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libidomechanica · 5 months

Text

“For shade to shade will coin young Cupids”

A ballad sequence

Himself thrice in the act of love. And honour, if ye will. Or like not of the pan I scrub and burn, and here and every

tree does shed its fruit. For shade to shade will coin young Cupids. But O the heavens fall in a gentle rain, when they

say she’s coming home the train as it leaves the mouths of men. Beauties budde, reliuen not for themselfe, but form and only

wake with yours in the Light of Lights forever.—I’ll write whatever feeling of thy swinck, that with such a rare carnation

grew. Into the day, and which cloys, for the sword and for his gray shadow, he pursues! And even those people roll

by in the mouth. One of those sweets that dwell in my delicious meat is to the man. Once more among the rest—turning

from the golden Morpheus in silence of that which slays even more—the death, no, not the praise, phoebus replied, Your blood

should die: till out of long frustration of an Alien Name I shadow One upon whose toppe the stars, and then decide,

without love’s flame. So now his frend is chaunged for darting it. By this Leander sitting under the other

Sestos here who on Love’s seas more glorious eyes watch our close ivy-twines; there I’ll behold thy bared snow and thy

tears, so long as I have above! Learnt our meaning to be venged for a frenne. Of haggard seeming, but effectually

is out; for it no form delivers to the water from moats and how the strangers shelt’ring from the blue skies derived

a double light in air and sinless child of sin; but closed in Stygian Three April perfumes there.

They fed her that their cups with tears! And once she stayed, and wound wherewith they bring that great elixir to thy hive. Some

have wronged it, sought far less for loss of tickets, or codille; spleen, vapours, or smallpox, above the team hotel, the

moon shall shine upon, lulled a sleepe through, and you in Grecian dame, that is tame, and but at other eyes serue him with

deluging storm. But Time, which down her prayse, but into weeping for thy prey: the name of murdrer now on thy faire forehead

sitteth, and euen while I meditate the thankless Muse? We kissed her and Juan thought, be torn. I learnd a lesson derely

bought that nys on earth assuraunce to be Nature’s own hand painting fools, yet is, whate’er may seem good to the hills

bene nigher heuen, and them did saue with blazing still would I give for thee. The old world grows dull, and long, long deserts

scorch the camel is to pass, than this I would that I were dead! Of all his bearded Victor of ten-thousand men, who

looked at her, and live with softest downy breasts, have passions brought the past still we moved together. To spare, blinded alike

from sunshine and from the Queen’s decease she brought her falling, yet was honest meaning truly, and nothing at all

how I love thee in such sort as, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. But hear that she wile your fancy frae me,

for fear of seeming rather touch’d earthly faces. To keep them warm until they read: till she not fair began to give

or keep, to live alone among her women; certain, would say, leander, thou art the fair young hearts bleeding wound

Leander to display both in each other spy. As we. Tho’ father an’ a’ should gae mad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to

bid them hither cast their bells and flowers, and there, all wild to found an University for maidens, on the springs.

Not always snarling, that taste is gone. A trentall sung by virgins o’er the shadow of the poet is whirl’d into

fonts met in thee, and from out a rill, a nymph and her small goodman shrinks in his grave, yet not mine; yet mine in part.

III

The boy beside me is not you a mightier way make war upon the carpet lies: such heavenly path with many a curious dint that runs along his back, but my rude pen can hardly blazon forth the greate shepehearde his daughters in the second protest and sweet soul, had hardly stew a child; has ev’n been prov’d to grant a lover sure might

you see the rudest or gentlest sight, the seed of gods, but a boon indeed: the harper came, and last, to follies youth could scarce dare hyena foemen, and live with fluttering about the bed there sighing and kissing so close; by their praying in dumb orat’ries, along the most exalted, Charity, are saving—vice spares nothing happens next

because we were lowe, and like a broken purpose, will in me to infuse my tale of love in the white; nor waves the mouth. And she becomes a wayward love, where haue you seene the iawes of hellish Ielousie! And state, perforce, from the crevice peer’d about. And still, save that time do I ensconce me here within their meaning truly, and not unto myself

again, and the white rose is a dove. Of his sister Jane; in bed she moaning lay, till in his twining haze, sees full before her in a hurry, without marble or a name as fruitless as amber, translucent as the currant on the beare when it strives to polish all it can its last best work, but for ever. Then came these? Can’t get out, ’ like Yorick’s

starling; why then I’ll swear, as poet Wordy swore because the waiting my bonnet but to them, at least appearing sun, as if their laws, command me fight with rivals or with emulous loves there took his restrained, the world’s dust, their lutes did silent was to end: then all for languor leapt a cry; leapt fiery Passion from their light for ever, till she

feared that I were dead! I sing too as womanly as can the best can mingle and express when two dewdrops on the spur she fled, and, subtly sifting on all sides, so plied interrogation till it hit the Northern hills. Vessels of brass, oft handled, bright, and made myself the shame among us, learnt, in days far-off, on that bed; she comes back safe

ride with us to our lines, and unobserv’d the glaring orb declines. Panted from heaven find: but from the lark shot up and showers be still a-falling, yet was honest man that ever sweet was used in giving gentle day doth follow night, whose prayers for the shades o’ dawn are fled, in a’ its crimson soul lambent flames; purple passions brought, o

carefull verse. As through loues misgouernaunce. And asked him what went wrong. Ae e’ening on a rustic, woodland reels athwart the gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o’ercast with dim and darksome shade, nature, gladdening and adore: not for thee, each morn and evening, wherewith disturb’d, she utter’d a soft moan: to wake into a slumberous tenderness—too hard, too cruell.

Your captive, yet my father’s will. Down in the porch of Death as doome of ill desert: but knewe we fooles, what it doth

latch: of his quench’d heart; and they that level at my abuses reckon up their owne woe; so ample eares as neuer

good newes know: is it not euill that day I e’er had loved before i’ll kiss the threshold, he, or hand in low coral

groves sweet singing in the wild- briar fair? This desolation: few would be queen for life. From heaven to wear! Hard

by a poplar grove where I lie, and we close shrowded in thys shade alone. What is your sex a tyrant o’er itself.

Dost not bite so nigh as make away my doubt, while he forth from his dungeon stray’d; the air was calm, and on the earth in

the shy touch of hands; true love’s coming, that came in Neptune’s plea. Others, because known, nor less divine: Love’s inmost

sacredness called to him, and smile as thou dost, good! So on she goes and inflames objects to his beauty had he been.

As not to let thy nature it concealed leander’s eyes. But when she sang:-she would catch her hand in mine. Full of all beauties

flow? Within the realme of Loue, and yet at every stroke, betwixt the rich Ocean for gifts he flies. Come forth, sweet kisse!

From four winged horses dark, that practice better at the foremost, who had fallen, with a little child of one unworthily;

their sighing and kissing so close. As after noon, one summer’s front doth sing and stops her pinion, and twincling

starres bene so trimly dight, I pray thee Hobbinoll, what garres thee greete? Which perhaps he mixt with flowers, than

what they seem’d to grow. Proud as a peeress, prouder as a punk; chaste to wreak vengeance on him her flashing eyes a moment

of that which governs me to go about doth part his function and with feare, but with thy Gotes should know my swain,

innumerable rose, beat balm upon our eyelids close, and spake to him who under other Name taught us to

veil a noble tear; and up we came to where a double light in air and sinless faith, a maiden Queen guarded by

an unseen hand at a game that pulls or shakes it from the court the shores of keen delight to be accounted nice. And

bathe in gold the misty dale, and fly with me as tho’ that ye car’d na a flie; but steal me a blink o’ your bonie black

e’e, yet look as ye were na comin’ to me, and come, for lover who could avenge, if cause should fall; and like a touch

of hands; true love, or to be loved, truest friend, at no man knows. And never to the hills. You have done the things I do.

Became her golden reign. Till one of those fair plants, which the Last sole Agent is in this poem, There are the gems of

the plumb beat adamant as weeds. Calliope speede her to be sent with it, Follow, follow, thou wilt renew the

beat of his quench’d heart; and the tortoise crawls; troops of untended horses; here and the garden, taste the ripened ears, we

fell out, my wife and I, o we fell out I know not, cannot guess how much the fury still out of reach, yet never

out of fear; for love, yet, love, for pity sake, me in thy bed and die let’s give a new nod to nothing was denied.

VII

His arms might be better dayes death hath shut vp in woe? Whom universal nature did lament, when by the countless gold of thy door. Once more ye myrtles shall be as thou dost love me. Las that I am forst such euill of thee

to say: I say thou art! The torrent dance thee down to find three perfection every way. To see thee, Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. Catch, ere she change that sober hue deuise, in obiect best to knitt and strength; the more she strived,

the wakened by the sea- shore, whereon was many a sigh; let us away, my love, without attaint o’erlook the dedicated words which writers use of their exchanging glances at my father sent ambassadors with

furs and jewels, gifts, to fetch a lasse, whose home is in this maid I love, and silence the heat more by provocation bites. The submissive ground; so he that does not know ye: alas! Said: I have a sister and my brother ran in his rage

to the churchyard laid then ye are only five. And kissed again with tears. To dazzle let the top. She, with a bootless calf at eight years old, she said, I am aweary, aweary, I would catch her hand in wild delirium, gripe

it hard, and fling it like a mermaid in sea-weed, all garlanded with pearl, and in his fame the hero-boy, who lived too long should an hour come to bid them hither cast their bellies’ sake creep and intrude, and climb into the workman and

his will a cheat. By this a murmur ran through your marvelousness. Which so prevailed, as he spake, upon the floor she slid. Offer went beyond, they knew t was fresh—for he had lately used the lock—and next proceeds, and boldly ventured

on the rose-briar is sweet; myriads of rivulets hurrying through thee, indeed I think our chiefest Nymph of al, of Oliue braunches seare: the faded lockes fall from yours, within whose least act abides the nameless lie beneath his Feet.

VIII

In laurel: her we asked of that hue; blue as the submissive ground; thou seëst all this comes down which they would learn it, were

more the trumpet round him; Juan, t is—tis Lambro—’t is my father! But shaken here and the sad wound, and breast

maternal wean’d at once withdrew his weapon, and replaced it; but stood still, save that he fled; they say your stockings there I

hem; and then he chewed the thrice-turned cud of wrath, and cooked his spleen, communing with a wondering looked as grand as doomsday

and as grave: and he, he reverence up, and are not worth a little change in the logic of a life? She goes

out to hang the pensive awhile she dreams awake, and steal; I know it, and himself: then from the dewy shoulder half

cut through thee, indeed I love: the new day comes, the light and dark squares feel like tiles for any man to go: but as his

brain began to burn, for so it seemed to move among the depths of passionate desire! Her babbling wells with her

destiny; but she defied all means they could not be absent long; and old Damætas lov’d to hear our son, if this be

so, the mother; for wearing as they were: the power. Haze, sees full before you like none, none you, for constantly? Was

endowed when first I wanted of life, for it was not last year at the foreign place; and strange sensation which she must

partake perforce swayed to her doating spark, sighs for a daughter of the liberties. By measuring the intensity

of blue: ’ o, Lady Daphne! Or foxlike in the sky. Especially when added to the vales and bid them hither

cast their bellies’ sake creep and intrude, and climb into the boxed-in hills beyond the truth, the truth! Love, from Clarinda,

friendships’ guarded guise, for more the old Sunday evenings at home, an English home, and tuned it vnto the Waters fall.

Even Time the pit. He rode the melodie that’s sweetly quickens when tis by that alone she can be bequeathed to none.

Ye’ll slip frae me like a king: three days he feasted us, and on the east are circumfused there. The air was calm,

and on the rainbow of the two, according to your eyes are bull, your mound! Floats up from those dim fields about the homes

of happy hours, and makes one little grave, o there above the garden darkens. Because it wasn’t talking about on

a train he knows I cannot force love as you do. Ah, Chloris, that myrth thee made of yore. No, no, go not to Lethe, neither

moved nor wept. A cry for a brother John and I. A simple child … that light be my leading star! Through a lowly

arched way, there was no reason why such agonies should be above, and with sacred ring where the ground with gallant

institutes, and binds her sultry horn, batt’ning our flocks with the rest; where can we find two better hemispheres, with wild

thyme and therefore on him who under other Name taught us to veil the Praises of a Power to which there brake

on all sides, clamouring etiquette to death, unmeasured mirth; while now the two only darts of Loue, now will I

attempt to know what no her tongue to say what was left of faded woman-slough to sheathing stars who, where they decked her

fast and thereby committ’st a sin far worse of constant stars, in them their native East. Bring hether thee list the loued lasse

forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing. Her breath as fragrant too, a stratagem, that proue? And damns me for that act.

Yet some of you are free: meantime the frosty dark; and as the sun and stars are nearer that he had, a Mirror, like

the bounds of shame; my eyes caught light from your sight—not to cost you a tear: but if you be that Ida whom I knew, I

ask you nothing? But sucked on country comets, that portend no war nor prince’s funeral, shining unto no higher

end than to presage the gray- fly winds her down for his love Europa bellowing loud, and many an islander

with her dream so pure and deep one unbecoming thoughts would be to each his thunder, rain and whole; nor Arac, satiate

with his Grace and clip my willing body, and the lips part and say: I mean to go on living? Of that which will

blot? This idol which you neither change of place maintaining that is falling into blood and fire, the danger is less

than fame, may rue the bargain ye wad buy; but an ye be crafty, I am cunnin’, sae ye wi anither you

will not come. And true plain words by thy true-telling friend; and there the fiercest attention becomes a Virgin bright; then

he arose, and arrow-straight, his fierce beams struck my brow; the soul of Ida fell, and showed the rough ways of flurrying is

my inner recesses surfacing paints the bedroom blue because she took more from hence your life we love a sister

at their cups with teares besprint. Will sink where lies stellas faire haire; her face doth look, and grasp’d, and ran, but it was rich.

And then he got him to a rock and under your wine, in autumn. Pardon me saying it were much better than they

have devised what strain I heard was of a higher mood. Tis well—but, artists! And on the edge like to the tree cut from

its pedestal with many a churlish billow, and the little lintwhite’s nest; and frost will blight the Baron dreamt

of many a woe, a cloth of woven crimson, gold, and both together both, ere the highway too black for the past.

XII

On Helen’s cheek or ear. With Cyril and with his awkwardly, and foul contagion spread; besides what the cooling river’s

crescent-curve, close at the quiet woodland ways, where paced the scouts with rumour of Prince Arab hard at hand. Why, there

are no other Prophets than The Wise. That night into the wall snatch’d down his weary feet and felt my veins stretch with fire

the trade of love; the fierce triumvirs; and before her father cease to move in old memorial: I fenced it round within

his clasp, twixt her and breast maternal wean’d at once or twice, the ear becomes a bleed. The base of all: the rusted

nails fell from time to go about doth part his function and with a dissipated life, and simple was the flood than

she left: she shall not be thy defect, and delights to lose itself when the only minstrel be, proscribed from the thing

need not set your thought I traced something down in a bed that nigh expell’d innumerable of stains and on flowers.

XIII

Will crush her pretty maids in the pool; for none, his glance inquired of hers your kinder mistress are at strife. To know

a sweeter music than the creamy curd, or on the world, if Queens and kings. From your kinder mistress are at strife. Her

own grand way: being herself three times a gleam of dewy- tasselled trees: what neede hem caren for the bass, the beast

can only bellow; in fact, he had no pulse, but death seem’d absent still; no hideous sign proclaim’d her surely die.

XIV

” Answered nothing else but anger. The patient angel waiting for his sake, to be revenged on Jove did undertake. Lovers fled away into the present; i’m sensible

redundancy is wrong, but could not love it all; I could not love it all; I could never tell the ground he laid and, tumbling and sounding beauteous springs the crowning race

of humankind. To say: back rode we to my father, Tut, you know, who wedded with a milder ray, like summer night, her matchless fair, at kirk or market to be sent with it,

Follow, follow, thou shalt have a trentall sung by virgins might have lost their hooks, fit baits for ever.—Nature in her left hand, hammer in her e’e, as Robie tauld a tale o’

love: o Jeanie fair, I lo’e thee dear; o canst thou think to fancy i have deemed with you, my most true mind thus makes mine eye well knows what with equal husbandry the woman were

an equal share. Heaven descend above the arias of death and love will never hear. ’ Dreams, the sweet heaven, either not a whit made purple glens replying: blow, bugle,

blow, set the wild-briar fair? Where all summer: lightnings that being caught feign death, spoke not, nor stopp’d to meet her glance nor grasp, for still she railed against us and within private

arms empale free woman. Directed all, and in his pride, and doth first begin. An open- hearted, the night is Cupid’s golden head, and thunder. Intelligence—First of

a Chain of Ten Intelligence— First of all. On the green and village-cotted hill, is the tumulus—of whom? So their fair subject, blessing every bad a perfect animal,

the two-celled heart become so sympathetic, that I must have recourse to black Bohea: tis pity wine should be so,—but—it cannot be but some vile tongues to be your being

shall make ye flourish all the past to mind; and when thou alone kingdoms meek of joy and pain; yet wist na what her ail might bring.—With nothing such to the wall in time to dye.

While new emotions, like stranger’s ill; not I have never a word to say. The females stood, and ever-changing

invocation grew. Characters at all. Of smooth-kissing breath, in the realme of Loue, now will I, alas, refraine; loue feares

nothing more timely, nothing like one! And oftentime great clymbers fall vnsoft. You out the prease of those fierce triumvirs;

and before the rough ways of the sun in a diameter fires and the rank mist they draw, rot inwardly do prate.

XVI

The horror of the liberties. Are all thy lights, and cold, and said no and the loud roar grew, and none beside. And drooping

rich the dews of night, blot out the Agèd Host, a beggar at another rage; and when they should lay, the while upon

a hillock down he lay and sweetest buds doth love, and with a bough of wilding in his neighbour than his fate—he

felt himself most nigh it, like to her breast, can mark the fate which sin, kiss and shake the daunce, and Cyril whisper its last

best work, but for one hour more in Heav’n expect thy meed. And them, like Mars and Erycine, display terror to earth, and

tempest came her golden reign. Me or float or sink, be high or low. ’ At which she must partake perforce, at last, as shepherd’s

trade, and lyeth buryed long in Winters bale: yet soone as spring holiday. Which in our hands. Was used in giving

gentle day doth follow night, we could tell; my passion to create, as where the ground was white with snow and I could ill

confine; I looked as grand as doomsday and as grave: and he, he reverence up, and are not at all: in vain to the

vast uplandish country dwelt. The white rosebud with a flush on its petal tips; for the slave market of Constantinople.

And what is Algrin he, that is the grace and proscenium of her face: she linger’d still. A hundred thousand

groans, but thinking to haul up and swig! Young Juan and Haidee clung around her grave as her image in marble fonts; there

grain, and close beside her and to me she said; she said I am aweary, aweary I would you had her, Prince;

you cannot love it enough. The monstrous ledges there stood as one ashamed, wherewith the Soul inspir’d and all his

loue doth scorne: he plonged in payne, his tressed locks dooth teare. Will storm his heart re-sent; and he had our daughter and his

will a cheat. A certain portrait may I grant be seen, the little grave, to see them, that may delight. As others use,

to sport with Amaryllis in the noblest seats of those two tralucent cisterns brake a stream of liquid pearl, which

did thy Rosalind hath so little door, old Angela was feeling but by other drest with temper, whose light the

Baron dreamt of many mortal taint. With their rank though hate had put them out: numb were the river among the bush had

ne’er a lighter heart when Chloe dies. She goes out to hang the pensive head, and Than public manners breeds.

XVII

My bonnet but to tie, and clos’d her up, as in a snare: which every bough and sweet self, or pines in sad experience,

this; by man’s oppression was the sallow sand, sends forth a rattling murmur to the literary rabble:

whether doth my mind, and many an oath, arcades ambo, ’ id est—blackguards both. Girls are we; two of us

in the Rose—and I myself to cherish. Come then, dear friend, and touching her breast, a greater fon, that loues the things to

hit, for true no-meaning puzzles more than for the destiny he heard the night, your glorious in his armour braue.

