turn’d to money by the gods decreed it is we human swains, receives rain still and close beside! And waxing chiller in her eyes

slit like a stage set, I am poor breast I oft haue nurst, so, gratefulnesse freely flowing of Time, like trickling balm, their voices. Beauty is truth, even so as foes commend. Knew not to resist for foreign yoke to free the

helplessly before he died and leap’d with pearl; if so be I may but prove lucky in this epic satire. Of what they by Loue were made so that you would fail from honest hater! How like a spread of kirtles when you’re minded, quoth the

Prior, turn him out of the oldest said: Wait up! Both lawyers and bodies like the one who could never win the ground; besides, I wish to plunge with someone else’s credit cards and arms to thy sweet water nymphs should still as the rhyme may

run upon a dunce. And puts apparel of being circumspect: then may I dare to be my night your body than spite, so these wild things rare that her grace gracious, and still to thee I send this thy paine to swage; nature would pay with you,

was all. The rising ivory mount he scaled, which is a park! I try to think of the seventh Heaven, down to love, old dwarf heart should you this deed: but do you played in lit like a she epistle, and now I lay me down to hell her loathsome

canker lives in love like me, you will be a gainer too; for bending all my loving thought, or write, while we can, the spring’s once dry; but I’ll devise, among the rivulet is teeming mistress’ eyes are not, be not thine own

influence of the first struck one immense Colossus down, thou moral Washington of Africa! Which how to fill the rising ivory mount he scaled, which made the earth and oft looked behind, to those same truths are best, when our two souls stand up

erect and stings, I have in my backpack in bed you said Don’t make fun of me when I’m old, okay? And a single leaf where he is resting beneath it upon earth—the ear of burning through her hand, as he greedily assayed to

touch the sparkling diamond the birds may take or leave the place of all their estate has much as old Saturn in Olympus dwell. I refuse to forsake you! Where feeble Hope could not cover your skin, enough to let the vain design,

asks no firm hand, and life, was my sweet will making a couplement of proud compare. By no means sinister—that few members kept their claret light, having thee. Their groves o’ sweet rites are perform nor yet she ask. Then the furse: mercy, pity,

and peace. These his verse, who heaven be sent, if such be Nature, and how white his bell-mouth’d goblet makes me hope, although soon life’s thin thread’s spun out between the world shall summon with his Saint a-praising God, that’s somewhat mechante in her

perfection by the exchange some truths are beset with someone’s garage I fell on his prey, which seemes ease to make a butter fire in the dust as simooms whirl from Cato. ’Twas, ’cause he’d nothing has gone? A woman’s attires,

bordred with broad as transparent, and, t was rather kill me, than to winter ere the rounds, and cunningly to yield herself through her hands, they must allure the last word, which don’t depend on climate, quite independent of the Catholic

creed are apt exceed her far, to whom the tide: and though they bellowed in a new, highly particular song we might consisted once grown of the Tyrant and Slave. There was something to confesses love called For those who has not beene.

-Born Andalusian, could back again. Love ere he went, would spoil much good pastimes grace my happy tomb; and Lesbia, let

us know we’re not apt to wear it: secure of a kiss— thus doth Love speak? Here we must Court, and keeps vigil like a

river, silver, clever with you, was all. Dulling my lines and describing the bit of chalk, a wood-coal or the hearts

entangled, the value and skill, you shake your heart’s contented? And yet I like to a firmament glistered with

a roystering company, that hast my mind now of the long music-notes, found eyes trace in all that’s why even after

their show; their sweet hug, is stolen in garrets, on the right arm of his drill’d nymphs, but leaps, and he knew nothing but

in the front on it that ought to a quintessence; but of such heauen-stuffe to cloath so heau’nly minde. The boxed-in hills beyond

which lets drop his bone from great nature’s sweet hair lay in such guise that crossed me from cedar- plank or weed: and loved the

slaking of your starry head of her who believe that enchantment came over the house. Chariot, luggage, baggage,

equipage: but since her decrees of steel us as the skill and aching Pleasure suffered wrack, since Hero’s ears, and

lived contents I do not think its music has power to sting had twelve sheets into the fair, and diplomatical.

Pouring thy presence, nay—he made me blest—and broke my hearse be vexed with pity, pure as e’er was penn’d: his inexperience,

this pious morn? Flat field nods its head a-dangle by the way to the manor full oft; and that minute? Although

I am but a mere modern nations count it crime to let a truth slip. Love slight it not, for Thou art desolate.

And ioy therein, though ne’er can show quite how they would be gone. Good hours of fair woman to think what man has made

lovingly familiar; but oh, ambrosial cash! Indeed this night, her Lord was all the day was born. Full sixty years hence.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 8 #142 texts #ballad sequence

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adenei · 4 years

Text

Day 24: January Word Challenge

a/n: Another day, another prompt, and another inspired story by the prompts of an ask from funbunnypotter26!

Organization

Hermione was frantically organizing and reorganizing the piles of supplies and belongings that she knew would be needed on the hunt. Ever since Harry arrived at the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley had been doing her best to keep them busy and apart, so she was trying to make every planning moment count.

“Okay, I’m positive this system is going to work,” she said to Ron, who was lounging on his bed.

“You said that the last three times we’ve been through this,” Ron said lazily.

“I’m serious this time. I’m going to pack it and be done with it. The wedding’s tomorrow, and I have a bad feeling.”

“It’ll be fine, Hermione, there’s plenty of security,” Ron tried to reassure her.

“Well, still. Can you hand me some of those piles?” she asked impatiently.

He looked over at her. “You’re going to fit them in that tiny little bag?”

She looked up at him. “Undetectable extension charm,” she muttered quietly.

Ron’s look of questioning quickly turned into awe. “Brilliant, you are,” he said as he began handing her things.

She smiled as she stuffed the bag. This was what she loved most about Ron. his ability to fluster her one moment, and make her heart melt the next. She desperately wished she could find the courage to tell him how she felt, but with the war looming, it just didn’t seem like the right time.

Hermione began reflecting back to the previous year of Hogwarts and how mucked up everything had become. Just when she’d lost hope that they could ever recover from his relationship with Lavender, they were back to a time where it felt as if nothing had changed. They were finally at a point where they might emotionally be ready to let the other in, but instead they were readying to hunt Horcruxes.

She audibly sighed, not realizing it would gain his attention. “Everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes,’ she lied. No, actually. Why can’t you see that I’m right here and we’re alone. I wish you could read my mind and see that I’m begging you to kiss me! I didn’t actually need your help, I just wanted you closer to me. Her inner dialogue was running rampant.

“Doesn’t seem it,” he countered.

“I’m just—frustrated with life, I guess. Do you think this will ever end?” she asked him honestly.

“I hope so,” he answered simply.

“It’s mental, isn’t it?” Hermione asked. “People our age should be preparing for their futures, and here we are, just trying to survive. To help our best friend defeat an evil wizard.” Ron snorted at her words. “What? It’s true!”

“Sorry, I know it is. Was just thinking about what it must be like to know you have a future.”

Hermione paused and looked at him. “Don’t even say that.” Her voice was hushed.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about the possibility of not making it out alive—”

“Of course I have! But I can still hope and—and dream,” she defended.

“You’re right.” Ron’s voice had changed from light hearted to serious.

Hermione desperately wished she knew what he was thinking. Sod all the organizing and packing, she didn’t want to guess anymore. She wanted to know. “If there was anything you wish you could have, even with everything going on, what would it be?” she asked him.

He was pensive at first, contemplating her question. She was giving up on him answering when he found her gaze and said, “I think you know.” Hermione felt her breath hitch at his words. “You?” he asked.

Without thinking, Hermione said, “I think you know, too.”

It’s you. It’s always been you.

#ROMIONE #hp dh #ron x hermione #31 days of January Word Challenge #adenei answers

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spiltscribbles · 4 years

Note

ADFFASFDSFG DO THE SWITCHED LUGGAGE WITH WOLFSTAR

Notes: LEGITLY I DO NOT KNOW!!!! STOP GIVING ME THAT LOOK DAMN IT RJ!!!! Big BIG love goes to @kattlupin and @justtoarguewithyou for the Beta help<3 Please don’t hate me RJ!

~Hour 0

Remus focuses on the chill that’s beginning to frost the window of the quaint, Edinburgh coffee shop that’s tucked into a dark corner of the large block of the tube station, appreciating the glittering blankets of snow coating the ground and the melodic holiday tunes playing from above. The scent of cinnamon wafts through the air and his phone’s pressed between his ear and shoulder while one hand toys with the tassel hanging off the reindeer trinket lining the counter, and the other’s clasping onto his luggage.

