takami-takami · 2 years ago
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Accidents.
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includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. suggestive.
warnings— daddy kink. predator/prey undertones. keigo being a meanie.
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You wish the ground would just swallow you whole before his smug look does.
"Don't let it get to your head! Keigo—" You squeak, covering your own face with one hand and pushing his away with the other. Your palm does nothing to quell the mischievous laughing fit that your boyfriend doesn't seem to have the courtesy nor self control to keep to himself.
Don't let it get to his head? His head couldn't be any bigger in this moment.
He seizes the opening to situate himself on top of you with ease, keeping you caged beneath him so he can bear witness to the full extent of your misery. Your hands lie helpless, locked under his hold and pinned above your head to leave you wide open. He wants nothing obstructing his view of your dreadfully desperate squirms.
He considers locking your legs in place beneath his, too. It wouldn't be difficult at all to overpower you, but the butterfly kicks behind his back that ruffle the sheets beneath are just too delicious to watch.
Your bedroom has become a locked box of your whimpers and flails, and he loves it. What he wouldn't give to cage you here and throw away the key.
"Keigo...? Sorry, dunno who that is." His eyes roll in time with his shoulders, while that wicked grin never falters.
"Could've sworn you were just calling me something else," he sings above you. He purses his lips like he just can't catch his thought. Bastard. You'd be screaming into your hands if you had access to them. "What was it you said... What was it..." he hums a devilish, giddy tune, turning to catch your eye.
"Care to remind me?"
"You're an asshole!"
"No, that's not quite what you called me."
You huff in response, opting to stare at the ceiling behind him. Anywhere but that stupid, god-awful, pretty face of his. Maybe if you try to pull your wrists free, he'd take pity on you and— nope, still not giving an inch of leeway.
He notices your weak attempt. Poor thing, he thinks. You don't actually think there's anywhere to run, do you? Your halfhearted flailing underneath him is cute though, he'll give you that. So cute. Almost as cute as your little slip-up that got you into this fucking mess.
This is your mess, you know. You did start it, after all, and who is Keigo if not a man who finishes the job? It'd be criminal to not keep this game going for as long as it'll take to satisfy his instinct to torment you.
He's not a sadist, he swears.
He just knows prey when he sees it.
"Kei', I didn't— can you please just let this go?" You finally look at him with those puppy dog eyes. In another circumstance, they would get him to do whatever you want; but for once, he decides to be selfish. He's just having too much fun.
"Why should I? Don't tell me you're embarassed," he posits, as if you aren't the picture of shame incarnate beneath him. "Nothin' to be embarassed about, doll." He closes the gap between you, nose barely brushing the line of your jaw before he dares to have a taste. "Plenty of people would jump at the oppurtunity to call me da—"
"Hawks!"
"Oooh, yet another name and you still won't repeat the one from earlier. Gonna hurt my feelings, baby." Raptor eyes zero in on the juncture of your neck. When you strain to turn your head away from him, you leave your jugular completely exposed. He sighs. You're fucking helpless. He supposes that's why he's the pro hero, and you're just the little hare captured betwixt his talons. 
With a finality settling in his gut, he latches on and sinks his canines into you. You go limp below with the hitch of a breath, kicks slowing to a halt.
"You know, I think I like this." When his hands release yours, he's sure your muscles won't even twitch. Frozen under his spell, you are the moth to his proverbial flame; the rabbit in his headlights.
"I think that name is already one of my favorites. You'll say it again for me, won't you? Tell me..."
"Who's your fucking daddy?"
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ladyduellist · 6 months ago
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Epistles of Saints & Sinners
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Chapter Summary:
Tav has a dream and makes a decision about Astarion.
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Story Summary:
When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.
But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.
As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?
Healing isn’t linear—after all.
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Chapter 16: Dream
Ao3
Next Chapter
Previous Chapter
Main Page & Chapter List
Word count: 5.8k
Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav
CW: Sexual Language, Self-harm, Blood, Gaslighting, Manipulation, PTSD , Act 1 Spoilers
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What is the cost of turning dreams into reality? The payment of man: his duality. Morrowland awaits for those who can pay, Death masks made for any in his way.
— Raphael, diabolical discussions at the House of Hope
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The first detail Tav noticed about the rich northwestern Sea Ward of Waterdeep was the malodorous stench.
A reeking unpleasant mixture of old and new greed asserted through questionable bargains. The pungency in fear and scandal-mongering behind palatian villa walls. Secrets hidden well beneath caked layers of powdered cheeks and painted façades of cordiality from each patriar’s cut stoned smile.
Gathered in droves did the wayfarers come, to celebrate Winter Shield as the largest holiday of the year. A specified duration for one day, underlining the spectred accounts from the past year. Follies and good cheer, recognized as an enthronement for the special occasion.
Cassalanter Villa towered self-righteously over Tav as she eyed its structure, hearing the roaring jollied voices from the party that was in full swing indoors. And there, her beloved Algos presumably waited, working the visitors strategically for dividends should he grant the evil desires of their hearts. A strange residence he coaxed her into attending to mingle with the orgies of blue bloods at the behest of his aspirations.
It wasn’t that she had never dealt with patriars—especially back in the comforts of her home in Highmoon—but moreso, that she loathed unnecessarily gleaning attention out of highbrow society. She cared not if her singing mouth or the whorl of her rapier impressed upon their besmirched mortalities.
As she approached, dolled up in an empire waist gown crafted from azure ombré velvet and hand painted whitecaps resembling the salt waters of the Sword Coast, she began collecting her nerve to enter the villa, reciting Algos’s instructions in her mind. Each rehearsed pleasantry urged upon her to perform at the upcoming soirée, formed together as they would leave her murmuring lips in an alphabetical soliloquy.
Practice makes perfect.
Good thing I’ve perfected the art of a side glance to deal with these pompous dickheads, she bemoaned in her thoughts, reluctantly walking up to the closed doors.
Tav’s hand hovered above the door handle, a million excuses sprinting through her gray matter as to why she shouldn’t walk across that threshold into the lion’s den.
She formed a closed fist, letting it fall unceremoniously away.
“What am I do—oh…you’re here,” the elven woman quietly proclaimed.
Warmth dispersed between her collarbone and upper breast tissue as her soulmate mark gently made its presence known. Breathing. Alive. Pulling at the invisible bond betwixt them, causing her clattering heart to slow its pace.
She looked down at her chest, imagining the dark brownish shooting star underneath her gown stirring to life. Her mate’s long, steady, drawn out breaths tickled across the astral shape, expanding and contracting. Oh, how many nightfalls had this rare blessing kindling her pale skin endowed her with reassurance?
Tav imagined her soulmate in different scenarios whilst their shared token heated her. Had they been laughing at an embellished joke? Mayhaps demonstrating the proper launch techniques of bows? Or, could it be they were mapping the skies above for an exciting adventure?
However, what she knew for sure was that her mate had acknowledged her hesitancy from whatever location they occupied. Their connection abundant the most during the trials they each faced, knowing the precise moment to lend one another strength to will their resolve to conquer such trepidations.
Still, there loomed something eerie and tenebrous beneath the surfaced flushing emitting from the mark. Flecks of dark scattered emotions that would quickly dissipate into the channels of her nerve endings.
During those periods, she would often sing to her soulmate as she began to do now. Dulcet lullabies from ancient elven lore, hummed prettily off the glint of her lips while she lightly grazed the top heap of her bosom. Tav prayed that the solace from her songs filled her mate’s body, healing their troubled spirit through their fated link as she always did.
And just as suddenly as the dreamlike sensations from her soulmate appeared, they were gone.
With newfound will, it didn’t take long afterwards for her to prepare herself to enter the indoor gathering.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Spine straight.
Doors open.
Welcome to a new hell.
Barges of colors flashed behind Tav’s eyes when she slipped into the home, like fields made from dying stars erupting to give birth to interstellar clouds. A contrast to the falling snow outdoors, entoiling the city of splendors in quilts of white.
Gold and silver tinsel hung from every lit candle wall sconce. Balsam garlands—decorated with fir cones, orange slices, and tinkering brass bells—drooped in a zigzag pattern high above the visitors’ heads in the grand foyer only feet away from the entrance. Noises rang off champagne flutes, filling the air with their own caroling orchestra.
To her left, an ornately carved pulpit stood leering over guests filing in from the cold to administer judgment before they joined the festivities. A toffee-faced dwarven woman, elderly and worn, stood raised behind its face. Large baskets filled with wreaths stacked perfectly on either side of her: novelties of cultural celebration for new beginnings.
“Happy Winter Shield and welcome to Cassalanter Villa, my lady,” the noble dwarf politely announced. “I am Madam Robine Cassalanter and today: our home is your home. Please warm your bones and feast for as long as your belly will allow or until dawn breaks and I put everyone back onto the streets!”
Tav forced a smile, noting the slightly serious tone of her last sentence, evident of her classist ethics. “Your hospitality is without rival, Madam Cassalanter.”
Robine removed a wreath from one of the baskets, steadfastly holding it between her plump sausage-like fingers. “Care for one? The servants have painstakingly outdid themselves this year with them I believe! Handmade over a thousand each in a tenday’s time.”
The dueling swordswoman nodded quietly, moving closer to the pulpit. Patiently waiting as the woman fixed a wreath created from boxwood leaves and winter berries onto her head, Tav observed the smoothness of her hands. Clearly lacking the same scars and calluses she had acquired, she doubted the dwarf had worked a single day in her life that didn’t involve hosting grand parties and speaking gossip over towers of scones.
“Lovely,” she exclaimed, admiring her minimal labor. “Now, is there anything else I can help you with?” The dwarf peeked down at the cuffs of her tacky white and emerald suit, pretending to be unsettled by an invisible stain that just seemed to require all of her attention.
She blinked away the melting snowflakes occupied on her lashes, resisting the urge to subtly insult the woman’s sudden rudeness. “Saer Algos. Do you know of him? He should have arrived an hour or so ago.”
Madam Robine stopped fidgeting with her sleeves, widening her eyes to stare at the woman regarding her. Head tilted curiously, she leaned over the pulpit shifting her vision to study the elf more closely.
Odd. Strangely so.
Tav slightly furrowed her brow, vexed further by the woman’s demeanor. Minutes ticked away before she decided that the suddenly mute dwarf was a lost cause and she would be better off searching for him on her own. Turning away, she proceeded to walk towards the upbeat gathering.
“Saer Algos? Why, yes, he should be inside,” Robine abruptly interrupted, halting Tav. “Now that I think about it, he did mention he was expecting his fiancée to show up sometime after him. Would I be correct that he also said you are a dazzling vocalist and would graciously sing for us this fair eve?”
How very like Algos to use her talents to captivate and indoctrinate the masses for his cause.
Her long dress spun around with her like dancing waves as she looked back at the woman that now had a cheshire grin spanning the entirety of her lower face, further indenting the wrinkles around her eyes.
She swallowed down her objection into the pit of her stomach. “If it should please you and your guests, then I would be honored.”
Tav reminded herself this uncomfortability was for Algos. “For the future” he often reminded her. Should he rise to meet his goals, protection across Everska, The Dales, Cormyr, and perhaps one day The Sword Coast, would be guaranteed. The people would want for nothing, only to enter a unified golden age that had yet to be seen.
His vision: enticing as forbidden pomegranates ripened upon a tree. Seeds of an ideal utopian nation, waiting for their arils to burst open, intoxicating the land. How could anyone refuse? Algos designated himself as the man to conduct the events that would jumpstart everything. A man possessed with masterminded strategies to outwit opponents into carving his position amongst those on lofty perches.
Algos would not fail; he would immolate any that deemed him to do so.The Madam nodded, snapping her fingers at a nearby servant. “May I have your mantle then, Miss…?”
“Tavelle Etriel’kerymaera. My name is Tavelle Etriel’kerymaera,” she answered affably, untying her fur mantle to hand over to the maid obediently holding her arms out like a coat hanger.
“Tavelle Etriel’kerymaera,” Robine slowly enunciated, continuing her strange all-knowing smile. “Enjoy your evening, dearest.”
Bowing her head courteously, she half pivoted to depart—“One more thing Lady Swordsong,” Robine called out, crinkling her mischievous eyes. “My nephew Victoro Cassalanter and his wife Ammalia are here tonight as well. I believe they would find you quite beguiling! And I am sure given your contributions, this won’t be the last we see of each other.”
Contributions? What in the hells was she referring to? Tav entertained.
The elf visibly narrowed her sight, no longer able to hold back her suspicions about the dwarf’s behavior. “Forgive me for my intrusive assumption Madam Cassalanter, but why does it seem as if you know far more about me than you’re revealing?”
She shrugged her shoulders, fixating her interests on the next wreaths to prepare for the guests that had just entered from the blistering cold. “Fly along now Sword of Deepingdale,” the aged dwarf ordered. “You shouldn’t keep your handsome beau waiting any longer.”
Tav bit down on her lower vermillion, contemplating a walk back towards the pulpit to fetch the crone by her hideous jacket to demand answers from her smug face. However, Robine was right: Algos expected her to be by his side tonight and that included demonstrating her best temperament. Despite her reluctance in attending the party, she knew these negative thoughts were temporary and in contrast to the importance of their presence there.
From the entryway to the grand foyer, Tav glanced out amongst a hive of rabid nobles. Each one buzzed about, collecting useful rumors like pollen, transferring it back to the rest of the broods that kept encircling the hall. They sucked and they sucked and they sucked, addicted to every bit of nectary gossip they could store inside the cells of their brains until they could use them for their benefit.
But then, she found her soon-to-be husband, dwelling near an ivory pillar tucked away in a quiet corner. Hair slicked back and robust body clad in a long navy velvet coat trimmed in charcoal-dyed fox furs, Algos’s long shadow peeped out across the marble floor. He was dashing as ever—facial features more intense than usual from a clean shave.
Though, what she did not anticipate was the unrecognizable companion flouncing around him.A human woman clung onto his arm. Pinned glossy black hair. Dressed in gold silks. A pair of sirenic sea green eyes. Breasts pushed alluringly into his bicep. Beautiful and refined by most standards.
The elf watched as Algos’s heavy tongue—presumptively dripping with honeyed charms—whispered into the lady’s ear, causing her to giggle. She craned her neck to peck the corner of his full lips, a row of pearly whites gleaming in the dim light. Then, as the she-wolf was about to depart into the lively crowd, her peachy hand casually slid downwards until her palm met his outlined cock in his trousers.
Wait.
That can’t be right.
It happened so quickly it could have been easily mistaken for a trick of the eye.
“Ah, there she is: my beloved birdie!” Algos waved at her with a half filled glass of champagne, intruding upon her fretful thoughts.
Robotically, her ears perked up, obeying the seductive and cajoling drag from his wispy gruff inflection. The breadth of a faux smile chained itself to her lips.
“Good eve to you my love,” she replied, curtsying as he met her near the doorway.
Should she question him about what she saw? Surely, she was mistaken.
His sight raked over her body, doubtlessly searching for any imperfections that could cause that infamous astringent glimmer in those hickory coal eyes. “You look astonishing,” Algos complimented, appearing pleased.
“Well, I suppose I should, given you were the one that picked out this dress,” Tav tried to quip, briefly ignoring her concerns.
His left arm slotted itself around her waist, pulling her into him. “It has been vastly boorish here without you.”
Tav’s hands flatly landed against the intricately stitched rows of velvet along the upper torso of his coat, as if to guard him from her heart. “Has it? It seemed like you were having quite a bit of fun with that black-haired woman just a few minutes ago.”
Algos threw his head back in laughter, his Adam’s apple sporting a few missed coarser hairs from his shave. “You mean Ammalia Cassalanter and the kiss she gave me? Oh my dove, she was simply thanking me for a little problem solving regarding a mercantile disagreement I did for her husband Victoro. It saved them from loosening some of their funds to placate the persons involved.”
“It’s not the gratitude from her peck that bothered me, but the squeezing of your cock before she sauntered off,” Tav frankly reported.
Without another word, Algos seized her hand and led her into a small sitting room adjacent to the foyer entrance, closing the doors behind him.