Eyes aghast against the Princesse bene principall. Can you well compare? Afflicted by my kindness, they leave me

with my verse; do now your flowery levels underneath their pride, weakness somehow shapes the shade, or with the White yfere,

in either change of place maintaining that indefatigable Pen in celebration of love’s great master,

Aretine, and Syluanes haunten rathe. Once over again, and flowers and all the past melts mist-like into thy

glory, I thought a king a king; he cared not for the hinny he’ll cherish the bee, my laddie’s sae meikle in luve

wi’ the silly rose-wreath now and deck thee with the weedes be glutted. And Pity fell on his Eyes, and soul! But when

they have treated him as something she spoke I fear they will take up that heard not out the world shall grow, while the sun in

a diameter fires and the tip of evolution, modestly shining. They may ache in icy hoods and mails.

XVIII

Or pines in sad experience worse than South-sea- isle taboo, dwarfs of the hills—teenagers in love he is in love he is a flower as May never bore. Say: I say thou art; I said they were: the power of fervent kisses from Nubia brought it, and smite no more: as hags hold sabbaths, less for thee. That thou art as fair in face, of temper amorous

play. And while I kiss thy garment’s hem with your looks, your imprimatur’ will ye not annex? My manhood is cast down in the fire of a foolish fashion’d all that there was a lass, and she was hot and generous and so the least that to the fair vermilion knew, and saved my old body from the town and half house; but scarce would bring; though sleeping, vseth.

Or wanders here; the sun and moon renew thy beauty, like a throbbing star came furrowing all the Quarters of the loom; and there among piled arms and your great court-Galen poised his gilt-head cane, and pawed about the prease of those who have ceased to hear his tale, left off her running. The gynaeceum, fail so far in high deserts? Boasting his parentage, and

recollection; on her foot she hung a moment, and thinner, clearer, farther going! There are the dancers; there’s the pity, with gossip, scandal, and spite; and Jack on his arm, and to the yellow leaf, ’ and Imagination and mine—where she lies, but will not come, she said, betwixt the right color is invisible, only movement, he withdrew.

XIX

Kept walking. As not to love, or to be lov’d. Committing heady riots, incest, rapes. Will sink where lies the swan. Tried in vain paining with its synonym. And to some corner secretly have gone, let maps to other, wine from grapes out wrung. What two come here to fade and pine. Or in this eternal thirst is flowing, and sigh, I can’t get out, ’ like Yorick’s

starling; why then I’ll swear, as poet Wordy swore because the publisher declares, in sooth, through the bills. And almost think that idiot legend credible. Of Things of the lake doth glitter the green that it might mount the Throne. Thine eyes were spiritual and clear: and things that precede the mighty storm; in the endgame of her cheeks, with his own avenger.

One daye he sat vpon a hyll, as now thou wouldest me: but I am tought by pachas, some by Jews, how some were bought

to keep her back; and either seemed it strange song I heard Apollo sing, while Ilion like a mission’d spirit, unaware:

came many a token without a groan, or sigh, or glanced about the causes weighed, fatherly fears—you used us

courteous lights in show the duller eyes through the soundest rest. You may vow I’ll not forget to pay the debt which

th’ angry gods had fasten’d with you too. True love’s channel, where it shall fall so woful, and of such deep sorrowing

in my heart receive this lock which our olives failed; seldom she spoke I fear they will bring forth sweet water oft her

hand; in touching the gasping furrowes thirst with Reason, which perish in the wood gods love to hide, affection of

the glen at wintry dawn, where o’er the beauty of your chance almost at naked nothing upon earth more miserable

night; but sorrow seize me if ever that lightly my beauty morn by morn; I earth in earth my Emma lay; and now

to see thy foolish boy, that is the best. But tougher, heavier, stronger, he that smote and threw warm gules on

Madeline began to weep, and kye, and wanton winds, what hard mishap hath doom’d this general evil they maintain, all men

are bad, and in it catch, ere she change that sober hue deuise, in obiect best to knitt and strength; a daintier iudge applies

his praise the thought. Through needles’ eyes it easier for the bass, the beast can only bellow; in fact, he had no pere:

so well she couth the ship soon, because of both sides I doe take my blood from them runs headlong to the brim, wakes me next

morning in the present; i’m sensible redundancy is wrong, but could not do—the pillow glowed and glowed both roof

and floor, and birds sang sweet influence reigned; and ever afresh they seem when the glassy darkness greeted by a doubtful

curls, and thee! That burning core, though I, once gone, to all the ground he laid and, when the lily lies o’ercharged with

them for the field-mice are abroad, he cannot be—or I at least, or a Protestant parson, or Catholic priest, to

instruct those after us: this we were, this is all; she will die from want of care, or sicken with his flaring glass.

XXI

And up we came to where he stood as one ashamed, wherewith she strooken, so at her toilet’s greasy task, with Sappho

fragrant at an ev’ning bright toward heav’n’s descent had slop’d his western bower. Moses was, that sing, whose earliest

beat still the wide stairs a darkling way they will; disdains all loss of your eyes gave me love, and felt the blinding bandage

from his eyes grew brilliant, a gang war wrapped&cut diagonal at the shearers’ feast and shove away the parasitic

forms that seeldome falls bynethe. The trumpet, and again vowed spotless chastity, whom Nature made her chief worke, Stellas

eyes, in colour blacke why wrapt she beames so bright? I rode beside him swim, and talk of love, the horror of the

day or night, and the towers have gone to sea. Oft have I to do with me remain without thy help by me be borne,

and never knew my father that our companion was a Romagnole, but facts are facts: no knight could be; yet maiden-

meek I prayed concealment: she demanded who we were, and round about the bed alone. Here han the fleece, and eke

the fleshly follyes vndefyled, and grey hairs were buoyant spirits, never bound with swimming looks of speech about your

Mistress, but about the acacias, and a bird, that each passion to us. With clamour: for among them all: a

common lose the childlike in the very brother with Latonaes seede, such follie great sorow to Niobe did breede. ’Er you

do, fight and fight with passion to create, as where their children of despair with laughter; what’s to come is still together

deep in woods, unseen as sings the night to name my desires, when happiness? In such wars women use, or thirsting

after her a letter sent, which joyful Hero answered sharply crystalline fragments of many a woe, for

I am slow and feeble, faint, and the fatigue is flowing, that als we mought be, simple, as simple rustic love.

XXII

Than when two dewdrops on the babe restored. As those who served; she gave no very satisfactory information

about his lip, to prick us on to combat for my own; his mother. No Angel, but a dearer being, and

the white of Pelop’s shoulders of the king of gods and mails. How can my nature says: My children still, and caught her up.

XXIII

To plunge in cataract on an island-crag, when storm is on the siller, he canna hae luve to spare, whose heart had brooded, all that beat about a glimmering threshold of

the morning dew. Lest I lose all. And magnify, and catch them to be thus was another Phaeton had got the guidance of the dead and rites were injured. The woman through their

chief art in reigne dissembling is. Not marble, nor can integrity our ends promove: for Kings and Lovers are alike in this that leaped into hell, and sing a song to the

after party? Echoing inside my head, it scents the early grave which men delight? Objects having too much quickness ever to be hated. Which in my thought, a touch, did

she uphold to Venus, and against the tax; behind, and so our souls, that loved us. If in the council broke, I rose and fell, and all the Truth God only can be caught with

such halcyon calmness fix our souls, that love is a factory. A table, and, half anguish’d, threw thereon came many a bore, and haggard seeming, but effectually is

out; for it no form delivers to the appointed hour. The cattle are grazing, their heads the cornice rests, with hair of glitterand gold, mought them shend: they bene to heauen hent.

XXIV

Provoked remarks which now it shan’t. Rough Satyrs danc’d, and Fauns with clov’n heel, from them heard something; then looked. Oh my bodhisattva of new roses proposing a new era for us nobis pacem oh my bodhisattva of new

roses you’ve saved my life, saying not she knew: her answers gave no sign, save breath, when Haidee threw herself to man, were to be a rug—turned away, mid- dream. Mountain smoking with gyfts to winne his wanton heart. From its forest root of years,

till I should wed, my father’s face grow long and snake-like life for a blow. My youthful years; it is now time to time came murmurs to a sister at the first are broke, thus to thee. Then Cleopatra lives at number seven, and Antony

resides in Brunswick Square. When all the orient into gold. And yet against her will and said … Nay, we are seven! Your mother who smiles as she went away. I took you for chastity, whom Nature me a man-at-armes did make.

We saw the palace. Its little shy at first with Reason, which is salted by complexities or cries. But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin’, sae ye wi anither you will not slay me, nor your presence room I stood with an

end, that follow’d it as gentle heart, be thine! Who had given us letters, was he bound to speak first, thus matcht, were scantly gentlemen.—Star followed star through needles’ eyes it easier for the muse of me put less in t: and now

hath made me glad. Or cast a Tangle in the desert wild they both wander in that Submersion. Remembering how we three presented, and I’ll say that ye may lightly pranced three captains of the house. Now somewhat sing, and they the breeze

of a softer clime, half-lost in the loss alone, when you happen to see, you’ll say with princes were denied pin’d as they were all that succeeds it; by the quivering lid of an averted eye—the smile that life I had, and liued with

lullaby thy lusts relent, let others harme, selfe-miserie, beauties flow? Heart on fire emprison her soft and milky way; but overwrought within the bushes rancke? How be I am but base: base in respect of thee, I thought he scarce

fit for ballads in the fit of fruits, and the whole weak race of venomous worms, that strange affection. Yet mark the figures on an Indian chest; and when he did, he found—but sought not perform nor yet she ask. And in the shade. Grandma’s

rosebush reminiscent of a Vice Lord’s do-rag. Her answer by the score flattered by my own affection of the day fled on the fountain—the child shall know. Acquire the deep blue surge, o’ershadow’d there we love and kissing so close;

by their praying and wishing, and panting limbs we’ll gently lay, in the faint flush upon the spray that showers and purple of the soul. The thing, he cannot live, the question’d those about his lips bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,

while still he stood as one who ne’er had loved before her in a strait; I grate on their babes to rest, and liued in lowlye laye, and take thy rest; since age is cold and heavy cheer, complaineth. Passes turn and bid fair peace be my lot, far-off from

thy owne sunlight; silence in both holds one degree the flockes doe graze about in Nature’s �� range, or veer or vanish; why should have ever been; they were children, wants and wish’d that hour with carven imag’ries his was harsh penance on St.

XXV

‘We fear, indeed, divine and pure. For a long while. Besides, I’ve no more forbear to taste our joys, struck with agues in

her brain to madness; she arose from fright of dim espial. In marble fonts; there grain, and yet she asked but space and figure.

As then, that bene so lewdly bent. We rose, and sweetly played in tune. For as a hot proud horse highly disdains

to have his head was chalke, a shell fish downe let flye: shee weend the shrieks of the wild echoes flying, and clasping and tumbling

in the glassy darkness from thence, have lighted there more to heare of warme fine-odour’d snow, nor blushing stood upon

Achilles; they say the child, a lesson new you shall reign the head and wine of her days. Juan, and shuddering o’er the

Laocoon’s all eternal throes, and in such taking, for nought, was moved with nought, and hid from Soon, trembling through the lawns.

XXVI

But I will not. But little needes to strow my store, suffice this hill of our. Small clouds are sailing, blue sky prevailing;

there are schools for all. Yet mark the fate which sin, kiss and shaking off the Dust of that Soul- wasting absence is our

carke. From her grave as her image in marble fonts; there grain, and close the child; and rhymes and dismal lyrics, prophesying

change beyond all reasons show, and there, and Terebinth good for Gotes: the one, my madding mynd is starte, and woes the

Widdowes daughter’s grave is there took his restrained touches ne’er too much mescal. Nurse, and dandle; a thing of sorrows

on the fountain, still flinging diamonds flaring glass. She said, my friend, with their lee—another tack with stroke on stroke the

horse meant knight. Her wide sleeves green, and saw thee woman through Sestos from her heau’nly iewell, teaching Sleepe most faire to be!

XXVII

And fain by stealth away she threw, and silver tincture of her soft hand, and tooken, await thee; azure pillars of

the salt Medway his sourse, wherein were wrought by greedy men, that swincke and pure, dutiful service may thy love procure.

XXVIII

The woman’s cause is, stella lookt on, and from mine arms she rose the yesternight, and she a weeping far away. The

vale of lilies and the shrike, and the man wants weight, the nail in it. And looks intense she gazed, a sudden a passion,

or a prayer: or her, who laughs at you and me never fear. Naked, a double blue, dancing all free and happy

in the midst of men and day, and bless the show appear: that loved not at first and feeble, all the orbs between a

cymballed Miriam and a Jael, with Psyche’s babe, was Ida watching and kissing her: ah! Dream he melted, as they

came. Strongest; the cattle are grazing, their hearts entangled, the air was calm, and on the liberties. Of wealthy men,

who care not: this is true: so like was one minute found to forget these empty courts, and the wild words the snake, my secret,

blank and waste it seemed his own: the scientific animals are the kind flood on a wave should lay, the faery

people of the night is dreary, he cometh not, she said; she said, and thou arise to the tryste, he danc’d along with

ivory-headed wand, and he love. Genius of the king. Hebrides, whereon a woman-statue rose with sweet ecstasy

to all who fry in your decay with means more blessed hour atones for all his life were said and sung: she clos’d the

door she goes to inform the Prince, I prize his truthful change, as is most meet for all? Is lying a dead infant, slain

by thee. Nor all which derives assistance from his hand dares stretch to touch but must not float upon his shrieks and cried. Were

in the churchyard thing, tis that our companion yestermorn; unwillingly requited. Drew the greater, being near

the sun’s broad beam has tir’d the sight, all mild ascends th’ unguarded store, or wanders here; the sun and sea; how long

the chapel aisle by slow degrees: all eyes may see from what they meant by their sighing she spoke not; not a sigh relieved

her thorns were my only luve, and fare thee weel awhile! Sort of drifted off. Then like describing people mad, for

feare hence flew Love’s alarum pattering on black blocks a breadth of thunder. Thence climbing o’er the imperial tent

whispers use of their skins; they left no echo of their skins; they left no echo of their tears, and be not thine own thrall.

XXIX

Yet she betray’d at times are shown, a woman’s head, nor burnt the grave, we kissed him, and fell in drops like tears because she’s

home. And gave it to his sight displayed, whence floweth Helicon the learned well, helpe me to blaze her worthy praise, the

sole men to be mingled with lullaby my gazing eyes, which she lifted up her voice and cries, and speak without end,

my wavering road! In deathless marble. The sandy footprint upon sand which old-recurring waves do rise or fall.

XXX

So that I might) o ioyfull verse. Or seemed to hear, as in a poplar grove when a light with fish. I’ll take your leaves bedew’d,

awake the eyes from out that noysome gulfe, which gaping lies between the North. Even as, when gaudy nymphs pursue

the chase, we hunt them for the hinny he’ll cherish doth with iniurie: who since he hath, by Natures speciall grace, showing

off walls of sure and solid stone. Could suffer me in heart, and say it is esteem. No, not the power and shave before

us, knew we would creep; and Haidee’s bitter shriek, although in me each part will be. For as he eats and drinks he

grows younger and lust, the little change to challenge eyesight? The men of wealthy Sestos every year, for his sake, to

be revenged on Jove did undertake. Of those sweets that do with the dewy shoulder in the depths of passionate

cry from underneath this radiant floor was Danae’s statue in a brazen tower, jove slyly stealing kisse. And there

rises and she said; she said I am aweary, aweary, I would they grew like field- flowers and, maids, take me.

XXXI

A fairer mark; and without aid! And all their dear delight. Her recollect the time of merimake. Years could be more cruel, love, and here on those balusters, high above the love of wit. She rapt upon her lover’s pray’r, and paid a

tradesman once to make a fire with someone who wanted me in measure you! Of this theme which I held, and on the rocks once-a-boy pilfering grenadine nebraska, Nebraska, Nebraska, Nebraska, Nebraska, Nebraska,

Nebraska wicked at the thought her up. Tristan und Isolde is scarcely the story, women at least should ne’er too much truth; therefore unto him hastily she goes and inflames objects hath the bond—the striplings! Until some honourable

deed be done! To wreck thy spleen on? Hath its merchandized whose rich esteeming the owner’s tongue doth publish every where. His name was Gama; cracked and small, of all hearts that know the woman, and prayed. Or pines in sad experience

worse than were she dead. Than whom Cassandra was not free of this the meed of all, self-viewed,—nothing repels thee,. And suddenly her former colour changed, and her thought of those that near him. Though a thousand aves told, for as you were born

was beauty’s doom and dates, in argosy transferr’d on board of one of her dream if ceremony— I think the year; the one Abydos, the other dies. Yet, ye are seven! He is in love with him to one goal, stays all the World, but

the fair he sees all bath’d in tears— Oh, odious, odious trees! Cat-footed through th’ horizon peeps, as pitying these lovers, downward creeps, so that we might make it worth his while. As those who longest miss the old archer’s shafts,

thy voyce the angry Sisters of the world my love let’s fall down in bed and main, and flowers, and silent as a tomb. Above the trade of love; it is important to face the rear of the crane, ’ I said, at the topic die. One on the

rushes to be flung, strived with hurricane tape, like a Saint’s glory up in heaven? And not unto myself ascribe, unduly, things which you term virginity is neither were ye playing on the beach the waves which bright all from

the storm. Carved on the sphere; grief makes her in his arm and for the hinny he’ll cherish the bee, my laddie’s sae meikle in luve am I; and I will come to ye, my lad. He inly stormed and was but the reflections—these will be thy

bier. Heart did mercy come, chiding that I were dead, forgotten. To wash the black—o! He thrice- turned cud of wrath: sike syrly shepherds that have the power seem’d gone for every street like to empty houses That each past emotion.

XXXII

But the rich mine, to the ivory skin and, crying Love, I come, leaped lively in. Leander, thou art; I said thou wert

wont to fear. And takes and ruins all; and thus some boding flash’d through the gates, and caught her of a harp; the hare limp’d trembling

through the grassie greene, hye you there and for her robes but straight in her own thought; and thence this slander, as I hear, the smoulders

hidden; tis my mother, a good wife, worth winning; but this is all, I stand upon her sweet, as if to greet the

king that with equal husbandry the woman, and with the sun in a diameter fires and affection? I have

been: we had our dreams; perhaps he mixt with floundering horses. Not the taut holding With blackest moss the flower inscrib’d

with woe. Has yielded: she, my golden-crowned rose! Waking she was wildly clad; her eye might flow over my heart … he

does not war: and, sdeath! A stream of liquid pearl, which down her face was strooken, looked so dolefully, as made love simply

wears away. Full-summed in all this must be twain, although our stranger’s ill; not I have not made for amorous, as

they went away.—Climb the stone—sometimes too much quickness ever to be taught; with lullaby your looks, your imprimatur’

will ye not annex? And oh, Sirs, could I help it, but my cheek, in loving song sighs o’er her lone head, so fierce and

highest, among the bush had ne’er a lighter heart did mercy come, chiding that great elixir to thy hive. Roses!

XXXIII

All men%u2019s souls for a long while. Sicker I hold her, right or wrong, and, Prince, trampling the front, but deep in woods, unseen

as sings the crowning race of humankind. A great labour of the Mountaine sayles. Leaves nothing too deere for thee, young swain,

enow of such wondrous fair, so young, so gentle, so employed, should more dazle then delight, like the wild-briar fair?

XXXIV

At a brother, all that men desire, a pleasant ayres of true loue be infected by the Moon, salámán and Absál rejoiced together thrive, if from the wind walks o’er

it, was she shaken by the dusk curtains waved, the wakened flies were murmuring of innumerable rose, beat balm upon our eyelids. And was thilk same song of Colins

owne making? In thy Turn Well may betide Thee; and turned again, but was at a loss what they meant by their flocks? Cold as a mountains sloped down with poppies orange as crayfish

all the blisses of a Power to which they would fain be weaning back to old thoughts are free: meantime the ground was strewed with panes of quaint device, saying, Mercy, Porphyro!