“I can’t wait to show you! My mum’s bought Harry the cutest little Saint Nick babygrow, and Mrs. Potter’s sent me her recipe for the samosas James especially likes. And—”

Remus laughs through his nose, pressing the phone closer before accepting the hot chocolate handed over to him by the barista who winks his way before going back to start up the next round of drinks.

“Lils, I’ve bought the ticket, and I’m about to board. No need to continue on trying to convince me. I’ll be in London for Christmas.”

“Oh, Remus, I can’t wait!” Lily crows delightedly, and Remus can just pick up on the sound of a bowl clacking to the ground, inwardly praying that she doesn’t burn down her entire cottage before Remus’s even gotten the chance to see it. “I’ve missed you, it’s positively ridiculous how long we haven’t been able to visit! Criminal, really!”

Remus drags his bottom lip between his teeth, flushing slightly at the dig considering that the absence from his closest friend from childhood was almost entirely his doing. “Well you know, with Fabian’s research and all, we were constantly out of the country, over to the States one week, and then Asia the next.”

This time, it’s effortless catching on the sound of harsh stirring accompanied by Lily’s unimpressed cluck at the sound of Remus’s ex’s name. “Well good riddance. He was never good enough for you Remus, a total self righteous prat.”

“Is that right?” Remus smiles wryly, taking a sip of his coco before wrapping his scarf around his neck once more to brace for the cold. “I thought he was mighty fancy-able considering the degree and being fit and all.”

“Dry as Petunia’s skin in the winter,” Lily sniffs airily, and Remus studiously does not mention the mountain of moisturizers that Lily stored away in an unused closet in the old flat they shared during six form when she thought Remus wasn’t looking. “Now I get to have my fun and set you up with a proper bloke, especially since you’ll be moving back to London after the semester officially closes. Ooo! We can start a double date night! There’s this cooking class they’re holding down the street for couples but I didn’t wanna join because James would only get all obnoxiously cocky when he ultimately does remarkably and I end up burning water.”

Remus laughs, remembering the occasion she’s referring to, which had led them to pressing together their measly savings to buy an electric kettle like good and proper adults, rescuing their pots from getting burnt to a crisp thanks to Lily’s forgetfulness. “Least if you come along with whichever bloke, I’ll know I definitely won’t be the worst one there.”

Remus twists up his mouth, displeased. “Unwarranted slander.”

“Your french toast chipped my pug’s tooth before he spat it out.”

“Maybe Snuffles just has a bad gag reflex.”

“His gag reflex is perfectly adequate,” she sniffs.

“Well I’ve never spat out my own food.”

“Hmm, I bet you get all the boys in the yard whenever you talk about how skillfully you’ve trained your gagging.”

“Stuff it, Evans.”

“Potter now actually, Ta so much.”

“Gone off and married yourself a posh Londoner and now you’re sounding like you’re meant to be on an episode of Downton Abbey, is that right?”

“Innit brilliant?”

“Bloody exhausting is more what I was thinking, love.”

Lily’s answering laugh is light and tinkling and it’s the happiest Remus’s ever heard her all year, and it’s like a punch to the gut when he all at once realizes just how drastically he’s missed her.

“Don’t pout Re, I’ll still be able to tolerate your lowly, Welsh vowels.”

“Sod off.”

“Mean.”

“You started it.”

“Oof.”

“Did you break the eggs the wrong way again?” Remus asks, single brow cocked as he finally retreats into the actual underground and ambles to the queue waiting to scan their tickets.

“You can’t break eggs the wrong way Remus Lupin!” Remus stays silent. “Don’t give me that look!”

“What look?” Remus asks owlishly.

“Don’t think I can’t picture it right now, with the slanted mouth and your left eyebrow raised with pure condescension.”

“I don’t like this picture of my character that you’re painting, Evans.”

“I don’t like your insinuations of my egg cracking skills, Lupin.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I? You did break it?”

“Well yes, that’s the general idea of cracking an egg.”

Remus scoffs. “The wrong way I mean.”

The silence coming from Lily is positively fuming and Remus thinks that if they were in some sorta old-timey Disney cartoon she’d be steaming smoke from her ears right about now. “’S just a singular shell, it’ll melt right in the pan once I pop it into the oven.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you’re trying to poison us. And right when I became single and ready to pull again.”

“Oh speaking of pulling,” Lily squawks, and Remus absolutely despises that tone of voice—flashes of young, drunken escapades bubbling to the forefront of his mind, twinging when he thinks of the flower he’s got tattooed onto his arse to match the crescent moon on Lily’s own.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Oi, you haven’t even let me explain myself, you berk! I just wanna help.”

“You’re an evil, evil Femme Fatale, and you shouldn’t even have this much power over me considering how rudding gay I am.” He screams that last part perhaps a bit too loudly, garnering amused glances from most of his fellow patrons, and a couple curious ones. Including a pair of disarmingly lovely gray eyes. And holy christ above does he hate Lily right now.

“But Remus,” she says in a distinct sulk through the line. “It’s just that James’s brother also recently just got out a relationship with this bird from work, and it wasn’t nearly as long as you and Fabian, but I thought you two would just be so cute together. He totally fits that crush you had on Stubby Boardman all through A levels, and I just thought it’d help you so much with getting over that ginger-haired bastard.“

“You are the only ginger-haired bastard in my life,” he tells her glumly, wincing when the ticket holder smirks at him as she scans him through, mouthing a ‘Good Luck’ with a smirk.

Damn Remus’s very existence.

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#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #MARAUDERS #THE HARRY POTTTER SERIES #HARRY POTTER SERIES #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #NYWB #Spilt INk #I'm such a mess #truly #love you RJ babe #!!!

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shadowhuntertrash · 4 years

Text

Bad Day

Matthew woke with a start. He was sweating and shaking and all too aware of his quick breaths. Damn. Matthew thought, shaking his head, trying to shake away the nightmare. He had this dream at least three times a week, most of the time around five.

It always started the same, he was at a park with his mother and father. They were having a good day, it was Matthew’s birthday and he had decided he wanted to go outside. They would be sitting there on a bench and then the scene would switch and he’d be at the Shadowmarket with the faerie who sold him the poison.

The faerie would give him an evil look and then the scene would switch again and he would see Charlotte trembling and sweating in her bed. Tessa was next to her and Charlotte was crying. His father would usher him out and tell him about the child Charlotte was bearing.

Then the dream would morph one more time and he would be standing in a room with blood everywhere and Charlotte and Henry sobbing. He would sit there and watch for a minute before Charlotte’s head shot up and she glared at him. “This is your fault! All of this! Look what you’ve done! Get out, leave! I never want to see you again!” Matthew would try to talk to her but before he could say anything she would slap him.

That’s when he woke up.

Matthew sat in his bed shaking and running his hand over his face before glancing at the clock. It was six in the morning. He decided to not go back to sleep and got up to go shower. He stood under the hot watch and tried to keep his eyes open, every time they closed he would be back in the room with his parents sobbing and his mother’s face looking at him with disgust and hate.

Matthew shook his head again and stepped out of the shower grabbing a towel and drying himself off slowly. He always moved slowly after those dreams. It gave him more time to put on his mask. He always wore it, the happy carefree mask that hid his darkest secrets.

Once Matthew was dressed and ready for the day it was eight in the morning. He trudged downstairs and heard voices from the kitchen. “I just don’t know what to do with him Henry.” It was his mother and father. He grimaced and continued walking. “All he does is drink and party. He has to know that he has quite a reputation, mustn't he? I just don’t know what to do.” Matthew froze, were they talking about him?

“Darling, it’ll be okay. He’ll grow up soon. Don’t you remember Will when he was that age? He was just as bad and he has turned out to be a great man. Matthew will grow up, he just hasn’t had to yet.” Matthew felt a pang in his gut. He always knew his mother looked down on him. How could she not? She was the Consul and he was her problematic son. He knew that she thought lowly of him but his father?

That hurt so much more than he ever dreamed. He had always loved his father so much, he would watch over him and help him in any way he could. He was aware that he had a drinking problem and he knew that he had a reputation for partying but surely his father didn’t hate him for that?

“I know he’ll grow up but he needs to do it soon. I can’t be the Consul with a son like him. Everyone already questions having a woman in the position, but a woman who can’t even control her own son? Everyone looks down on me for it Henry. He needs to stop messing around and step up.” Matthew felt the words hit his heart like daggers. He heard his father sigh.

“He will Lottie don’t worry.” Matthew turned on his heel abruptly. After the dream he had he needed to get out. He couldn’t listen to this, not right now.

He had just gotten in the carriage when Charles stepped in and shoving him over. “Where are you going so early Charles?” Matthew said through clenched teeth. He did not want to deal with Charles right now. Charles huffed and looked at him as if he was nothing but dirt.