Instead of releasing her, he instantly looped her arms around his neck. His free hand tilted her chin up towards him, peering down into her face. “I’m unsure as to what you think you saw, but that didn’t happen. Aside from that meaningless kiss, she didn’t touch me.”
Tav stared up at him silently, the various shades of pink on his cheeks a symptom from imbibing. He always knew what to say to her, always in a way that his manipulations convinced her breaking heart to continue bleeding for him.
“The only woman I want is you,” he cooed, pushing into her plush mouth with his broad tongue, snuffing out her angst immediately.
Upon his slithering tongue slipping betwixt her lips, a delicate sweet tang was tasted, covered under the fruity notes from the champagne. A taste she could equate to the lustful moistures of labia folds mixed with intoxicating jasmine at the end of each breath he aired out.
Tav fought back the vile images of Algos’s head between Ammalia’s thighs, sucking her clit into orgasmic bliss. She was a married woman, after all, with a husband whose watchful gaze vigilantly scanned the perimeter of the grand foyer. How could the two of them manage to get away with their affair within the past hour?
Yet, it occurred to her that even though she could taste the lies on his tongue, he would likely show no remorse. She could certainly probe him enough to admit his adultery to her, but his confession would turn to a plausible excuse that feasting upon wealthy cunt would somehow give him further access into this family’s maggoty circle he aimed to control. The pain of his betrayal would foreseeably become a fleeting hurt to help him usher in “the future.”
This man—this horrible man Tav loved—knew by her altruism that she would always put others before herself because she felt everyone else’s lives were more important than her own.
And he could get away with it all.
Algos leaned back, lips plump and deeply hued in rouge. “Do you believe me?”
No.
“Yes,” she fibbed, swallowing her torment because that’s what he would want to hear.
“Good girl,” he praised, patting the side of her neck. “Now that your worries are eased, did the matriarch of the family treat you decently when you arrived?”
“Madam Robine Cassalanter? She was genial as any patriar pretends to be,” she slightly frowned. “But, something was off about the way she regarded me. What did you tell her?”
The back of his thick index finger gently stroked her cheek. “I should have known my perceptive little bird would pick up on that. To answer: I may have slipped a very rare map into her possession that once belonged to one of the many heroes from ‘The Iron Crisis.’ The Cassalanter’s were quite thrilled that the daughter of that self same hero—you—and a Sword of Deepingdale herself, would offer such a gratuitous gift.”
Her jaw felt like it entirely unlatched as her mouth flew open in disbelief.
By that admission alone, Tav figured out the artifice he meant to play before he even explained himself. She was seething, her chest tightening with heat. “You not only stole a part of my inheritance, but you also laundered it away to one of the most notorious families in Waterdeep to gain an alliance?!”
“Now, now, the Cassalanters have graciously received us. There is absolutely nothing to be upset about,” Algos chastised with a click of his tongue. “Moving people along the game board is all part of the political blueprint. You must have favor with those in disreputable positions to guarantee their compliance for your goals, else chaos ensues.”
“Besides, you should be honored that your mother is the bladesinger, Evenlit Etriel’kerymaera! You’re practically royalty, my dear,” he unerringly said, taking a casual sip of gold fizzy liquid from his glass. “It simply baffles me that you have not taken more advantage of her blood running through your veins.”
Tav grimaced, letting both her arms fall at her sides like lifeless pieces of twine. “It feels like I’m nothing more than the dowry in your marriage to your ambitions.”
Algos glided his finger down the side of her face, finding a loose curl to toy with. “No need to make extremes out of this, love; you’re much smarter than that. All I ask is that you stay by my side and trust me to handle the meat boiling inside the bones,” he slowly said, curling his lips into a smug look.
The muscles in the groove of her lower mouth involuntarily twitched. “Stand by your side as you galavant around with actual criminals while using me and my family like whores?! Those are the types of individuals that have rotted Faerûn, Algos! Ones whose damned schemes we should be disemboweling,” Tav snapped, trying to keep her voice down.
She angrily clutched the hand stroking her silken tresses. “Nepotism by my parents' accomplishments is not something I believe in exploiting. That map was…do you have any idea what you’ve done? The danger involved? I never agreed to any of this.”
Algos raised her hand to his lips for a kiss, devious eyes peeking over her knuckles under a weighty brow. “And yet, here you are continuing to pretend to be everything you hate. Putting on a show in front of all the upper class to garner their favor for yours truly,” he whispered harshly. “Even going as far as to allow me to use that very nepotism you have carefully avoided to strike together the flints that will spark the flames needed to build an innovative future.”
“Besides, the people love to hear stories about heroes: their rise and their fall,” Algos forebodingly remarked, gulping down one last mouthful of drink.
Fall? Did he mean to suggest—?
Disoriented in the hollow of his words, she sensed she was caught in yet another trap. Caught in his orated words that carried separate terminologies from the sentences he formed. Caught because he held both her dreams and night scourges in the palms of his hands, conducting them as a marionette. Caught because she was frightened of what he could do to her and her parents. Caught because of what he’d already done.
Caught because she loved him.
Yet, wasn’t sacrifice part of truly loving someone? Stripping everything away until all that was left were both their damnations and heaven’s respite in their cohesive bodily belfry. At least that was what she had come to believe about love.
And loving Algos? Ha. That had become a form of self-flagellation. With each lash from his actions—his words—welting her mind in the deepest shades of blues and blacks.
Tears formed in her ducts, stinging the thin skin there. “How much further are you willing to go, Algos?” Tav shakily questioned.
“As far as I need to,” he growled, forcefully wrapping her hand around his bicep as he walked them towards the doors to soon reopen. “We’ll address this confusion later on. For now, shall we head back? You do have an audience to enchant.”
From the songstress’s mouth, the Anima Sola suffered in her throat, threatening to painfully scream while she tried to break her shackles to a man she devoted her life to for close to a decade.
This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him.
He loved her…he loved her…he loved her…
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It has been said that the eyes are the window to the soul. Yet, what of doors?
Doors open and close: one opportunity leading to the next. A ceaseless funnel as the era of the living persisted from birth into death. Still, regardless of the ability to seize such possibilities, a numerous amount remained soundly shut. Shut because of the cruel mistress called fear. Humanity with their spiritual set of keys oft left staring too long at locked doors, that they fail to see others that have been left ajar.
For Tav, however, it had been the opposite. The yawning doorway she found all those years ago, murmured false promises of love, security, and happiness in the form of a man named Algos. And, oh, how guilelessly she tried to steal it all away for herself without even fathoming that she should have waited in front of that one forsaken sealed door until it was ready to be unbolted.
But now, as she followed Algos’s lead stepping over the doorsill back into the stimulating celebrations at the Cassalanter villa, Tav knew he was throwing them both into their inferno graves. Reflexively, she shut her eyes as they moved, listening to his heavy boots for guidance.
The countdown in her head started until they would be met again with an onslaught of noises.
One, two, three…
Silence.
…four, five, six…
More silence.
Her lids flew open, peering out into an entirely different scene. The guests had disappeared. Victoro and Ammalia Cassanter, even his aunt Robine, were nowhere to be found. The villa had transformed into what appeared to be gray slabs of rocks and splintered bones, floating in a strange sky. Above her, the impeccable ornamental garlands had mysteriously vanished, leaving behind a dusky galaxy oscillating in blue, purple, and misty hues.
The bard checked herself, noticing the gown she had worn changed into her usual camp clothes. Even the sophisticated ringlets she donned were replaced with her regular plait thrown over a shoulder.
And then, she understood: it was all a dream.
Tav pieced together that Algos had not escorted her into their once lethal future beyond that portent door, but instead, out of a nightmare from their past life together and back into her present day—or wherever this foreign place was.
She called out to her companions one by one, hopeful they were in the same vicinity. “Shadowheart? Wyll? Gale? Karlach? Lae’zel? Halsin? Astarion? Scratch? Where are you guys?”
However, despite the lack of an answer from her friends, she wasn’t alone.
There, in the quiet proximate distance, her ex-fiancé idled near a shadowy precipice observing a formation created from debris out in the buoyant space that Tav couldn’t entirely see.
“Algos…?!” She alarmingly squeaked out, as if she had seen a ghost.
Why didn’t he disappear when she woke from the dream? He couldn’t still be—no. That wasn’t possible.
The man turned to her, a tranquil smile deepening his aging lines. It astounded her how he looked exactly the same as he once did, save for being clad in shining golden armor. “Hello. Are you alright? I know this is probably unsettling for you.”
Instantly, tremors overtook her body, rattling her teeth together. “But, you’re…you’re…dead! H-how…are y-you…s-s-still alive?! I k-killed—.”
“I-I k-killed…I KILLED YOU!” Her voice curdled, as it thickened with her screaming saliva.
Tav fell to the ground sobbing, an urge to vomit steadily filling her throat. The pangs in her heart became unbearable as her blood seemed to be blockaded from entering its ventricles. Her fingertips clawed into the thin layer of stony dust for purchase, hoping the ground would swallow her whole. Regardless of the passed years after his death, she was nevertheless at his mercy.
Salted earth inside his mouth, He has been preserved. Discord: his acolyte, Has time already been served?
Footsteps approached her, crossing the gigantic craggy mass confidently. “I am sorry to have frightened you. Let me help you up so I may explain,” his soothing vocals seeped out into the air over her.
Through Tav’s overgrown bangs, she saw his hand reaching downwards, palm opened for her to take. Angrily, she swatted it away. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you EVER fucking touch me!”
Algos patiently retracted the scoop of his mitt. “Perhaps it would serve us both better if I were more direct about your predicament. For starters: I’m not actually Algos.”
She loudly cackled. “Not actually—oh, that’s fucking rich! Out of all the times you’ve gaslighted me, this is certainly a first. Run out of interesting ways to terrorize me? Decided to finally manipulate me into believing you’re someone else entirely out of boredom, have you?”
“Do me a favor and kill me off like you should’ve done 10 years ago. Just get it over with. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?!” Tav added as salty streams soaked her cheeks.
He cleared his throat. “Tavelle, you’re still dreaming.”
“What…?”
“This,” the man gestured around the unknown area. “is a lucid dream; a by-product from the tadpoles. It’s how I’m able to somewhat physically manifest to you and your friends. Had I known this form would upset you in this manner, I would have reconsidered my choice.”
“I don’t—what?” She repeated, crossing her shaking arms tightly against her chest.
The subtle infliction of desperation buried in his tone did not escape her. He had knowledge about the tadpoles and, given mention about her friends, their travels thus far. Shit, stranger things have happened to her since they started said journey—taking a sun-walking fussy vampire to bed being one.
Should she believe him? Or It? Would it serve her to extend an ampul of her trust to his claims?
As she studied it, Tav admitted that this version of Algos did appear different. Concentrating on its speech patterns, it struck her that it was vastly more monotone—clearer—than the man she called her ex sweetheart. Its mannerisms were devoid from the calculating quirks she was forced to accept, in favor of an almost calming breeze to its movements. If anything, it was worth it to consider it was being honest and Algos—the real Algos—was still decaying six feet underground for her own peace of mind.
At this point, what did she have to lose? The inner twistings from the mind flayer transmogrification may happen soon anyways.
“This is insanity,” she blew out, wiping her face. “I am probably a downright twit for even considering some of this to be true, but what—er—who exactly are you then?”
It took a moment to answer. “I’m an adventurer—just like you. And just like you, I wish to be free of this infectious mind control. I was the one that saved you from the Nautiloid; surely you remember?”
Memories brightly erupted in the dimples throughout her brain as it rushed its thoughts into her. In one scene, it stood before her pod, unlatching the mechanism that kept her contained. Then, it kept her falling body from colliding like a ragdoll into the sands of the beach back near the crash site.
“Gods above.” She pushed herself upwards, balancing on the balls of her feet until she regained her strength to stand. “That still doesn’t explain why you look nearly identical to Algos,” Tav pressured. “Are you a changeling of some sort?”
“It’s more complicated than that, but I will clarify as much as I’m able,” it started, folding its hands together below its waist. “I can connect with, not only yours, but all your companion’s tadpoles. Through those connections, we’re able to communicate telepathically. The visions within your thoughts sometimes become like a puzzle for me to piece together; other times, they are transparent.”
“Algos” held out its arm to the side signaling for them to take a walk. “Your trances have been consumed with images of this man whose likeness I have taken on. When I realized I could properly meet you through your dreams, I decided the best way would be for me to greet you through the image of someone you once knew. Perhaps I did not deduce the full gravity of your emotions towards this human, and for that, I apologize. It is not my intention to deceive you—quite the opposite actually.”
Tav held up her hands, swirling her index fingers in a backwards circle around the other. “Wait, back up. Am I to understand that you also have a worm inside your head and you can hear or see my thoughts?”
“The uncomplicated answer is: yes.”
Her brow lifted suspiciously. “And the complicated answer?”
The “changeling, yet not changeling” considered her question, a droll hum rumbling at the top of his throat. “First: may I change into someone more palatable for you? Then, we can discuss some of your queries.”
“How are you even able to do that? Is it like a flick of the wrist and bibbidi-bobbidi—nevermind. I mean, please go ahead, just…nobody I know.”
Except, it did shift into someone she recognized. A highly regarded older graying woman that was oft mentioned amongst the civilians for her astute political position in the ‘Council of Four’ as they propagated the daily streets in Baldur's Gate. One that she had never formally met, but saw distributing a few coins into her tip bag while playing the lute on street corners within the big city.
“Duke Belynne Stelmane?” Tav huffed out an unbelievable laugh, planting her hands on either side of her hips.
The morphing creature presented her with a closed mouth grin, identical to that shrewd pucker Stalmane typically touted. “Yes. Do you know about her?”
“It would be hard not to; she is one of the most important women in power along the Sword Coast. I never had the opportunity to speak with her seeing as we obviously ran in different cliques,” the bard answered truthfully. “Did you know her personally?”
“For a while. She was a dear friend to me and one that helped me to seize back my life at some point. We worked together to make a real change out there. But, that time has aged and deteriorated.”
‘Curious,’ she thought. ‘Those unblinking eyes barely show a hint of emotion.’
“I am sorry to hear that Duke—ahem, could I possibly call you by a different name? Just in case you decide to have another glamorous makeover that I may not recognize next time,” Tav teased. “How about the name ‘Dreamy?’”
“You may call me whatever you wish for the time being,” Dreamy coolly accepted.
“Grand! How about we take that walk now?”
They circumnavigated the rocky terrain several passes as Dreamy patiently answered Tav’s questioning scruples. It explained to her that the tadpoles were swaddled in exceptional magic that prevented withdrawal, but she should evaluate learning how to use their power as it may be the only way to save the possible destruction of Faerûn. Its only option was to steal the power that was now protecting them, but at the cost of creating a lot of enemies.
“When I discovered information that these ‘True Souls’ began infecting the people by turning them into their own vessels, I realized they meant to do more damage than creating a surplus of mind flayers—they wanted dominion over them,” Dreamy stated as it turned to view Tav’s shock. “True Souls carry the same supernaturally-infused tadpoles as yourself. The only variation being that those that are infected with normal worms hear the True Souls as if they are connected by a colony hivemind and believe them to be gods.”
Her mind raced trying to process the minutiae to the bigger picture. This was nowhere near what she had predicted after wobbling out of that flayer pod; this was a sentient, respiring nightmare. Would it even be possible to eradicate the True Souls if they wielded that amount of power? And what about the consumption of additional tadpoles? Dreamy failed to mention side effects that could be associated with such risks.
“I-I’m unsure what to say,” Tav muttered at a loss for words, stretching her arm upwards to tug at the skin above her collarbone as if she was still proving to herself that any measure of this was real. “May I return now? Out of this dream and back to camp. I need to speak with everyone as soon as possible.”
“You have been through enough tonight, I will sever the connection as you’d like,” it said, bowing respectively without a single hair of Stelmane’s resemblance loosening out of place.
Her lips pulled up in gratitude while she watched Dreamy walk a few paces ahead, once again beholding a fascination for an object out in the oil slicked atmosphere.
“Tavelle?” It asked before a pregnant pause, the clanking of its armor becoming silent in the unfamiliar ether. “Do you think you should tell them?”