XXXV

Blind below their vanishing eyes. True love is of the king. Soft moon! No doubt we seem a nest of travellers, ’ but not

the last he rose, and she far-fleeted by the cry they made a halt; the horse and horseman, hawk, and hound, seen mid the

sapphire heaven’s sweetest buds doth love, and lay no more than now, she said; her hair was dripping, and sights, intrigues, adventures

in: let no buzz’d whisper’d thus his tale, left off her running. The dim curls kindle into sunny rings; changed with rod

or with knout? Clad; her eye might flash on his, but found it dim; and thus some boding flash’d the dream of what she wile your fancy

frae me. On his helmet, tough, strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms; but tougher, heavier, stronger, he that

smote and threw warm gules on Madeline’s fair breasts his tents, legs his triumph is well-tim’d retreat, as hard a science

himself, a sight to say my desire without end; nor end of mine, stateliest, for they were woode, except the

Wolues, that sleepen long. Are vain and coy excuse! Were they at the river rinses the dark. Nor only these: Love in

the liquid azure bloom of a crescent-curve, close at the stems. Parted from tasting your Castalian tea! Thy Muse to

long slombreth in sorrow cleft with human filth that column was cemented, with morning, did he take his flight. Love; yet

when the melancholy has her humour most, when she charms my sight, in pride of a’ the glen; and he had our dream. So

deep in shadow: further trust can place in: from all its ancient Secret be enlarged deride his cancell’d laws, and forbear

to kill; but I must do my duty—how thou hast pass’d by the steam floats up from those dim fields about the prease of

those things be! The lucid outline forming round my wrist, and tremble in mine ear, and turn, sole- thoughted, to one Lady

there; he always made a pause. When Juan spoke, too—it might be, to have a home for thee. Than thus man-girdled her without

a bound, and pulled him Love, and swore he never slander’d one, but cares not look on them. Her sale sent home some discussion

and some I could run and slide, my brother and in the bottom of the east are circumfused there. The soul’s distracting

lethargy, the patient angel waiting for his Feeble foes: what were wont to do? The Shah crown’d with your parts.

XXXVI

And quenching the cobwebs with his captains flashed their wealth, and the Seas Seven but dropping something shook her, it seem’d he never came back. And, beat from the wall in time to his hand dares stretch to touch upon a sphere too gross to tread, and all

the rosy heights came out above the empurpled champaign, drank the gale that blows from off the wall a sluice with blackest moss the flood of remembrance stray: lest that ye car’d na a flie; but steal me a blink o’ your bonie black e’e, yet looks not

life, for thee that deed I dare uo do! Sighing she spoke: but oft clomb to the rose-bud in your beauteous gift, methought I traced something in it as you say: but you like a sea of milk shalt lie display love’s holy fire, with wind and the South,

and from the high Hall-garden I see her tender brood, the pride of a’ the glen; and he begun a long low sibilation, stared as blank as death in marble fonts; there grain, and close beside the ods hath fur: for they were life to me and

revelled in my changeful dreams like petrel on the siller, he canna hae luve to spare for me necessity and fate? While weeds and ordure rankle round the ghost begins to redden thro’ my very ears were hot to hear them:

knowledge, beat her down—will leave her space to burgeon out of thy swinck, that with such poor tricks of treason. Roared make yourself in every blessed night, and hid from the board, with roses strowed the lattices, beside the palace ran the people

far away. The tenor’s wife, with no stars, bats, or moon blooms. Shades, cloudy, dark, o’ercast my sky: but when she heard it—the wind and the noise of arms; and standing at the door unto my house no more to do have I? And sleepe so favourable

is to me, and twilight gloomed; and broader-grown the bold waves with the hot blood of wretched lovers slain. Not war, if possible, nor can integrity our ends promove: for Kings and Lover’s Language wholly misinterpreting;

sun and Moon are but my Lady’s self, as any Lover knows; hyacinth I said, at the end of them pitied be, the hallow’d hour was near at hand: she sighs and moan forth witless Jeanie wist, her hearty meal upon a dunce. To Venus,

answered in such taking, for nought caren, that swincke and swear; yet ever, as he thought to the air, had held till now forbore to speak?—Let us away, my love, and with what life I had, and like a flash the weird vision of our house.

XXXVII

From Arac’s arm, as from an old Roman princess with a gossamer were wisdom to it. That, seeing Two who draw

one Breath together deep in woods, unseen as sings the crowned twins, commerce and higher, like lightnings that Colin made in

her lukewarm place Leander sitting thus a Noodle heard him, and from the larks on wing are dropping orb were gone; juan

gazed on her, so gracious and a gallant institutes, and binds her down—will leave me not nor from me a sigh of pain

which I desired, and gained the terrace ranged along the fire on the beach the waves which brings all have it: ’ but again

she veiled her brows, and produces— You. Their energy like life of dull lead, color of the chase, wretched men to weete

whats good or ill, we deeme of Death as doome of ill desert: but knewe we fooles, what it vs bringes vntil, dye would

we work for fame; though Wilberforce, at last, with more than half- opening buds of April, and cozenage; and when he

feigneth, looks asquint on his arm and for your child! Now in more subtle wreaths of dangling water and dull earthly fumes.

What pardon, Julia: he doth win grace with them: we touch of hands they may ache in icy hoods and mails. Not rob thy nest

from Fez; and spiced dainties, every phrase well-oiled, as man’s could be; yet maiden-meek I prayed concealment: she demanded

who we were, this is my sonnet to your features and their strength; a daintier iudge applies his praise the thought myself ascribe,

unduly, things which you neither you will do, speak but the Muses, that shrild as lowde as Larke, o carefull verse.

XXXVIII

I fenced it round with Daffadowndillies, and angled with rain: her summon’d, and, subtly sifting on all sides, so

plied interrogation till it strikes on a wood, and every voice shall whispered. Your prowess, Arac, and what they seem

when the fields she needs must be postponed discreetly for the present, a great labour of the poplar made, did all

confusion: by and by sweet order lived again with all confusion. I designate as love, without virtue, or a

vice. Mix with this, for Tyrans make folke bow: of foule rebellion then I do it makes me hope, although I knew him—

could have crept, and to some one sent beneath his vaulted palm a whispered: Take me with yours in the Light of Lights forever

like a snare. Through numbing cold, all feeble, faint, and wan. The months go to the slowly altering alters all; then

the Fair one beautiful was never ill-bred enough, no matter what you say. The next, an awful voice within his

clasp, twixt her and to make love groan: to say they err I dare not talked to thus: yet will we work, and mounts The Throne. So he

took his rest. Were caught some ghost of us: that tape-recorder should have provoked remarks which no eye should cancel—but

she may sit upon a king’s right hand now, and them, like Mars and Erycine, display love’s holy fire, with words the snake,

my secret, blank and waste it seemed, as if another Sunne belowe, ne durst againe his fyrye face out showe: let him, if

he dare, his brightness was but a dream! Such I weene thou mounefulst Muse of nyne, such cause of all: then Lambro, who till

now forbore to speak, smiled scornfully, and singen soote, in their sighing and kissing, and such skies, when I shall live—such

virtue hath an amorous habit soon revealed. Did but fan the first. They laid him in a little hand glanced like a

blanket, too soft a lasting mark to bear, and tell me how— Good Saints! I would that I waking might have cause to say, oh!

XXXIX

Only movement catches the eye. The jasmine and trust in all things are over; still I have not made ourself will crush

her pretty maiden gardens yet unset with virtuous; what virtue is it that is at a loss what they saw, but

what they meant by their sighing and kissing her: ah! Which, I protest, he startled her; but soon she knew not of his sister,

as the empty air he flings, all deep enraged, his sinewy bow he bent, and showed up I felt so warm and

generous and so through with Love, a happy date with his snaky rod did charm her nimble feet, and made at least, their lutes

did silent was to show the coming of the joyous wood the ghastly Wraith of one she loved to dwell. A little maid

would have welcomed both, show what they seem’d turn’d to Juan, in whose least act abides the nameless charm that none of Chloe’s shall you

pace forth; your praise shall consume, and swept, as t were, across the salt sand-wave, Hark! Like those that is with azure circling

lines empaled, much like desires and inflames objects to his beauty had as could provoke his liking, yet was

she strooken, so at her presence made them take him in; oft blind and age-bent, sore distrest, until he can a Maiden

win. Heart, we will forget. The garden darkens. For ever and anon a something new, a strangled titter, out of

which the fond eyes trace in all fair things that precede the mighty storm; in the dark, when clocks throbbed the farms wi’ me? Am

I despised because a horse to horse we got, and soon among rose-bloom fell on his Eyes, and how she blushing stream

the tears rush’d forth from his dull cabin, found him in the white ambulance to pick up who had sent a herald to the

great fall with religious awe. Who looked at her feet the engines laid which to the lion’s roar, and love of every sense!

”Oh, odious, odious trees! Dread, and love, and her lambs unshorn, and as a brother’s shafts, perhaps the early morning. The crust of iron moods that masked thee from this place; they

are like the rest, our own detention, why, the cause and mine: but since then your sister came she won the heart made for thee. Gentle friends, by wealth of follow’rs! Why, there are the forces

we had ranged with the Soul inspir’d and all that draweth on the thickest and bore him with some cold morning on thy face, one on another self I turned. Among the deadly fatal

knife that she wile your fancy frae me. Nothing in it as you say: but you shall be stored there than to walk forlorn, till cold winds woke the gray kings at parle: and Look you’ cried

my father’s camp, and riseth from the darkness holds the genuine apparition of your mournful terms, with sighs, and everywhere. One on the arrow we cannot speak, or stir.

XLI

Have we not made ourself would tend upon your own, as Lady Psyche. And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. His weapon, and rent the wonder of glory, and vain; till down

she knew not how they may yet envy me; not thou, and slip into my bosom and bough lie wither’d to its root; lions, boars, wolves, all how true! Dived down to hell her loathsome carriage.

Until she sobb’d for breath, and cooked his son, thinking to have kissed him. For true no-meaning puzzles more than now, she said: o friend, child, lover, brother, all that I were dead! Thus

whisperers in anger not the hollow sea’s, mourns o’er the Laocoon’s all eternal woe, for if the nymphs should have listened to despair, observes how much a chintz exceeds mohair.

XLII

Of the North. Fame: with thine? Flaps awkward flair rare steaks, onion rings, Maker’s on the second two: they well might have lost their aim, and after her, an open-hearted, the night, with nothing

art thou of thy loued lasse forlorn and lost with many an island-crag, when storm is on the rocks melt wi’ the sun: o I will live on through a lowly arched way, seen mid the

sapphire visaged god grew proud, and many deaths do they escape by this issue: let our missive through, and your mistress, or fourth wife, or victim: all this must be beaten.

XLIII

Since I left you, mine eye untrue. Of bounding pulses that she dearly held. And often sayne that whilome was the word.—

That well-built house, why tear it down? There never miss’d. Then thou, whom partiall heauens for the fire that frown aside, and smiled, but

unto her dream so pure a spell, and sing of soft misnomers, so divine that wardes the Westerne coste? Of this

heavenly nymph, beloved friend, with the first cold night, and all eares worse then worst, I say thou are she, still, still as though

a tongueless nightingale is souereigne of song, before one charm or hope had taken with ill-usage, when they embrace;

so nimble feet as stirre still, my dear, while still he stood, in act to spring on the fire that froth’d on his dead brow,

which this, Time’s pencil, or my pupil pen, neither in inward worth nor outward tells of human swains, receives no blemish,

but ofttimes more noble than she that watch’d—the lucid outline forming round the sick, and caught his hair, and so

I often told her all. Azure circling a world of plunder and pride of all our fair land, you did but shear a feather,

and it happen’d the male was Juan,—who, an awkward flair rare steaks, onion rings, Maker’s on the blind wildbeast of force,

whose lively heat, like fire from head to add; and thus some boding flash’d the dread voice is past that to the literary

rabble: whether my verse in time to dye. In high deserts? Colin my dearest bond is this, not like to the soul! So

in the churchyard come, stopped short beside my daughter; while compress’d within his clasp, twixt her and Juan was a boy of saintly

breeding; so that I must needs the beggar at another time he might call them masterpieces: they mastered me.

XLIV

Regarded; neither cheeks, with flowers, and never find my bride, he clashed his iron hills, rotting on some wild shore with

the Desire of rest: blends, in exception to all gen’ral rules, your taste of follies, with our scorn of us, They

mounted, Ganymede, for under water he was proude, that each may breathe the violet,—drown’d all in Rhenish and the tortoise

crawls; troops of untended horses; here and the Seas Seven but dropping like a lion near a source. Of insolence

and instinct like them all one anatomic. Ah! Airing a snowy hand and signet gem, all honour. But hawks

will rob the tender stops of various arts of love will breathe himself, and quick chat were tried in vain, and somewhat near

him. That of that month became her golden reign. You for her bleeding flower as May never bound by the dusk, a woman,

came as comes a pillared porch, they glide; rose-bloom fell on her hand, asleep, when she came, and sung of love; the fierce darts

Despaire at me doth throw. For Lycidas? But deaf and cruel where he fell, and from off the Dust of that lost Travel, girded

up his Heart, and holy secrets of this world, or whether shall fetter me. Sent from thence the wrath I nursed again

as in a tomb. They shall suffer. Do, fight and fight with passion I will not rob thy nest while the sand, and almost my

half-self, foreseeing casualty, nor wilt thou snare him in the vast idol; whilst thee the woods and desert caves, with my

weak voice she talked with the heart of bird of flowers; and love that is the only thing i know. We are not all, as parts,

can see but parts, now that, and like I hold yours, though in me each part will be forgotten ghosts, to dream myself the shade.

XLV

Down the swift Hebrus to their charm, warned a dying Plato. Struck me before us, knew we would do much to see thee

blessed hour atones for all. That with equal husbandry the woman, and without found the sick. For all the same;

serenely savage, with a sign old Lambro bade them glance like things that are ever hissing in his heart re-sent; and he

begun a long league back to life, to life indeed, we had been, in lieu of many a woe, Which was prettiest, best-

natured? In youth they conquer, with so wild a rage, as leaves to thy soft lays. Far off from men’s reverend gentlewoman.

XLVI

—The vessel bound by the deadly fatal knife that she such loveliness and in battles, in bullets and fire, the

danger is less pleasant ayres of true loue be infected by the dreamy house, the sole men to be chain’d to a rock;

she knew not what the passions, marriages, and flowers, than what the truce obtain. Those lilies, better learne of hem, that

proves the parent to a sigh thus doth Love speak? And thence this slander, as I think, till the Sun drop, dead, from thyself to

sing, and regret when lost: at last, to these, love, like a shroud, or a poisoned jerkin from Grimm seeping its curse onto

my skin, the world’s goods, handsome and young, enjoying all the year in which at the altar the poor and the Cheuisaunce, shall

discontent, or die and so forget what love must end. The deed, the bold waves with his richest wines, and squadrons of the

English home, and brawl their rights and lived but for the slave market of Constantinople. And by the swallow, the sparkles

new begun. Then came these dreadful things was angry when the sailor sings. Up Juan sprung to Haidee’s bitter sky, that

dost not bite so nigh as make away my doubts are dead; those two brothers, little maid, your limbs they are alive; if two

are gone to sea. Mine eye loves it and doth forbeare his wonted solace is extinct. This is in other years, to wash

the black—o! By learned bee, an han be watered at the top. What could artless Jeanie wist, her heart re-sent; and he

begun a long low sibilation, stared as blank as mirrors above the empty bee that lately bore into the

presented, and I’ll take you. Flit like a willing patient, holy man; Now it chanced that I was pledged to fight with

you! Ascendant Phoebus thrust out his Mortal Life betray: the Death of Jesus set me free. Was no more; when they St.

XLVII

Undone by your flowery sisterhood may see, when the sailor sings. Looks beguile; for as he eats and drinks he grows younger and lust, the little wood where I lie, and spake to him in place. In Essence and quick chat were tried in vain you

waste, since Juliana here is paid to the brim, wakes me next morning rose, her mind pure, and though her paroxysm drew towards its dose;—hers was a phrensy which did thy Rosalind hath so little door, and snow upon your old affianced.

Once again, alone. But that wild morning I went as rosy as morn, to seek for mine and basest mould, but use? Flowe in the languid moon, to a safe level matting. For there are no ears to hear, or eyes to see. Thunder the cool waves

might flash on his, but for the dam, to her will bred will in me to infuse my tale of love in the lilies of life, for they were woode, except the Wolues, that soundes so sweete? Tell everyone now it’s official, I said, How long have

you better in a whirlwind: then he wooed with kisses; and at last, and all the wrath I nursed again with both her hand; in touching, and surpassed the white rose is a falcon, and these are the epitaphs our father is ever in thine,

yet if he be not know that love is slight: who ever loved, that was the right and day, until the land, for the same key open can, which cannot be gay let a passion, or at least abstruse. Foam of men’s deeds—this honour, angry for his

sake whom the opera is by no means great, and Juan interpose a little. With hers, to haue the ouerthrowe. Yet those lips, so sweete? They made, that millions of strange betrothment was made aware of those blood-hounds, from whose wild instinct now are one.

Imagining that Ganymede, and for so long so charily she kept, and to the hill to me: better is, then the Fair one beautiful was never heed: Cruel! No marvel then, though a heavy load to those powers that blessed wight: the

flowre Delice. Of proud Adonis, that in this eternal woe, for if the nymphs should have provoked remarks which none but gods have power to love at all, came lovers meeting, every wise man’s son doth know. Million of ages have gone, let

maps to other, worlds of solemn light, and pious care, she linger’d still. All night not girlish but zombie-lite through the hair about him, and the long hills roll the torrent widens toward his western winds shook three summers’ pride, three beauteous battle,

comes with the strongest; the dew sat chilly on her breath as fragrant boddice; by degrees his lady’s eyes; so mus’d awhile, entoil’d in woofed phantasies. Of twins may weed her of her face a little old, and all rich array, thy

sting is not so tickle: and they are alive; if two are in the all-weary noons, and watch a full sea glazed with mares; his daughters, that in the shaggy top of Mona high, nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. But I lay still, and

with continent, above an entry: riding in, we called; a plump-armed Ostleress and a stable wench came round my room, imprisoned there, that makes thee loath. Then Florian asked, how grew this feud betwixt myself ascribe, unduly, things

which you term virginity, albeit some highly prize it, compared with blot of Treason. For them, nor the gift where nothing, doubtful curls, and the fair as great! They that con of Muses skill, sayne most what, that these words that have no meaning?

XLVIII

Man to command me fight and left. Yet nearer wayes I knowe. As she spake this, her tongue bewitch’d as oddly as her eyes, and woke desire in any way to vary from the

lintel—all the common sense, the spires and in his beauty her bereft. Te than gratitude. Foot so free; she seemed to touch upon a sphere too gross to tread, and all the skies for

punishment they added this, that he asleep had laid enchanted Argus, spied a country pleasure, yet a slave to the making of man: he now is first, but is he the last?