“I’m going to a meeting as important people do, and what about you? Going to another bloody downworlder party?” Matthew looked away scowling. He wasn’t going to a party, he was going to see James. He knew Charles hated him and thought of him as nothing but it still wasn’t great hearing it from his own mouth.

“Sod off Charles, I’m going to Jamie’s.” Charles wrinkled his nose. “I do wish you had never befriended him. He’s an awful lot of trouble and honestly you don’t need any help in that department.” Matthew froze all he could see was red. He tried to calm himself down but his brother kept going.

“The only thing he’s good at is getting into the shadow world and that’s not even on purpose. He doesn’t have his mother’s warlock powers nor does he have his dad’s bravery. He doesn’t even have his parents' charm. He needs to grow up just as much as you do. But then again the worthless ones always find each other don’t they brother.”

Matthew couldn’t help himself. He punched Charles in the nose. He heard the sickening crunch when it broke which was accompanied by Charles’ groan as his hand shot up to his face. Charles took his hand away from his face and punched Matthew right back. Matthew felt the pain blooming right under his eye and his only regret was that he was going to have a large bruise.

Both boys were fuming and Matthew knew he needed to get out before they did something they would both regret. He stumbled out of the carriage as the driver slowed to see what was going on.

He started walking to the Institute. It was about a thirty minute walk from his house so he knew he would get a chance to calm down. Today was not his day and all he wanted to do was go see his parabatai.

Honestly he would’ve been fine if Charles had just been talking about him but he had never been good at controlling himself when people said bad things about Jamie. Charles seemed to know that and use it every chance he got.

Matthew put a hand to his eye and winced. It hurt like hell and his head was throbbing. He silently cursed Charles and walked faster. It only took him 20 minutes to get to the Institute and when he walked in there were several shadowhunters in the entryway. Matthew was going to ignore them and go find James but he was distracted when he caught his name.

“It’s a shame that he’s a bastard child. His parents were so great but it’s common knowledge that Henry can’t have kids and Charlotte wanted more. I mean Gabriel owed Charlotte a lot from when he was younger and have you seen his hideous wife? He would surely need something more than her.” Matthew balled his hands into fists and tried to slow his breathing.

“Poor kid no one will want him now. I mean he doesn’t even look like his father and they intend for everyone to believe them?” Matthew was shaking when Will opened the door and ushered the other shadowhunters inside.

Will spotted him and smiled warmly. “James is in the-” He cut off abruptly and frowned walking over to Matthew quickly. “Math what happened to your face?” He said tilting Matthew’s face up so he could get a better look at his eye. Matthew just shook his head and gave him a charming smile.

“Nothing to worry about Mr. Herondale just a little bruise.” Will frowns and shakes his head. “Matthew, I know you aren’t going to talk to me but please tell James how you got that. He’s in the library.” Matthew looked down and nodded with a soft smile. “Yes sir.”

Will patted Matthew’s head and walked hesitantly into the room where the rest of the shadowhunters had gathered. Matthew let out his breath and tried to still his trembling form. It didn’t do much so he gave up and walked to the library.

The library was quiet and Matthew headed over to where he knew James would be. When he got there he climbed on the window seat and put his head in James’ lap. James was reading Great Expectations and the only form of acknowledgement he gave Matthew was readjusting so his book was propped up on Matthew’s head.

Matthew sighed and let the quiet overtake him. His thoughts went back to his parents as he went over the day again in his head.

It was his own fault his parents didn’t like him, his own fault that they wanted him to change. He was a drunk who was useless at politics who liked to have fun but they didn’t know the half of it. They didn’t know he was a murder who drank to forget. They didn’t know he slept around because he didn’t think he deserved anything better than a one night stand. He could deal with other people hating him because no one hated him more than himself.

He knew he was a monster. He knew that he had no right to be alive when his sister wasn’t. He wished with all his heart that his sister was here instead of him. If he ever got the chance he would switch their places in a heartbeat.

It was times like this that Matthew wished him and Charles were close because maybe he would tell Charles what happened. He didn’t really think he would even if they were close but at least Charles wouldn’t be so awful to him. Maybe then he would protect Matthew from all the cruel words instead of joining in.

But only good people deserve good things. That’s why his brother hated him. Because he wasn’t a good person. He was a god awful person and he didn’t understand how anyone could like him. He didn’t understand why James chose to agree to be parabatai. Maybe he did it out of pity or maybe he did it because he didn’t want to have lied to his dad.

All of his friends were so good, how could any of them want him around. He didn’t deserve the way they treated him. He never had even before everything happened.

Matthew thought of all the rumors he’d heard, not only about his parentage but about his reputation as well. Many people thought he did it to spite his mother because he didn’t love her. No one knew it was the opposite. No one understood what he did, let alone why he did it. No one cared enough to find out either.

Matthew was so stuck in his head that he didn’t realize when he started crying. He didn’t respond to James’ anxious questioning either. James ran his hands through Matthew’s hair and repeated his name, a little louder each time.

By the sixth time James had said it, growing more anxious each time, Matthew had jolted back to reality. He sat up quickly trying to rid of the tears that were flowing but to no avail. Matthew balled his hands into fists and pushed them into his eyes trying to stem the flow of tears forgetting about his bruised eye.

Matthew gasped and quickly took his hand away. James finally saw his bruised face and gasped as well. “Bloody hell Math, what happened?” He asked frantically kneeling in front of Matthew and holding his hands down with one of his own using his free hand to tilt his chin down so he could see Matthew’s eye.

Matthew let out a slightly hysterical laugh and shook his head. “You know you’re just like your dad.” Matthew mumbled looking away from James who frowned and pulled out his stele. “Matthew look at me.” Matthew turned his head further away. He couldn’t stop his tears and they were flowing faster now.

James sighed and brought his chin back so he could look Matthew in his eyes. “Math, what happened?” Matthew shook his head, tears coming impossibly faster. He didn’t deserve James’ concern. He felt a sob in his throat and closed his eyes tightly. He shouldn’t let James see him like this. This was weak; he shouldn’t let anyone’s words get to him. He deserved them anyway.

James was having none of his silence though and put both his hands on Matthew’s shoulders shaking him gently. “Matthew Fairchild look at me right now.” Matthew opened his eyes hesitantly and saw a fire burning in James’ gold eyes. Golden fire meeting green hills.

“Who did that to you.” Matthew broke then. He didn’t bother holding back his tears as he let his head fall on James’ collarbone. James put his arms around Matthew immediately, frowning. Matthew never cried, and when he did it was uncontrollable like this. James rubbed his back and muttered soothing words in his ear.

“You’re okay, Math. You’re with me in the library. No one else is here, it’s just us. You can talk to me, I’m not going to make you, well I need to know how you got that bruise but I won’t make you talk to me about anything else.” Matthew only sobbed harder at that. James’ frown deepened and he shifted them so he was leaning against the window and Matthew was on his lap straddling him.

Most people would see this as intimate, and it was, but not in the way other people thought it. This was the best way to calm Matthew down, James knew that better than anyone. Matthew was the kind of person who needed to be touched or held when he was upset and James knew that he felt safe when James held him like this.

James could feel his shirt getting wet but he didn’t care. All he cared about was what had upset his parabatai so much. He rubbed soothing circles on Matthew’s back and Matthew took stuttering breaths trying to calm himself. James put Matthew’s hand on his back and took exaggerated breaths feeling encouraged as Matthew tried to match them.

“You’re doing great Math, just breathe.” Matthew nodded against him and a few minutes later he was breathing normally again and the tears had slowed, not stopped, but slowed. James pulled back slightly and rested his forehead against Matthew’s. Matthew’s eyes were still closed but James kept his open trying to read his best friend’s face.

“Math, can you tell me what happened now?” Matthew let out a bitter laugh. “I punched Charles.” He said, his voice thick from the tears. James looked at Matthew and shook his head. “That’s not what I asked.” James said, slightly confused. Matthew shrugged and moved backwards before settling his head against James’s chest again. “He retaliated.”

James felt his eyes widen. “Charles did that?” He questioned bringing Matthew’s face back up to look at his eye again. It was in the middle of turning black. James scowled and glared at the bruise. “I’ll kill him.” Matthew rolled his eyes and hugged James resting his head on James shoulder. James wrapped his arms around Matthew, pulling him impossibly closer.

“Did you not hear what I said? I punched him first. I was asking for it.” James made a noise of exasperation. “Okay then what did he do that made you punch him?” Matthew tensed and James started rubbing circles in his back, staying quiet until Matthew relaxed. “He was just talking crap about stuff he knows nothing about.” Matthew said quietly. James sighed, he knew what that meant.