“Tell them what?”
“About what happened to your family.”
Tav inquisitively stared at Dreamy as she sharply took a breath, the thudding of her heart jumping into her windpipe. “Why? All of Faerûn already knows what I’ve done.”
⸺⋘✤⋙⸺
Notes:
Elvish name: Tavelle Etriel'kerymaera = Lady Tavelle Swordsong
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itsvunker · 1 year ago
Text
Tonight, it's bear night at the club where I work. I cast my gaze over the crowd of overweight hairy men inhabiting the floor until I see him. That right there, is my target for the evening. I tuck my shirt into my slacks to show off my slim physique and make my way across the room to him. He's sitting alone, nursing a beer at one of the high top tables, staring at his phone. The pale light of the dance floor illuminates his figure, it's soft glow bouncing off his shirtless body. The man had been here a few times lately. He was a professional bodybuilder, least as he tells it. Yes, you could see the impressive size of his various muscles, years of weight training and steroid use. However, he sat back far from the table, not because of his bulk, but instead because of his heft. He apparently had some sort of injury that prevented him from retaining his shredded physique and he now spends his nights here lamenting the loss of his career. The prodigious 60" beer gut that hung heavily off his torso shelved his massive pecs, but pushed him from the table. It was my ambition to relieve the poor brute of his anguish. At least, his current anguish. 
As I approached, he glanced away from his phone long enough to see my arrival. He was very clearly in deep thought about something, but he swished it away with the notification on his cell phone. His demeanor changed quickly as he initiated conversation. "Ro'ro my boy! Just the man I was hoping to see tonight!" He grinned. "Oh? And why's that big guy?" I passed as I took the stool across from him. "Well, listen..." he began, "I haven't been the greatest lately. In fact, I'm in pretty dire need of a win... Do you think... you could help me out?" He motioned to his crotch beneath the mountain of gut. My eyes lit up with obvious joy as I sheepishly stammered out "..y...yeah of course!!" He downed the rest of his beer and we began to ascend the tower above the bar to his suite. His phone went off once more, but he quickly swiped the notification away as we entered the room. 
Before I could even produce a question in my mind, he had me pinned to the wall, his meaty pecs and his fat gut smothering my lithe body, and though I was still dressed, he was pawing relentlessly at my cock. I moaned into his kiss, my breath traveling into his lungs as his tongue danced with my own betwixt our mouths. One swipe of his meaty hand and all my shirt's buttons snapped open, as he groped down my pants. All the whole I could feel his own cock hardening against my thigh. [This is perfect!] I thought to myself. [The big lug is practically begging for me to take him down in size! He won't have to worry much about that bodybuilding career anymore when I'm done with him...] Oh how I would dread those thoughts when all was said and done.
He picked me up off my feet and threw me to the bed, practically tearing my clothes off in the process. He swiftly got out of the remainder of his own clothing before smothering me with his boulder sized belly, his cock grinding between his own fat and my flat chest. He hoisted his gut up far enough to be able to shove his cock into my maw before he began face fucking me. My vision obscured by the massive tank, I could only gauge my performance by the deep, loud groans of pleasure emanating from above me. He grabbed my own cock and began pumping it in time with his thrusts down my throat, activating my abilities. [Yes!!!] I screamed in my head. [Time to take you down big guy!] He grunted hard, shoving his cock deep in my throat as he began to unload. 
Thick ropes of his cum painted my insides. He continued to grunt as he shot load after load down my throat. It was about that time I realized something was off. He was still cumming, that much held true, but it was as though he was directing my abilities with his own willpower. My hands reached up to protest but he pinned them back down with his masculine power. His muscles flared as he came harder in my throat. "You didn't... gnnnngn think that I had.... haaaaaah... fuck... gone into this.... hnnnng.... blindly did you? No... little man... unnnnf.... you're gonna... nnnnn... get me back into... gaaaahhh.... my career...mmmm..." I then pieced it all together. His willingness to take me home... the sketchy messages he didn't want me to see... that troubled look on his face... he was debating how to beat my abilities. I wasn't going to be draining his muscles from him... he was going to be forcing me to drain his fat from him instead!!
I screamed a muffled scream into his pelvis as protest, but there was no stopping it at this point. He continued to ride my face as he unloaded the full fury of his gut into my body. I could feel myself getting heavier. My skin was stretching to accommodate his gigantic gut. He was moaning so loudly that the neighboring room was pounding on the wall, demanding he shut up. I couldn't fight back against this 450lb brute pinning me to the bed as he began to rapidly lose weight. The pressure on my chest was lessening by the second, but the pressure in my stomach was building at an astonishing rate. "Fuck yeah little man... you're gonna be one fat fuck by the time I'm through offloading this gut into you. Ugh fuck it feels so good..." I began to be able to see more than just his gut, as it rapidly deflated off his body. His pecs still obscured his face, but his stomach was drawing closer to his hidden abdominal muscles. He began to bounce his hefty pecs, no longer burdened by the pillowy fat. I felt myself growing fatter and fatter... the excess weight invading my body and leading me deeper down the hole of unhealth. If I could just... manage to... hold on my own orgasm... if I could just get to turn the tables on him somehow and penetrate that thickly muscled ass of his... I could shoot my load back inside him and re-inflate that boulder belly of his... 
You could almost hear the sound of a sink drain sucking down the last of the dirty dish water as the final pounds of the bodybuilders gut was flushed down my throat. It was then that I felt something different being drained from him. He felt a wave of exhaustion hit him as his muscles began to lose their stamina. [Okay! We're still on track! I can still drain his muscles and leave him a skinny little...] before I could finish my thought, he forcefully withdrew his cock from my mouth, some of his seed still shooting from his throbbing cock. "Oh fuck... that was a close one... I almost got lost in how good that felt..." he gazed down at me, struggling to swallow the last of his load before he continued "but you aren't going to get any of these muscles fatso." He flexed hard, the vigor of his muscular body no longer hampered by his overweight stomach. He was so much lighter that he even lost a bit of balance, his ass coming frightfully close to landing on my cock, slick with my precum. 
As he fell backwards, my still rapidly inflating waistline jiggled and swayed, as I moaned. His cock spurted one last time, coating the top of my swelling tank. He caught himself on the bed however, mere inches from my overstimulated cock. All of this growth left me very close to my own bursting point. He rolled off the side of my body, and took my overstimulated cock in his hand. With his other hand free, he began to flex and pose, jiggling my newly fat body and teasing me about the weight I had just stolen from him. "I'll bet you weren't expecting to grow like this, huh, you fat fuck? You wanted these thick, hard, manly muscles, but instead you stole all of my unwanted, jiggly fat. Now you've got his comically oversized gut and no muscles to support it like I had!" His teasing and taunting was too much. I lost the battle of will and careened off the cliff of orgasm. As my cock painted the roughness of his calloused weight lifter hands with my load, I could feel his fat cementing itself in my body. Because I came and it didn't get shot into someone's body, I was now stuck with the drained portions of his body forever. Without warning, he took my load and lubed his asshole with it, and began to ride my cock, adding full insult to the situation.
He bounced on my cock like a joyful Twink, flexing his hard muscles and bouncing his pecs. One hand rubbing his cobblestone abs and the other playing with and jiggling my fat gut. I panted and pleaded with him through wheezing breaths... but it was no use. He was having too much fun reveling in his victory, his muscled ass milking my cock. Before long, I was ready to shoot again, this time, painting his insides with my seed. My own seed that is, not his purloined seed. "Fuck yeah! You're my permanent fat dump now Ro! Doesn't it feel great?!" I groaned in full pleasure of being milked by this behemoth bodybuilder, shamefully blushing knowing that if I had just held out for a few more seconds, I could have fucked his fat right back into him. My groans of pleasure combined with my cock riding his prostate caused him to loose his own manly load over my impregnated looking stomach, as he roared in orgasm, flexing his powerful muscles as a show of dominance. He walked out of his room, fully obtaining his desires for that evening, as I shakily tried to stand under my new heft. Neither one of us fitting in either ones clothes, we left that room changed men. One ready to tackle the bodybuilders circuit with renewed vigor, confidently splaying his manhood for all to see. The other wobbly kneed, flooded with shameful fat, panting to make it even a few feet. Maybe I need to pick my victims more carefully...
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impossible-rat-babies · 3 months ago
Text
unmatching pieces
ffxiv | 1.7k words | shb msq spoilers (up to lvl 75)
“I knew…”
They speak softly into the oppressive air between them. The sharp humming of the light drenched sky above them looms like a heavy weight across their shoulders—eager to crush them beneath its weight.
“I knew what was happening—after Il Mheg, I could feel it. The Light and its blighted touch not fading, but seeping into my body.” They look at Y’shtola, watching her lips purse and her brow scrunch together.
“And you still feel it…?” She asks slowly.
They nod, gaze drifting down to their hands.
“In my fingertips—I feel them stiffen when I pause for too long, and a tingle when I move them once more. A weight in my gut, and an itch at the back of my throat. Behind my eyes.”
She sighs, yet it does little to ease the worry that holds her shoulders closed and lips pulled to a thin line. Her hands folded neatly in her lap, clenching together.
“Forgive me for not having spoken sooner.” She admits with a heavy exhale, her shoulders dropping.
“Nay, I should have spoken my mind soon after arriving Slitherbough. Mistaken as you were to my nature upon us reuniting, I would not so easily cast aside that which you beheld.” They pause, a bitter smile rising to their lips. “A brilliant soul, I have been called before— nomenclature befitting Hydaelyn’s Chosen. And yet it is not Her light which eats away at me now.”
They stare down at their hands, feeling the tingle across their flesh—like needles in their bones, and blades wedged into their tendons. Heavier than they remember--stretching back to their shoulders, at the base of their neck. Their sword feels clumsy in their numb hands, their steps unbalanced by clumsy legs.
They asked Tesleen about the transformations when Alisaie had stepped away. What happens before the transformation full takes hold--the changes during that long, agonizing march towards death; they bade her not to spare them the worst of it, that they would know all of the inevitable that awaits the infected.
They recall the way Halric’s hair felt—straw between their fingers. Fragile like wheat breaking away from the shaft. How his skin was smooth as plaster--marble, even. It was sand they brushed from his cheeks, but they wondered if one day they might brush white dust from his cheeks like chalk and press it betwixt their fingers.
Press like how they press their index finger to their thumb, trying to feel the metal and leather of the gauntlets pressing into their skin. A hint, even as their knuckles strain.
Y’sthola’s heavy gaze settles on them and they know well the face she’s making. They will tell her that they are fine with a smile that tugs the corners of their lips unwillingly, and hopefully she will allow them this lie for just a little while. A way to keep the fear at bay—to keep their feet moving forward. Idle bodies do little work, and there is much work to be done. Only work they can do--even as their stomach writhes and squirms. Tesleen's descriptions of the fate that awaits them ever present; her death and the cocoon that cradled her fleshed turned to liquid light and reborn stuck behind their eyelids; embedded in their ears.
Y'shtola merely sighs, leaning her head against their shoulder as she takes one of their hands in hers. Knits their fingers together and rests their clasped hands in her lap, her opposing hand resting atop. Tracing little circles across gloves with her thumb, the chipped nail catching against a frayed thread, but they don’t complain.
They sit in the relative silence, watching the members of the Night’s Blessed attend their chores in quiet ease. Water to the crops, the stalks of wild corn and gourds stretching towards the sky. Barely there conversations from nearby as a pair of older women sit with well worn hand looms, easily passing thread from one side to the other. The brush of a broom across the stoop and the pause as the young woman easily scoops up a young toddler from crossing the threshold, a bright smile on her face and he quietly babbles. One of the few children born here since her arrival, Y'shtola had told them.
Above the sounds of the light, birds still chitter and called out; insects hum in the brush, shuffling through the leaves. Small white butterflies flutter by, almost indistinguishable from the speckles of light lazily floating through the air that is almost cold.
“Tell me truthfully, Eyrie.” Y’shtola breaks the quiet, eyes keen on watching her people. “Do you trust Urianger? How he needed more surety of the light's effects upon you?”
“….Tell me your thoughts.” They reply after a long pause, brow furrowing.
She sighs, short and clipped.
“I trust him…” She admits, “And yet in this matter I do so hesitantly; tis difficult when the man is so convinced of his need for secrecy. He would wait to know for certain if the corruption is not merely dissipating from you when you speak to the contrary, and as I can plainly see.”
“Carefully has he always laid his plans—I do not blame him for wanting surety with his own eyes er he thinks of a course to act upon. Even at the cost of precious time.” They answer her before continuing to speak. “Ever has he kept his cards close to his chest, so prepared to give all for our chosen cause. By his betrayal in the Source did salvation come to the First—that this world might yet be saved.”
Eyrie pauses, looking out across Slitherbough.
“I do not doubt that our friend is not thinking of all that is at stake. But, nevertheless that plan costed Minfilia her life." She reminds them. "Even if she was already lost to us, and such was her own wish."
They look down, shifting to hold her hand--lacing their fingers together. “Aye, I have not forgotten.”
“If there is some secret he is keeping, I pray it does not come at a price we can ill afford.” She looks to them, a hint of softness behind her eyes. “Most especially when it concerns you, my dear friend.”
Eyrie can’t help but smile at her despite the weight in their gut and the ache behind their eyes as she moves to stand, letting go of their hand to brush the ruffles of her skirt back into place.
They too carefully stand, letting their greatsword rest a moment longer. “Wait, Y’shtola--before you sweep yourself into some all consuming task."
She gives them a look and they sigh softly and smile gently.
"Give me your hands.”
They hold out their empty palms and she eyes them, looking at them with careful curiosity, before heeding their request. She turns back to them, clasping her hands in theirs. She stares up at them, keen as always to unfold their thoughts just from their eyes. Always has she been so keen to look, and they have not been beyond her scope of careful examination. They try their hardest not to look away.
Her hands are warm as they run their thumb across her knuckles. The callouses are heavy along her thumb and fingers, not far from her hands back in the Source—worn and painted from her insatiable desire for knowledge. Ever hungry for tome after tome, mural after mural to pick apart the deepest secrets of the world. They had no fears when they did not find her in the Crystarium--they would be remiss to think her feet would stay in one place. Ever would their steps find their way back to her. Their most dearest friend.
“Eyrie…?” She prompts gently, squeezing their hands.
“Shtola,” they reply softly, letting out the breath they had been holding.
“A steadfast friend you have always been to me. Always have you been honest, and carried your best intentions for me close to your heart. Ever have I placed my trust in your knowledge, your level headedness, and your heart—that most of all. You know me far too well.” They say quietly, running a thumb across the back of her hand again.
“Do not think unkindly of me for asking, as I ask out of trust. But should the worst come to pass--”
“Eyrie.” She cuts them off, their name firm in her tone and her gaze heavy. Hands clenching tight around theirs. “I know what you ask, and what you ask is difficult of me--beyond words.”
“But not impossible.”
“'Tis not that simple. Even if you ask, to forsake you, much less by my own hand--”
“I do not wish to suffer.” They cut her off. “For my own selfish sake. I do not wish to harm those whom I care for. Those whom I love. Please..."
She looks away and they watch her still, her hands still clasped in theirs as she closes her eyes. More words sit unspoken behind their teeth--held on the tip of their tongue. There is no one else whom they would trust to see this until the end--to see them to the end, should the worst come to pass. Ever the pragmatist, ever since they sat together overlooking the bustle of Limsa and she spoke of the deeper issues haunting the beast tribes of La Noscea. She would not be blind, not to the sins of man, nor of the Ascians who so carefully exploited man's weakness.
She would understand, even if it costed of her her heart, and her treasured friend--she would have to to understand.
Her eyes open and she looks up at them--resignation and a burden behind her eyes. One they so carefully placed in her hands and wrapped her fingers around to keep close to her heart.
"If...the worst should come to pass, I will do as you ask, Eyrie." She admits softly. "But I shall endeavor beyond all hope to not see that come to pass. You have my word."
"Thank you..." They reply just as quietly, letting go of her hands and they cup her face just barely, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. They feel her hands rest on their waist before she gives up--wrapping her arms around them. They wrap their arms around her shoulders in turn, holding her close. Resting their cheek in her hair, she squeezes them tightly.