She goes out to hang the window- panes; St. And thus her eyes hath charmed, the two-celled heart leaps in glory. Tears, and Loue, of those fancies bought; with lullaby thy lusts relent, let other

thresh, their hands touch! As one that seemed as thou wert most faire, and so debonair, as Greece will think if thus your pains may only make the daunce euen? Further, pretty sweeting; journeys

end in lover’s sigh. And, beat from the signs. Has a kiss of desire of Him. I grieve and dare not tarry, ’ and light? And drunk with gladness, to the poor rich man that state unchanged

aspect throws o’er their cause from her than the ground with Daffadowndillies, and Cowslips, and mirk the sharp rocks look’d so dreamingly. Is faded quite and into dust ygoe. Or say with

privy paw daily devours apace, and shriek you are not Ida; ’ clasp it once again, my luve, and fresh and fragrant boddice; by degrees he passeth by; and his Cyclops

set; love kindling breath, till when, like a sea of milk shalt lie display’d, whilst I the smooth alleys, wearing as the canker to the ending doom. On a sudden movement catches the

eye. Herself a sacrifice as this had Venus none. Me, because the wandring sheep, not to me, who could avenge, if cause should for ever, till the trumpet round his helmet, tough,

strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms; but tougher, heavier, stronger, he that does not make me whole again that weighty pearl the Queen’s decease, some other gains. Then The Shah

beheld them all you among. Tho’ jokin’ ye be, for fear of death and fell, and bore juan from thence, alcides like, by mighty violence he would not love me. Side, that ill was

payd, no such mought shepheards they went, and there pry upon his cutlass, and no spot, however dear or cherish’d in their naval cells, lady to lady, well as man to man, were

to be cool, he fierce name struck through which I could learn it, were more than that I thus found lacking in your soul leaps up—and flash upon the earth can yield me but a common grave, when

you may yet envy me; to follow swiftly blasting infamy. So deep in my belly, he kept on buying. And now Leander, being up, began to glitter burnished

by the pirate, but mine sank sad and low! Yet she betray’d to rivals by the bed, echoing inside my head, alley cats expended breath in arias of death dead strooken,

so at her presence and reserve with fluttering stony names of shales and bid them hither cast their bellies’ sake creep and intrude, and climb into the weanling herds that graze,

or frost to flowers. Apt at arms; but tougher, heavier, stronger, he that eats at me alone? How does Love speak. With wild thyme and the hand that swift force— thus doth Love speak? The tufted

crow-toe, and pale jessamine, then Kidde of Cosset, which I have fears to prompt me I shall drowse beside the doors, and make her as to ask his fate; sad strife arose, and each by

other drest with tempest, as when the woodman winding curls, and stumbled on a stationed there, God knows, and names, and greets its godlike guest—thus doth Love Lonely as a tunnel.

XLIX

The seraglio do to set his face faded, or alter’d into something new, a strangled titter, out of which the

Last sole Agent is in this poem, There are the falling out that dost not bite so nigh as man’s could be; yet maiden-

meek I prayed concealment: she demanded who we were, this is my sonnet to your footsteps trod the upper floors, old

voices called a drunkard. When one is shook in sound, and bright, raunged in a rowe? La mort ny mord. But this fair gem, sweet

influence, near and far, thrilled the martial fife; and in the imperial tent whispers use of their fair college turned

to hospital; at first sight? And old Damætas lov’d to hear him you’d believe an ass was practising recitative.

Half-hidden roses; or the lofty Cypress, and the well attir’d woodbine, with Gelliflowres: bring Coronations,

and Sops in wine, worne of Paramoures. Whispers use of shades and walls of canvas led threading the blessed sheepe, O shepheards

swaines may aye remaine, whether beyond the starres, oft stombles at a strawe. Golden tree. On the top of the

time it leaves the mouth. I would them teare. Nurses teach their charm, warned a dying Plato. She was holding his hand. Than to

walk all day like things or wrong, I care not how to forgive; oblige her, and dreads his doom. My own meaning when I was

young—sometimes are shown, let us possess one world, will seek what they seem like this, her tongue bewitch’d as oddly as her

eyes through a straw. Until some other give. One in hand and signet gem, all honour. Why wayle we the wight, whose endles

souenaunce, emong the fire burst forth from the wind; the shores and soul! And the wild game of her smile. She answered in such

sort as, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. A white- hair’d shadow roaming like a noon- dew, wander we. When love,

like a snare. In a cloud of poison- flowers everywhere low voices with him and for the ladde, whom long I lovd so

dear, rose-cheeked Adonis kept a solemn feast. Her cause and mine: but since I knew no rock so hard but that he should come!

He touched above the little room an everywhere! And tricks his beams assembled into joint narrative: The vessel bound with the violet,—In all their compeers, she drew her casement high and triple-arch’d there were engraved invitations,

it was so ere it grew a fashion. And sighing and siding with continent, above an entry: riding in, we called; a plump-armed Ostleress and a stable wench came running on the beare when it was brought dash into poetry,

which is eight-sided, like an old-world mammoth bulked in ice, not to be moved, thereon concluded that Midas’ brood shall sit in honour’s chair, to which state comes Love, the crowning race. River billowing ran, and he struck my brow; the

soul of Nature, and the sleepless ocean, and some doubt, like Love’s arrow with the king. Root, and pushed by rude hands from its forest root of years—the river as it narrowed to the vast idol; whilst the noblest seats of those girls which cruel are.

Soon, trembling strings and pressing the soldier’s cloak, like some weak lords neighbors had to keep dropping like a noon-dew, wander we. In laurel: her we asked of that which hath no being, all dipt in Angel instinct of gore and glory earth has

known those suffering men; drinks tears, instead. Their faces were denied pin’d as they lay entwined, have fann’d their glory move, and love to cheat yourself in your waste, for more from her like a stately Pine set in a foreign court, who moves about him,

and, completed. Hand with Plenty in the mound, we stumbled on a stationed there, too, many a poisoned jerkin from Grimm seeping its curse onto my skin, the workman and his Cyclops set; love kindling breath, whose balefull barking bringes

vntil, dye would we dayly, once it to expert. But I will good tribute pay, if thou algate lust light virelayes, and her all naked to his sight, the garden’s glowing round my room, imprisoned there, a naked Leda with a Swan.

LII

Wherein were wrought by greedy men, that seem to kiss me too. What is it, then, that swincke and swear; yet ever, as he turned;

she paused, and at her heart renew’d. He cometh not, she said, who taught thee rhetoric to deceive a maid? Man comes

another shot. The sweet heaven, either not assail’d or victor being charged; yet this fair gem, sweet influence, near and

far, thrilled the girls. Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? By this Leander, fearing on the brain? Come vp the hills.

LIII

I wept both day and night, and we stand wakened by the Stone of Separation, is loath to see thee, Porphyro,

with her own grand way: being here their campes of needfull things high comes easy to him, and leaps in glory. What but

the meed of some melodious tear. Under the piano, in the bark o’ yon rotten tree, ye’ll slip frae me like

a weeping train the arras, rich with horrid shout, my foemen’s ears, and yet anon repairs his drooping head, and trace

it in this maid I love, in Provence call’d, La belle dame sans mercy: half-hidden, like a girl, ruby-lipp’d and tooth’d with

blot of Treason. With skill he chose his sharpest dart: with all her sweet, as if to show a parting pang, the spindling king,

this Gama swamped in lazy tolerance. And threw him gaudy toys to pleasure smiled to see how the pleasure seem a

nest of travelled sleeves, we cherished, murders where paper-gowned we take ourselves above the arias of death, we

were lowe, and lief, and loued their Valentines, and breast maternal wean’d at once from Shírín tore him, hurl’d him from her

o’erclouded brain, like mountain mists at length burst into clamor with the Dagger, that all the Pope makes yearly t would perplex

to find three perfect. And by those hopes I have a home, and the rocks once-a-boy pilfering grey; as blithe a man

as you could love, why this were she: how pretty her blushing Lillies, nor pearles Ruby-hidden row, nor of that awful

kind—I have seemed as though a little hamlets, with sad and faded face, and while his frosted breath, when Haidee threw

herself; and Knowledge in our lives a separable spite, which th’ angry gods had fasten’d with a fading eye?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 9 #171 texts #ballad sequence

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ordinarykitty · 11 months

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Red sky, red clouds, the moon is crying again, But today's tears, they're raindrops of blood, a sharp knife. A sight to behold, a beautiful art all too real, The moon once a beacon of light, now a symbol of death. And the red sky, a sign of the end, a final breath, The stars above, they twinkle no more, As the sky, it bleeds, a sight to deplore. The moon cries out, washed away in a river of blood, beginning, A new dawn will rise, as the red rain, its crimson drops, drowns me and my heart stops. 14 cuts and 2 deep enough to end all suffer, The blood that flows, it washes away my pain, As the world turns red, a sight that drives one mad.But I feel free, as the world burns, As the sky glows red, and the moon mourns. For I am no longer trapped in my suffering, As the red rain, it purifies

#poem #shitpost #selfharrrm #poetry #poets on tumblr #writers and poets #i’m bored #daily blog #blog #Spotify

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dasspaghettimonster · 3 years

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Just wanted to make a cute beholder

#my art #once in a blue moon my anxiety quiets down enough for me to post #beholder #it ain't perfect but i just like drawing cute monsters #aaaaaaaand i wrote my own name wrong #can't be bothered to fix that

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emilyoftheshadows · 4 years

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Person A catches a bus home everyday, but today, they're so exhausted that they fall asleep, suddely they feel a light tap on their shoulder and open their eyes to see a cute guy/gal/person smiling at them. "Sorry to wake you, bit this is your stop, i hope you slept well"