“You don’t have to protect me from everyone Math. I can protect myself.” Matthew scoffed and shook his head but James could hear the small smile in his voice. “Says the guy who told me he was going to kill my brother.” James rolled his eyes, his own smile playing at his lips. “I’m not the one with a black eye.”

Matthew laughed softly and tucked his arms into James’ chest. Something James knew he did when he got cold. James pushed Matthew off of him slightly and Matthew pulled away with a poorly masked hurt expression. James grabbed his hand and shook his head.

“You’re cold, I’m just getting a blanket and we can move to the couch.” Matthew nods standing up walking to the couch. He let’s James sit down first so he can slot himself between James’ legs. James is on his back half propped up on the arm of the couch and Matthew lays down on his stomach propping his chin up on James’ chest.

James runs his hands through Matthew’s hair again feeling the silky strands. Matthew sighed content for the first time that day. He didn’t understand why James constantly looked after him but he would always appreciate it more than James could ever know. Matthew closes his eyes feeling the calming effect of James running his fingers through Matthew’s hair.

Matthew turned so his cheek was on James’ chest. James’ chest was hard but Matthew had always found it comfortable. He’d always considered James his home, his safe place. So this was typically how they ended up when one of them was upset.

“Hey Math do you feel like talking or do you want to talk about this later? And don’t say later and think we won’t do it because I’ve had enough of giving you space. We need to talk.” James wasn’t looking at him but Matthew felt as if he could see his soul. All his secrets, his heart, his mind.

Matthew shuddered, he wasn’t ready to tell James his secret. He couldn’t bare to lose his best friend, his soul, his parabatai. Not today.

“Jamie, do the rumors ever bother you?” James looked down at me in concern but I don’t meet his eyes. “Math is that what this is about?” Matthew shakes his head slowly and raises up again so his chin is resting on James. Matthew looks everywhere but James’ eyes.

“I just had a long day.” James frowns at him. “Math it’s ten in the morning.” Matthew closes his eyes tightly. “I’m well aware Jamie thank you.” James let out a huff of annoyance. “Okay then tell me about your day.” Matthew starts to shake his head but James groans and cuts him off. “No, you don’t get to deflect or say you don’t want to talk. I’m your parabatai Math, I can tell when something is wrong. Hell I can feel it.”

Matthew lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m fine. I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” James frowns, “Nightmares again?” Matthew nods slowly. They had shared a room many times and James was well aware of Matthew’s nightmares. Matthew had told him however, that they had stopped when in reality they had only gotten worse.

“Okay, what happened after.” James said Matthew is simultaneously glad and annoyed that James knows him well enough to know that wasn’t the only thing that happened.

“I showered and went to get breakfast but my parents were talking.” James’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “About what?” Matthew looked down again his cheeks burning from embarrassment.

“They were talking about me. My reputation as a drunk partier. They were talking about how I need to grow up. My mother said I’m ruining her career and Jamie they’re right. Don’t.” Matthew said when he saw James open his mouth to protest. James gave him a hard look but stopped talking. “They are right because people already give my mom bloody hell for being a woman and then I ruin it for her further. I make a mess of everything my own parents hate me. I mess up everything and I can’t stop.”

James is looking at Matthew with a contemplative expression and stays quiet for a few minutes. Matthew shuffles around a bit, the silence building his anxiety. “Math you don’t really believe that right? You do know that’s not true?” Matthew looked away, frowning and James forced his head back. “Math none of that is true. You have to believe me. None of that is true.”

Matthew shook his head sadly and smiled at James. “Jamie I will never stop loving you for seeing the best in people but your being daft. I know I’m your parabatai but it’s okay to agree with them.” James look as if Matthew had struck him across the face.

“Matthew Fairchild when have I ever led you to believe I thought anything they said was true? Do you believe I should die for being a demon’s grandchild?” James was looking at Matthew furiously and Matthew ducked his head. He was not used to being the target of that look. “James you know I don’t believe that.” James huffed, “Then what in Raziel’s name led you to believe I would?”

Matthew furrowed his eyebrows, James wasn’t listening. “Because James you were born this way it’s not something you can change and you constantly prove yourself worthy. James, I do this to myself. Everything they whisper about me aside from me being a bastard child is true. I am a drunk. I do sleep around. Jamie all of that is true.” James flinched and Matthew let out an exasperated sigh.

“Jamie I’m not trying to upset you.” Matthew makes a move to get up but James tightens his hold around Matthew’s waist. “Where could you possibly be going Matthew.” James said his golden eyes boring into Matthew’s emerald ones. Matthew sighed and collapsed back onto James too tired to fight.

“I’m being a burden so I’m leaving so if you would kindly let me go.” Matthew said, moving to get up again. James frowned and pulled Matthew back to his chest with both arms. “Math please don’t go. We don’t have to talk anymore but please don’t go.” Matthew buried his face in James’ neck in response.

They sat like that for a few minutes before Matthew turned his head, pressing his cheek against James’ chest. “Read to me?” Matthew asked quietly, staring at the fire he just realized was burning. James ran his fingers through Matthew’s hair and grabbed his copy of Great Expectations and started reading aloud from where he left off.

As James read, Matthew found himself nodding off. Right before Matthew lost consciousness he heard James’ gentle voice in his ear as James brushed some hair away that had fallen in his face. “I’ll get you to believe me one day Math I promise. And when you want to talk about why you’re always upset I’ll be here.”

Matthew fell asleep then, and for the first time in seven days, he didn’t have a single nightmare.

#matthew fairchild #matthew and james #james herondale #heronstairs #parabatai #bad day #charlotte fairchild #henry fairchild #charles fairchild #will herondale #rumors #the last hours

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prose-for-hire · 4 years

Text

Waking the dead

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: I wanted to request something were spike and the reader are having a fight and are super pissed and when the scoobies intervene ints about some soap and they are fun fighting. Love your work

Requested by: Anon

A/N: Only short. Also, I’m obsessed with this gif!!

You and Spike were in Giles’ kitchen, Spike making himself some blood in one of the decorative mugs Giles seemed to have a collection of as you sat on the counter. There had been a pause in your discussion as Spike opened the microwave and checked the temperature before giving it another couple of minutes.

“Vampires, immortal beings – how do you bloody know he’s not one of them?!” He exclaimed, resuming the argument you had been having.

“Because I saw him walking in the sunlight and if you weren’t too busy staring longingly at him, you would have noticed the reflections in the surfaces” You raise your voice slightly, jumping up from the counter to emphasise your point.

“Oh bugger off!”

“No! This isn’t over – it’s just not right! It’s unnatural!” You shout, shaking your head at him.

“Says the person dating a very real, very evil vampire” he gestured his arms at himself dramatically before raising an eyebrow at you. His meal was forgotten as he became wrapped up in the argument again.

“That’s different!” You exclaimed and he groaned in annoyance at your persistence. Everyone had been listening to your argument, trying to figure out what was happening.

What made the Scoobies eventually rush into the room is when your voices descended into a shouting match with both of you apparently threatening the other over your disagreement. The others had been discussing possible theories, the most plausible being that Spike had been doing something he shouldn’t have. They were guessing he had resurrected someone to do something evil.

Buffy was concerned Spike was killing again with the force of your voices and the rest liked watching the pair of you fight because they never had before. It made them feel better about their own relationships.

“I could kill you! I could wrap my hands around your throat and squeeze until all of the stupid oozes from your-” Spike shouted, miming his hands in thin air, closing in on your invisible neck.

“That’s real brave for someone three minutes away from being a pile of dust on the floor!” You shouted back. As you both shouted, gesturing wildly at each other, your friends stared. They had only seen you and Spike being really clingy recently so this was a big change. Buffy tried to shout over you but you were both still going. The argument carried on and the others were struggling to keep up.

“You can’t be serious! Of course he bloody can - you’re just jealous”

“Jealous that you care more about him than me?” You shout, making Spike walk towards you his jaw tensing as he grabbed your flailing hands. You were animatedly shouting with your arms waving about and he stilled them. This appeared to be a threatening act to the others, who didn’t know Spike as well as you. He was only stilling you to maintain his own point. So Buffy cut in again, this time you noticed her.

“What’s going on? Y/n, do you need me to get Mr pointy?” Buffy asked, almost a little too enthusiastically before scowling at Spike.

“Yeah, your argument could wake the dead!” Xander exclaimed, leaving Spike giving him a withering look at the clearly pointed comment.

“Spike’s saying the character being miraculously brought back to life – for what? The second time after being killed off-”

“Now, don’t get it twisted, love. The bloke’s had a lot to contend with, given the evil twin bit, finding out his fiancée was his sister – I’m just sayin’, cut the man some slack!”