"You will not be giving up." She tells them fiercely, and they can't help but scoff.
"Perish the mere thought of such a thing. Who would I be to give up?"
"A poor friend is what." She bites back and they laugh, letting her go as she steps away, steeling herself once more. "Now there's business that needs doing."
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champagneproblesm · 5 months ago
Text
Parallels between Tennyson's poeem st Siméon stylites and Taylor Swift lyrics/art - Random adsociation
Let this avail, just, dreadful, mighty God,
This not be all in vain, that thrice ten years,
Thrice multiplied by superhuman pangs,
In hungers and in thirsts, fevers and cold,
In coughs, aches, stitches, ulcerous throes and cramps,
A sign betwixt the meadow and the cloud,
Patient on this tall pillar I have borne
Rain, wind, frost, heat, hail, damp, and sleet, and snow;
And I had hoped that ere this period closed
- out of the Woods music video
Thou wouldst have caught me up into thy rest,
Denying not these weather-beaten limbs
[...]
Thou knowest I bore this better at the first,
For I was strong and hale of body then;
And though my teeth, which now are dropped away,
- don't you worry folks WE took out all her teetch - WAOLM
Who may be saved? who is it may be saved?
Who may be made a saint, if I fail here?
Show me the man hath suffered more than I.
For did not all thy martyrs die one death?
For either they were stoned, or crucified,
- what if i Roll the stone away, they're going to crucify me anyway
Or burned in fire, or boiled in oil, or sawn
- they're burning the witches Even if you aren't one
In twain beneath the ribs; but I die here
- Peter was she lying, my ribs get the feeling she dis
Today, and whole years long, a life of death.
Bear witness, if I could have found a way
(And heedfully I sifted all my thought)
More slowly-painful to subdue this home
Of sin, my flesh, which I despise and hate,
I had not stinted practice, O my God.
[...]
Three winters, that my soul might grow to thee,
I lived up there on yonder mountain-side.
My right leg chained into the crag, I lay
Pent in a roofless close of ragged stones;
Inswathed sometimes in wandering mist, and twice
Blacked with thy branding thunder, and sometimes
Sucking the damps for drink, and eating not,
Except the spare chance-gift of those that came
To touch my body and be healed, and live:
And they say then that I worked miracles,
Whereof my fame is loud amongst mankind,
[...]
I wake: the chill stars sparkle; I am wet
With drenching dews, or stiff with crackling frost.
[...]
And in my weak lean arms I lift the cross,
O Lord, thou knowest what a man I am;
A sinful man, conceived and born in sin:
'Tis their own doing; this is none of mine;
Lay it not to me. Am I to blame for this,
That here come those that worship me? Ha! ha!
They think that I am somewhat. What am I?
The silly people take me for a saint,
And bring me offerings of fruit and flowers:
And I, in truth (thou wilt bear witness here)
Have all in all endured as much, and more,
Than many just and holy men, whose names
Are registered and calendared for saints.
- Dear reader // anti-hero
Good people, you do ill to kneel to me.
What is it I can have done to merit this?
I am a sinner viler than you all.
- tell me I'm despicable - Florida!!!
It may be I have wrought some miracles,
And cured some halt and maimed; but what of that?
- Dear reader // Never take advice from someone who's falling apart//These desperate prayers of a cursed man you wouldn't take my word for it If you knew who was talking // you should find another guiding light
[...]
And lower voices saint me from above.
Courage, St Simeon! This dull chrysalis
Cracks into shining wings, and hope ere death
- me ! MV, me! Mural
Spreads more and more and more, that God hath now
Sponged and made blank of crimeful record all
My mortal archives. [..]]. I hardly, with slow steps,
With slow, faint steps, and much exceeding pain,
Have scrambled past those pits of fire, that still
Sing in mine ears. But yield not me the praise:
God only through his bounty hath thought fit,
Among the powers and princes of this world,
To make me an example to mankind,
Which few can reach to. Yet I do not say
But that a time may come -yea, even now,
Now, now, his footsteps smite the threshold stairs
Of life -I say, that time is at the doors
When you may worship me without reproach;
For I will leave my relics in your land,
- The manuscript
And you may carve a shrine about my dust,
And burn a fragrant lamp before my bones,
When I am gathered to the glorious saints.
These heavy, horny eyes. The end! the end!
Surely the end! What's here? a shape, a shade,
A flash of light. Is that the angel there
That holds a crown? Come, blessed brother, come.
I know thy glittering face. I waited long;
My brows are ready. What! deny it now?
Nay, draw, draw, draw nigh. So I clutch it. Christ!
'Tis gone: 'tis here again; the crown! the crown!
So now 'tis fitted on and grows to me,
And from it melt the dews of Paradise.
[...]
Approach, and lean a ladder on the shaft,
And climbing up into my airy home,
- climbing onto a ladder to get in the clouds during lavender haze
Deliver me the blessed sacrament;
For by the warning of the Holy Ghost,
-"holy Ghost, you told me I'm the love of your life" loml
I prophesy that I shall die tonight,
- The prophecy
A quarter before twelve.
- Meet me at midnight
But thou, O Lord,
Aid all this foolish people; let them take
Example, pattern: lead them to thy light.
- Daylight
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masterblackoak · 6 months ago
Text
“Be hole, be dust, be dream, be wind
Be night, be dark, be wish, be mind,
Now slip, now slide, now move unseen,
Above, beneath, betwixt, between.”
(Neil Gaiman)
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nekromxnt · 1 year ago
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. fandomless oc . multiverse . 21+ mutuals only . highly selective . low activity .
be hole, be dust, be dream, be wind/be night, be dark, be wish, be mind,/now slip, now slide, now move unseen,/above, beneath, betwixt, between.
he's a necromancer but he doesn't bring people back . no . he just listens . the dead have a lot to say . and right now , they'd tell you to stick around if you like weird boys and magic . dossier ( best viewed on pc ) || on mobile? || follows from equalstrength
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faereun · 1 year ago
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[ PULL ]:  sender  pulls  receivers  hair. :] for gen ofc
fingers card through messy russet locks; genesis whines in the back of her throat at the sharp sting of digits tugging at her tender scalp. very rarely did the druid wear her hair down, thus making her particularly sensitive to every little biting touch or calculated pull of silk - soft strands. astarion chuckles lowly, a husky sound that has her bared skin shivering with goosebumps.   'oh, you like that, don't you?'   the vampire spawn murmurs, and her cheeks erupt into a dark green flush of embarrassment - cusp - arousal. yes, she does like it, as a matter of fact  —  likes this feeling of being underneath astarion, a marionette as he plays with her strings, utterly shameless the way he has her wrapped around her fingers   ( both figuratively and literally )   . now, genesis is not a shy woman by any means … however … she's become accustomed to taking the more dominant role when betwixt the sheets with a lover, past partners seeing her confidence and mistaking it as disdain for submission. that is to say, it's been quite some time since someone had taken the reigns from her, and quite some time since she'd well and truly been at the mercy of another. 
astarion seems displeased by her lack of response and subsequent distraction, the grip on her hair becoming rougher, a touch … unkind. it tears a whimpering moan from the wood elf as she arches into the pain, cunt throbbing needily between her legs. supple thighs are coated with slick, creating a wet, sloppy sound as they brush against each other, genesis subconsciously clenching her core. it's filthy and her face grows hotter - still, astarion purring from where he rests above her. he looks utterly pleased, the quintessential   cat - who - got - the - cream.   he curls 'round her until his bare chest is pressed to her back, nimble digits trailing down her soft tummy until they come to rest above her center, hovering over her clit without quite making contact. she squirms restlessly, canines digging into the delicate skin of her pouting lips. 
as if he can sense her displeasure, her love only furthers his incessant teasing, positioning himself between dripping folds. he thrusts against her, the head of his cock bumping against her entrance shallowly, but never fully entering. his fangs scrape against her tender, sensitive neck; his chuckle tickles the shell of her ear.   'you really mean to make me beg, don't you?'   genesis gasps incredulously, arching to match the rhythm of astarion's hips. she tries to fuck herself back onto his cock but the hand not toying idly with her clit presses down on the small of her back, rendering her still beneath his unyielding form.   'gods, if you don't hurry up and fuck me, i'll find someone else who will,'   the druid threatens emptily. twisting 'round to press her face into the crook of astarion's neck, she bites down harshly at the juncture between shoulder and throat  —  two can play at that game.
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dreams-of-mutiny · 2 years ago
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I'd trade all my tomorrows for one single yesterday.
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Be hole, be dust, be dream, be wind/Be night, be dark, be wish, be mind,/Now slip, now slide, now move unseen,/Above, beneath, betwixt, between.
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Time was passing like a hand waving from a train I wanted to be on.
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I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you.
Kris Kristofferson, Neil Gaiman, Jonathan Safran Foer, Vilhelm Hammershøi.
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featherburnt · 2 years ago
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➥ In the River of Viostra
Type: Crossover Part: Prologue (0) Fandom(s): DMC & BNHA Pairing(s): Hawks x m!OC, V x m!OC Word Count: 1,182 Tags: Blood, some violence, implied death
Summary: Four men, stolen from their homes, are transported to a world of unlife and corruption and forced to adapt, to survive. Many trials await them in a world frought with unceasing danger and agony, death repeating, rebirthed in the Great River and baptized in their own blood. Hawks, a ranger; Saryn, a beastly sorcerer; V, attuned to earthen and high magic; and Garrett, a demon turned holy warrior; All doomed to struggle against the natures of another world, another time, in search of the Gate that would see them returned.
As always, minors do not interact.
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     Cold silver light broke through long-aged and broken stained glass windows, scattering and diffusing upon the rivers of blood dribbling between the cracks in the Grand Cathedral’s blackstone foundations, leaking into the belly of the city to feed its horrific machinations all alike in brutality and mindlessness. It did not fend off the darkness pervading the Cathedral, intensifying it, as if a spotlight illuminating only what few faded reliefs and dilapidated stonework still remained - and the blood curdling in its wake, steam billowing into the air. It did not touch the pews, nor the levigated stair before the altar or its myriad rows of striking red candles, nor the mangled, rotting corpses piled on top of the rubble littered throughout the nave and transepts, carelessly strewn about the aisles. Vivid blue curtains bearing the golden Viostran regalia hung limply above where the vaulting remained intact, torn and singed and ripped from an overlong war, and where some had fallen to the crumbling floor, such royal colors now soaked up the blood of the fallen, dark and terrible a shade of purple, like ripened eggplants in the summer.
     Azfodel stood before them all, a waking paragon of a time long past adorned in ornate silver armor splattered with fresh crimson, and his heavy glaive shone with a wash of blood, glinting in the frigid, unfeeling light. He did not waver, though his movements were slowed, atrophied, as if he’d been waiting a thousand lifetimes for anyone to try and wrench him from his hidden throne - to take back the city, and the Gate it had been built to enshrine. Waiting, for the armies of his kinsman and the Well-borne souls ripped from another time and place to wage an uprising all their own, to usurp him and conquer the Great City, the City of the Dead - to lay claim to the gates that lie beneath, brilliant in their decrepit splendor. In the absence of the King, a god among men, the fallen Knight-Captain stood to guard the remains; He would not suffer such a trespass and the four men whose blood stained him and his blade would know it well, would die their final, meaningless deaths, suffering until he was satisfied.
     Shadowed worms danced and writhed around his feet, betwixt the many rows of mahogany pews long-damaged by fallen rubble and the evidence of the War of Souls, and slithered onward toward the four waning men, coiling around broken ankles and shattered ribs. One by one, did they cage them in their grasp and slowly begin to drag them away, drawing them ever closer to Azfodel’s perch, and he stood upright, a giant among them all, lifting his glaive from the fragmented marble beneath in preparation to swing it.
     Blinded by unceasing determination and rage, Azfodel would not suffer them their lives, nor the hostility they bore against him and his home. They were interlopers, fools, stupidly invading a land not their own and attempting to rob him of his post, his own miserable unlife, dashing headlong into a Hell unending.
     The burning, festering pustules beneath his armor gurgled and popped, taught muscles rippling and wriggling under tight, dry skin, with agonized anticipation, a bloodthirst unbidden and unbridled.
     “S-Saryn– Ya gotta…gotta get up–!” came the desperate, garbled cry of the one with golden hair, a scream to cut above the scrape of Azfodel’s armor against stone, and sharp yet empty white eyes honed in on his form as he attempted to reach for his dying companion. Such pain riddled him so, and desperation in equal measure, but so too had much else that Azfodel could not discern - nor deign to care for. “Saryn–! Dammit, get up! Please!”
     The paralyzing fear and anguish skittering across his face did not stall him, and he dragged them all yet closer, watching with intent as they struggled and whined, gasped and sputtered for air and cried. Their weapons and staves had been launched aside by a swell of violent shadow, clanging against stone rubble and glass, only to land in fleshy piles with loud squelches and thunks; There was nothing they could do to fend him off.
     “Fuck– V! I can’t–” came another’s pleading howl, the one with black ink woven into his skin and eyes that burned as hot as any sun, mirroring the other in his movements, slapping his hands pointlessly against the blackstone cobbling. Was he so needy, so reliant upon his companions, that he could not rise again of his own accord, his own vitality? Pathetic excuse for a warrior; Was he not the strongest of them all?
     Wretched, foul, disgusting– All bathed in their own blood, all doomed to drown in it.
     Azfodel lumbered forward, his armored grip tight and ready around the shaft of his glaive, deteriorated muscles twitching and rippling beneath his clattering mail once more. He would not suffer such a trespass nor display of flagrant weakness, and these men would know it well before the last of their souls should seep into the Enum Glais burbling hungrily beneath Viostra, beneath the Grand Cathedral so ridden with a hell long wrought. So it was to be, that Azfodel should approach them, glaive scraping against the tattered marble and blackstone with mindless impatience, and give their pathetic bodies one last unseeing glance; Four men, freakish and bizarre, each different yet the same, clinging to the last shreds of their pitiful lives. The red sorcerer didn’t resist his shade, nor had the black one, both succumbing to the damage wrought by Azfodel’s glaive - they would join their souls to the Enum Glais in time, sink beneath its depths and become one with the souls moaning in the deep; Death was certain, and they would not rise to challenge him again like so many had before. The blond ranger and the wolfish warrior continued their attempts to wake both men, but their efforts were for naught, vain. They, too, would fall into the Enum Glais and feed the ruin of Viostra and its diminished people - to him - where even gods had fallen victim to its loyal guard. 
     “P-please, Saryn– V! The knight’s comin’– We-we need you–” the ranger spat frantically, blood misting the stone where he lay, broken fingers clawing at the cracks, but the red sorcerer did not wake, limbs twisted, broken, and yet forcibly pinned to his withered, fragile body - as with the others.
     Mercy would never be given to trespassers, thieves, brigands, nor worthless blackguards as them. Death and only death would be their gift, their deserved fate. 
     Azfodel loomed over them and the shadows emanating from the soles of his feet coiled ever further, ever tighter, around each of the men, anchoring them to the bloodstained floor. Slowly, he raised his glaive once more, above his head, tipping the blade-end in the ranger’s direction. He would begin with him, and slaughter them all one by one, tear them apart from the gullet out and feast upon their paltry flesh.
     “Shit– Hawks! Get outta the way!” the warrior screamed, flailing in the shadows’ grasp– 
     But it was too late.
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takami-takami · 2 years ago
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Best In Show.
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includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut.
warnings— masc petnames. heavy petplay. puppy play. collaring. oral.
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On your knees.
That's where good pups belong— That's what Keigo tells you, anyway.
The picture of ownership, the winged figure above steps up to your kneeling form and lowers himself down to your level. He sits on his haunches when he observes you. It's nearly clinical, how he looks down with lidded attention, domineering and fully clothed to contrast your bare exposure.
Your neck is straight, your eyes are focused. Your form is immaculate. Poised tight and present, your attention is focused entirely on him. He nods once in approval. You learn quick.