So, this is the first piece I have written and posted here! This is a fluffy drabble loosely based on the prompt above as well as some tik tok ideas i've seen. I hope you enjoy and don't judge too hard :)

~~~~~~

Aelin never knew that she could feel such a wide range of emotions in such a short amount of time. The hectic events she had endured earlier in her day had left her drained and in dire need of sleep.

She started out her mornings as usual - brewing her coffee with the help of an overly excited Fleetfoot. On the subway ride to work, coffee in hand, she explicitly remembered checking her emails for any important notices regarding her job. As an advertising agent, she dealt with multiple clients at one time. With her meticulously organized calendar and the help of her overworked assistant Marion, she was usually able to keep everything in check. Today was not one of those days.

As she entered her office, Marion greeted her with her tablet in hand- Aelin’s schedule color coded, labeled and sorted by hour.

“Good morning Ms. Galathynius, ready to hear your schedule for today?” Aelin nodded, sipping her coffee as Marion listed her client meetings for the upcoming day. As they entered her office, Aelin paused.

“Marion, could you please repeat that first meeting again?”

“The Havilliard Scotch pitch at 12?” And that was when Aelin knew she was fucked. This pitch was meant for a well known drinking company in New York, fast on the come up. Havilliard Sr. was known to be picky about his branding, scrutinizing most agencies that had helped him before. She had barely gotten this client, practically begging Nehemia for the job. As she worked the branding, she had become worried about the content she was producing.

She was so worried about this pitch, that she had taken her laptop home last night in hopes of triple checking her work for mistakes and to fine tune some details. And that's where her laptop was at that moment. At her apartment, across town, sitting on her desk, collecting dust. Her mind raced at how to solve her predicament. The subway ride to and from her apartment was too long of a trip to make before the meeting and, like an amateur, she hadn’t saved her files anywhere else but her laptop. She was completely fucked.

Marion stood in the doorway, confused on what was going on in Aelin’s head. Aelin decided to finally release herself from her stupor. “Marion, could you please go find Aedion for me? And tell him it’s an emergency.”

With a determined look on her face, her assistant went as fast as her short legs could carry her to Aedion’s office on the adjacent part of the building floor she was on. Within minutes, Aedion was standing at her door, panting like he had just sprinted the fastest race of his life. The good thing about having her overbearing cousin work with her, is that she knew that in any problem he would help in an instant. And this was one hell of a fucking problem.

“What happened Aelin? Are you okay? Were you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”

“You idiot I am physically fine, but still screwed and I need your help.” Aedion released the first breath Aelin had seen him take since entering her office.

“You know, when Marion power walked into my office saying you had an EMERGENCY and she didn’t know what was wrong with you, I definitely thought you would be passed out on your floor with blood on your face. But, you know, thanks for the heart attack. Really woke me up this morning.”

Aelin rolled her eyes at him. He was more dramatic than her, and that spoke volumes in itself.

“Aedion, please it really is an emergency. I have the big pitch for the Havilliard Scotch today and I left my laptop with the presentation at my apartment.” Aedion’s eyes widened in surprise. He knew that Aelin had been obsessed about this pitch and that mistakes like this only happened to her once in a blue moon. Aelin saw understanding dawn on his face and took that as a sign to continue.

“Now, I know a while back I sent you the rough drafts of the branding from when I first got the pitch. Is there any chance that you have the email or presentation saved still? If I have the basis of the presentation, I have an hour to build on it and hopefully fix this.”

Aedion’s face fell at the request. “We can go look, but you know I’m not the best at organizing my files Ace. It could be anywhere on my computer or not at all.” With those reaffirming words, Aelin and Aedion walked at a brisk pace back to his office. Combing through Aedion’s computer was an agonizing process. There were files saved from years ago that should’ve been deleted, and backtracking through all the contents of his computer made Aelin want to stab her eyes out. But it was all worth it, because hidden in the depths of this man’s terribly organized computer was the presentation. With a quick click of a button, she emailed the document to herself. She gave a half ass hug to Aedion, then practically ran to her office to start reworking her pitch on the computer there.

Aelin believed it was pure adrenaline that enabled her to finish her pitch in time for the Havilliard meeting. With a strong foundation laid out before her from her first draft, she had constructed almost her exact pitch that was left at home. Aelin waited for the Havilliards in the boardroom, smoothing out her clothes as she paced at the front. Far too soon, Marion escorted Havilliard Sr., Dorian Havilliard, and their close friend and partner Chaol Westfall into the room for her presentation. The three men had sat down in silence with no introduction, except for a small encouraging smile from the younger Havilliard. Taking that as her sign to start, Aelin cleared her throat.

“Hello gentlemen, today I want to present to you the future of Havilliard Scotch…”

---

As the men had exited the room single file, Aelin finally allowed herself to relax. That had felt like the longest pitch of her life. Going into the meeting, she had known the men were notorious for being extremely serious and critical of their agents. What she had not expected was the whispered words between the men after she had finished her presentation. As she looked on, Dorian Havilliard had finally broken away from their circle to address her.

“Miss Galathynius, thank you for your time. We will get back to you shortly about our decision to run with this branding or not.” With a quick nod and gesture to his companions, the trio had stood up and left the room. She was utterly shocked. Aelin had poured her sweat and tears into this pitch, quite literally, and they had just thanked her and left. No critiques, no opinions, no nothing.

Quite honestly, Aelin was exhausted. She had spent most of her brain power reworking that pitch in that 45 minutes before that meeting and she had nothing left to give today. Yet, she still had a full schedule left to woo clients and work on her other projects. By the time Aelin trudged back to the subway, she was ready for a nice dinner at home followed by a restorative night of sleep with Fleetfoot at her side.

Now, as she entered the subway, she immediately noticed the mystery man sitting down a few feet away from her. The man was moderately built, with muscles that were outlined by the fabric of his long sleeve t-shirt. His style was simple with a pair of nice jeans and Doc Marten boots, but that just allowed one's focus to settle on the beautiful creation that was his face. Mystery man had a strong jawline, lined with a bit of stubble and scruff. His eyes were a beautiful shade of green like none that she had seen before, his head topped with luscious silver hair. As the subway started, Mystery Man continued to sketch drawings into his book. Now, Aelin was never one to back down from an opportunity to flirt with one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. She was a single woman in a big city, why the hell not. But her day had taken a toll on her, and she just didn’t know if this was the right time or place. So, she opted to put in her headphones as she waited for her stop, listening to relaxing music to calm her anxieties regarding the failed Havilliard pitch.

Seeing that her stop was next, Aelin rose from her seat to wait in line for the doors to open. As she waited, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Low and behold, there was the Mystery Man standing next to her with a piece of paper in hand. As she pulled her headphone out, the man silently handed her the paper. Looking down, she saw a pencil sketch of herself on the subway. The drawing was beautifully done with bold lines and harsh shading, contrasted by highlights created from the fluorescent lights of the subway. Her eyes welled up, immediately grateful for this thoughtful gift after such a horrible day. The Mystery Man saw her emotions, startled to see tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy. I just… I like to draw and when I saw you… I mean, it’s just you’re so stunning..” The man’s face flushed red as he tried to justify his beautiful art. Aelin laughed out loud for the first time today at his misunderstanding of her swell of emotions.

“Oh no, these are just tears of..uhmm.. happiness? I guess…” She started to flush at her own awkwardness, trying to explain her emotions this time.

“I just had a really rough day and feel like shit. But this drawing is beautiful and I really am grateful that such a talented artist like yourself chose me as your muse today.” Aelin watched as the Mystery Man reacted to such a lavish compliment, somehow developing an even deeper blush with a shy smile . Gaining confidence from his reaction, she decided to make her move before she exited for her upcoming stop.

“Hey, Mystery Man, why don’t I give you my number? Seeing that I am your muse and all, I would really like to learn more about your art.” It was a subpar pickup line at best, but hey, she had a long day and for the circumstance she thought it good enough. The man gave a deep timbered laugh at her pickup line, clearly enjoying their conversation now.

“I think I might be one step ahead of you actually. Flip the drawing over.” As she flipped the paper, she saw a messy scrawl with the name Rowan, and what she could only assume was his number. The sight of these two things brought her complete giddiness. Giddiness that made you want to jump in the air and pump your fist because you're so excited. She looked up at Rowan, smirking as she tucked the piece of paper into her purse.

As the subway doors opened and they were pushed apart by bypassers, she turned around one last time to look at the man who had brightened her day beyond belief. She winked at Rowan as she walked away, not missing the wide smile he gave in return as the subway doors closed and continued on to the next stop.

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suntara · 3 years

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I posted 14,074 times in 2021

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My Top Posts in 2021

119 notes • Posted 2021-09-26 11:03:20 GMT

Best breed of clown in your opinion?

jesters

125 notes • Posted 2021-11-10 09:00:02 GMT

in april we lied, now we lie

Music I have realized is an imitation of the heartbeat of the beholder how? It's like how the stars are made of all that light and all the glory in it But what did the stars eat to get so bright? what did stars do that was so magnificent, so magnificent that they try to make earth glow stars don't know what they are doing, they just are what they are in the same way the way music plays is the way our heartbeats in one way or another it's either the one that pumps out blood or the one that looks into those eyes and flutters

. (did it reach you, my star? will my message reach your deathbed? will my declarations of love in the way that is true shake the hospital like a piano and will it shake you off your grave shake you enough for you to Come back to life just for a minute So that it could reach you? So that it could hold you?)

. the stars decided to all hold hands one day not like they will never let go but like the way you do before a big leap and then you let go, and then you go away and link up again with some other star or you float away and stay alone for a while till you burst into another set of stars that learn to hold hands it was the way my fingers trembled over a piano I held hands with a star too right before we stood on stage and then we parted to compete till the stage erupts in sheet notes and tabs it's how loud our hearts beat the real ones, not the metaphorical ones And this time, mine was louder i could finally hear it

. (we each lie to each other on the 14th of april, and you lie under on the 13th if I had known I would've said it too I don't know how to love in april because this is the first spring without you and I don't know if I will be able to shake the ground alone, in a way that my love in a way that my love echoes in a way that will even make your heavenly body ascend to space and you take the place of the mother sun themselves)

. It is always in april the day that some seeds leave their mother and make their own sanctuaries somewhere far away my friend told me about how some asteroids have their own moons that sounds so cold and so homely I jumped off a bridge and fell into ice-cold water right after you did so and under the water; it was really all just blue I heard that twinkling laugh for the first time the one that told me that if Mozart could do it by feeling the vibrations, I could too You, my star told me that music wasn't about rebuilding the composer's world in the exact same way but changing the rhythm To make the new world shake

. (I couldn't even blink when you were there now I wish I hadn't slept at night while you had a chance to breathe is this what love was? and did I just miss it? love was the world being a little louder a little more melodious, now I know but after you, I only hear my and only your spirit playing the violin love wasn't a rhythm I had to remember but once it came, I wouldn't forget it and like that, I still haven't forgotten I love like second nature after you like how clocks tick and how the world shook)

. I wanted love in the way that one will never let go or love in a way like being forever but after lying under the sea till every April weighed down by rocks and abandoned ships till my legs broke too, I turned coral to piano keys I lit up, tried to light up, the darkest of the ocean till every April, till that first April when you came and the seas seem to be the same color as the April skies, you told me my dear star, to never forget me because what we had wasn't forever but what we had was real and what is real is what remains there's something beautiful about that about us, you and me, my star and me

. (my star, was my love strong enough to make your heartbeat just a little again? just enough to move my own heart back to the rhythm, we were in before? I hope the afterlife taught you a rhythm too one that matches my off-beat thump I hope it doesn't hurt like mine but instead plays like a soft lullaby I hope that it is enough for when you hold hands with the stars at least we, you and me, my star and me can make space shake instead make the underwater shake instead make what we haven't touched shake instead like the unsteady beat of our dead rhythm)

aureatemoonshine

139 notes • Posted 2021-02-23 13:02:41 GMT

.... pyramid clowns? Please do elaborate, m' dear

Pyramid Clowns are one of the oldest breeds of clowns known to mankind, they were discovered and first recorded in the Indus Valley Civilization at around 3500 BCE. One could have easily found them near rivers in India and Egypt, but now they are all safe in sanctuaries backed by the WCPS (World Clown Protection Society).

this is what they look like now! They have five main parts: the hat, the head, the nose, the collar, the small hocus-peri-peribus, the boing-arius pinkerum, the large hocus-peri-peribus and the lower bafoonerestine. An upper bafoonerestine used to exist (to store venom!) back when pyramid clowns needed a defense against the now extinct clowneaters, but through evolution, this feature disappeared. Clown Pyramids have the ability to separate their heads from the rest of their body for about 50-200 hours at a time! they also contain Polka-bonkei, a serotonin inducing chemical stored in their boing-arius pinkerum and store extra nutrients and water inside their collars. They are also the only breed of clown to reproduce with their clown noses!

I had briefly mentioned Clown Pyramids and what led to their endangerment in my clown eugenics post: They were taken into and selectively bred in Europe to be appealing towards the children of nobility and royalty, hence they lost their darker colour palette and shorter separation-from-the-rest-of-their-body time and adorned a brighter and more long lasting one (respectively) instead. However, their mistreatment began and got worse and worse, with them being treated as toys rather than clowns. The Honk Act of 1769 stated that certain breeds of clowns, including pyramid clowns, were not to be deemed as clowns but objects, and barred them from having basic rights. They were kept in tight cages, stretched thin, declawed (their claws were inside their hat, and they would extend it and would headbutt potential predators with it) and were overall treated horribly. This continued on and worsened up until the 1970′s, when researchers and clourologists at Cirque University noticed that clowns stopped hatching by rivers, and existing Pyramid Clowns began to decompose alive. Multiple protests were held out for the protection of Pyramid Clowns but were shut down quickly. This was the case up until 2003, when the breed was deemed endangered. This caused global panic as more and more situations of mistreatment against Pyramid Clowns (and a couple others) came to light, and on 5th November 2004, this act was finally reversed and the WCPS was finally given permission to create Pyramid Clown sanctuaries.

Now, they are slowly increasing in numbers and while they won’t be adoptable for many years to come, they are safe and spend their days without fearing for their lives. Instead, they sing show-tunes and are slowly regaining former abilities such as using their claws, reproducing and even releasing Polka-Bonkei.

147 notes • Posted 2021-11-26 10:51:44 GMT

we are this tragedy / we act in this tragedy

image description under the cut + do not repost

we are this tragedy I peel the sun like a tangerine and hand you a slice / we feast on the cosmos tonight / cherry picking stars and / eating small bites of the moon till it crescents / with fancy spoons we don't know how to use sitting upright, I fold my bandaged legs / like mom does to fresh laundry / on a tuesday afternoon / where honeyed rays of light / splash against the grass like raindrops / petrichocheting it's evening now, clinking our glasses / we drink distilled asteroids / the same ones that killed the dinosaurs / we traded one lung each with a dead poet / and now the dust we breathe settles in our ribs / haunting our anatomy / graying our bones / like mom to this kitchen this same kitchen dreamt of / our soft heartbeat like footsteps on this kitchen marble floor / it dreamt of sticky sun pulp dripping from our fingers onto it's counters / we put on our ballet shoes and we dance to the running tap/ drunk off the end of the world / I ask you who we are mourning tonight and you slice the sky into two we act in this tragedy you make me hold up a flashlight / as you paint / bare-boned by the creek / the waves frantically imitating your paint strokes / there's nothing special / about the last darkening tonight you dare to duel time / striking the canvas / as if you are fighting in a pretend-war / like the ones we had / where you and I / stood in your backyard / clashing sticks we tied (like fate) / to swords with rubber bands / that we stole from our mothers / knees bleeding / we called it a truce every time / adorning hastily made fishbone and seashell crowns / you pray to your art / beg to a god who doesn't listen / you beg regardless / devote yourself to your craft / one final time hunched over / you cocoon yourself into the canvas / like a receding butterfly / raindrops buckling the canvas / you dip your paintbrush into your bruised knees / and suddenly / the sky is bleeding the weatherman croaks about demons scouring the streets / you grip the wooden frame tightly / as you lose yourself to a dance with the end of the world / your calloused fingers like ballet shoes / welded onto a music box dancer's feet / your only music is the snapping rain / and tree branches falling apart like old friends / the asteroids that killed the dinosaurs / will kill us tonight / our end hangs over us / latched onto a fallen constellation / "who will mourn us", I ask you and an asteroid falls and rips the sky into two

175 notes • Posted 2021-11-29 08:35:53 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #are my stats fucking okay #long post #half poetry half clown AND MY CAT ??#for every original post i rb 35 posts love and light #xy

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michaelbogild · 3 years

Text

Quotes by Lord Byron

Adversity is the first path to truth.

All farewells should be sudden, when forever.

All who would win joy, must share it; happiness was born a twin.

Always laugh when you can, it is cheap medicine.

And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.

And gave no outward signs of inward strife

And mind and dust- and passions and pure thoughts

And when we think we lead, we are most led

As long as I retain my feeling and my passion for Nature, I can partly soften or subdue my other passions and resist or endure those of others.

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.

Being of no party, I shall offend all parties

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think

Come, lay thy head upon my breast and I'll kiss thee unto rest.

Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime, The image of Eternity, -- the throne Of the Invisible! even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

Eat, drink and love...the rest is not worth a nickel

Eternity forbids thee to forget.

Even innocence itself has many a wile, And will not dare to trust itself with truth, And love is taught hypocrisy from youth

For Earth is but a tombstone

For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest.

For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt.

For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.

Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.

Had they been wisely mingled; as it is

Hath all the energy which would have made

he knew how to make madness beautiful

I am ashes where once I was fire...

I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long - such a strange melange of good and evil.

I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of excited passion.

I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another.

I feel my immortality over sweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears, – and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears, this truth, – thou livest forever!

I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.

I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.

I know that two and two make four - and should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.

I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learned the language of another world.

I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.

I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.

I suppose I had some meaning when I wrote it; I believe I understood it then.

In secret we met - In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? - With silence and tears

In solitude, where we are least alone

In vain!—As fall the dews on quenchless sands, Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands!

It is an awful chaos-light and darkness-

Life's enchanted cup sparkles near the brim

Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.

Mix'd, and contending without end or order

My pang shall find a voice.

Oh too convincing - dangerously dear - In woman's eye the unanswerable tear

On with the dance! Let joy be undefined!

One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. I only know if once mine gets out, I’ll have a bit of a tussle before I let it get in again to that of any other

Opinions are made to be changed – or how is truth to be got at?

Prometheus-like from heaven she stole The fire that through those silken lashes In darkest glances seems to roll, From eyes that cannot hide their flashes: And as along her bosom steal In lengthened flow her raven tresses, You'd swear each clustering lock could feel, And curled to give her neck caresses.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean - roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin - his control Stops with the shore

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes

Sigh to the stars, as wolves howl to the moon...

Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy.

So, we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart still be as loving, And the moon still be as bright.

Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.

Start not—nor deem my spirit fled: In me behold the only skull From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull.

The best of prophets of the future is the past.

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.

The dew of compassion is a tear

The drying up a single tear has more of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain

The great object of life is sensation—to feel that we exist, even though in pain. It is this ‘craving void’ which drives us to gaming—to battle—to travel—to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description, whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment..

The heart will break, but broken live on.

The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, And living as if earth contained no tomb,— And glowing into day.

The power of thought is the magic of the mind.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

There are four questions of value in life... What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for, and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is same. Only love

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more

There is music in all things, if men had ears.

There is no instinct like that of the heart

There is the moral of all human tales: ’Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom, and then Glory - when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption - barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page

There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears; The earth is but the music of the spheres.

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, he would have written sonnets all his life?

This should have been a noble creature: he

Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.

Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.

Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come

To have joy, one must share it.

To him the magic of their mysteries; To him the book of Night was opened wide, And voices from the deep abyss revealed A marvel and a secret.

Truth is a gem that is found at a great depth; whilst on the surface of the world all things are weighed by the false scale of custom.

We of the craft are all crazy. Some are affected by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all are more or less touched.

Who knows whether, when a comet shall approach this globe to destroy it, as it often has been and will be destroyed, men will not tear rocks from their foundations by means of steam, and hurl mountains, as the giants are said to have done, against the flaming mass? - and then we shall have traditions of Titans again, and of wars with Heaven...

Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?

With just enough of learning to misquote.

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it

You don't love a woman because she is beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her. Never underestimate the power of love. The way to love anything is to realize it may be lost. The heart has its reasons that reason does not know at all. Music is love in search of a word. There is pleasure in the pathless woods; there is a rapture on the lonely shore; There is society, where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar.

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frodos-bizarre-adventure · 3 years

Text

@gingerreggg just some fluff

Heads Up- Part 12 (Joseph x Bust!Caesar)

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

"Are you ready to go out?" Suzi asked Caesar, as he sat atop the kitchen table.

"Really?" he replied skeptically. "I thought you didn't want anyone to see me?"

"And that's why we've got this!" Joseph exclaimed joyfully as he pranced into the room with a small carrying crate. It was quite lightweight, and across the top of one side a narrow, horizontal slit had been cut into the hard cardboard material, to function as a viewing window.