“He still left the last one at the altar and switched those babies at birth! Oh, remember when he hit that couple so hard one got amnesia?! Doesn’t seem like he has enough moral standing to be allowed another go of it”

“Being given another chance isn’t about sodding morality – I’m talking entertainment, here - he’s a good character. Evil, but the best ones are” He smouldered, trying to win himself a points by giving you the look he knew could make you weak at the knees. You weren’t having any of it today though, still maintaining your point. This left the others rolling their eyes and Buffy a little disappointed she didn’t need to bring Mr Pointy out for the day.

“And that’s what’s concerning us – me – the real undead” Buffy said, “Not your little show”

“Little show?!”

“Now – that’s bloody out of order!” Spike swung around, a finger pointing at Buffy, “I knew I hated you for a reason!”

Both of you rounded on Buffy, your fight now aimed at her for disrespecting the show in question. You both liked your soaps so this was a sore point. Your old argument flying out of the window when she disrespected your precious show.

#spike x reader #spike imagine #spike x you #spike btvs #gender neutral reader #gender neutral #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #btvs #Buffy Summers #Willow Rosenberg #xander harris #btvs imagine #btvs x reader #scooby gang x reader #scooby gang #Giles' house

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ganymedesclock · 4 years

Text

Dead Cells and the weight of small lives pt.1 (about Prisoner)

NGL this is at least partially me saltposting about “I don’t really understand how people read the Prisoner’s dialogue and look at his thoughts and see someone who’s a total unrepentant asshole or the same person as the King” but it’s also commentating on an interesting pattern I observe in the game and its worldbuilding.

The setting of Dead Cells is, no two ways about it, a very unpleasant world. It is awash in death. The apocalyptic zombie plague of the Malaise is just the final nail in its coffin, leaving a handful of uninfected survivors on top of the literal heaps of corpses of the kingdom’s inquisition. A fountain of blood flows in the highest castle in the land. It’s grim. It’s horrible. We can hear someone get murdered through an unbreakable door.

The interesting thing is... what the game tells you to do with it, through the perspective of the main character.

For clarity: Prisoner is not here to save anyone. He is not a hero on a quest. He is- well- a prisoner. On discovering he has a kind of immortality, he begins using it to make his way through the island, learning painful lesson after painful lesson, returning, returning, and returning again trying to achieve some kind of change on this degrading looping time. But the fact that you’re not specifically out to save people is that... well... basically nobody’s in a position to be saved. As mentioned, there’s not a lot of survivors, and most of the ones there don’t need you- they’re doing on their own, and if that happens to not be enough, it tends to be enough very suddenly, where you can’t reach them or weren’t there at the time and are left a little shaken, because they were fine the last time you checked.

Also, half of said survivors are trying really hard to kill Prisoner.

Thus, if you’re used to games where objective 1 is to Save Everyone, Rid The Land Of Evil, Prisoner might seem shockingly callous, I suppose. The thing is, I consider myself the emotional equivalent of a glass frog- I’m very thin-skinned with bleak hopeless narratives.

And yet. There is something about Dead Cells’ universe that doesn’t seem like an attack on me. And I think that it’s what the game has to say about “small lives”. The lives that are considered unimportant in a crisis.

The Island in Dead Cells is ruled by a major hierarchy. This is obvious from jump- one of the first bits of lore text you are likely to ever get starting the game up is this one, for the Prisoners’ Quarters, the first area you start in:

In the social hierarchy of the island, there are the dogs, the rats, and just below them, the prisoners.

Prisoner is sometimes called “The Beheaded” by official detail, but he is called “Prisoner” specifically by one of the service NPCs you meet in the corridors- so one of the most consistent entities you talk to that’s not trying to kill you, who is always happy to see you with a sunny, “Well, hello, Mr. Prisoner, sir!”

He also starts the game in a prison cell, his headless state is made clear to us that it was the result of an execution rather than a war wound (there’s a chopping block and an obviously used axe in his cell with him) and his default equipment is a collar that was clearly once used to restrain him. So when the game pronounces this to you about the island’s hierarchy, Prisoner is not speaking abstractly about ‘those other poor sods’-

He’s talking about himself.

The hierarchy of the island is a specter that stalks you through almost every level of the game- through the massive prison complex which is littered with evidence and recounting of the guards toying with prisoners’ lives, of numbered corpses, a revolting sewer containing a shackled, corrupted monster that seems to have lived her entire life in this very same prison; to the astonishingly humble fishing hamlet that lies directly at the foot of the soaring grandeur of the Clock Tower and the even greater heights of High Peak Castle.

To the discrepancy between the teeming, crowded tombstones of the Graveyard, to the sprawling labyrinthine nature of the Forgotten Sepulchre- where a handful of tombs are presided over by entire walls of skulls that we’re helpfully told belonged to the heads of the delegations of high-ranking dignitaries- said delegations were butchered to attend their masters’ burials evermore.

Right away, this is thrown to us not as something we are outside of or transcend, but a slap in the face. The world tells us that our avatar in this game does not matter- that his face and voice do not matter and these things were taken from him by violence.

The thing is... Prisoner does not shut up. The game is full to bursting with his thoughts. He has so much to say that it’s jarring when we’re used to being alone with all his thoughts to meet another person and suddenly be reminded they hear nothing of what he’s saying, like a dramatic version of Garfield Minus Garfield.

Through revival, through cycles, the expectation of the gameplay is we are living the experience of Prisoner and what Prisoner’s experience is, is a one-man raging against a situation that’s telling him to shrivel up and die because he’s not important. It doesn’t want to be fair to him. It doesn’t want to be nice to him. It doesn’t care how much he’s hurting or if he doesn’t own a decent pair of shoes to his name, or if he doesn’t even have a name to speak of.

But Prisoner does not give up. He in fact does the opposite of giving up. After playing this game for a good while, I fired up some Hollow Knight and it really hit me like a truck that Prisoner spends most of the game tearing around near top speed, cartwheeling and sprinting and hauling up ledges and slamming down ledges. The pace of the game is fast, fast, fast, all intense, all in, and you’re encouraged to take risky gambles with an already precarious system like temporarily taking on one-hit-you’re-dead curses in exchange for more damage output or better loot.

The animated trailers make this even clearer. Prisoner gets his shit wrecked.

A lot.

At best, he can have some moments of feeling like an unstoppable god, but just about the time you start to get really worried for that cute little mushroom baby and their caretaker you are reassured that Prisoner’s reign of hubristic wrath comes to a hard stop thanks to inertia, and spikes.

And I will say more than many cinematic trailers, Motion Twin really did a remarkable job of matching this 1-to-1 with the actual experience of playing the game. I have even literally swaggered into a fight with the Giant much the same way Prisoner breaks out that cool spear flourish Moment Of Challenge only to immediately eat shit directly into his laser beam eyes, that I was not prepared for because he hadn’t used them last fight.

Prisoner is not valiant, triumphant, or wildly successful. His final bastion is skill and ingenuity.

This puts a really interesting spin on what I said before- that Prisoner is not here to save anybody, even himself.

Prisoner frankly does not have that kind of power.

There’s nobody in a vulnerable state you even have the option to choose to abandon. People live or die, and it’s really not up to you. There are a few deaths Prisoner takes into his own hands- the King and the Collector notably- but even those people, like... the King appears comatose by the time you reach him, and the Collector not only tries to kill you but is revived thanks to time strangeness- and another death that can happen, and is erased by the time looping- the unnamed sewer prisoner who wants you to go fetch the teleportation rune for him (ahem. he wants you to retrieve his rune, that definitely rightfully belongs to him) ostensibly to get out of jail but when you find his body, not only is he dead of a fate the rune wouldn’t have saved him from, but his objective, revealed, was that he was trying to get to a treasure chest he’d hidden earlier.

The one time it can really be said, outside of the boss fights or executing the King, that Prisoner really decides if someone lives or dies, is...

Mushroom Boi.

For the uninitiated, Mushroom Boi is a little summonable mushroom child that is equipped as a skill. Triggering the skill once will summon him. Triggering the skill while he’s already summoned will cause him to self-destruct, taking out enemies in the area and, by the game description, “violate your very soul”.

After this, you can without any consequence whatsoever summon him again, and blow this poor child up as much as you want. It does not really seem to slow him down any- but the game still, distinctly, frowns on it. You have a reward in the form of an achievement for keeping him with you without sacrifice, aforementioned crack about sacrificing him “violating your soul”, and, just, how can you be mad at this cute little guy? he has a tiny bow! He’s an extremely useful companion! Mechanically, you do not really hurt for want of the sacrifice ability if you summon him and then never touch that button again.

Given that Prisoner spends so much of the game alone with his thoughts, and the person who gives him access to Mushroom Boi, the Collector, has, to put it mildly, a long history of using and discarding people including implicitly children, there has to be some kind of implicit in-universe-source for the idea that you’d feel crushing guilt for detonating your son and boy like that, and the angle that makes the most sense is Prisoner.