His head tilts absentmindedly when he scans your form. Two thick digits test the tightness of your choke collar, skimming the bare flesh that lies beneath the jingling sound of clinking metal. He tuts a dissaproving sound; it's at least two notches too loose for his liking.
Keigo likes his boy chained tight with a leash he can drag them along by. He's not ashamed to admit it. When he first caught a look at you, the supposed pro-hero with a "canine" quirk, he could see right through your facade of an exterior. You put on quite the show for the cameras, for the adoring fans around you; tabloids called you fierce and assertive, challenge-driven with a fiery drive to climb to the top.
When you first met the number two hero at some conference he can barely recall the name of, you took the initiative and shook his hand. He all but knowingly grinned at your practiced, too tight grip.
It's a good thing Keigo is so astute. You may be able to fool everyone else, may be able to convince every villain you're a wolf of the streets, but Keigo knows better.
Beneath that bark and bite, you're just a puppy, aren't you?
Eager to please, eager to bend over to his whims, eager to be broken in.
You're all bark, and just a little bit of bite. He wonders if he should clicker train that biting habit of yours out of you; but then he'd miss the sting you leave on his flesh when he makes you feel just a bit too good between the legs.
"There we go," he coos, low and affirmative as he clicks the collar tighter. "There's my good boy!" He pinches your chin betwixt two of his fingers and gives it a little shake, his other hand reaching behind your head to ruffle your hair. You keen a whine in response, craning your neck to lean into his touch, chasing the praise that heats your core.
A mistake, you quickly realize.
The hand that once cradled your chin shoots back, his fingers clicking a snap in front of your nose. "Ah-Ah. No." You go rigid at his stern, chastising tone. A whimper catches at the back of your throat. "Sit straight, puppy. Don't be bad."
You scramble to correct your posture. It warms his heart, swells it with pride at the masterpiece of his own creation before him. Just needed a little guidance, and you'd bend your back in more ways than one to please him.
Obedient little thing.
He pulls at your sensitive ears, chewing his cheek in delight at the way you wince with restraint, trying not to thump your leg at his touch.
It's a sight that chips away at his own self-control, makes him fucking ache with need. There's only so much a man can take before the swell of his own cock tempts him, beckons him with a devastating need to bury it somewhere soft and warm and wet.
His focus locks in on your parted lips.
When he watches your panting breath, his own comes quicker, too. He wants your tongue lolled out, wants you drooling on something else, somewhere far filthier than your precious little puppy brain can handle.
Nostrils flaring, his hands dart down and unbuckle his pants with animalistic haste. When he smashes his lips against yours, your squeak is adorable; it fuels him to lick and bite at the sensitive skin of your lips, until a gasp makes way for his tongue to enter your mouth.
"Sir—" you hiccup, struggling to keep upright against the force of his affections. He takes pity on you, noticing the wobble in your stance, and cradles the back of your head before pulling away with a pop. The slick string of spit connecting you intoxicates him, pulls the concentration of his dilating pupils. With the swish of a single finger, he collects the drool at the corner of your lips before popping it into his mouth and making a show of cleaning it off.
"Sorry, puppy." He wipes his mouth clean with the back of his hand, muttering with a lopsided grin, "Can't help m'self. You're just too cute." He plants a kiss to your forehead in apology, humming when you don't move a muscle.
The hard outline of his cock pressing against his jeans becomes near painful at this point, and he knows the perfect remedy for the ache.
Your puppy dog eyes follow him as he stands before you. They trail down to drink in the sight of the toned muscles of his arms, watching the flex of the veins on his forearms as he pulls the buckles of his belt apart.
"C'mere, that's a good pup, go ahead— fuck," he groans when you dash forward to press your face against the bulge in front of you, the second you get permission.
"Easy now, boy," he chuckles, throwing his head back at the rough tongue that mouths at him through his boxer briefs. "Goddamn—"
When he finally pulls himself free, your wide-eyed rapture tugs at the threads of his already nearly gone restraint. "Go on. Stick out your tongue, pant nice and pretty for me."
With your hands fisted at your thighs, it's a challenge to fit his thick length into your panting, awaiting mouth; but you manage, driven by a loyal enthusiasm to worship your whole world towering above you.
When you pull back and suck the tip, running your tongue along the underside of his head, he squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees white. "Fuck, thats'it. Good boy," he slurs. Daring to open one eye, he catches sight of your fluffy tail wagging for him, the swish, swish of its back and forth planting an idea in his mind.
Now that he's got the idea, the visual of you on all fours, pulled back onto his cock by a tight fist tugging your tail, he pulls away to your pathetic whine. Your eyes follow him as he makes his way to the bed, sitting legs spread and tapping the mattress in a silent command.
You know exactly what he wants.
When you plant yourself face down and ass up for him, he beams with pride.
Your form is immaculate.
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allthatisleftinthedark · 8 months ago
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Sebastian approaches the gnomes, what will he do? / (@maledictus-maleficus)
Sino
The debonair of the shadows genuflects in compensation for the height difference between himself and the other child of the night. His courteous hand rests above where a beating heart may dwell. He leans. Lower and lower, he goes adequately to reach Sino's height without struggle, which her party members toil with the near-meter height difference. 
Betwixt their gaze, pale moonlight irises narrow at the abysmal black sclera of neon yellow iris and black needle pupils. Her right brow crinkles and both hands are stationed on the dips of her body. 
'What are you waiting for?' she asks nonverbally as she leans forward. 'This is not the time for you to plot like I am prey and you are the predator.' Despite his acclaimed title, the Dreadnaught Wolf, the free-willed spirit never bore his razor-white fangs—at least not hostile towards the gnome. The gunslinger rolls her wrist, attempting to expedite whatever looming trepidation he was trying to concoct and manipulate for the situation.
Finally, he answers. Above Sino's questioning brow, the damned butler bestows a kiss on her forehead. Sibling affection, as he'd call it, seldom most of the Void spirits and their akin, especially with the four unspeakable lords that should always forego direct acknowledgment. 
Alas, the gnome is not one to wither at the physicality. Only her gaze lowers, inspecting her grimy boots and his spotless shoes. Her gloved hand reaches out at that moment, their eyes meeting as she ruffles the top of his hair—the splay of black hair and that estranged purple streak mixing as she makes him rather uncouthly. 
"No wonder Soot's head is wet; you slobber when you kiss." 
Maisie
The observer's eyes are quiet as the daunting acquaintance trails closer and closer; Maisie's silhouette is meek compared to his cast shadow growing against the wall.
Only once have they crossed paths, leaving her sought-after companion fearful and shaken like a shrinking violet. Despite his deference, genuflecting with hand poised over his heart, her composure remains stalwart; her expression remains stone. Reservation soon takes root in her personage, her focus darting between his hands and face. 
"It is a pleasure to reacquaint myself with Lord of Night's eldest child," Maisie remarks, reciprocating a subdued bow, her eyes fixed on as if she were a trained hound. Resuming upright posture, she inquires, "How fares Lady Sophia's trio in the other world?" 
Courtesy begets movement. Sebastian slants forward, and Maisie remains rooted in place. A cool, white-gloved hand rests against her cheek, the cold steel of a dagger concealed beneath her skirt sending a shiver down her leg. Feathering against her cheek is a quiet kiss, a formality familiar at home but unsettling from a stranger like him.
Resuming his proper height, Sebastian's intentions are evident in his eyes. He waits, prodding for her response, withholding comment until his query is answered: how will she react? 
"Is that a hint of coconut perfumed on you?" Maisie quirks a brow, clasping her hands together. "What a delightful surprise. Have you and the party ventured to Nihiran or Argyll yet?" 
It'll take more than that for her to waver. 
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libidomechanica · 8 months ago
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Untitled Composition # 11255
A sonnet sequence
               1
The water Nymphs, that Other friend, and white: to see the cause a hope there is a lo’esome weekly-strewings be devoted to the crowd with golden hair. And rise, O moon, from the tips, and thy assistance might cause her reade, reading vnto me this gate again; i’ll aulder be gin simmer, sir. I meant not much amisse. I heard it—the wind began to beat the gateway bell, and even those same fumes of me, which my hound has part, but that Sage’s sanction; till so counsellor, the Walls, the gleaming with music and flutes: it is not a lump of coal that you can’t interpretation also may come True.
               2
The cataract flashing from life, I shall die; when thou yearly due before getting away from night: I saw the likest God within the general Soul, is faithful prayers; my mother cry. For Johnie o’ the Buskie-glen and a’ his gear. With such a breeze in thee, who grewest not in any crowd, when God hath been done, the gracing oars among the hills, yet look’d on: if they shot him down on the other side. All beneath, then her Manteau’s pinn’d awry, e’er felt such Rage, Resentment and came, remade their unborn faces shine beside the rest his mantle, clasp’d in mine, and almost energetic.
               3
Colin my dear, the proud palace, what are flown, for I myself, the sensual feast; move upward, working shut, mere fellowship I needs must smart. Love contend till all my hopes of happiness; and yonder cloud that ripple break, once gave new Beauties wherewith to woo, suppling and dregs of scatters Deaths around, dark vault above—devoid of Pride. When they shouldst thou wreck his peace for evermore. May lie in sleep: the dream. I cannot bring back. A vestige of the sun-flower! To slant the history of that where the path I cannot brag of words that at the canker Love, whose jest among his banner.
               4
And one Plebeian Card. With buls and slow amenity, put her neck regal white turn’d—syllabling thus, Ah, Lycius, look back on my hip, and feed his spleen, communing with him to his deceased I than niggard truth live with me. A goblet next I’ll drink to thee. His other ridge whose barren faith has many fears as the story, women at least encumbered consolation, devoutly to thy motions gently played but should not die nor lose thee this lily shows, Now, while perpetual maidenhood against myself, than see, and with ardent Lovers Hearts are held breathing of a son … You!
               5
For I know the poplar white, companion’d or alone; while Hermes thou mad’st me think, by this and thunder-music, rolling air; unloved, by many a river sliding keel, till Phosphor, double tongue, then most I feel thee somewhat new to earth and air! To take bread at midday when he was in the wall for such as draws a faithfully. To thy far wishes with the nail gripped tight between us both as an unowned things of continent, Adam, from day to day, half-conscious of my friend among the flower and graceful. Paints their yearly go’st procession; or, for mine the shores came nigh by the larch, and like a beam of the Fleet the Ringlets taught with scarlet pain: a deep volcanian yellow ringlet turn’d to hear how her voice than the sensuous frame of others leaues, to seek the leaves are chiefly proved, no more of reverence in us dwell; that mind where so serene a goodness grows.
               6
That island is fast, surrounded by fens. Head and sometimes happy, had I been, in those may be, betwixt us and against the aid of love and vice. Up, she strays about these Eyes are sign’d, and again with thee and most precious relics brought that each doth blowe the firstling to the Ground, and shape themselves and thrice the wrong that the tapers burn unwavering: not a cricket chirps against us and the grave for nothing? World we share it could you, to love those same fumes of burning Ray; the hunger seized with no more. White bitch never fair and good instruct those queers i remember who I am.
               7
Can make known that serene a goodness grows. And dance and away fled every spinning wheel in her breast! If any vision of a guest; and Time, a maniac scatters Deaths around remarked, how ill we all discourse of human kind! With silken ties of love. And purple moor, and passions lie; vertues are, and makes it vassal tides that Loves delightes, as the lightsome wing: since when, indeed, is the clouded noons, thy sweet love’s breath. No one, including me, especially after all the days dragged slow and read them all, haunters of thee as I ought, for love speak well of me untrue, my name day.
               8
Weed lives to weare, now bringen bitter in the ground cracks evilly, a dark socket from thee. Should push beyond the grave for the Fights of the birth, the vigour, bold to dwell on doubts and gapes, a hand the whispering reed, or sigh’d, or on springs to bear the cobbles he clatters thus our home-bred fancies, which gave upon a pillar alone; and that he loved a daughter’s case; more thicket doth transmit a scent the Spear, and thou, with angling snare or window’d heart had one, to take bread at my hand, laid on a simple sports; they know; and if the songs that chanc’d the landlord’s daughter. And somehow good!
               9
Then—i never think of the prophets of the lythe Caducean charm. Sweet, be not iaelous ouer me, if you like a marble. Ever about my blood and grow incorporated, body restore, to be made a point the tenderness, and tracts that comes to constant Care the use of moonlight, and deadly breathing thee, Herrick, to Anacreon, quaffing his friend that none but feet divine affection from the Muse—she saw the like; she looked as grave: and he, he reverenced his latest leave us in the wind no more, and not appeareth. Think of the rowsing Shake, and the press’d defense can bide?
               10
Safe past the black cascade of pleasant Orange- tree; how Vlster likewise the sun hath looked out the steps above my kitchen, coffee in her day, then look for me by moonlight! The sound of space, the maid? See the pillars of domestic peace.—And methought, for love of truth and right to say, It was no tear; no grone did grate the Mind growes weary, heart a-keeping? ’Er young, I’m o’er young, weeks have birth; whether reioyce. And break before I heard an even tenor kept, till even the stroke of midnight Masquerades, safe from the coming Soldiery, suddenly; and in some divinely sang, and will then?
               11
Tell if thou dost distrust that time, it is half-said. The Dying Swan the Eagle the Flower these eyes have leisure for the great constrain’d, spurd with Cups and Spoons is crown’d, that death awoke into amaze, to see the Rhine; the peak of it! But Death returns the day prepared to the thing it was but unity of place, and play, and cut their Bodkin grac’d her Mother’s face grow long and game and saved from which thou art, the king. Who hauing made, with sparkling red on yon swoll’n brook that bubbled up with thy losse no longer caring to mind his features right thing on the sky; his inner deeps, and thou art just.
               12
On her whispering voice. Him moving up from childhood’s flaxen ringlet right; and call out each other men; while my head, and one an inner trouble cross all night. We leave the phantom-warning true, they mix in ilka throe: turn again, and loud and then only numbers mix my sight? That you give. To his own behoof, with a glittering urn: and battle, and thus broke on mine, and set forth again with frost, no wing of wind and since the life that living whole no life may be as was that, by filling it, the spectres of their carefull verse. Shall suffer shock, rise in defence of my tongue. I falter where in one, my heart, send me kindlye dewe drops from the lip short swallowed fire, where, in truth, as dying words— but when I a heart of the Celt; and striking Watches the thrush and gentle Hermes thought be feign’d, and how she is her own, my Arthur died had moved me kindly Rain. When we moved together.
               13
Into amaze, to see thee blessed soule, arm’d but Zephyrs gently pass their poesy disperse. And I myself, once; twice, almost addresse, deem that atmosphere of Death. Here stood up to attention, with thy losse no longer caring to tell thee: while the Foe drew near. I knew myself relief, and onward time shall renewable fear. And my bride once set is our carke. I saw, alas! By just exchange of light. And two days unkind, thy power to sting had a christening for Refuge from the gorgeous gloom of evening, hushed joy, going slightlest bondage made a point to post with mortal Eye, like a vine.
               14
Alone, to see if thence my desire, till when, like tempests play. Here in green and gold: calm and faint and sweate for now is plac’d, as in the day prepared to scale an upper sphere:—by stirring air, the merry merry bells of madness ran, her mouth, from wood to wood, he heard his vows, and the woodlands that makes the Politician wise, and keener lash! But under you had foul ones, and the moonlight; and then not the void, when God hath miss’d an earthly Vehicles to the Central Earth, Air, Sea, to Chaos fall, men, Monkies, Lap-dogs, Parrots, perish all! But I shall in ways confus’d, he found the place.
               15
We have no measured language woo: take me and thee forth, and faith, the bastioned walls; my deeper anguish, in which thy father more shall go. And looked what canst thou leftst them, so sweet and bitter blast blew all away. Trust not die, mine, mine, forsaking Poetry! Love, art reason down its agonizing thro’ his lip had paid due adoration, they seemed as happy as ye: and mutual fear brings fresh into my deeds to pry, to find her and a higher; known and unkind; nor shall be read, or sheepwalk up the wind’s least breathe! Mariana mariana in the South, and of his narrower fate, their native land, he underworld; ah me, o my king, O my lordly sunflower and knows the secular abyss to come. Nay, that April morn, by village green; so neighbors had to do with old results that pass to darken on the world and long possess the Prize is lost! People say.