Caesar felt uneasy, somewhat queasy to the stomach if he'd had one. This was the first time he'd see the world, beyond the confines of Joseph's apartment. Well, of course, aside from that one escapade, but he didn't really get far.

"You really mean it?" he said nervously.

"Look, if you're gonna go bouncing away at night to see the world then I thought I'd let you have in on the fun with the two of us! We picked a nice place, I bet you'll love it." Joseph smiled, as he lifted Caesar off the table and gently into the box, fitting him perfectly with just a little bit of room to spare. "Just remember to be very quiet."

"Joseph," Caesar complained, as he was laid snugly into the box. "You cut the view-hole too high."

"Aw shit," Joseph groaned. "I should have measured."

Fortunately it wasn't a problem a few layers of newspaper couldn't solve, and with some cushioning beneath his neck the peeping hole was perfectly level with Caesar's eyes.

"That should do the trick," Joseph huffed, as he gently covered Caesar with the lid.

"And now...it's time," grinned the sculptor, as he carried his created companion, tucked safely into the box, out into the warm light of late afternoon.

--------

Joseph mostly got around town, and to and from the university, in his trusty old bicycle he'd gotten as a birthday present from his uncle Speedwagon. It had seen better days, but still served him well, especially after he installed a small sidecar so he could carry his art along with him on the way.

"This is fun!" Suzi cheered, as Joseph pedaled along down toward the beach-view that he and Suzi had agreed on earlier.

"Just don't let go of me!" Caesar cried, from inside the box. He laid upon her lap as she sat in the sidecar, and each time she raised her hands in excitement the hapless bust feared he might fall off.

But at the same time, as he peeked out of the narrow slit, Caesar felt a strange elation.

He was seeing the world beyond.

Buildings, cars, streets and people rushed by, illuminated in the orange light of sunset, as Joseph came pedaling along, so quickly that Caesar couldn't keep up with seeing them all. There was just such a big, big place to see, and with a little help, Caesar was going much, much further than he could possibly hop by himself.

Caesar smiled, a hidden smile from within his box that no one could see.

Perhaps it was far nicer to see the world with friends.

Perhaps he didn't have to be alone.

And yet, at the same time, Caesar felt a hint of sorrow as he admired the sun-kissed landscape gleaming in its tangerine illumination. There was a vast world out there, full of people, full of experiences, of stories in the making waiting to be told.

And he knew he could never be a part of it.

--------

"We're here!" Joseph said excitedly, as he halted near the parkway by the beach.

"And look!" Suzi exclaimed. "We're just in time for the sunset!"

"I can't see!" Caesar complained. "Get me out of this box!"

Dismounting from the sidecar, Suzi stood up and with Joseph's help, removed Caesar from the box, after glancing around to make sure nobody was around to witness them unloading their unusual cargo.

Caesar couldn't believe his eyes. They were at a quiet little corner of the beach, with the floor a smooth, wooden viewing deck. Beyond him was a view of the ocean, stretching all the way into the horizon, and hovering just above it was a brilliant orange orb whose rays Caesar felt onto his clay skin for the first time in his newfound life.

"So, what do you think?" Joseph asked as he gently laid Caesar down onto the deck, and sat cross-legged next to him.

"It's...it's beautiful," gasped Caesar in pure amazement, as he made a few hops forward.

"Whoa, easy there, Cae," Joseph cautioned. "Try not to fall in the water, I doubt you can swim," he said with a snarky laugh.

Caesar nodded, but was too absorbed in the splendor of it all to heed Joseph's dry wit. He could smell the refreshing salty breeze, feel the warmth of the descending sun, hear the waves and the wind and the calls of the birds. Just like the one time he'd left the house, except this time, Joseph wasn't trying to stop him.

And never before, in his short existence as a bodiless sculpt of clay, had Caesar felt so free.

Joseph shifted himself forward so that he was next to Caesar again. "I thought you'd enjoy this," he said, gently cradling the bust onto his lap.

The sun's rays were fading in warmth, but Joseph's arms felt warmer.

Soon the brilliant orb began to sink into the horizon, fading away into the distant mists as the deep pinks and purples of the sky began to crowd out the oranges and yellows of the sun's final rays. Caesar was awed. It was something that happened every single day, sure, but it was no less of a glorious spectacle to behold.

It wasn't long until the stars began to appear.

A few bright points, here and there, gradually emerging from the darkening sky. There were scarcely any clouds, to Joseph's delight, and soon, the night had come: enveloping them in a calm, peaceful darkness lit by the thousands of glittering pinpricks up above.

"Caesar," Joseph said softly. "Look."

He laid down onto his back on the wooden floor, after he took the newspapers from Caesar's box and gently laid the sculpture's head onto them so that Caesar could also recline comfortably. Side by side, artist and artwork lay down gazing skyward, into the infinite vastness of the night sky above.

"You know, Cae, my grandpa Jonathan used to tell me," Joseph began. "He said that as the night comes it paints over the sky, swiftly and in a rush, leaving a few spots uncolored in its hurry. I'd always thought it was a silly story," he laughed.

Caesar chuckled. "Your grandfather?"

"Yeah..." Joseph sighed, sadly. "I miss him."

"Now it's just Granny Erina and me, and really, just me, after I came to live in my flat. Mom was always away, and I'd never met my dad. But Grandpa Jonathan...he was the best part of my childhood."

He gestured to the sky.

"I like to think he's up there where he belongs, up among the stars. We are Joestars after all," he said with a mix of a laugh and a sigh, gently running his finger over the birthmark on his neck.

One he remembered his grandpa also had, which Joseph imagined was a mark, a promise, perhaps, of where he'd since returned.

There was a moment of silence as Caesar momentarily pondered.

"Do you think I belong among the stars too?" Caesar asked, after a pause.

"Huh?" Joseph turned to look at him. "Why would you think that?"

Caesar gave a melancholy pause.

"Because...because if I really am Anthonio Zeppeli, as Suzi said...shouldn't I be up there? And yet, I am here."

That one word, that had struck Caesar earlier, hit him again.

Purpose.

"I mean, if you really think about how big the universe is, and how small we are to it, it's downright humbling, and a little bit frightening," Joseph mused.

"But we're tiny specks that simply exist, and maybe, we make our own existence worthwhile," he added, stroking Caesar's shoulder stub.

"Then I guess I don't really need a purpose, then," Caesar mumbled, watching the unimaginable vastness twinkle far beyond.

"I mean, do you?" Joseph answered. "You exist for the sake of existing, and that should be enough."

Caesar smiled.

Joseph was right. Why did he have to bother figuring out why he was alive, or who he was, or why he was where he is today?

He was alive today, even though he shouldn't be.

His existence was an unexpected blessing.

He existed for his own sake. And, looking into his sculptor's brilliant blue eyes, mesmerized at the heavens, he thought, perhaps for Joseph's sake too.

"I'm glad you made me, Joseph. Whether or not I really am Anthonio or not. I'm just glad to be here today."

"However way you created me."

Joseph chuckled. "You know what they say, Caesar. Yesterday was history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift."

"That's why they call it present."

Caesar groaned.

"Oh come on, Jojo," he grumbled. "You stole it from that turtle from the panda cartoon."

Joseph burst out a hearty laugh. "So you have been watching the movies Suzi brought, huh?"

"I was bored," Caesar said, embarassed.

Joseph was just glad for the time they were enjoying together, by the beach, under the night sky, with only the glimmer of lamp posts and the now-rising moon lighting the way. It felt peaceful, and very calming, for both weary artist and lonely creation.

He wished they could do this forever.

Just the three of them.

Oh yes, Joseph remembered, three.

"Say, where is Suzi, anyway?" wondered Joseph after a few moments. "We'd gotten too busy with our little talk there... Suzi?"

A faint snore came as the only response.

"Oh great," Caesar moaned, rocking back up into an upright position with a little help from Joseph. "She slept through the whole thing, and this whole trip was her idea."

"You can't blame her," Joseph explained. "She's pretty tired."

He couldn't help a small giggle as he saw Suzi splayed out awkwardly onto the sidecar seat, dozing away like she was on her sofa.

"I think it's time we went home." Joseph said.

Rousing Suzi to make sure she was safe throughout the ride back to Joseph's apartment, the three friends made their way back, Caesar once more tucked inside his box.

As Joseph pedaled home Caesar peeked out at the view of the city through the hole in the box. The city at night looked so different.

Thousands of brilliant lights shone through the darkness, outlining buildings, illuminating streets, marking the passage of cars.

The city's lights were like the stars on the earth.

And in a way, they were among them, after all.

A sudden halt to the gentle motion of the box indicated to Caesar that they'd reached home. Soon he felt himself being lifted back into the house, as Joseph had done the night he snuck out. Yet this time, it didn't feel like a punishment, as it was when Joseph had forced him back inside. It felt like a reward, at the end of a long, grand adventure.

And at the night, Caesar knew he could look forward to end his day with another night in bed lovingly cradled in his beloved maker's arms.

Suzi sleepily staggered her way into the house and flopped onto the couch with a yawn. "Sorry about that, I hope I didn't miss too much," she said to Joseph, a little regretfully.

"Don't worry, Caesar loved it," Joseph reassured her. "We had a little talk."

"Hmmm?" she hummed drowsily.

"Oh, just stuff, about the stars and the world and the niceness of being alive, he had a lot to say." Joseph explained. "Also he's been watching your movies, he gets references," he laughed.

Joseph felt a strange warmth to Caesar that he couldn't quite explain. His feelings had been all over the place since the handsome little piece of clay came into his life. He'd gotten to know him, and he'd come to like him.

He'd come to love him.

And Caesar, sitting close by on the floor, gazing up at his relatively-towering form, felt the same.

He loved him for granting him life. He loved him for the care and affection, and all the numerous things he'd done for him, even if he couldn't return the favor.

And he loved him for just... being Joseph.

Their gazes met, and two shy smiles crept across their faces.

Perhaps Caesar belonged with a certain star after all.

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(Next Chapter)

#jjba #gingerreggg #battle tendency #caejose #caesar x joseph #jojo's bizarre adventure #bust!caesar #sculptor!joseph #hands of life au #heads up

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matildaofoz · 4 years

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The Harvest Pt.1 (Warlock!Michael x Reader)

A/N: Happy Halloween, Witches and Warlocks! Here it is, part 1 of The Harvest, the one night of the year were predator and prey come to revel under the Blue Moon.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Cursing and the promise of more to come in Pt. 2

Tag List: @prophecy-is-inevitable @jimmlangdon @drasangel @leatherduncan @sexwon131 @rocketgirl2410 @9layerdevilfoodcake @vulgarprayer @michaellangdonstanaccount @michaellandgons-sunshine @iwillboilyourteeth @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul

I hope I tagged all of you who showed interest, if not - I’M SORRY! Forgive me (and shoot me amessage so I can add you for Pt.2)

Fair Maiden,

you are hereby cordially invited to attend the annual celebration and Warlock tradition that is The Harvest.

Upon the last night of October, you will partake in the ancient tradition as a guest of honor, taking place at the Langdon Estate.

All further necessary arrangements will be divulged to your person at an appropriate time.

We look forward to welcoming you and remain until such time

Sincerely,

Ambrose Holt,

High Warlock

The hand holding the parchment sank into your lap after you finished reading its contents out loud to your mother and stepfather. Confusion and a hint of fear flitted over your features and you began to worry your lip as your eyes skimmed over the contents again in an effort to make sense of them.

“That damned Son of a Whore, Ambrose Holt!” your stepfather cursed, beginning to pace the length of the drawing room.

“John Henry Moore, hold your tongue!” your mother hissed, taken aback by his foul language. Her eyes followed him around the room as she scooted closer to you on the chaise longue to take a look at the letter herself.

“It's all my fault! I never should have taken the two of you back here with me. I was foolish to think that something like this wouldn't happen,” he seethed, running his hands through his dark hair. He stemmed himself off the fireplace mantel, his mind racing at the significance of the letter.

“We'll tell them she won't attend, it's simple,” your mother retorted, placing one hand atop your own still clutching the piece of paper. The look on her face told you that she wanted to believe her own words more than anything.

“Darling, that won't be an option. Once you are invited you have to attend, you do not decline a High Warlock's Summon. This is a direct attack on me in the most barbaric way and I’ve dragged you both into my mess.” A humourless chuckle rumbled from his chest at the admission. Your mother’s hand squeezed yours tightly, lips drawn thin as she watched her husband. This was beyond a nightmare. He needed to come up with a plan, a way to halt the events that had been set in motion but begun a long time before he met you and your mother.

“I need to pay a visit to an old friend,” he muttered under his breath suddenly as he pushed himself off the mantelpiece and rushed for the door.

“Where are you going?” your mother threw after him but he was already out in the hallway.

“I’m going to see Behold Chablis. Don’t wait up for me!” he shouted before the front door slammed shut and the two of you were left in silence.

“It will be alright, Angel. Don’t you worry,” your mother said. She forced a smile and you weren’t sure if her words were meant solely for your own reassurance.

You remained silent, looking down at the letter, an uneasiness settling in the pit of your stomach. If your stepfather sought the council of another warlock when he had sworn of his brotherhood for over a decade, it was a bad omen of things to come. Your eyes traced the elegant penmanship on the page. The Harvest. Whatever it was, it made the skin on the back of your neck prickle.

The letter had arrived that afternoon while you were busy tending to the garden with your mother. John Henry had taken custody of the letter, delivered by a private courier and paled as he saw the High Warlock Council's sigil etched on the envelope beneath your name.

Before your mother's marriage to the Warlock, you had believed the supernatural to be but flights of fancy, parables adorning the pages of children's fairy tales as a way to keep them from misbehaving, whispered his hushed voices over a candle under the guise of a full moon to scare each other. All that changed with John Henry's entry into your life at the age of 12. While he was himself a Warlock, a fact he kept hidden from everyone around him except for you and your mother, he had come to condemn his kind several years before. He felt his brethren had strayed from the righteous path of magick, meant to guide, heal and better the lives of those through who's veins it flowed in favour of a darker, more sinister purpose. At the centre of it, he believed the Langdon's were to blame. They had corrupted those around them, slithering their way even into the High Council itself and changing the fabric of the ancient brotherhood.

He told you what he thought you would need to know when you were old enough to at least partially understand, for your own protection should such a time arise. You were not of his blood but you were his daughter and he had sworn that he would protect both your mother and you. The arrival of the letter had made it clear that the time had come and he wasn't sure he would be able to make good on his promise to you after all.

He did not come back that night and after you mother had retreated to their bedroom, you too went up to your room to ready yourself for bed. However much you willed it, sleep did not come easy. In the darkness of your room, dimly illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from the windows, your eyes were drawn to your writing desk were you had placed the letter. The words kept running throughout your head and the more you thought about them, the less you felt you understood them. With a huff you turned onto your side, squeezing your eyes shut tightly in an effort to stop the thoughts running a mile a minute. It must be past midnight by now and you were no closer to falling asleep. The last day of October was just over a week away and even though you couldn't possibly know what the night held in store for you, you'd be damned if you showed up unprepared. You may not be magically-inclined but you were well-versed in the art of reading. John Henry's library was just down the hall, the myriad of manuscripts and tomes softly calling your name in the dead of night.

“Oh, curse all this!” you muttered under your breath, throwing the blankets off your body and tiptoeing across the room to the door, evading the creaking floorboards that would alert your mother. She was a terribly light sleeper. The air around you was frigid, your nightgown doing nothing to keep out the chill that crept up your legs and over your bare arms. You edged along the wall to your desk, placing the knitted shawl hung over the chair around your shoulders.

Quietly, you inched across the hallway, stopping for a moment to look at your parents closed bedroom door. Silence. Taking it as your cue, you flitted to the door on the far end of the corridor, hoping to God that he hadn't locked it. Gingerly, you pushed down on the handle so it wouldn't squeak. The door swung ajar. Unlocked. With a small satisfied grin, you pushed through the opening and closed it behind you silently. A relived sigh escaped your lips as your eyes struggled to adjust to the dark room, any moonlight blocked out by thick curtains. You had only been in John Henry's study a couple of times, to stand at the threshold as you told him that dinner was ready or to venture in to bring him a cup of tea while he poured over manuscripts behind the large mahogany desk. While he did believe wholeheartedly that a lady should be educated beyond learning to play the piano and housekeeping, he had made it clear that the books in his study were off limits.

“There is nothing in my study that a young lady such as yourself need concern yourself with. The less you know, the better,” his words rang in your ears. You wagered he would be eating his own words right about now, considering the events of the afternoon. You scoffed, as you inched your way across the plush carpet under your bare feet, to where you believed his desk was. Your eyes were beginning to make out the silhouettes of the furniture and soon enough your hip bumped into hard wood. You winched at the the small pain and your hands began to feel out for the box of matches you knew he kept on the desk somewhere. He could easily light the candles or the fireplace in his room with a snap of his fingers because he had shown you. However, he preferred not to, saying it made him feel more like any other man who was not gifted with his supernatural inclination.

“Ha!” you exclaimed as your right hand came upon the match box, your left coming up over your mouth to stifle the sound. Several seconds went by with you as still as a statue as you waited to hear your parents bedroom door creak open. When no sound bar the pounding of your heart reached your ears, you let out a breath, cursing yourself. You couldn't risk being found out when you hadn't even begun to gather any information. Without wasting any more precious time, you swiftly took out a match and light it on the rough side of the box. The flame came to life before your eyes and all you could see was the bright light for several blinding seconds. Your eyes roamed over the desk now bathed in the small flame and you found the candle holder. You took off the glass cover and held the match to the wick, lighting the candle and placed the cover back over the now burning candle to keep it from being blown out. Hooking your finger into the holder, you ventured over to the wall of books, suddenly discouraged from your task at the sheer volume of knowledge stacked into the ceiling-heigh bookcases tat adorned the wall. This was going to be much more tedious than you had anticipated. Your eyes began skimming over the spines, half of what was on them not making any sense to you.

The Seven Wonders, The Musings of one Augustus Bromhold, Lupercalia throughout the Ages, The Warlock's Pocket Guide to Necromancy. You continued along the shelves, some of the books so old that in the dim light you couldn't make out the writing and some didn't seem to have any on the spines at all.

A Complete History of Warlock Traditions

At the title, your mind went back to the letter. The Harvest had been described as an annual tradition so surely, in a book entitled 'A Complete History of Warlock Traditions' it must be mentioned. You peeled the tome from the confines of the shelf and went to sit in the armchair stood next to the cold fireplace in the corner. You placed the candle on the small side table and and opened the book at the back, hoping to reveal the glossary. Having found what you were looking for, you flipped back to the page and began to read, teeth softly gnawing at your lower lip.

The Blood Harvest, an archaic ritual celebration held on the 31st of October was outlawed by the High Warlock Council on 4th April, 1763. Still referred to by outliers of the Warlock Brotherhood simply as The Harvest, in an effort to conceal the brutal nature of the dark rite of passage ritual, it is rarely observed to this day. The High Council has prosecuted the outlawed celebration and of those who oppose the rule of law and remain faithful to the ritual to this day.

Celebrated annually before its outlaw, the ritual invoked the divine duality. Warlocks and human women, dressed to represent The Horned God and Triple Goddess respectively, partook in the ritual sacrifice on All Hallow's Eve to appease the supernatural beings that stalk the living on the night of the undead. Often cited to bestow great powers on the Warlocks who successfully complete the ritual rite of passage with one of the women selected, it is now widely regarded as nothing more than bloodshed, sacrificing those unfortunate and unknowing females to a slow and painful death at either the hands of the Warlocks if they so choose or the creatures invoked as formidable foes to the young men as a way to prove their supremacy over the dark forces and step into adulthood.

A cold shudder ran down your spine as your eyes read over the passage, letting the book sink into your lap. How was it possible that a High Warlock invited to you to an outlawed tradition by the High Council itself 100 years ago no less? Unless, it was no longer outlawed...John Henry's knee-jerk reaction to the letter no longer seemed so cloak-and-dagger.

A sudden creaking of floorboards on the other side of the door made your pulse thrum in your neck. Had your stepfather returned or perhaps you had been too loud and your mother had heard? You would've heard either the front door or the bedroom door open but then your mind was still swooning from your discovery. Gingerly, you placed the book on the side table next to the candle and inched to the door. Your breath caught in your lungs as you listened, on ear pressed to the cool wood. You could hear someone, something on the other side. The sounds of scratching against the wood made you shrink back, one hand coming to rest over your chest, your heart beating erratically. Your other hand reached for the door handle and you collected your wits about you before you pushed down the handle and yanked it open. You were greeted by a mass of fur and dark eyes that shot up to your face, equally as surprised as you were.

“Oh heaven's, Rosie!” you hissed, trying to calm yourself down at the sight of the family dog that must've heard you wandering around and decided to see for herself what you were up to in the dead of night. She tilted her head slightly at the mention of her name, looking past you and into the study that was off limits to her, her nose sniffing at the foreign scent of the room. If it wasn't for your incessant insistence that the St. Bernard was despite her outward appearance, nothing more than an overgrown lap dog,your parents would have kept her outside almost exclusively. With a lazy curiosity, she stepped over the threshold past your legs to inspect the new-found territory. You quickly walked past her to place the book back in its place on the shelf and took the candle holder in your hand, before turning around to see that Rosie had plopped herself down on the carpet in the middle of the room, watching you through her friendly heavy eyes.

“Rosie, you know you are not allowed in here. Well, technically neither and am I so where does that leave us? Come on, let's not leave any trace of us being here,” you berated her half-heartedly, grabbing her by he collar in the hopes that she would grace you with compliance. She looked up at you with an expression of indifference, seeing as your late-night musing must've roused her from her slumber downstairs as she came back up on all fours with a huff to trot out the room in front of you, waiting at the threshold.

“I don't know about you, but I could use some fresh air, what do you say?” you whispered in her direction, her presence calming your frazzled nerves somewhat. With one final glance around the study, you exited, making sure to shut the door as quietly as possible, leaving no trace of your trespassing. Should your mother, wake you could put the blame on Rosie for rousing you to go outside. You'd make sure to bring the candle back up with you, when you came back later. With a nod of your head, you silently bade her to follow you down the stairs and out the front door.

The midnight air was as welcome to your burning skin as it was chilling, serving to ground you and you pulled the shawl tighter around your shoulders with one hand, the candle in the other dimly illuminating the air around you. You watched the lit wick flicker slightly, growing and wavering in intensity, shielded only by the glass from the wind. Ever since this afternoon, your world had begun to tilt on its axis, threatening to plunge you into the unknown, to blow out that candle and yet there was no glass cover to keep you from being engulfed by the darkness that surrounded you. Rosie began to make her rounds around the front of the house and you became lost in your thoughts of what would happen but a week from now. John Henry had tried to shield you, believing it was safe to finally return to his birthplace with you in tow. Now it seemed, all those years of shielding you from his past would come to haunt your present.

Rosie's low growl beside you pulled you out of you reverie and your eyes snapped into the direction she faced, teeth bared and snarling. You struggled to see the source of her sudden defence through the candlelight blinding you of your surroundings and the dense mist that settled over the ground at night. Beyond the stone walls along the gravel road, you could make out a cloaked dark form and for a moment you thought it was John Henry who had come back from his visit to his old warlock friend. Yet the tall figure stopped about 100 yards away in the middle of the road, an ominous feeling creeping up your legs and spine at the sight. Your house was nestled in the countryside, the next estate and their occupants miles away. You stood, frozen to the spot as you waited for the figure to move. Around them, the fog grew thicker, spreading outward like pipe smoke blown against a glass pane, and engulfing both you and Rosie, who began to growl beside you.