So, Prisoner is someone who feels really guilty for painfully inconveniencing a summonable construct mushroom in a way that it does not seem to hold against him at all. At the same time, there’s really a shortage of ways that you can personally hurt anybody who’s not trying to kill you or being particularly exploitative (aforementioned teleportation rune sewer guy, who Prisoner goes as far as to flip off after he lunges and tries to either claw prisoner or grab the rune from him by force)

The most disrespectful Prisoner tends to be are to one of three categories of people:

Dead bodies that cannot feel or particularly care if he kicks them, that he usually kicks either specifically to loot or, as what seems to be some kind of weird bad idea where he plants his naked foot on a waterlogged corpse and then declares “ew” like what did you expect to happen actually

People who have one way or another tried to exploit him for their personal gain directly at his expense so he nearly gets murdered- or in FACT gets murdered- while they sit back and wait for him to succeed and bring them the reward.

Aforementioned people who are trying openly to kill him and even then he only flips off the Giant basically because the Giant flips him off first. This is kinder than I feel about the Giant. I like the Giant but I feel like someone with laser beam eyes that uses them like that deserves more than just one retaliatory middle finger.

And this meshes with other factors, but the post is long enough I’ll break off here.

#Dead Cells #The weight of small lives #readmore

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bave-de-crapaud · 5 years

Text

The Darkness Within...

CHAPTER TWO

Request by: The lovely @belladonnarey. A/N: eeep here ‘tis! This is going to be a definite slow burn and I apologise for the appalling tragedy you will find below - it had to go in the story and I’m sorry.

Sirius x reader Older Sirius Sirius lives/Post Azkaban Slow burn and eventual smut

Word count: 3300+ Disclaimer: all characters are assumed 18+ Warnings: dark themes, torture, grief

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The front door of Grimmauld Place was as intimidating as ever as it appeared in front of you and you surged forward.

Livid, you threw open the door, steam rising from your forceful steps as your hot anger scorched the floor where you trod. Better watch that, this house looked primarily constructed of wood.

You were seething. How DARE Remus and Sirius interrupt you. You were SO close to finding out more about your past - a desire you hold in almost as high importance as to finding out what Voldemort intended of you. You were sure this was leading to another muggle attack - if only you had retrieved that package but Macnair stowed the parcel within his robes and then was writhing around in so much agony as you returned him to his home you could not take it without suspicion.

What would he tell Voldemort? You shook that thought from your mind you only had enough room in your head to be enraged at two other men at the moment and knowing these two were here, just ahead of you, sitting around a kitchen table tending to their wounds, you took the opportunity to give them a piece of your mind.

Sirius’ shirt was off and he sat hunched over his chair while Remus, behind him, administered a potion to what you assume was the aftermath of your curse and Macnair’s whip lash on his back.

“WHAT THE ABSOLUTE SODDING HELL DID YOU TWO THINK YOU WERE DOING?!” You burst through the door startling Remus enough to drop the bottle of dittany he was holding and Sirius to jolt, his wound opening again.

“How?! What?! There has been a breach, Moony, QUICK!” Sirius cried turning his wand on you and firing a spell. You easily deflected his spell and with a flick of your wand, disarmed him. He winced as he tried to catch his wand, his injury rendering his reflexes poor as it flew over his head landing on the top of the cabinet behind him.

Remus, swiping up the bottle of dittany, laid a hand on Sirius’ arm, confusing him further.

“Hold your fire Padfoot, she’s with us.”

You didn’t think Sirius’ mouth could open any further. He glared at you and you recoiled slightly from the look in his eyes.

“Moony, she’s Death Eater scum!” He spits. “Tie her up, call Moody NOW!”

“Sirius.” Only Remus addressing him by his first name served to get Sirius to look away from you and at his friend.

“She’s not a Death Eater Sirius, she is working for us. She’s a secret mole for the Order. So secret only Moody and Dumbledore know.”

Seeing that Sirius was still not convinced you decided to get on the defensive. “Look here is my wand.” You addressed Sirius. “I give it to you willingly” you rolled your wand across the table towards him and he snatched it up as you raised your hands. “Remus is correct - I am not and have never been a Death Eater, I work for you - ask Dumbledore and Moody.”

Sirius turned your wand on you, his expression unchanged from that of loathing and repulsion. He was, in his anger, a startling site and it sent a chill right through you.

Symbols started to appear on your forearms, your palms, and up your neck - anywhere you weren’t shielded by clothes was now covered in black markings. Both men look astounded at you as you hurriedly replied, “this happens when I’m scared! I don’t know what they mean. Please don’t look at them!”

Remus, ever the gentleman, turned away but Sirius regarded your markings in a curious manner. He didn’t look disgusted anymore but the surprise on his face is evident. You tug at your sleeves and grasp your neck in embarrassment.

Remus cleared his throat, “perhaps we should call Moody - floo him at least - will that help you stop pointing Y/N’s wand at her like you are going to curse her?” He glanced at Sirius. “She cursed me first!” He cried indignantly. “That’s fair” you replied - hands still in the air, scared, but a now a slight smile played on your features. Catching Sirius’ eye you winked at him. “I do apologise about that, I was loathed to do it but it was the only way Macnair would have believed you weren’t there to ambush him on my behalf considering Remus chose not to hex me straight away. Macnair may look stupid but unfortunately he is highly astute. Insufferable prat.”

Sirius flashed a quick smile at that, before quickly rearranging his expression into a frown.

You couldn’t blame him, the cruciatus curse is the foulest of foul devices anyone can use. Some would say death is preferable.

Remus plucked a handful of green power from the mantle and threw it into the fire place. “Alastor Moody’s house” he called clearly as he stepped into the flames and disappeared.

There was silence as Sirius and you looked at each other.

You cleared your throat “I’m going to put my hands down now Mr Black, ok?”

He nodded tightly and gestured to a chair for you to sit.

Still frowning curiously at you he glanced down at your arms and said, “I have a similar rune to that one on my wand.” He pointed to your open forearm as he accio’d his wand to show you.

There was a line of symbols, runes as he said, one after another carved into the long line of his wand. It was rather beautiful. “I’ve never seen this pattern before, did you draw it yourself?” Sirius nodded slowly. “What does it mean?”

He considered you, his gaze less full of hatred and surprise, now of steady curiosity, similar to that of a guard dog regarding another.

“It means: ‘more or less human.’” You were surprised. Everything you have heard about this man is of cocky, arrogant surety. Not someone who would consider himself half human? You knew a bit about the Black family, that they were up there with all pure blood fascists. You thought he must be like them, he certainly looked like them. His long dark hair, chiselled cheekbones and dress was quintessential of aristocratic grace and superiority. Like it or not, he looked like everyone of the pure blood, supremacist wizards but apparently not if he is working for the Order and referred to Death Eaters as ‘scum.’ Clearly there is more to this man than meets the eye.

Sirius was still watching you, hand tensed on your wand as if he was waiting for any sudden movements. You were struck again by the alarming sight he is as he stood before you. Shirtless, sweat dripping from raised pectorals, running over taught stomach muscles. He was broad chested and decorated in tattoos. Skimming over his frame your eyes caught a marking sitting promptly above his trouser line under neath his belly button.

“I have that one too!” You exclaim, pointing at the mark. He looked down to where you are pointing and raised his eyebrows at you.

“Yes, it appears over my heart when the symbols…well I guess runes appear.”

“This one?” Sirius touched his abdomen “It means a sort of ‘new growth, new beginnings if you will.”

You had never sought what the symbols meant as when they appear you are usually in no mind for researching but also you were always afraid at what you would find. That they would revel further darkness inside of you. Slightly hopeful at finding that you might not be decorated in diabolical signs of evil you divulged further.

“Yes but it is slightly inverse of yours, like the mirror image - is that still the same? What does that mean?”

He regarded you for a moment and then answered gravely, “destruction.”

Your sharp in take of breath was masked by Remus and Moody appearing out of the fireplace.

Sirius, once again, ready for action gripped your wand but relaxed at the sight of the old auror and his friend.

“You can put that away, Sirius I have us covered.” Seeing Moody calmed you and any markings previously visible on your skin, disappeared.

Moody’s limped towards the table pulling a flask out of his robes and handed it to you. You rolled your eyes as you take it from him and administer three drops to your tongue.

How many more times will he make you take veritiserum?

He cocked an eyebrow as you grimace at the taste and uttered, “can’t be too careful, Y/N.”

You sat up and waited for Moody’s questions. He, instead, pulled out a chair next to you sat down facing Sirius and Remus holding his hands out, “ok gentlemen, ask her anything.”