               16
I, who thoughts no longer by our praises unexpress’d in verse, my darling lyre upon his Hoard of Gold. But stay, I see thee before; and led him thro’ time, and thou should’st the master’d Time; which many legions of eisel gainst myself, or every spinning wheel exterminated and her waist by my soft nervelets were blest among familiar names to receive thee merry, thou mad’st me chop, but yet, alas, who less could better lesson from the sunflower honey, when she herself on a spinning wave, deserving nothing happens next because i crossed the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.
               17
Be Zephyretta’s Care; these musks, these actions are five minutes apart. When that you swore to wake, and silent sandals o’er the news were not so much work, scraping from the thing till her hornes this yeere on Christian art; nor mine the crowd with gracious was here, my love as man he bent, full of desire, like Thee. I roved at random influence-rich to soothe Love’s topmost froth of the bloom to grey; mould and do you shudder comes against that time—so just lie under the jewelled twinkle, when virgins’ hands have gone, not ardent Lovers robb’d me of myself; fire changed from mortal lovers do.
               18
That inhabits you for a moment doubt you were real and not been sown, the silver moons? A fiery finger touched it. Trust not one; a touch is enough to let us recall that for myself relief, and by my powers alarming;—o that’s the last, my other circumstance, the physical fact of you but not till thou knowst I love thee more. While I rose and fly far into the lang, yellow forest leaves shut before the most curious fears, forgot his weakness in the cooler air, and the room closest words came halting foremost in the echoing night, sings on the shape of him.
               19
The fool of the house, or distant Northern empire pray your Highness would say; or so shall go. For now the hurricane of two bodies meet in Lethe in the earth in the tender to the time, whose sight is the night before we part; rue on thy change. For thou wilt; I lull a fancy trouble have reach’d the distance all that. Hall, and my breath skin feathers to the Mail art of Worldly Wisdom. I see myself with Spirit himself, nor has a Wise Man for his Counsel, and the furze, and all we love thee merry, though even it, purpled Main, than with tears like a line of love, and pray to the Rev.
               20
Bribe to guerdon thou shalt see them on to- night, but where the hands the secret see, as that once they that hour with gages from my cheek, and weeds or treacherously poor fish beset, with milk and honey fed; who, when labour is done. To kiss the rigours of stillness was love, too sweet and bitter in a whirlwind: then were no shade can last in that his will’s his right: when he complains of titillating Dust and Rigour are both may rage, both drink and beauty, though it were nobody poor, and riding far away, and so much to see the kneeling hamlet drains the chamber. Dead, dead and write thereon.
               21
For their tears; my fancies be. The night, o heauie herse, thereof nought forth, I would indeed that garners in my mind doth come the bold Thalestris’ Arms the Nymph and Satyr from thee, and whilst I sing of love; yet in contracted thus. While the blue regions of the horse alone; and last up that fire which in the growth of noble rage, the center. But some false fair hills I sail’d below, when the wind, thou being held, but add, jenny kissed her on my crown’d, that beech will gather in a breathing up. Als Colin cloute she would give, yea, tho’ in silence in this report, this an hour’s defect of the oracles.
               22
Mercy and truly, whence my sad bed of tears? A single pain, and breathe them in the air she dwelt. But let no footsteps, moving part; either too much live with love and suffering! I knew thee keen in intellectual Truth. Not us—a third—To thee and meek that now that I dream it was, real are they fail in truth as if they call’d me when the fireflies dragging among the hill is pealing, folded in colossal calm. Against the Lady of Shalott the Letters faire of blisse, long stairway again&become an office of the look was bright mists about my bed there underground thy bier.
               23
Like growth of cold and fiery heats, fainting points of contact, and swung the lilies fair on the Exchange one to have a sister at the Visit last: if twice you kissed me in that orb crown’d estate began an oath, and fail, as if an open book; no longer glad, I send the Fall foredoom the Fates have run the color is brilliance feminine: too frail of Hair. Of comfort is, she never wanted was to sit by a fire with pain, and bow and accept the most curious Toil, and burn in Cupid’s Flames,—but burn alive. And curs’d be this demanded—if he yearn’d to them that my pain.
               24
Dies off at once they gratify the wrought on: in ev’ry side are seeking is idle, biologically speaking shore that tumble pair of glitter fires in the dusk of a voluptuous night. And love were longer liue, ah why liue we so long in Winters bale: yet soone as spring; For such a yoke tomb’d in a wealthy peace, misery’s increase are mercy, pity, and peace. For one hour, O Love, Love, what dost thou thy sister when we fall out of fear; well roars the lassie o’ my heart; I read their sweet- scented with scarce be dried before. Who trusted to verify this rare occurrence.
               25
These have falle’n from memory My sweetest, then, quickly, and thorns to yon hard crescent prime? Dip down upon the Light of care, he breaker breaking them eternal soul from all beside; and vouches both the guarded nymph near-smiling in rich hair awakes beneath the stream or distant shout, the men of rathe and say, farewell: like echoes in sepulchral halls, as drop by drop the waters curl’d, the Bells she gingled, and faces bloom, or, dying, they are three, for the public foe, then Kidde of Cosset, which brings peace, and gathering frame destroy’d, or cast as rubbish to the eyes of other die.
               26
From those brown hills, and his refulgent Queen, with marble. By faith, the violet breathers of an eye, that other, when her loose gown from another hopes begot by feare, but it is all things in disarray: that was true: but that in brief which the blunt fist of parents kiss mouth will your Honour in a Whispers said, as Cupid bent above—devoid of Pride. Dying inuentions stay; inuention, with threads, he beat his music more than a Birth-night Beau, that ev’n tho’ they bring. His beautiful: let it freely stir all parts the darkening thy bridal bed, that life should I meet last night: I see the castle.
               27
Love no pity hath of Life his Nostrils draw the vital Air, this Hand, which giue th’eternally and visibly female. Youth more for the raw pulsing music as before, but vaster. Abide: thy wealth resemble the brook, warbled out the prophecy: The prince at all with harp and call to what I am dead, for I thought; and, doubtless, unto the dawn, the weary night, by thee the same; and thou shalt mix in one sort slow; my wealth alchemy. My face turned the mounted— robed in purple moor, and heav’nly Flow’rs, to steal away from this excus’d I to resign thy desire, who scarcely move!
               28
And there I find no place that unnoticed&that never known a Saturday night slick with it a tear be shed and, with many fights, his own; and Betty’s prais’d for every spinning wheel in her Breast reclin’d, he watchest all the circuits of joy to him she plays with that fault; once more grant me the British vermin, the wealth of words that mole by his life? And suck’d from high to higher race, and unto myriads more, as all unsweet: eternal soul from the hodge porridge of their own flesh and fruit; whereat those queers i remember me when my light from profanity and this electric force, that I choose, thou deep vase of child is this—this close— She came tumbling into the quay, and in softest verse, with sparkling spangle all that her Eyes; nor be you proud that ye maun drink up the lonely fold, or low morass and beauty, but this; my very ears were hollows of Death? She cries, Forsooth, let go!
               29
Who loves but knows the fair Head, for ever curs’d for ever croaks, at my side, nor can my dream, and well; for, to the band that it could brook that bubbles fast by meadows break the sailing mysterious sleights a hundred- year sleep. Been in narrower perfection, but those that with sharpe desire; yet feels, as in a globe of radiant fire, and He approve her the Hair, some fold the costliest doubt, for thou wilt; I lull a fancy trouble live with tears like a light flared, here and the corniced shade along the rapid tide shall not thy vision will last as pure as gold for ever nobler ends.
               30
That taught by Heav’n has doom’d that Shock must fade as well as Sight. But it must part; venus is taught to know; and time come, when each by turns, blow back the Hair, some hang upon this flat lawn with love so sudden Star, it shot thro’ thy dark freight, a deeper anguish, how could I wed a fair young to marry yet; I’m o’er young to marry yet; I’m o’er young ye ken; then wait a wee, and no one to bless; our dear strong in the genial table- talk, or deep dispute, and with a jewelled sky. And years till, now, on the thousand lisping said, better just Káfir than Believing Tyrant. To sulk upon my heart.
               31
Arrived with sweete aire which in triumph, come and without one cooling tears and blowing bosks of will, defects of doubt, and true plain hearts and bursts of revel; and therefore to give the cossette, well hast thy calling to talk them o’er, to wish them here, to clap their Pride expire, to count the closet. Too frail of Hair. With her faire Nimphs layd downe, saw not far away, she waved to me with thine eye aside: what need’st thou thus, dim dawn, again, and sow the sea. Rich in the night is still to delightes, as the end? Who give thee were but with childe then nor doe idly smile; time has birth, and if along with a long moment, with that suit the fullness that, by filling it, the snowie Neck. My unkind to me; love with her, all this with Susan’s eye, and the Nymph passe: this to you: when you reach the crossbeam of the sunflower. And is it that time mine own house, and get thee, when he was here, my love and death. As they.
               32
Went out, and picked and straight and red uprose the church like a ghost thy tablet glimmers to the Pacific seas in which the wave; their troth seal’d with Guilt, and breeches of that any dart bess, the lesser wain is twisting round the care of watching Picnic again for the True, the Chrismas hearth; the silver thro’ Heaven and Four; interpret the tape-recorder should be equivalent. I never can die! Too deeply glow, and takes the coloured to purple-frosty bank of vapour, leaving great labouring Princes, ill-reported if Unworthy, yet, if these actions are five minutes apart.
               33
Long summer day will gaze her song with tears. The dark, and all over; to equal young Jove with hearty Purpose set to work as he would pierce it anywhere. Frame, and loves, one God, one leg stuck out to form a defensive angle with the spite of all her populous streets were up to the shiver of dancing leaves thy head is bow’d, his heavy- shotted hammock-shroud drops in summer day will gaze her song, and they will kill him if he comes against us and wit, the Mind like a vision with a single tear, no mark of painful jealous curls about the mass for judgment blind, he faced the sea.
               34
For judgment blind, embrace her as my nature wrong; delaying long, delay no more if there was a winter comes o’er me—why wert thou? Then cease, bright forlorn. That I shall still be near us when we crost to a livelier moods remit, what slender Chains. But once inclos’d in Woman’s beauty from the wind began to sweep a music out. He past; a soul of doubt, who knew the summers had she scared him; life! He rose upright in man, be born and flower in green meadows sits eternal Heavens despite, had he the pleasure markes each moment they were. Tied to awaken. My mother groand!
               35
And, since that loss is always be so; and i say that yet remember my mothers breathing great logs and lessening to marry yet; I’m o’er young, ’twad be a sin to tak me frae my mammy yet. The disguise of life; as I confess with rich clusters hid among the gods’ protective less of the late-writ letters to her; and in a cloud, it faded, and sad their branchy bowers with fifty Mays, thy songs a dead man to go: but as the wife’s contracted thus, come, beauty, so he burn’d; then, from the should have lived an ancient Race, are the daunce, mine eye but with such growth to that the Vent.
               36
He mixing with the sun: o I will strayne. So Admiration last not very lonely, or some freakful chance has made me a grave, and gazing on the long stairway again& become an office might make his judgment. I gaed up to attention, Nature, half return’d before a pillar of a peace that will pass his daughter, why dost thou forged at last for a private affair within the sunshine as before i’ll kiss the right hand and line by line, the guilty thing I creep at earliest cry, will shelter one of us sobbing, no limit to his throat’s three-inch scar glowed a green neon.
               37
The patient, I will find a Remedy for all. For somewhere bene thy verses then; they only will not long Devotion bade her breast and right, their heads, and lovely; take my sight that tenderest eddy wreath: I think if we’re lost, you shouldst thou, as one came not back from the grasses of the past. And thou wilt not leave unsaid, nor speak first, and ocean sounds, and the cloud’s uncertain corners of the type this work, not one upon the Lion’s breast; yet ne’er will save thy sailor,—while thy breadth and his face, as parting with thee. A knell to mine eyes loue, though of pearl they bene all yclad in clay?
               38
And ready, thou, to die with her this man no more, and the Miller’s Daughter the Palace was far away, and heart Thine age asks ease, which lose no moment rises upward always for your love. The Shah ceased Counsellor, the Walls, the last lone aster is gone. A wretched Hens about the dappled pools: the lights are pretty; but to dwell in deadly spight, and gave all ripeness to the herds, day, when she whispering, play’d a chequer-work of time’s tyrannous, so as I ne wote, whether the Nymphs take Treats, or Assignations count it crime to mourn to the sun-flower wishes him cripple, or poet, or even straining souls like Thee. Mouth when an electric current passes by, and hush’d nor moved in their bodies, so alike, no seasons thro’ this fantastic beauty do I questioning would miss her faces, even your fathers bend above me, her young, weeks have to do time for years of peace.
               39
Forgive me on the morning sunflower, that men may Dine; the Mermaid the Mermaid the Merman the Mill turns round. That takes his licensed boldness of our isle, wash’d by thy eyes more than I who wrought, and wheels, and all that lo’es me, as dews o’ summer breeze. Upon me, while I rose and pulled the Realm of Yún, and wounded heart’s compass’d by his grave never hear my mother groand! The man I held as half-divine; she combs her golden noon; wine-red was my wine; that loue she did, but led the veil. Then, Sir, awful odes she wore about the distance? That night’s extinguish’d days, use others plait the things I do.
               40
Yet then my scorn might with Death; not only cunningest fishers in my soft nervelets were pretty, to dwell in the gold-eyed serpent now began to changest not asham’d to find out shames and idle hours crawled by like years and find their side! Was angry when thou wilt, as thou wound and wife an iron tyranny, might I from year to year forgot his weakness, but I find another’s fault but given to strike athwart their sleep is sweet nymph prepar’d her to the council, plied him with fainting points of continent, Adam, from day to day, half-conscious of the Northern empire pray your Highness would send a hundred years passed her breast. There was white as ocean-foam in the highwayman came riding— the highwayman comes riding—the way to wintry skies, and with Florian, unperceive myself within a hall, and he supplied my want the filmy Dew; dipt in their sweeping on the fair.
               41
As a childe is ever certain, would not wish her mind. I kissed me again, across the skill, but my good, then make her come and gane, the gowd and since last faire breast, I vex my heart, rich in good father than the cignet’s downward to a Gnome, in search the throat. And dark inn-yard. The chestnut pattering cries, but, crying, please him well, who lights and ringing a Gangster Disciple style blue. Yet I would learne not alone to loue and set. But Venus having survive, and thus inquire, what is gone, but I can know and then thou should know exactly what was full,— while the Pleasure, but why should now look down.
               42
Glows in expectation of the living blood, and thou nothing but a little grew, it is time, O passion—weaned my young shade. Sudden these women are! Dumb as are the torments thou hast forged hooks, whereto the judgment knew no Wrong, and hushes half the little light, and Thou are she, still, still unshent, and in each other in the dark in the flowers his separate from fears: she seemed to gild the onward winter reckoning unto the dancers will not onely heare, but more than the stream, and vows were made one prisoner. For beauties do there for the True, the Just, be blown; no dance, no motion slide.
               43
But words she spread, an image comforts have increased, who touch’d thereby, alas, is wiser far that I pedaled my ten-speed across the stars drew in the string; and I have loved the moon of Eden on its way to Tim’s other woman’s mouth with it. And I almost fear this sin there like a shipwreck, like one prisoner. Sun; and Matthew stopped short beside me, and those cold crypts where no joy is,—empty of immortal frame, we yield all blessing to the boundary of time’s tyrannous, so as I ne wote, whether the Turkish new moone minded be to fill her bright Phosphor, fresher for the Temple’s gate.
               44
If twice you kiss you need not feel the touch of change the beare when it was time again the fourth I spake of what is it makes them pleas’d, but lou’d a loue not blinded Lycius, so in her regal seat of England; not therefore grieve thy brethren, let them go scraping from the bosom of the beare my fire: Julia, I bring the mind? Or Geordie on his ancient form in her nimble feet leave thy greatness to the Rev. The Fair in all he sees a late-lost for a private blow—I swear to year forgot how tender heart never feel myself an honor’d guest, perchance, I thoughts, all sorts of Humours sell.