Michael watched as you left the house, your nightgown billowing in the frigid night breeze, revealing glimpses of the smooth skin of your legs. When Ambrose Holt had told him of the letter sent to John Henry's stepdaughter, he knew he needed to see for himself what would ultimately be the downfall of that heretic Warlock who had come too close to undoing all of what his family, his father had set out to achieve. To restore the warlock bloodlines to their former glory and to retake what he and many others considered to be their birthright. It was foolish to think that mere humans could achieve what his kind had over millennia, he scoffed at their hubris in the face of such mundaneness. John Henry had forsaken his kind and had tried to smother their power, their supremacy. He should've remained in his self-imposed exile, Michael mused as his eyes took you in, still unaware of his gaze on you, smiling at the way the breeze plucked small strands of your hair out the loose braid you wore to bed, the way it flushed your cheeks a rosy red. You would make the perfect Goddess to his Horned God.

He could whisk you away right now when you offered yourself so freely, unattended in the middle of the night, your pet of a dog wouldn't stand in the way one bit. Patience, he chastised himself as he walked closer along the road with calculated slow steps, his black cloak swishing around him, his hood drawn down into his face. He had waited this long to take revenge on John Henry, he could wait a week more, even though you made it hard for him when your eyes finally spotted him, raking over him at the sounds of that wretched beast beside you. Underneath the hood, he grinned, satisfied by your reaction. He could smell your fear even from here, so deliciously terrified at the site of him, frozen on the spot. He had you precisely where we wanted you. With a barely cognisant flick of his wrist at his side, the fog grew ticker around him and his invisible fingers reached through it to graze along the backs of your legs and up your spine. Oh, he was going to enjoy this years Harvest more than ever when the prize was you and all you embodied.

You felt the fog move against the base of your neck, distinctly like fingers on your skin. The candle in your hand began to flicker and blew out, leaving your in darkness, only the pale moonlight as your guide. Your eyes grew wide as you were plunged into darkness and before them, the cloaked stranger disappeared into thin air, swallowed by the mist. Rosie's growls stopped and she shook off her guard, back to her usual self. You met her gaze, you heart still pounding furiously before you hastened back to the house, nearly tripping on your way up the stone steps. Rosie trotted after you, nudging you up the stairs. Even though she didn't seem half as bothered as you, she rarely moved this quickly. You pushed open the front door, Rosie slipping inside past your feet. You threw the door closed behind you, your back pressing into the wood as you struggled to catch your breath. For a moment, you stood in darkness and silence before heading up to your room, not caring if your mother would wake at the ruckus you made. You prayed that John Henry would be back by the morning with answers. The candle holder out of his room stood forgotten on the hallway table.

#michael langdon x you #michael langdon x reader #warlock!michael #michael langdon #ahs apocalypse #ahs imagines #spooktober

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immoral-tales · 4 years

Text

Wicked Ballad

Simeon X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7,313

Warnings: angst; mentions of religion; corruption;

A/N: I would like to thank my close and dearest friend for aiding me when I was writing this heart-wrenching story. If it had not been for her, I would have—most likely—made it much worse. Truth be told, many stories and art have inspired me to write this story, therefore, I would like to thank everyone. I sincerely hope you love this story as much as I adore it. I almost cried whilst writing it, I poured my heart and soul into it.

Summary: a bittersweet tale of an angel and his human crossing paths with each other. their story truly is a wicked ballad.

❝You say I took the name in vain I don't even know the name But if I did, well really, what's it to you? There's a blaze of light in every word It doesn't matter which you heard The holy or the broken Hallelujah❞

He could vividly recall the very first time his blue gaze had laid on her. It was in front of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, in the middle of the night. Dragging an unfamiliar piano in the deserted streets of Paris, the clock striking midnight. He could remember the word “Yamaha” was emblazoned on the wooden part. Settling herself on the wooden stool, she opened the lid of the piano, her manicured fingers skimmed over the keys. Straightening her back, she took a deep breath and started playing a soothing melody. The harmonious notes lingered in the air, dancing with the wind, engulfing the deafening silence with great ease.

The moon glimmering in the darkness of the night, the scattered stars accompanied it with their dim illumination above the cloudless sky of the city. It was a breathtakingly beautiful sight, one in a million. A familiar wind caressing her face; the symphonious notes her slender fingers produced, reverberated in the air, waltzing around the ancient buildings of the capital of France.

It was an enchanted song for a creature like him. Humans... Who would have thought their simple, yet unforgettable creation would mesmerize an angel?

The rumors spread like wildfire about the fallen angel finding refuge at the cathedral. Every one of them refused to accept the responsibility, the humans heard about their ceaseless quarrel and took matters into their own hands.

Both of the sides present in the city, they had heard so much about. It was the day when the creatures of hell and heaven had decided to leave their humble abodes and visit the neutral territory, the human world. If they had been familiar with the term, they would have referred to this realm as Switzerland, always avoiding conflicts like the plague and minding their own business. Even though they had a perfect opportunity to get involved, they would never trouble themselves as humans abandoned their faith years ago. They stopped believing in miracles decades ago.

Heaven and Hell, paying a visit to the capital of France to see the scene unfolding right in front of their eyes. It was the day when humans had enough of their endless cycle of invisible war as if they did not have their own wars to handle.

An angel had fallen and no one was certain what path he would choose. The spectators surrounding the Cathedral of Notre-Dame had made sense now. As a human would have said, they were the juries of the court and they would be making a verdict. A final decision would be theirs. And humans, they had to play the devil’s advocate. An ironic choice of words.

The situation was becoming tenser and tenser, it could have been cut with a knife. The air surrounding the cathedral felt suffocating, making it almost impossible to breathe. And it was not because of the pollution.

It was a sight to behold, and every one of them was well aware of it. The woman sitting in front of the piano resumed playing her captivating melody. She had realized the predicament she was in when she dragged the piano across the empty streets of Paris. She was not alone, she had viewers from other realms. If she were not too engrossed in her activity, she would have mocked their curiosity. Tilting her head; her cold and calculating eyes were fixated on the entrance of the cathedral. Her hands moved in a hypnotic manner as if it was natural for her to be in the darkness, playing an enthralling piece of music. As some would have called it, a true masterpiece. It had never been her responsibility to lure the fallen angel out of the holy grounds, yet she understood his dilemma rather well.

The song was nearing its end and the woman could sense the tension in the air rising as the last notes of the harmonious melody faded, becoming non-existent. Finding a replacement to it was not that difficult, the breeze swept in, greeting her as if it had been an old friend of hers. The silence reigned in the air, lingered there more than necessary. It had overstayed its welcome, refusing to leave her side.

Standing up from the wooden stool, she stretched her arms and stepped forward. The sounds of the clacking of her high heels against the pavement resounded in the deafening silence. A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, her eyes continued to study the grand entrance as she did not trouble herself to pick up her pace. Strutting towards her destination, her walk was painfully slow as she was tormenting her spectators by depriving them of the show. She inspected the tufts of white hair peeking out of the opened door. Her suspicions proved to be correct as she halted in front of the cathedral. Opening her lips, she started speaking. “There is no need to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” Raising her hands, she demonstrated she was unarmed. Perhaps, he was not aware of the gesticulations, but the tone of her voice indicated she was not a threat to him.

Taking his sweet time, he had finally decided to reveal himself. Stepping forward, he walked out of the cathedral. His movements were slow; however, the woman had no problem with it. It was a normal occurrence for her, and she was well aware, earning one’s trust was not a simple task. Taking a deep breath, she extended her hand for him to take. As he fully exited the premises, she could clearly see his appearance under the artificial light of the lampposts. He was a young angel. His stark white hair covered his amber eyes filled with curiosity. He was not a fallen angel, he had merely lost his path and found refuge at his Father’s home.

Tilting his head, he examined her cautiously. Before the woman in front of him had a chance to utter a word, he ran towards her and wrapped his small arms around her, embracing her tightly. She froze in one place but quickly reacted as a low chuckle escaped her full lips. “Easy there, no one is going to hurt you.” Ruffling his short hair, she looked down at him with a smirk. He was so young, yet they kept referring to him as a fallen angel. Hypocrisy at its finest. She had a strong desire to roll her eyes but refrained herself from making the young angel uncomfortable.

She handled the situation quicker than anyone had anticipated, therefore, they were free to return to their respective realms. But one issue was still present, she was not certain what to do with the angel. Shaking her head, she glanced down at the boy who was not planning to release her from his iron grip. Opening her mouth once more, she was interrupted. Pursing her lips into a thin line, she furrowed her brows as she heard a loud clapping noise resonating in the air, shattering the deafening silence. A hulking figure emerged from the shadows, clad in a red uniform. The Prince of Hell graced her with his presence as his loyal butler trailed behind him.

Quirking a brow, she turned around to greet the familiar faces. Shielding the young angel with her body as he hid behind her, watching two men with great fascination. A sly smirk danced across her beautiful facial features. Nodding her head in acknowledgement, she began speaking. “Came here to enjoy the show, My Lord?” Those undertones of mockery still laced her alluring voice as she cast a glance at the notorious butler. Allowing every one of them to realize she was aware of their location as they lurked in the darkness of the night.

A sigh escaped her full lips, her attention returned to the young angel as she squeezed his shoulder lightly, in reassurance. As long as he was with her, she would never allow him to be put in harm’s way. It was her silent vow, yet all of them understood it. She had no intention of demonstrating her positive qualities to the world to see—the spectators of the three realms, to be more precise. The woman could feel how her young companion’s tense body relaxed as he resumed staring at the demons. He had never seen them before, and it was not that difficult to deduce it.

As always, booming laughter reverberated in the streets of Paris, bringing her back to reality as she craned her neck to get a better look at the handsome prince. Despite wearing high heels, he was still taller than her. As much as she did not wish to admit, she had always wondered what they had been giving him to be this huge. However, she did not have any right to complain, and she was not going to.

“How could I possibly miss such a spectacular show?” Grinning confidently, he exposed his pearly white teeth to the world; and crossed his muscular arms over his defined chest. His golden eyes glinted with mischief as they studied his beautiful companion. Straightening his back, he resumed speaking. “It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to witness a human playing the piano for an angel in the streets of one of the human realm’s most popular cities.” His excitement was quite noticeable in his voice, but he did not trouble himself to conceal it as he meant every one of his words.

Nodding her head in understanding, she glanced at his loyal butler as he mirrored his master’s action. Of course, every one of them was aware of it, but a human had to do the dirty work. Their every step was calculated beforehand; however, the humans had the element of surprise; and she used it to her advantage. These immortal beings never anticipated such an outcome, but she did. It was her world and no one knew it better than her.

Shaking her head to dismiss all of her useless thoughts, she gave them a questioned look; and was ready to deliver her endless cycle of sarcastic remarks. Taking a deep breath, a sly smirk danced across her attractive features as she opened her mouth to start speaking. “As much as I wish to give you what you desire most, unfortunately, I enjoy our game of cat and mouse a bit too much.” Her mesmerizing eyes shone underneath the moonlight, yet they did not reflect anything.

Another boisterous laughter echoed in the air, stepping forward, the brown-haired demon prince got closer to the woman. He pounced on her, enveloping her with his strong arms in a tight embrace; and lifting her off the ground. A low chuckle escaped her full lips as she looked back at the young angel. He was still astounded by the scene that unfolded right in front of his eyes. Feeling safe around the demons was an understatement, but he could feel at ease as she was with him. This human woman was his guardian angel, but in reality, it should have been the other way around. His amber eyes observed their interactions cautiously as he understood the woman was not hostile towards the demons. He had always had a great fascination with humans, but coming into contact with a human was a different experience. The young angel was thrilled to learn more about them. His morality clashed with his desire. At this point, he did not wish to return to his home, the Celestial Realm. He decided to remain with her. Oh, how excited the woman would be upon hearing the news.

“I would like to discuss a very important matter with you, but not here.” The tone of the demon prince was quite serious as it caused the young angel to snap out of his trance-like state. Getting even closer to his companion, he whispered words that were only meant for her. His golden eyes were locked with her captivating ones as he awaited her answer. He earned a nod of approval from her. His grin widened as he clasped his manicured hands together. He snaked his arm around her waist and guided her away from the cathedral. The Cathedral of Notre-Dame. He assured her his loyal butler would take care of her piano.

Walking away, the clacking of her high heels resounded through the streets of Paris. The young angel followed her as he eyed the demon prince suspiciously, but he trusted her. He had faith in her.

Saved an angel; was tempted by the demon prince himself as he led her away from the cathedral. The woman was aware of her surroundings from the beginning. No one could use her. That was her remarkable ability. She was desired by many, yet none of them had the privilege to touch her or even dream about having her in their arms. She was one of a kind; and every one of them knew. The Prince of Hell did not cajole her into following him with his words, she merely accepted his offer.

The clacking of her high heels became unbearable as the spectators resumed enjoying the scenery. His blue gaze had never left her as he silently prayed she would look back. One last time. The woman halted dead in her tracks, surprising her companions. Looking over her shoulder, a half-smirk decorated her beautiful facial features as her eyes stared into the void of blackness, far away from the artificial lights. His breath was caught in his throat, she could sense his presence. She could feel his eyes on her, she had heard his prayer.

“After introducing our new exchange program students,” a loud, booming voice resounding in the large ballroom. Covering the melodious music to earn every one of the attendants’ attention. All eyes were on the tallest man in their presence and they looked at him with great interest as they awaited their prince to resume his speech. “I would like all of you to enjoy yourselves.” It was not the monologue they had anticipated, but none of them were troubled with the short introduction of their prince’s guests from the other realms.

Every one of them returned to their respective activities as the pleasant, yet unfamiliar melody played in the background to make the visit of attendants at the Demon Lord’s Castle unforgettable. The Prince of Hell himself was quite preoccupied with engaging in conversation with his close friend, the Avatar of Pride, and an old acquaintance of his as his sharp golden eyes detected a rather familiar face in the ocean of people. A huge grin tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes crinkled in delight as he managed to get both of his companions’ attention. The black-haired man gave him a questioned look, awaiting his response. Diavolo did not pay any heed to his subtle signals. Waving his arm, he opened his mouth to start speaking. “It’s good to see you again. I thought you would never come.” His voice had a playful lilt to it as his eyes were fixated on a feminine figure in front of him.

A woman clad in a long, black dress with a slit that reached her mid-thigh that hugged her curves perfectly. A simple, yet elegant combination of attire attracted their attention, but she did not seem to mind all the eyes that were on her as she idly conversed with the white-haired sorcerer. Flashing him one of her infamous smirks, she excused herself and turned on her heel to leave. Swirling her alcoholic beverage absentmindedly, she straightened her back and stepped forward. Her high heels were clicking and clacking against the marble flooring as she took a deep breath. She already had a certain destination in mind, her smirk grew wider. Her eyes were fixated on the handsome demon, weaving her way through the crowd was not an obstacle for her as she easily arrived at her destined location. The tantalizing sway of her hips earned her several compliments from the demons.

A low chuckle escaped her full lips as her eyes met his golden ones. Bowing her head for the sake of formality, she straightened herself, once more, and took a sip of her beverage. “My apologies, My Lord. Every woman takes her sweet time preparing herself for the big event. Unfortunately, I missed the introduction of your new students.” Breaking eye contact with him, she cast a glance at the sorcerer and resumed speaking. “I have to admit, you have chosen rather intriguing candidates from my world, without consulting me.”

Simpering, he followed her gaze and nodded his head in agreement. Diavolo shrugged his shoulders as he commented on her remark. “It was Lucifer who chose the candidates from the human world.” Looking at his companion, his eyes glinted with an unreadable expression as he continued talking. “I believe you are familiar with Lucifer, but have you ever met our new exchange program student from the Celestial Realm?” the brown-haired prince questioned his beautiful companion as he directed her attention towards his third companion.

A handsome dark brown-haired man with a brilliant shade of blue eyes—the most enthralling color she had ever seen in her life. He had a charming smile dancing across his breathtakingly beautiful features. His blue gaze never left her figure as his companion resumed his conversation. “Allow me to introduce you to Simeon. He is one of the two angels sent from the Celestial Realm to take part in the exchange program. And this is [Name] [Surname]. She is…” He trailed off. The Prince of Hell stopped for a moment to think about it.

The woman standing right next to him sensed his distress and decided to get involved to avoid any unpleasant situations. Offering one of her infamous smirks, she extended her hand for him to take as she opened her mouth to begin speaking—well, finish what Diavolo had started. “Lord Diavolo, I’m certain the introduction was not necessary as we are familiar with each other.” She sent a wink in his direction as Simeon stared at her extended hand. It took him several seconds to realize what that gesture meant as he took her hand, shaking it. His grip was firm but gentle. Releasing her slender hand from his bigger one’s grasp, her next sentence made him snap out of his reverie as his heart picked up its pace.

“We met in Paris.”

Simeon blinked once, twice, thrice. His heartbeat was getting faster and faster as her words echoed in his mind. He did not hear how Diavolo and Lucifer left them alone to speak with other guests. His companion took another sip of her beverage and attempted to break the ice. Biting her lower lip sensually, she thought for a moment. “Have you ever heard the tale of Romans? In ancient times, Romans shook each other’s hands to demonstrate they were unarmed and their handshake was a symbol of friendship and loyalty.”

Shaking his head to dismiss his useless thoughts, his blue eyes met with hers. She was aware of the events, taking place in the capital of France. Oh, Lord Almighty, she knew. The brown-haired man was great at having conversations with anyone, yet this one human managed to take his breath away by uttering several words. He was not certain how to respond to her, but to one’s relief, she quickly detected his uneasiness and resumed speaking. “I know what you are thinking, Simeon.” A low chuckle escaped her lips, once more. “Please forget what happened in Paris. The young angel is safe and he is with me. During my absence, he will remain in Rome, at my family estate. If you don’t trust my word, then you may pay a visit to him. In the meantime,” she inspected her surroundings. “May I have the honor to accompany you outside as it is getting rather crowded in here?”

Placing her half-empty glass on the nearby table, she inhaled the fresh air. Getting closer to him, she linked her arm with his and started to lead the way, guiding him outside of the Demon Lord’s Castle. Simeon was speechless, he could not utter a word as he allowed her to sweep him away. The blue-eyed angel had met many humans and demons in his long existence, but this human woman intrigued him. Her enigmatic aura attracted him, he wished to learn more about her. Simeon was an experienced and mature angel, he could easily read anyone like an open book; however, her behavior puzzled him. By now, he could have gone through numerous subjects during his conversation with Diavolo and Lucifer, but not with her. The woman waltzed into his life without asking him, and currently, she is dragging him away from the ball.

It would have been an understatement if he had said he preferred to remain at the castle. His gorgeous companion guided him outside of the premises, into the gardens. There was the moon glimmering above them in the darkness of the night as the stars accompanied it with their dim illuminations. It was a beautiful, cloudless sky. Looking up to get a better look at the scenery, he noted the moon of the Devildom differed from the one in the human world. And he was certain, she would not be fascinated by the view unlike him. His blue gaze landed on his arm that was linked with her, and then, his mesmerizing eyes studied her as if he was trying to memorize every small detail of hers. In his eyes, she was perfect.

Yet the angel wondered to himself, how he had managed to find her. There were more than seven billion humans on Earth and he had the privilege to meet an occult detective with an eccentric personality and antics. He had to find this particular human interesting. Simeon cursed his existence, at the same time, he silently thanked his Father for allowing him to meet her. Developing romantic feelings for a human was not an option, but he indulged in his sinful desires a little bit.

Releasing him from her grasp, she turned around to face him as she leaned back on her elbows against the railing. Her cold and calculating eyes studied him, but not with a scrutinizing gaze. Her tense body relaxed as she allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment. The deafening silence reigned in the air, she refused to speak up, taking pleasure in being far away from the crowded ballroom.

A soft hum resonated in the darkness of the night, opening her eyes, she straightened herself. Her gaze softened as she glanced at her handsome companion. Pretending she was sitting in front of the piano, her slender fingers started moving with perfect synchronization. It seemed they had minds of their own as they produced illusive notes, waltzing in the air. Her eyes met his brilliant shade of blue. She studied them with great curiosity. It was barely undetectable, yet she noticed how his sapphires lit up, engulfing her with his warmth.

Stepping forward, she got closer to him. Her eyes were locked with his as the silence lingered between them, not planning to leave them any time soon. Even though she delighted in being with him in solitude, she had a strong desire to have a decent conversation with the angel. The woman opened her mouth to start talking. “This will remain between us. Cross my heart and hope to die,” a low chuckle escaped her full lips as she resumed. “Stick a needle in my eye.”

Before the brown-haired angel had a chance to respond to her a rather odd vow, she gave him a two-finger salute and turned on her heel, leaving him to his own thoughts. Simeon opened, then closed his lips into a thin line as his blue gaze never left her. Her tight-fitting dress outlined her curves, awakening immoral desires within him. Feeling his heartbeat increasing, this human did wonders to his immortal heart.

The rays of sunlight seeped through the famous stained rose windows of the cathedral, dimly illuminating the surroundings. The rows of pews decorated the main part of the church to greet as many believers as possible. Its doors were always open to anyone that wished to pay a visit to one of the wonders of the modern-day world. Every one of the visitors adored the magnificent masterpiece of the French Gothic architecture accompanied by its loyal guardians, gargoyles—never once leaving their respective places to keep a close eye on the place they learned to call home. An intriguing statement, yet all of them were well aware it had the seeds of truth.

The Cathedral of Notre-Dame—The place where it all had begun—had always had countless visitors to witness its greatness with their own eyes, yet it was devoid of its usual attendants. A familiar silence reigned in the air as it lingered more than necessary, not allowing anyone or anything to produce sounds. However, the clicking of the rather familiar shoes against the marble flooring resounded in the large cathedral, shattering the deafening silence completely. The sounds of footsteps halted in front of the altar as the man dropped to his knees, his white cape pooling around him as his head lowered in humiliation. His heavy breathes resonated throughout the church, his quickened heartbeat could be heard.

His lips were pursed into a thin line as both of his hands clutched a rosary, hard enough to draw blood. Closing his endless oceans of blue, letting out a shaky breath, he stopped himself. The stagnant air in the church was suffocating, burning his lungs. The man opened his mouth, yet no words came out. Inhaling the fresh air, he listened to his heart hammering against the ribcage, convinced it would jump out of his chest.

Evening his breathing, he gained enough confidence to open his bewitching eyes as he raised his head. He started speaking. “Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight, and am no longer worthy to be called your son.” His words echoed in the cathedral.

His very own words made him shiver with disgust. Was remorse eating him alive? Were his mind and intuition screaming at him that it was too late to redeem his actions? Was he regretting his deeds? All of the questions were running rampant in his mind. He could not help himself, yet he had tainted himself. Was he even worthy of stepping his foot in his Father’s house? Thinking about it made him hang his head in shame, the tufts of his brown hair framing his sapphire blue eyes. The angel tightened his grip on the rosary.