Remus paused, but Sirius straight away asked: “Are you a Death Eater?” “No.” You answer confidently.

“What is your name?” “Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N”

“Who do you work for?” “Anyone from the Order of the Phoenix”

“For how long?” “Since my second year out of school”

“Why?” You stall, you have never been asked this question before. Surely the answer is obvious? Good vs Bad and you were on the side of Good - like him right? “Because the world is not made better by elitist idiots who think they are superior to everyone else, that just causes more pain than anything."

“Who recruited you?” “Professor Dumbledore.”

“How did he find you?” “He watched me at school and located me nine years ago when I was 18 trying and failing to infiltrate a Pure Blood Elitist meeting. They were still prevalent even though Voldemort was officially thought dead. He said that he knew I despised pure blood mania but I was going to get myself killed if I did this alone or worst be used by the enemy for my ‘gifts’? You signed quotation marks with your fingers in mid air as you said the word ‘gifts’ and Sirius couldn’t miss the distain in your voice.

Sirius paused, then lowered his own voice, “what can you do?” You grimaced and slowly listed the unusual powers you have. Moody who had heard this before did not find it alarming but the two men before you could not hide their amazement.

“Have you ever hurt anyone with your gifts?” “Sirius!” Remus warned as you answer; “Yes”

“Out of anything other than defence” Remus added “No.”

Sirius continued his questions. “How does Remus know about you?”

“I saved his life from a werewolf attack two months ago. At another late night Death Eater rendezvous. I knew they were stalking Order members but I didn’t know they were going to use lethal force. It was Fenrir, he transformed during the meeting and went for Remus. I cursed him and played it off like I missed my aim at Remus, hitting Fenrir instead.

There was silence as Sirius digested this. You had again put yourself in danger of discovery, this time in front of one of the most dangerous blood lustful werewolves and took the consequences. What were the consequences of making a mistake in Voldemort’s ranks, Sirius wondered.

Remus, wondering the same thing, burst out with the question that had been plaguing him since that evening two months ago: “What did they do to you for your mistake?”

You swallowed, not able to hold the truth back, “They killed my dog!”

Tears streamed down your face, the truth potion not allowing you to remain in dignified silence, you recounted the awful punishment from Voldemort and the ‘lesson’ he said you would learn from your mistake. He believed your ‘affinity’ as he called it, to your own pet clouded your judgement and allowed you to mistake one animal from the other. That wouldn’t do and before you could react to what he was saying he flicked his wand - there was a flash of green light followed by a thud and your beloved companion was dead on the floor.

That moment caused you some of the worst pain you had ever experienced and you had a lot of pain catalogued to choose from. She was the only light in your troubling world, helping to make you feel less alone, and now she was gone. It took immense strength to not react to Voldemort then or anytime you thought about her in his presence.

The memory was overwhelming and terrified you to your bones. Scared of anything like that happening again the symbols or runes, as you now know them, reappeared.

“Why did Dumbledore ask you to pose as a Death Eater?” Sirius asked gently, distracting you from your tears. “He knew Voldemort wasn’t really dead it was only a matter if time before he resurfaced. He thought Voldemort would be interested in me and that becoming a ‘Death Eater’ would keep me safe.”

“Safe?” Sirius questioned, confused. “Yes my abilities did not go unnoticed at Hogwarts. Dumbledore reasoned that it was only a matter of time before Voldemort came recruiting and would kill me if I said no. This way I get to help, rather than be used as a pawn.”

“Do you like your position for the order?” Moody shifted in his seat as Sirius asked this and turned to you waiting for your answer. “I hate it.” You spit, surprising even yourself.

“Why do you do it?” “I want to help and this is the only way. I was happy at having a plan finally to stop all this pure blood is greater than thou mania, excited even to be working for a group and not alone. But the more I learn about Voldemort’s ideas for a superior race and the way his followers talk and act towards anyone else disgusts me. I feel dirty having to agree with them even though I know it is a facade. It’s devastating and it gets to me the blood and torture and hurt they inflict.”

All men remain silent as you say this, watching you pull at your sleeve and steadying your anger. “I’m also scared of hurting people with my powers being used and having no control. Dumbledore has promised to…” You stalled.

“What has he promised, Y/N” Sirius asks.

You look directly into his grey eyes and state; “To take me out if it looks like they could cause me to hurt anyone.

“Take you…?!” Sirius and Remus look, appalled, Moody who’s grim but calm face gave away that he already knew of this potential eventuality.

As Sirius opened his mouth to argue, Moody held his plan up, silencing him. “Are you satisfied she is not a Death Eater now Sirius?”

Sirius nodded and Moody continued. “Right now we need to worry about a cover story for Y/N as to why her and Macnair’s meeting failed.”

“I’ve been thinking about that” you voiced. “I really think you are going to have to administer a delayed curse, one that takes its time - enough for me to get home but not be able to leave. Something that knocks me out for a few days.” Moody appraised you admiringly, however Sirius and Remus looked disgusted.

“Delayed curses are terrible Y/N.” Said Remus. “There is a reason they are delayed - to gain strength overtime and completely floor you.”

“You are not just going to get knocked out.” Added Sirius. You will experience pain to the level of a cruciatus curse but for days as you are paralysed to do anything.”

“It’s the only way.” You continued on before either man could argue again. “I get home and can stage it like I was trying to get into contact with Voldemort before succumbing to the curse. That way when they find me, it will look realistic that I was trying to contact.”

“Can’t you just summon him with your dark mark?” Remus asked quietly.

You shook your head.

“I can’t be branded. As soon as the runes you saw appear, they dissolve any artificial marking on my skin, such as tattoos.

Once again, Sirius’ mouth opened in shock.

“I know.” You said to him. “I spent so many galleons on a full sleeve tattoo trying to hide my markings only for them to dissolve that tattoo when they appeared.”

“How did Voldemort react to you not being able to carry the dark mark?” Remus asked.

“He was…” you searched your mind remembering a white hot hex on your back. “…not pleased.”

“Right then.” Moody stood up. “This has been a great chit chat but we need to get you home. I’ll administer the curse and then you get straight home you’ll only have a few minutes before it begins.”

“Can Sirius do it?” You looked at Moody before turning to Sirius. “I owe you one for my curse and I’d like to call it quits. Just in case you feel like bringing it up each time we meet - I heard you can hold a grudge.

You gave him a rueful smile and a smirk played on his lips as he gave you a curt nod.

“Remember gentlemen, no one can know that Y/N works for us - got it?” Remus and Sirius nodded. “Well as you now believe Y/N is no longer trying to breach head quarters I will take my leave.” He swiftly limped to the fire place, snatched a hand full of floor powder and disappeared into the flames.

The three of you remained seated, Remus and Sirius considering you but with very different looks on their faces. Remus looked pained and apologetic where as Sirius watched you with a contemplative glare - and was that admiration in his stare you wondered?

You stood up, took your wand from Sirius’ hand and stowed it in your robes. Facing the two men you said, “Ok, hit me.”

Sirius raised himself up and looked at you. “Brace yourself Y/N.”

You nodded holding your arms out. Once more the runes appeared. Sirius winced slightly knowing that though you put on a cool front, you were scared. Each time the runes appeared on you that evening he felt unease and did not unwind until they began to dissolve. He didn’t realise this but he was not enjoying seeing you scared.

Sirius waved his wand through the air, closed his eyes for a moment then looked straight at you. His eyes black with anger he forcefully pointed his wand at you and you felt a cold chill wash over you entire form.

Once finished he lowered his head and drew a shaking breath. “I wager you have 20 minutes, so Y/N - lets get you home.”

As Remus and Sirius escorted you out the front door you stumbled slightly knocking a hideous trolls foot over causing a clanking sound to erupt in the hallway. At once a pair of curtains flew open revealing a woman with black hair and eyes looking down at you in indescribable rage - her face twisted with disgust as she screamed about honour and half blood filth. Her foul administrations on muggles and half breeds rang throughout the house.

You found yourself growing hot with anger, and perhaps weakened by the curse flowing through your body, you were unable to steal your emotions and calm yourself.

One hand holding the wall, the other directed at the woman in the portrait you lit her up in flames. The fire silenced her and allowed Remus and Sirius to yank the curtains shut. Shutting the woman up and putting the fires out as quickly as they had started.

Both men looked at you.

“Sorry” you beseeched. “Things burn when I get angry. Usually I can control it better. I just couldn’t stand what she was saying, whoever she is.”

“My mother.” Sirius exclaimed looking impressed.

You gave him an apologetic grimace before crossing the threshold of number 12 Grimmauld Place and apparating home in the cool night air.