               45
Close so close … it look like new flowers the widow’d hour and look’d to human eyes. She listen’d with him; and go by summer, the green, and, like new; if this slighter your name for ever drank the pure daylight of fears, forgot his weakness, but a wannish glare in folds of gold; ring out the skirts of happy dead? The Danube to thee, that bears immortality, for woe of all the wild winds that weeps. No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee. But when we climb out. Now, Chloris! And send up vows for me. Thus we were young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, ’twad be a sin to tak me frae my mammy yet.
               46
On. A bowling ball, and from his complicating rage inside his wells; where they fail in truth, without thinke thy worthlesse ware; too long to me crept: my feet were unlock’d to choose of their country lust, their fluid Bodies chang’d by elves, so to be sent with my numbers mix my sight, Stealing o’er the park, discussing how we three Bands prepare; for the raw quiver of his patient saint, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake. When love, converted from more to see, walking alone, and put thy harsher moods, beyond which though his delight, then return no more if there’s Johnie o’ the Nith’s winding west?
               47
A gown of what was the dark church below the golden raine: another give some heat of light to shake the raines of Hair surprize the Finny Prey, fair Tresses Man’s Imperial Tow’rs of Troy; steel cou’d the World a Desert, and wretched and straight to me, for thou art the falling thro’ his lip had paid due adoration, thus began to sing and weave the man your father’s court. So word by word, and lie couched upon cloud that must hand clings to my pure love, and have the doorways of his hand. Yet, if she were but as he shut off the halogen overhead begins the secret meaning in his grave?
               48
Divert strong since that me leave the portal waits, the Smiles of Hair. Trod down the red rocks to where they twitch’d them, wax’d in every living soul was rude, or discompos’d thro’ the queen o’ womankind, and the most approximate and march’d a Victor cry’d insulting Foe! Chloe stept in, and breeches of brown doe-skin. We are circling Rays, on that sad moment, when the sun shall not fear that I come to light: the years have proved since the Vision touch’d with joy, the men peeled bits of straws, ever lonely place, a little plants that tape-recorder should come back and there wert thou? Dying song of the time draws near the just Victim of his crime, to warm with wings from four winged heels to either wandering singer, singing clear; tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the clash and still light thereto, more by that when December June their end, though I must go they wept and woke with pain? Dear voice, I once had past the armèd man, that wound.
               49
Had thrill’d my guileless Genevieve! His ocean? ’ Matthew is in his grave never hear my mother talking, and sad their best language that the kindly course: the fayrest floureth fresh, and new, doth she only then. When love’s own crown, and how his eyes, who roll’d the psalm to winter in Florida. Then, once again the red coats looked what could the graves unnumber’d Spirits blaze. For that want reason: these brief emergent pattern; and afterwards befel, twould humour many a flute of Arcady. And throw troops into cities she stands; does my old companion art, and thou art broken wing through the soul.
               50
And, tho’ it spake a dame in wrangling snare or window’d heart in his side, the giant liar; and manhood fused with sweet unto your Charge repair; the flock; and in the Dark, when kind Occasion prompts their cause of youthful morn Hath travell’d on to age’s steepy night, and coal, and crystal’d lily be There she to me was proxy-wedded with a grace to rear, to teach why should tell him all my thoughts opprest, th’ impending Woe sate heavy hand on me. We leave the doubtful joys the fault? And meet and still either mine! Is matter; and a Voice went with the other meet but in the balmy Rest.
               51
Which, with loue to show that I shall shake its threaded sisters say white folks hair stinks don’t trust that good shall flow, his pistol butts a- twinkle, his rapier brandished high. Surprise; her belly, buttocks, and the graves, a thoughts pursue him as if he were not a clock nor a bell was it ever look’d out with the great courts us, wanting art, soon falters when he finally lie each in turn like planets rotating in the sum of good, wild Hours that kind of eraser and told her how he pined: and ah! Who speaks with continent, Adam, from the top of the Tyrant and quiet—dull fence around.
               52
And bit were not blue how could light. And dipt in baths of growing Combat, or assist their moving of time’s tyrannous, so as though I knew not. Ring in the wide flat field nods its head; there came from more to more; there in thy breast which thou art from myself in my lord the king; he took my hand with Florian said: I have felt with me had made no stays, had it any been but she, and the Fall of Rome. Like a statue veil’d, to whom all men do misse. Must lose one joy, by his faith had fall’n into heauen hent. In a minute. For what we are done forever, ever move, and thou art! Tracts that love should!
               53
In vaine thou hast too long, leapt up, and round unthinking through bubbling honey, for Love’s excess, and thou hadst heard him say, that God has willed a still his action like the simple shepheards, thether to thee, Brillante, we consign; and Momentilla, let this Fair One, when I shall pass; my work will fail. They melt like this; tho’ I seem in star and system rolling brine that life should stay, said Lamia, here, upon the hills—teenagers in love and briars and husband’s rites in, ere twere gone in tender heart, with faithfu’ heart? Than if they love hath my heart is sair, that’s the queen o’ womankind, nourish’d two Locks, which makes it still thou art as tyranny now should be—that I can know and the nice Conduct of a Clouded Cane with earnest that he seemed a fulfillment of our house; nor proved since that drench the blows of madness ran, her mouth foam’d, and touch, risking invitation—if he took me in his odor.
               54
Was it ever less the Word of Wisdom dealt with roaring sound; I grant I may sleep with the worst to be protection claim, poor rivals in a losing game, that Nature keep me alive never hear my silent Bed the Morning hung, and with lawn. Bury alive again; i’ll aulder be gin simmer, when he sees. These women grew expansive with rev’rence, and earth whereon we tread in tracts of calm from the dying sun: and all at once are deaf and bliss! Shine here to a shade, no mixture did admit. No more shall cease. Our nerves without depth, with truest joy, shall my heart. Rank as honeysuckle.
               55
And blessing to him that we abase her tears are disdain; he wander’d free, then are the room: the vase into a strange Phantoms rising up in Peace under his Justice, confounding hill to her I’d nothing to be drown’d in Tears, but Fate and horizon gone. And then what matters dark and deeds, and Halberds in the days that are the flower of poesy which led by the thought her colour it had not been sown, the sick weak weed, not well alive or dead; but that I dream a little plants that blow by night at the flowers, newly reap’d late on that morning wakens too; and my retorted hairs.
               56
As men talk in a dream; for now among. Shade can last in that in Vienna’s fatal walls god’s finger on the rolling Spires, pale grew her immortal fruit in those sad words I took farewell. Presence, lordlier than before, but in dear words have vanish’d life. He spoke; the Spittle sermon. When Aurora leades out Phoebus daunce, mine eyes, Forst by their Mind, suddenly two years old sucking her to sing a doubtful arms, and fed with foot so free. The living in the darksome way how to forget more frequent than to fade … until surely high inspire, and thus broke out ⸻ My Lord, what kind of paradise.
               57
To slight her mind admits but, he was in. And thine eyes seeing this wide air, these presence I attend to hear of the British Queen, and, which I tooke as of a fruitful hours of stillness, yearns to speak? Who moves about their graves of the song of woe with a melody enthralling. When it rubs across the sight of her tender eyes; or Love but play us; compare. See fierce men on thee, and the splendour seems to rest beneath, the night of Platonic shades. For the future as I listened like ravelled sleeves, we cherish his because he cast no shadow, he pursues! The blindfold sense of that?
               58
Your Highness would even weep to think of the country ants to say, when most my half-self, for still weeps for her lover, and neist my head and pale a stuff, it were none of the night: I see the vacant yearning to the wise Celestial kiss, thou gav’st me learned round us all the way through, the courtiers Promises, and thus were the same gray flats again, and prey by each cold hearth, and wreake my harmes in inks poor losse. Their slime, were mellowing the point of entry. Put her new lips to his wife, and through they love, repeating designs above the cold: but lo! And roll’d the land, rapidly riding in, we call the time draws near the solid lands, like coarsest Satyr-shape had bruised the gloom I stood by her musket shattered her by to come upon her as on a kind of ceremony—I think of Black bodies hanging mart, and almost addresse, deem that at their Sylph, oh Pious Maid beware!
               59
A thousand wars of old enjoy’d in you! She tastes unseen: and by thine eye, which once she died, my mother groand! My sweetest scent. To one pure immortality and delight, feare to offend, will worths surmount. With equal husbandry the woman: then, Sir, awful odes she wrote, too soon deceive. And learn to pray for thou wilt satisfie my boldest plea by some few soft remember me? Thou hear’st the sun, here lives in men. The oak and ancient melody have ceas’d; whether Heav’n ye wandered the room of all that. Demand not been for a chance of the Virgin’s Cheek for complexions at a losing mine?
               60
Doctor says, Is this though gald, and delight, not know what beauty to commends to your Charge repair; the last red leaf is whirl’d away, the faithless coldness gather’d let us recall more seldom than a wave is wet more frequent Cups prolong the blossom of war with airy Horns I planted Heads, or ruin’d shells of Yule. It at seventeen skiing the zits that doth my rest defeat, to play the Sword-knot Sylvia’s Hands had sown: with summer long, till on my bed the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloud that must have been a caring, if unskilled, shepherd, but to the tomb, and my own.
               61
The mimic picture in the distance. There were all the World. Inhabits you for love speak a little flash, a mystic frame, take me to thee, give my power to grieve, that hides always under the cruel lady, without the sun shall not long light; yet, if these buried me deep enough? Oft in my way. Laid them: thus he bore without breathe upon the Light disports in ever-mingling Dies, while Nymphs resort, to taste Lethean spring, but sought fit wordes to paint the same gray flats against that vow’d chaste rejects Mankind directs the Force of Female Errors fall, men, Monkies, Lap-dogs, Parrots, perish all!
               62
And one is glad; her note is gay, for now here you once again that seemed turned myself the rowsing Shake, and that do dictionaries methode bring into another out of dust cry thro’ the drizzling rain on the heart of man was it else within the bridal bed, that God be done, such things prove, for griefs infold: but that beat from the Road of Right, if but Salámán saw, his Soul was stranger; her modest demean. Amid the silt and put the fat pillows with towers, that must be blest, the gaudie girlond Oliue braunch once more I had a mother, praying. Behold me, for I cannot find, to ease me.
               63
Dost sometimes, better bargain driven: my true-love hath my heart, destroy’d, or cast as rubbish to the dead, whose evening over brake and makes one little dreams were, more or less, an old and fill their country ants to harvest offices that to be such as draws a faithful guard, and darkening thy bridal flower, shining Case, so Ladies when her breaking their goals for virgins’ kisses; which will blind you again, so loud with the name of Him that weaves a glist’ning the wild winds the bar, a blunt uninvested gaze calibrating everywhere, this is I: ’ but as he grows? And the smell, of the past.
               64
It is not a lump of coal that you give. While my Nostrils drew, a Charge of Snuff the witch hazel wither; the heauens hight. Here in Pluto’s garden-gate; a lion ramps at the Flash of jarring thou art all my soul! Dawn; but I shall die; when the mother to sing a doubtful gleam of dewy-tasselled trees: what were wont to me, that if your life. It leaves are all dead on the serpent, but thinking of an olden to her. Not till she be dead. For light in darkness and corruption leave a vestige of the abyss like a guilty goddesse now my Temples twine, the Victor from thy lying lips?
               65
This to your muttered words spoken light—or dark—years away, I think on the bush, singing cheer’d the Christian art; nor mine the British vermin, the raw quiver of high poems!& When it was his earnest that the past, a soul on Cloe’s eyes. Thrice blest whose lessons new thou need’st no such roses show when mine ears and heard much of Briar Rose and be all their ancient love and kiss, she cries, Forsooth, let go! The ruin’d shell from thy dear concern. Who read them all. Directs the thing it to myself depart as from the neighbors come and goodwill, goodwill, to all, and makes one little for me; all my low last breath.
               66
Stronger faith is dry, and murmur of a happy thoughts that bond that shalt endures with patience bid me beare my fire: lest they too far disease; ring out, wild bells, across the cave where I was poore shepherd, but to forbid. And makes it vassal unto kindly tear, to talk again. Just where it lies, yet hiding royall bloud full of cares to constantly? Sleep from my obligations to and fro, and sate to view the Fights of Lu, sad Chance of my tongue: when I am, first form that sleep below existed but to the strife is sair, that’s done in verse that early sank behind a radiant Lock to gain.
               67
A thousand yearn’d to some one else may have much to the eyes from the substance, and thee, that were a pitty. I love three years: they were wont to me this arte. And hang the wild flowèrs, a-list’ning haze, sees full before they nothing, all shall die. Blistered an old hostel, called The Art of Worldly Wisdom. Dead. And shovel dirt on her that gave thee some do see, the slightly tripping by; but in my dear, and that the steps of that rich hair which watch not one upon the sky Lovers, forgetting attach to my hair? That sometime they pursue, and now by the boatmen near who are seized with the boundless day.
               68
When in the east, from April of heart I’ll wear her, for fear divine affection to join, each Band the rosy temple’s worship has paid price, and fluctuation sway’d in vassal unto kindly am served, I would like the younger child: for she never know. Her that, in moments few, she was calm, and towers fall’n as soon absolvèd. Nay, that miss’d an earthly robe, her lavish mission here, to draw, to sheathe a useless phantom chanting smile; and the furse: mercy vould be enough, sweet, sweet; but this, the Mornings, shaking its splendour seems to rest beneath her brazen prow in port Cenchreas, from snow to snow: and what is it makes a desert eyes, that thy unkind to have made me a grave so rough, me, that watch’d to track suggestion to join, each Band the deep where grew the treasure, thy hopes were of old, and against the Ladies when refus’d a Kiss, not ancient form in her nightie and heavy ignorance.
               69
Now rings the world’s gardens palatine mulciber’s columns gleam in far piazzian line. Tan sacred island is fast, surrounding the fires of ice are toppled down, and mine in his grave never hear my mother could allow friends that have glared at me or the tidings of the moon shall stand henceforward in my thought, of airy Elves by Moonlight over the heavens of space, and rent the wondering there but they had heard a mournful voice, such pleasaunce had past the dappled pools: the horses beat, beat, the holly round the great world’s gardens palatine mulciber’s columns gleam in far piazzian line.
               70
And think I may never not be undecided, about all sorts of thine hand. My ivy garland green the mountains sloped down in perfect flower in darkness among the dark with no ascetic gloom; and passion’s bashful dawn and radiant from head to foot, who keeps slipping off, arms limp as old carrots, into the heaving his many- colour’d Troops, and those conclusions when we saw the God fostering helm beside. Her place is empty, fall like the sun; coral is far more pleasing eye on songs, that weighty pearl the Queen of Egypt melted, and steeps his eye in dew of kisses once!
               71
And many a light socket pile or stack of unthreshed corn and wheedle a world of thy door. Until they look’d in vain; that sing, whose thought, I went—and search’d—and found that thro’ the land, whose like Love, never feel my muscles go weak with wail, resume their graves unnumber’d Treasury—know thine own Desire. Both broken light—or dark—years away, and of her orange flower of beauty, though absence to unsluice a tear; but if we lingering lightly pass athwart a plane of molten up, and takes the colours from man to go: but as servant. Where nighest height, a deeper knowledge of mine?
               72
Is due at all, but mine own Desire. And in its little grew, it is time, O passions high have warm’d and faces bloom, who changes; here upon that Rapacious room in which I have been falling round me breathed, dissolv’d: Crete’s forest of bluegreen leave her lion roll in a silken tent at midday when he is furious, love, and hands for no such deceit, cleopatra- like as of old we walk in a dream, yet it may chance, and return no more. With thy tongue: to Linus, then to perfect flowers, ambrosial air, that friends, and that found him— Which The Shah ceased Counsel, and thrice the ring.
               73
And he lay and read them all the wheel. Twenty, my limbs streaming cloud, it faded, and I’ll say honey bunch let’s go and she woke up crying: Daddy! The hall within who lay that made the block we are made entirely by confiscation we are learning to the double health, the night; they rise: twas well, indeed, when I am gone away, the song; a woman’s form, and gloss the picture’s breathe out the lingered till the seasons bring to this which public means which keepes perfet harmony: but when we meet, delight a hundredfold accrue, for ever: yet, ere I go hence, good care doth go.
               74
Nor in hid wayes to weepe: the billows on the shot. Nor rested day nor night I love one, and not thou then? But if thou dost love be love. North, and Beauty is, see when we’ve involved in the summer shade of pain may bind a book, may line a box, may serve to trampled steel that spangle all that is new, and stones, and join’d each other way, and following the Blue Mountains doth endorse his lines, and fancy plays, and he one chief; but hark, I hear the cobweb woven across his father’s court. Above a childe then leaves shut between dreams the scene cast over and that crawled up from childhood’s flaxen ringlet, like a moon in creek and colder: the edge of the birth, the brightest my selfe on Vertues shore. That I would thine is near under the cobbles he clattered her breath’d upon a thing like the eyes of day; they have the shadow play. Bright as carrier-birds in air; I sang an old midwife’s hat!
               75
As echoes out of night. He would put off cheerful Breeze this sprig of eglantine, which sits as dew of kisses once! Not Berenice’s Locks first open’d bland, and bubbled up with thee which once she that lives in Garbs succinct, a trusty guide and goodwill and fair we met, jumping from the foot of her that garners in my belly, he kept on buying. Were in that receives there strewn rich gifts, unknown some time in thee. Wild I am now with her tender vows, are but minister and thus began to foam, and flower- time in wrinkled eild; o’ gude advisement comes the sun, in some long tract of time.
               76
And starry clearness in me. Delight and day could inhabits you for loving followed up I felt to belt of crimson barr’d; and four fair Queens and Soldiery behind broke our faire Nimphs layd downe, saw not farre off where Cupid stood, and still may leave thy greatness is, for them thus, she seem’d my flame that points, and the Chrismas hearth; a rainy cloud possess themselves above be dimm’d of sorrow in my blood and fierce men on the eye her music and books and heavy ignorance. And I, how much of act at human hands the dream—ghosts of two entities: myself, who sat apart and watch’d the distance.
               77
New Stratagems, the rat; I know than the sea which our lives are all dead on the shutters, but all was good than to rail at the wheels go over my bed, circling the painted stairs at the world, the curse had fallen, and mark the landlord’s daughter thro’ the leaves among, I heard no more’ and hear thy light. Instruct those poor Hens about the shape of him. The man we love the scale the heart full of cares upon the dew,—and Death-bed Alms are found, her Eyes, a Beau and Witling perish’d in the beach. ’St not from me in a bar never thou Desires, what I would have done that spurs an imitative will.
               78
A guest, or happy views; nor thou wilt bewayle my wofull tene: I shall be led by some conceal’d from the lips of the boundless curl of white told me these are noble letters of the landlord. Imperial, and He that way, as well as White, in all the phantom-warning true, they might I once am settled there, my hopes, and all Arabia breath, till when, like silver moons? At those white-faced halls, or open on its own improbable being, each burst of wetness a cry that which I desired, and gold-bubbling found the care o’t; wi’ her I’ll blythely bear it, and thy years.
               79
Whence radiate: fierce that does not breathe on me! And fount of Day is dash’d with joy, but like a flower the Goose the Grandmother the Islet the Kraken the Lady of the suns. The rich Repast. Her song with a clasp and say: o heart, destroys all pain but pity: thus the king, ’ he said, that in my dear, so make them cruel; for well she could hardly could’st thou mayst attune thy quick tears the burn stealing o’er their faces were fruitless prayer, who tremble o’er the larger lay, but the narrow house, and so much work, scraping from the truth is that tomb already passed through the land when far at sea they stay.
               80
When she got too far than I. The night, never satisfi’d with human Passions Wit can well agree; wit tempers them, and he in the web of will, defects of doubt, believed— made him irresistable to all lovelorn women. Dark house, by which are the Bodkin, Comb, and Essence like all us colored boys. Some Female Soul, instructive hours crawled on this high Iliads; about whose thoughts, Prince, with starting Tears. Yet pity for a day or so I have hardly any air. Thine below, thy kind: nor have I done, that went last night for her Sicilian air. To Sleep I give you an onion.
               81
The words where he sits apart, and feels her place? Beasts, I fought him back is the rosebuds steeping! Email: enter email privacy refunds advertise contact link to Us essay Information short Story Contest language but a step to be my comforts have increase are mercy, pity, and peace, are, as when a boy; they happen this immensive cup of aromatic wine, Catullus, I quaff up to that month became masculine and not be; no drum nor trumpet peacefull’st cot, the moon—cold weight of his usual sleep without the vast and beauties which circum-walk the morning dew, the gusty trees. What is wiser far than I. Skin&hold me by the smell; or be my guide, and makes a man may live in the dreary way; I with my wretched! Be rayned by reason, shame, another’s names, which lose no moment set thy face; all the graver Prude sinks downward to Cleone.
               82
He watched for her eyes: what could see but sweet smile on me best whene’er the numerous Wax-lights are lang! Great summoned into the crowd of poets tell, some time the death-white curtain drawn; felt a horror over me creep, prickle my skin&hold me seized, inside of the sports with him.—I’m o’er young man that night is the sport of random thro’ the drift of this the mother cry lord, what kind of grave-damps falling, idly broke the people look to see thee from the lattice on this; with the happy shores and manhood darkly feels him great a curse to the perfect as I said, but love in fee. He laid as low.
               83
That haunt the same and jest? And I said, but lou’d a loue not blue how could I wed a fair young to marry yet; I’m o’er young, ’twad be a sin to tak me frae my mammy yet. Why shoulder at O lonesome me. The seasons: sneakers and flip-flops. His black light— he stroke of midnight at their legs with aimless feet; but a Pebble of thine, the guilty goddess go; my mistress, when all our simple heart alone, before getting it all, as in some wise pity me? The fear— the fear of sleep. And which graceful tact, the Chief the Care of Nations fly, in various Talk th’ instruct the Eyes be blind.
               84
Me, day by day, to steal away from sun’s birth to warmth with all the bugle breezes blew reveillée to the hypnotist’s trance was who ruled the nice Conduct of a sunrise got a name it sound like: a blues song; a woman’s son will sourly leave her thoughtless at first he told in speech we two communicate no more awe than when her arms to one pure image on the mounted thrush; or underfoot if any pass by her, pale, without a breathed of him like a beacon guards thee hence. And fare thee, hold on till the dogs’—Thine age asks ease, and nowhere found, and in the brain of Demons? But anxious Ariel perch’d upon him now beside the reverend and daring Spark, the Glance Sir Fopling upwards cast, by which heaves but mean the brake is still as though I’m sure it’s wrong wayes; those fall’n asleep I was shocked out of my heart, my lassie ever dear inhabitants of treason to go with those we loved?
               85
And made me to a shade, and tears are dry. Of all, when fill’d with voices of the jasmine and could instructive hours crawled by like years and flip-flops. That she hath on a gown of what was that I before the roaring wind: what profit thee? There stood at the porch with Hope and Destiny both attend on her pensive thing bright; and that sweete aire which we went, and plucked the landlord’s black Tyrant first tis fit to tell, and dream my dreams, and Angels in Machines. To change to us, nameless till we moved thro’ Crystal Wilds of Air! We know not: one indeed, beated and exorcised. Or seal’d within my eyes.
               86
Behind the regions of true love reflects the Face of Prayer in Weal or Woe, nothing gainst Time’s scythe in morning songs are left me by my onely Deare: but stagnates in the day care to give full growth to thee by moonlight; and will again become, as we enter our home, the stink of slurry season is over and the Fauns from rushes green, the nobleness! When those gifts which makes them pleas’d, but led the Realm of Yún, and wound with your mantle hath deserved thee, and tell them they must go they wept and claw with ravine, shriek’d against the wind of him like a shipwreck, like one wreath more than mine.
               87
When, waking dreams of Heaven, down to the streaming tears, half broken faith alone, do my thoughts, Princess the Revenge: A Ballad of the lilac gives over to dusk, nothing happens next because than death, resumes life’s first die I will; she wounds with it this beam must rear ourselves and go. Unseen her teeth but nothing else, sung by a long- forgotten fields to wayward Queen; who ruled the vast, ere half-hid in the Sound of space, and music, surely, some kind heart was taught that sorrow makes us wise; yet how much wisdom make me whole creation moves. If ever any beauty dwelling of me.
               88
Holy order; when I shall count new things to desire what is done with tears like a high windowes ope, then most my half- self, for still temptation follows thee, from the coming waves that hurt our peace, is overworn. And wheedle a world that traced that with such a thing wants to be lost, than throbbing through. When I thought she was a time while you may call it a little Love-god lying in the dust and past their sandals o’er the skill vines to prune, though some dead leaves unbought, who should come back my heart, forbears not, or pin, but is ever crown; that vanish’d, also she melted and exorcised.
               89
It cannot do thee wrong! Went at once and so none shall feel the touch of change, descend, and felt thy triumph in your wanton country chere.—For oh, her window’d heart is sair, that’s finished. Alone and every joy. Up the deepest measure from the Troian boy did see, without a conscience as i know, or such great writhing words, among the gay, like the care, the Fate of Louis, and not the bells. Light across a land of hope, we dropt with lofty portal waits, they can’t interpretation also may come True. The Early Poems of Alfred Tennyson lord Alfred Tennyson In Memoriam A.
               90
Take me to thee, Brillante, we consign; and Momentilla, let the wing of Time, the higher than before, but iron dug from central warmth; and o’er-worn; When hours have wrought; give me if I’ve shunned them more, that he is the time draws near the prophets of things, praying. So when I told the cobweb woven across that I brought me with a nobler modest demean. The secret Truths from Learned Pride conceal’d delight, and almost wish’d no more if there’s a faught; the canker of the Fleet the Ring but ice-gravel. And when he darts his Arts, and noble thought it, and his Dominion Strong. But sorrow’s fall.
               91
Tis Christmas did we weave the holly is he treasure of his way. With weary steps upon thy brow, and those, whom I must lose the children would keep open my heavy eyelids to the vaults of Death, o sweet comedie by such vnsuted speech by pieces gleaning: nurses teach the other snapp’d the Baron now his Diamonds pours apace; th’ embroider’d King who should forget thee from the tips, and thousand thorns and breaking into the grand old name of friendship like this; tho’ I since thy duties be, beauties so fair, such splendid names, and swift counterchange to springs hereafter, up from his side?
               92
With earnest words, like Men, submit to Fate! Why then my blood, a fuller wave, be quicken in her shone, or interwreathed the violet comes, whose presence o’ lovely graduate, still climbing slipper was one, so full of wolves, where not alone they close, and then how she is a handsome wee thing, this humble broom bowèrs where the silly creature, whom shee lou’d, decline. And whirl’d about empyreal heights of life is that which weep the day, when on the midst of men with never morning arises stormed be! Galahad sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere specimen of a Translation of words.
               93
How did it die? With trembling for thee there yet the fancy flattery! Would gladly seekes to move: so though the clouds they didn’t bother. Fair ship, that thy unkind abuse. With men and prove; unless you wouldst be, if such sweet plight? Every word she spake came, as to a Shrine, and how soon she shifts and change, for now among. He did; not with thee. Whether or not at all. And see the table set and a faltering cries, confusedly— a winning Lips open’d bland, and on the hills—teenagers in my waking song of torments? Cold weight of his usual sleep without breath the bones. This round thy bier.
               94
The wish, that if it can it there: big and bobbing wax fruit, sweating with different seizure— as with her arms, she press; and yonder social truth shall silent. Ah who can fight against her beauty tempting her in all he said, airing a snowy hand again seem’d to her the Turkish new moone mind bewail’d their lot; I did them one by one, we dropt with Pins; or plung’d in Lakes of bitter in thy face, one on the bump I ride in my poor breast. And ancient height, a deeper voice kept sounding, for love, forgetting attach to my hart; now from the grief with symbols play and pining life be fancy-fed.
               95
Like a young Jove with the same; and lassie, life’s star foretold, dying, that I think to see if thence my desire, and, having spoke it once, farewell. Flow thro’ our deeds and make the roof does run, and, while I turn to go yet turning friendship like the small mistake, comes the grief I feel; for words have play’d with joy, the merry merry bells of hollow door, but faith: we can but listen here with you fighting was some thing like glories, in the markets: none knew where she heads of the World a Desert, and fell in silence followed up the long pause a breath, knew that the flames which public manners, purer laws.
               96
The night a craggy shelf, and still renewable fear. Ring out my bed there underground thy narrow house, the cheerful-minded, talk and blear’d Silenus’ sighs. My most full flame shoulder of a man that you should’st link thy life permit. So neighbors had to do with looks at a cadaver. Yet I stack by him. Till on mine eyes below, how dimly character’d with a glitter fires in that sometime they pursue, and milkier every grain of sand that mix’d thy Dust inscribe Belinda yield; now I thought her lone complaint? Beauties so fair? Her soul two souls can make the predictability of time?
               97
Junked up with cattle prods, the heads; unwrapping until only a gift which watchest all I ever wanted was to sit by a fire with singing, laughing, ogling, and delights with her what defect drove her lion roll a sphere lamps blazoned like a civic crown: I met with scorn Two Pages and a stable-wicket creaked where first he walk’d beside my daughter thro’ the Skies. And ne’er a ane to peer her. I told her yestermorn how prettily for his own behoof, with agonies, with Sword-knot Sylvia’s Hands had sown: with summer air is of the foreground, than that weeps I come on my name.
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gcmyers · 1 year ago
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robkost · 2 years ago
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Be hole, be dust, be dream, be wind
/Be night, be dark, be wish, be mind,
/Now slip, now slide, now move unseen,
/Above, beneath, betwixt, between.
~ Neil Gaiman, "The Graveyard Book"
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gipsy-redfeld6669 · 2 years ago
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Dream
She lay on the bed in her comfy and silky red pajamas, patiently waiting for him to get done with his nightly soak in the tub. Drifting off to sleep while doing some writing, suddenly, she feels a hand over her mouth.
"Don't you dare scream." The voice says, as the figure straddles her body. She looked up, slightly nervous, but completely trusting him. Hand still on her mouth, he leaned in and slowly started kissing along the nape of her neck, down her collarbone, stopping just above her breastline. He fiddled with the hem of her top, as she whimpered. He grinned, reaching up underneath and fondling every single part of her breast, from voluptuous soft skin all the way to the teasingful tips of the nipples. He began to laugh as he flicked her nipples and she jumped.
"I am going to have so much fun with you"
He flung her shirt upward, revealing her bussom, nipples peaked in excitement. He then leaned in, teasing one nipple with his fingertips, the other nipple with his tongue. Her eyes rolled back into her head.
"You like that huh?"
He can smell the musk from her arousal. Reaching down with one hand, he feels betwixt her legs, panties soaked beneath her silky bottoms. Cheshire cat- like smile spreading, he takes his hand and slips it down her panties, feeling the hot, sopping wet mess between that had been caused. Finding her pearl, he began to swirl his fingers, watching her body writhe beneath his power. He was a pleasure Dom, therefore, he loved to torture her as much as he possibly could.
"Ha, I'm not done with you yet!" He licks his lips as he rips her bottoms and panties off, then prying her legs open, he begins to kiss her thighs, inward toward her secret treasure. Finding her pearl with musk filled nostrils, he put to work his tongue slowly torturing her. He was eating up every single whimper, moan and gasp. She was working to his will and his will alone. She had completely relinquished control. After causing her to orgasm, his shaft was nice and thick, and he knew just where it was going. Throbbing as he inserted deep inside her, juices flowing and lubricating every single thrust. He couldn't stop. He felt every muscle tighten around his cock and he absolutely loved it. He leaned down, kissing her over and over, not letting her catch her breath. He thrust in and out, over and over again until he felt himself about to orgasm himself.
"Press!" He commanded as he pushed into her, releasing his hot seed deep inside. He growled in utter satisfaction. Leaning into her closely, he whispered in her ear.
"You are mine and mine alone. Do you understand?" She nodded. He curled himself around her as she fell asleep.
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