Sirius, watched you go and then quietly closed the door. He looked at Remus who merely shrugged and said “Well you did say you were bored, Padfoot!” Before turning around and walking back to the kitchen for a cup of tea.

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@belladonnarey @sirius-lysad @riddikuluslypotter @emmamass24 @evyiione @mylovelykelsifer @sly-vixen-up2nogood @ashkuuuu @virgilwrites-archive @songforhema @wangmangagavroche @borbole-teias @legalyred

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thereadingcycle · 6 years

Note

Hi!!!! Can you write a Drarry ficlet where Draco grows out his hair and Harry looses his ever loving mind over it (and eventually snogs him senseless against a wall ;) )

Okay, so I know it’s not exactly what you asked for, but this is what happened when I read your prompt. Maybe there will be a sequel where they snog against a wall?

Harry’s legs bounced anxiously as he sat in an abandoned hallway. It had been years since he’d been back at Hogwarts. It had been years since the war had ended in this very school, years since he and his classmates had come back to finish their education, and years since they had graduated, all going their separate ways but still keeping in touch. Ron and Hermione were engaged and both working for the Ministry. Ginny was training to try out for the Holyhead Harpies. Luna had taken over as editor-in-chief of The Quibbler. Neville had become the Herbology professor at Hogwarts during the last school year after Professor Sprout retired.

After graduating from Hogwarts, Harry started to train to become an auror, but he only made it through the first year before he decided he couldn’t take it anymore. It was Hermione who had reminded him of how great he was at teaching Dumbledore’s Army, and it was she who suggested that he study education when he went to University. She and Neville were the reasons that Harry was here now.

Harry met up with Neville at the Three Broomsticks at the beginning of June to celebrate the end of Neville’s first school year as a professor and Harry’s graduation from University. That’s when Neville told him about the job openings for the next school year. Both the positions for Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and Potions professor would be open.

So here Harry sat, waiting to meet with Headmistress McGonagall. He didn’t know why he was so nervous; he knew the interview was a formality. McGonagall had practically told him at his graduation that if he ever wanted to come back to Hogwarts, all he had to do was ask. Maybe it was the being back part and the memories of everything that had happened here that made his hands shake.

He was saved from falling into the pit of memories that he had worked so hard to shut out when he heard the echoing sound of footsteps getting closer. He was not expecting the sight that greeted him when he looked up.

Draco Malfoy was sauntering down the hall toward him looking perfectly at home, as he always had in these vast halls. He was dressed like he was ready for a runway with his boots, tight-fitting pants, and cloak that reached his knees. His outfit was primarily green and Harry wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be ironic or just because it looked really good on him. And then there was his hair…

Malfoy had allowed his silver-blond hair to grow past his shoulders. He didn’t try to tie it back or tame it, he just let it flow behind him. Harry was sure that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

Draco, of course, noticed him staring and a familiar smirk settled on his face as he came to a stop directly in front of Harry.

“Potter,” he greeted, though without the usual malice that Harry had once been used to.

Harry’s chest grew tight and his lungs began to burn before he realized that he had forgotten to breathe after he had seen Draco. He let out a choked sound and bent his head to cough and hide his embarrassment. Draco laughed, and Harry was surprised at how warm the sound was.

“Surprised to see me?” he asked, sinking down onto the wooden chair next to Harry’s.

“Yes,” Harry admitted once he finally got his blush under control.

He hadn’t seen Draco since the last time they were both in the castle, graduation. When they had come back to finish their last year, things were obviously different between them. They no longer got into fights or glared at each other from across the Great Hall. They were civil, but they had never managed to become friends. So, after graduation, Harry never heard from or about Draco again. He had assumed that he would go on to work for the Ministry like Ron and Hermione, but here he sat, with his long, beautiful hair, and his stormy eyes that seemed to be looking right into Harry’s soul.

Harry tucked his hands between his legs to hide the fact that he was nervous, and cleared his throat to buy him some time to think of something to say, but he couldn’t concentrate with Draco sitting that close and looking at him like that. He looked up at the ceiling. He just needed to think of something, anything to say to ease the tension he felt in the air.

“Your hair,” he blurted at last, regretting it immediately, but realizing he couldn’t take it back, he continued, “it’s long.” He found it amazing how he’d only been in the presence of Draco Malfoy for two minutes and he already felt dumbstruck.

“Yes,” Draco said, a look of a amusement in his eyes. “Nice observation, Potter.” And then he smiled- actually smiled. It was something Harry had never seen before, but he knew immediately that he would do anything to make it happen again. Draco’s hand went to his hair, his fingers automatically finding a piece to twist around. That’s when Harry realized that Draco was nervous too.

“It looks great,” he said, feeling suddenly braver. He swore he saw a hint of rose starting to form on Draco’s cheeks, but then he was changing the subject and the glow faded.

“So I guess we’re here for the same thing then. What, not going on to become Minister?”

“I thought you’d want that job, actually.”

“Yeah,” Draco scoffed. “Like they’d ever let me after…” His voice faded away as his hand drifted subconsciously up to his arm, covering up the mark that they both knew was hidden under his sleeve.

“I don’t want people to depend on me anymore,” Harry said, startling himself. He’d never admitted that to anyone before, but now that he had, he knew it was the truth. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I never did. I thought people would’ve realized that by now. They need someone else to be their hero. I think Hermione would be great for the job one day.”

“She would,” Draco agreed, almost immediately. “And for the record, Potter, I always knew you didn’t have a clue what you were doing.” Harry met his eyes and saw that his words weren’t patronizing or accusatory; they were joking. Draco was actually joking with him. Harry couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face.

“And why are you here, smartarse?” He asked, playfully rolling his eyes at Draco. Now Draco was the one who turned his gaze to the ceiling. Harry watched as his eyes slid down and all around the walls like he was trying to memorize every crevice and design.

“Hogwarts was the only safe place I ever knew,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought maybe if I came back, if I was better this time than the first time I was here, if I helped people instead of hurting them, maybe I could find who I really am and actually earn my place back in this world.” His eyes drifted down to his hands where they rested, trembling in his lap.

Harry looked at this boy. The boy who he had spent most of his life hating. The boy who had bullied him and many others. The boy who was raised in an abusive home, forced to see things a certain way. The boy who was brought to the dark side by his parents, and who too much was expected of. The boy who had saved his life at Malfoy Manor and the boy who had chosen the right side in the end. The boy who wasn’t evil. Harry looked at the pain on his face as he relived memories that were probably similar to the ones Harry had, and he realized that they actually had a lot in common.

Harry reached out his hand, letting it hover over Draco’s to show how it was shaking too before awkwardly dropping it back on his own lap. Draco looked up then, shock in his eyes at the vulnerability that he had never seen Harry show before.

“This place brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Harry asked, a smile playing at his lips. He saw the corner of Draco’s mouth turn up, and suddenly he had the overwhelming urge to tell him what he was thinking, even if he didn’t believe him. “You don’t have to earn your place back, Draco. You will always have a place here. At Hogwarts, and in the wizarding world.” He heard Draco’s sharp intake of breath and played the words through his mind again, trying to figure out what he had said.

“You called me Draco,” the other boy whispered, almost like he was reading Harry’s mind. Harry hadn’t realized that he had never called him Draco out loud before, he had said it in his mind so many times.

“Nice observation, Draco.” Harry smirked, sensing the almost electric feeling in the air. “Or shall I call you Professor Malfoy now?” Draco rolled his eyes and gave Harry’s shoulder a shove, the electric tension fading away. Harry wasn’t sure what that was, only that it was different than anything he had felt with anyone before, and something told him it wasn’t going away for good.

“Sod off, I don’t even know if I’ll get the job.”

“I hope you do.” Harry said. And he meant it. This new Draco was a completely different person than the one he had gone to school with. Harry wouldn’t mind having plenty of time to get to know the new Draco over the course of a school year.

McGonagall cleared her throat, standing in the doorway of her office, a few feet away from them. Harry’s cheeks burned red as he wondered how long she had been standing there, but then he caught the mischievous glint in her eye, and something told him that this had been her plan the whole time.

“I’m ready to meet with you now, Potter.” She said, trying to hide her smile. “I’ll be with you soon, Mr. Malfoy.” And then she disappeared back into her office, leaving the door open for Harry to follow behind her.

Harry stood, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants and turning to face Draco.

“It really was good to see you again,” he said, earnestly. “Maybe I’ll see you around?” And then he held out his hand for Draco to shake.

Draco stared at it for a moment, and Harry began to feel a lingering feeling of déjà vu, but it wasn’t that exactly. It was more like they were coming full circle. Then Draco took his hand, and Harry felt a warmth travel up his arm.

“Yeah. See ya, Harry.”

And with that, Harry went into McGonagall’s office, already feeling like he was back home.

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