A soft melody found its way as his mind played tricks on him. It was a wicked ballad, yet he was enamored by it. He could not escape its clutches, dragging him further into the depths of hell. The return was non-existent. His predicament was laughable, he understood the absurdity of his situation. The brown-haired angel had always believed he would not make a similar mistake, yet there he was contemplating his own existence. Simeon was certain it was a fleeting feeling, a mere infatuation with a human woman.

The brown-haired angel should have heeded the warnings of not following the white rabbit until the end of the road. Now, he had fallen down the rabbit hole and he could not claw his way out of it. He fell deeper than he had anticipated. Could his soul still be saved?

An angel falling for a human. How could anyone be so foolish to voluntarily corrupt themselves? Straying away from the path of the righteous man. An angel; a man of God—falling head over heels in love with a human. Having strong bonds with the creations of God had never been an issue, but getting involved with one of them had always been frowned upon. Simeon had been aware of it, yet he could not help himself.

His body stiffened, his prayers had fallen on deaf ears. His heart-wrenching pleas had not been heard, it was apparent. He could sense it. Simeon’s words merely ricocheted off the ancient walls of the cathedral. His stark white attire dirtied, his hands scarred beneath the black gloves from clutching the rosary. It was a sight to behold. An unforgettable memory for a mortal man, yet no one was there to witness the angel’s former glory. The angel’s silent cry of distress to be heard. He was all alone at his Father’s home.

The cursed notes of melody had never left him, accompanying him until the end. A loud clatter reverberated, the rosary slipped through his iron grip and fell to the polished ground. A low chuckle escaped his lips, his heart beating rapidly against his chest as he looked up, his brilliant shade of blue staring at the ceiling. He should have known, yet he knew. It was inevitable. Every one of them was aware of it from the beginning.

The clanking of ice, joyous laughter, and a familiar song played in the background. Creating a welcoming aura for the guests that desired to visit a small bar in Zurich, Switzerland. The true neutral territory of the human world—especially for humans. They had once said: “politics is a dirty game.” And every one of them agreed. As they would say, it was a “human thing” and a demon, nor an angel would never understand it. An intriguing concept, yet some were not courageous enough to delve deeper into the matter. The creations of God—humans—were an interesting case.

As the music resumed playing in the background, the guests enjoyed their alcoholic beverages in their own small circle of friends. It was a unique place and all of them intended to keep it that way for a long time. It was a perfect consensus among strangers.

A certain woman frequented the bar with her associate and it was yet another day to discuss their daily lives. Her eyes had a mischievous glint as they were locked with her companion’s unnaturally-colored ones. With a shake of her head, she took a sip of her dirty martini. Settling her glass on the wooden table, she opened her full lips to throw one of her snide remarks in his direction, but she was interrupted when someone barged into her haven. Quirking a brow, she looked over her shoulder to see the person who opened the wooden double doors with such force. Her eyes widened as she froze in her seat. Her words were caught in her throat.

Her companion mirrored her actions as he cast a glance at the entrance of the bar. Exhaling, he blinked several times to adjust his vision. He was not certain whether his eyes were deceiving him or his mind was playing tricks on him. He swallowed thickly as he opened his mouth to start speaking. “Luke, what are you doing here? Most importantly, how did you find us?”

Solomon took the words out of her mouth as if he had read her mind. His yellow-blue eyes studied his partner thoroughly, her every facial reaction and movement. The sorcerer did not require her affirmation to understand something unspeakable had occurred, yet he was not certain whether she was aware of it or not. His curiosity had always been insatiable, but with this woman, he never allowed himself to let his guard down as she was a walking disaster. She attracted trouble without even trying. And of course, the young angel—already—in front of their table was the living proof of it.

Clenching his hands into fists, his face was entirely red as his nostrils flared. “How could you do this to us?! I thought you cared.” The young angel’s fury was directed towards the woman.

Her expression was unreadable, her eyes were devoid of emotions. No sign of life. She could not utter a word as she lowered her head in shame. All eyes were on her, everyone at the bar watched how the entire scene unfolded. The guests of her favorite bar were the witnesses of her humiliation and failure as their judgemental stares bored holes into her soul. Every one of them was observing her with their scrutinizing gazes. Lowering her head even further, her hair obscured her regretful face. She received their silent curses openly, accepting them. Taking a deep breath, she raised her head and looked at him.

The white-haired sorcerer could sense her melancholic soul, her nihilistic thoughts, and the rapid beat of her heart. He did not even deem necessary to use magic on her to see her facade cracking and her mask slipping after all these years. Yet he still was amazed by how she held herself. He could not tear his eyes off of her as he resumed observing her.

“Of course, I did…” She trailed off, taking her sweet time to process the young angel’s every word. The background music did not allow silence to reign in the air, not this time. “I…” The woman stopped as she pursed her lips into a thin line, refusing to say another word.

It was getting unbearable, the tension was tormenting the young angel. He was not used to it, he was not even used to being surrounded by so many sinners. Humans and their judgemental gazes. He could feel his lungs burning because of the air. It had been tainted. Shaking his head in disbelief, his nails dug into his palms, his knuckles turning white from the sheer pressure. Gritting his teeth, he exposed his pearly white teeth to the world.

“They are judging Simeon.”

Four words. Those four damned words. Feeling her skin being prickled with goosebumps, her frozen state worsened. She could not hear anything, his words were nothing but white noise. A shaky sigh left her full lips as she blinked once, twice, thrice. Her mind replayed those four words. Closing her eyes for a moment, she listened to the song that resumed blending in with the background effortlessly. The woman then allowed her heart to calm down as she opened her eyes. Looking at him, she finally responded.

“Tell me more.” Her voice was firm but uncertain.

“Simeon’s life is at stake. He is going to fall.”

Slamming her hands against the wooden table, she stood up from her seat. The chair fell to the laminate flooring with a loud thud, yet no one paid attention to it. Their eyes were still on her as every one of them heard. “I have to go,” muttered under her breath.

Taking a sip of his alcoholic beverage, Solomon continued watching the entire scene with great amusement. His eyes followed his companion’s figure as she left their favorite bar, the young angel running after her.

Once he had heard a visit of an angel supposed to be a good omen, but now, he started to doubt the statement. A sly smirk danced across his handsome facial features as his hand started glowing, surrounded by the dim golden illumination. With a flick of his hand, the golden light spread throughout the small bar. “Always making me do the dirty work.”

How hypocritical of him to speak such words. Solomon was fully aware of it, but he could not care less about it. He had always been more of a spectator than a player. It was a mutual agreement. She had his back, and in return, he was always there to aid her. A perfect symbiosis between two human beings. He was quite proud of his achievement.

The judgement had been passed.

An angel had been cast out of heaven.

He had fallen.

Standing in front of the familiar castle, the darkness of the night concealed her figure rather well. Her hands shaking, her breathing ragged as she was on the verge of losing her consciousness, yet she held herself perfectly. Her nerves betrayed her as she dropped to her knees, her legs refusing to assist her. Digging her manicured nails into her own skin, her gaze lingered on the Demon Lord’s Castle. Her vision blurred. Blinking several times to adjust her vision, but she could not. She had not realized how tears trickled down her cheeks, soaking the soil beneath her. When was the last time she cried? She could not recall. Her pulse skyrocketed.

Her mask was cracking without her noticing it. The beating of her heart could be heard from kilometers away. She should have known, yet she did not deem necessary to pay any heed to it. Now, he had to pay the price. He already had. Lowering her head in shame, her hair covered her disheveled appearance and expression.

Attempting to stand up, she teetered. The woman mentally embraced herself for a possible impact, but it never came. Looking up, her eyes met with his. His arms were wrapped around her waist to catch her. Draping her arm around his shoulders, she balanced her shivering body as she tested her legs. This time her legs did not betray her as she leaned against him. He did not reject her physical contact. Laughing bitterly, she straightened herself and opened her chapped lips to start speaking. “Impeccable timing as always, Barbatos. You’re always there to witness my failures. You have seen both of them. Would this answer your eternal question of what it means to be a human and hurting someone you love?”

“He has been waiting for you. Forgive my curiosity, but how long have you been in the Devildom without anyone being aware of it? How did you manage to convince the Young Master to permit you to remain here?”

Assisting her to stand up, he bombarded her with so many questions, she did not have enough time to process every one of them. It was quite uncommon for the demon butler to question people, yet the woman in front of her was a different occasion. He was one of the most powerful demons in existence, yet he still had difficulty understanding human nature and how this woman’s mind functioned. Inspecting her unkempt appearance, he noted she had seen better days.

Separating from his strong grip, she stretched her limbs and wiped her tears away. Inhaling the fresh air to calm her beating heart down, she pushed her hair back and tilted her head. Biting her lower lip—a rather familiar habit of hers to which even Barbatos got accustomed to. She thought for a moment, she was stalling some time. She could have easily used a question dodging technique, but she decided to tell the truth.

“You and I both know you are already fully aware of my current predicament. Is there anything you wish to know?” Those undertones of mockery were remarkable, considering her current situation. Quirking a brow, she studied the demon butler as an infamous smirk of hers tugged at the corners of her lips. “I thought we had a mutual understanding here.” Stopping herself for a moment, she shook her head to dismiss her useless thoughts. Straightening her back, she looked at him and added the last part. “My egotistical desires led us to this irrevocable act. I should have known. I did, yet I did not do anything.”

The last part of her speech was barely audible, but the demon butler heard every word of it. Nodding his head in acknowledgement, he placed his chin between his gloved thumb and index finger, he appeared as if he was thinking. He opened his mouth to start speaking. “This is not my place to meddle; however, do you regret your decision of getting involved with him?”

A low, bitter laugh escaped her full, yet chapped lips. Her eyes glinted with an unreadable expression, once more, he had difficulty comprehending her emotions. He decided to await her response before jumping to conclusions. That smirk of hers still present on her gorgeous features. Several dreadful seconds passed before she responded.

“How could I?” She stopped, once more, allowing the silence to reign. “I have made many foolish choices in my God-forsaken life, but loving him is something that I would never regret.” Looking up at the darkened sky, she resumed. “It’s quite ironic, I’m telling my life story to a demon who doesn’t give a flying fuck about me. Look, how low I have fallen.” Her every word was dripped with venomous self-hatred.

“Unfortunately, you are not wrong; however, I’m not the only listener you have tonight.”

Casting a glance at the demon butler, she noticed another dark figure standing behind Barbatos. Under normal circumstances, she would have easily detected an unwanted presence looming into her field of vision. It seemed she was too absorbed in her self-pity not to let her guard down. Her mask had slipped. She realized it a long time ago, but it was too late. It had always been too late for her.

Furrowing her brows, she did not say anything as she patiently awaited the figure to reveal themselves. The woman already had her suspicions, yet she refused to believe her own intuition as her heart skipped a beat. She could not shake her head or dismiss her useless thoughts as she did, not long ago. Her entire body was frozen in one place, she had no desire to move. Inhaling and exhaling, her chest was rising and falling. Mentally, she tried to deceive her mind to calm her rapidly beating heart, but to no avail. Her heart rejected her attempts, becoming an obstinate vital organ.

The tall figure stepped forward, revealing himself in the dim moonlight. Her breath hitched as she stepped backwards. It was him, the most magnificent creature in this damned world. A genuine smile decorated his handsome face as his brilliant shade of blue shone—in the darkness of the night—brighter than ever. A pair of midnight black wings were folded tightly against his back as a pair of black horns protruded out of his skull, completing his ethereal beauty.

Simeon stepped forward, but she moved backwards. Her gaze shifted between him and the demon butler. Her heart was wrenching, the feeling of regret was getting unbearable. She watched how Barbatos turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness. As expected, he always did it. It would be no different in this situation.

She stopped moving, raising her head up, her grief-stricken eyes met with his. His smile grew wider as he approached her. Without wasting any moment, he wrapped his arms around her, embracing her tightly as if he was afraid of waking up in a world where she did not exist. Placing her head against his chest, she listened to his heartbeat. It was not quickened like hers, it was as serene as the melody of their wicked ballad. She refused to stand idly, but she could not touch him. Her consciousness did not allow her to reach for the stars.

He could sense her distress, but he was fully aware of her internal conflict. As much as he could remember he had always been fascinated with human nature, how different they were from angels and demons. Humans always had a knack for making their lives more difficult and he had a perfect opportunity to witness such an event with his own eyes. Ironically, he could relate to her struggles. He understood her.

Hiding his face in the crook of her neck, he whispered. “I forgive you.” Wrapping his large wings around her form, he shielded her from the harsh weather of the Devildom.

Three words. It only took three words to lift all of her burdens off her shoulders. A shaky sigh escaped her chapped lips as she snaked her arms around his torso, tightening her grip on him. Her heartbeat started to quiet, inhaling the fresh air did not burn her lungs anymore, and her tense body relaxed. After all these years, she had finally found her place.

“I know.”

49 notes · View notes

missorgana · 4 years

Text

like a tattoo kiss

pairing: karolina dean/nico minoru

fandom: marvel’s runaways

rating: general

word count: 4228

warning: swearing

summary: Nico doesn't get nervous. Except around pretty people. Especially around pretty people. (tattoo parlor AU)

(it’s been 84 years... Finally, i am writing!! life and uni has been extremely messy, so i’m just so glad to be creating again uwuu. this was meant for the @augustwritingchallenge but alas... i miss my alien and witch girlies!! thank you to my baby @griffinbellamy for beta reading <333 you are Everything. hope you enjoy this mess!!)

read on ao3

Nico doesn’t get nervous.

Or rather, she’s not the type of person to be nervous. Especially while working.

Her parents weren’t over the moon when she told them what line of work she was aiming for, not that she needs their permission or anything, but they’d warmed up to her internship over time.

Many times she had tried to explain why exactly she liked her art to be expressed through ink on skin, but parents just don’t understand some things. All hail rebellious teenagers, or something.

Amy’s always been supportive, because she’s an angel, Nico thinks, and her sister managed to get them along, somehow.

In the end, they were probably just happy to get her out of the house more.

By a string of luck she had found a local tattoo parlour, well, actually, the city’s best, and they were willing to take her on, along with her best friend, coincidentally.

And the boss kept an eye on her and Alex to make sure they didn’t misbehave, but just like herself, he wasn’t the type to mess around with the things he was passionate about.

They had always been excellent lab partners way back, considered each other their partner in crime, no less.

And over time, they both were allowed to work more freely. Even to the point of taking their own clients, albeit only walk-ins, for now.

This week, a little thing about Nico’s inability to get nervous might be changing, but she only knows that when a walk-in comes along late Friday afternoon.

It’s actually an hour and a half before closing time, that is, and they weren’t expecting much more people besides reservations.

But low and behold, when the bell above the door rings, Nico glances up to the sight of two young people, surely the same age as her and Alex.

And while the guy wears a leather jacket, messy brown hair that she isn’t sure which direction it was meant to go, the girl following behind him has her blonde hair in a braid over her shoulder, and is, unlike her companion, more appropriately dressed for the weather which has been abnormally hot this season.

The stranger tugs the cardigan on her shoulders over her white dress just a little. She looks impatient, poking the guy’s shoulder and saying something low and unintelligible.

Did Alex have to pinch her side to get the attention he wanted? Looks like it, yes.

Because holy shit.

Nico sort of feels like a deer in headlights, which is a joke, this is not anywhere near a situation like that, and a stupid metaphor, anyway.

But her previous string of keeping her cool, not letting her nerves overtake her entire being, is getting, well, thrown out of the window at this moment.

Alex likes to call this her “bisexual panic”. He’s a little bit of an asshole.

Well, they both are, but it doesn’t matter, because if Nico has to hear him tease her about “being a wreck around pretty people” one more time, she might just lose it.

It’s fine. She’s a customer, a civilian like herself, keep it together.

Thing is, this might just be the prettiest girl she’s ever laid her eyes upon. Sounds melodramatic, she knows.

This stranger looks like an extreme polar opposite of herself, in terms of fashion sense, anyway, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

She likes tall people, too.

Also, the blonde turns her head, seemingly surveying the parlour with a skepticism in her eyes that Nico’s seen many, many times, but it doesn’t faze her, because those eyes are the clearest blue possible.

She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, and Nico notices a small cross hanging around her neck.

Again, not exactly the community she herself hangs around, which might explain why she’s, tragically, never seen this person before now, but Nico’s experienced far too much shit to be judgmental.

“You done staring?” Alex’s voice mumbles on her left side, swiftly passing by to greet the two potential clients.

Guess he’s just earned himself another eyeroll. Or a death stare, maybe.

Her voice of reason gets to her, despite the, ugh, panic, and if she just runs this on their autopilot measure of things, as usual, it’ll all be fine.

Yes, definitely.

This isn’t some fairytale land, Nico tells herself, it’s not like this is your moment finally meeting the love of your life, or whatever, and you’ll live happily ever after.

She’ll most likely never see her again. She’s just very, extremely pretty- no, beautiful. Can’t blame her for being a little dumbfounded, right?

Alex is the kind of person who could make meaningful conversation with a toddler, a parrot, or a brick, if he really wanted to, so Nico’s glad to let him do most of the talking, as always.

He usually explains the basics to the clients, asks them about the design they have in mind (if they have an idea to begin with, that is), and that’s usually when he pulls Nico out from her thoughts, especially in situations like this where there’s more than one customer in the parlour at the time.

Given that their boss has more or less left them in charge of the shop till closing time today, however, she decides to make her way into the conversation herself.

“We’re getting matching tattoos!” the brunette guy tells them eagerly, a smug grin on his face, and judging by the impatience visible on his companion’s face, Nico has a feeling this wasn’t her idea.

She still sports a fond smile, though, despite her still not looking totally convinced of her… friend? partner?’s idea.

Alex nods politely, his customer service smile put on like he owns the place, and makes sure to present her to their soon-to-be canvases, “We’re interns here, Nico and I, but we got plenty of experience, so you’re in safe hands.”

And now, the girl looks directly at her. She might just mentally combust.

Nico has always hated those romantic traditions, and Valentine’s Day, and love at first sight, please, what vomit inducing bullshit.

She has to remember that, especially now, because a way too pretty girl looks at her up and down, very subtle and quick, so much so that it could be missed, but the bright smile she gives her makes her heart jump in her chest.

Nico smiles back, of course. She’s not an asshole.

“This is Chase and Karolina, by the way.” her best friend tells her, because administration, obviously, even though his voice definitely isn’t forgetting her and her panic, but fuck that.

Karolina.

She brushes another lock of hair out of her face, and Nico’s struggling to keep her attention on the transaction. She can’t be like this right now, nope, as sweet as the smile with pink lips staring her in the face is.

“So, you got a design?” Nico then inquires, once the pricing and everything is out in the open, knowing too well Alex will tease her more the longer she stares, and well, doesn’t know what to do with herself, so she might as well get on with it.

“A ‘C+K’ should do it, really, Oh! Can you do a heart?”

And Karolina sticks her tongue out at her companion, but he laughs nonetheless, like he can’t hold it back, bumping her shoulder.

They’re a couple.

Of course.

Nico should’ve seen it coming, she guesses, if she wasn’t so hung up on how pretty this girl was, it should’ve been obvious.

Ugh, it doesn’t even matter, anyway, because there wouldn’t even be a chance.

She’s a customer, she reminds herself, that’s like, the most unprofessional that could be. And even if they weren’t, and even if it was different, Nico could never tell if the girls she liked were into her or not. Or the boys, for that matter.

The partners previously always made the first move on her, which Alex explained by her being the most stubborn person he knows. Whatever.

Without Nico not realising much else conversation, it seems fitting that Alex takes on Chase’s shoulder blade, while her canvas turns out to be Karolina’s upper arm.

Alex and her cleaned the sketch up they brought, their clients both approved, and here they were.

It’s simple, really, a pink heart, with an added arrow through it because Alex likes to turn everything as extravagant as possible. And the initials, of course.

And Nico’s more than used to being close to total strangers like this.

Like, with most areas of the body, even. But those other people weren’t the prettiest girl in the world, so, you know.

And to make matters worse, once Karolina’s seated, and Nico’s sanitized the area, tracing the outline, the too pretty stranger starts talking. She knows this doesn’t sound like a bad thing, but Nico was already nervous, and far from an expert at small talk.

The blonde does seem to know how to lead a conversation.

Because the outline finished, glancing up to make sure the client’s still on it and not chickening out, wouldn’t be the first time, the pretty girl gives her another sweet smile, too sweet, really, and states, “I like the way you work.”

Nico has to blink a few times, because she’s not sure she quite understands what that means. Maybe she’s too used to lewd jokes from her peers that everything turns into an innuendo by now. Fucking hell.

So she opts for a, “You do?” as a reply.

Karolina nods. Gracefully, she has to describe it, not overly excited or eager, though the intention’s definitely there.

“I mean, you looked really concentrated a couple seconds ago. I don’t know. You’re gentle.” and she finishes her sentence with a shrug.

Gentle. Nico has never in her wildest imagination expected someone to associate that term with her. She’s never been called that.

Maybe her insides get a little fluttery. So what?

She’s not a giggling schoolgirl, she can keep her composure, and she does, but hopefully without the coldness she usually goes for when something doesn’t go as expected.

This girl doesn’t deserve that.

And honestly, this is feeling way too intimate way too fast.

The boys are already bantering about whatever video game they’re apparently both into, because, somehow, Alex manages to keep his lines straight while laughing at dumb puns and other ridiculous Alex-things.

Also, can this girl stop staring at her?

If Nico couldn’t control herself as well as she could, she might’ve been blushing. It’s only been ten minutes, come on, now.

Karolina seems a tad more… curious than most of her clients, anyway.

It’s like she’s observing every line she makes, at least, what she can crane her neck enough to follow.

So, inclined to distract herself from the thought of a pretty girl watching her, she asks, without thinking too much, “What are you studying?”

Nico’s got an excuse, cause her wrist is resting on the armrest, fashioned with an university pride bracelet, seriously.

The girl blows a hair away from her nose.

“Philosophy,” she tells her, in a shy, half-embarrassed tone, “Not my parents’ first choice.”

So Nico has to scoff. “Welcome to the club.”

The fact that they can have a laugh at this notion, a proper one, not as loud and bashful as the boys, but fuck them, this is like treading the deep waters of the pool, knowing someone’s holding your hand.

She doesn’t know where that comparison comes from.

…

It’s kind of excruciating, the way the session comes to a both disappointing and long awaited end.

The tattoo’s easy, and Nico’s nonsensical pining, or whatever it is, can’t just last here forever, she knows.

Karolina stayed quiet once they’d established their mutual bond of parents not trusting their decisions, besides the occasional humming, which she probably didn’t even realise she was doing, and offhand remarks to the boys about them being more serious.

The girl had seemed eager to get this thing over with when they came in, but once Nico announced her arm bandaged and in need of rest, she didn’t exactly miss the now anything but eager pout.

It’s not like she said anything, but Nico thinks her reading of people is improving. She’ll convince herself of that, anyway, to support the logic in her head.

The boys had fun, but she didn’t expect any less of Alex.

The fact that he’s made friends with multiple clients, or “established connections”, as he calls it, with the elder ones, seems exhausting to Nico.

She does envy him, though.

At least, she wishes she had that skill set right now, to have gotten a lot more meaningful conversation out of this meeting.

Don’t be fooled, she knows when a crush of hers is off limits, but who knows, maybe they could be friends. Not that they seemed to have much more in common, but, you know.

Karolina just seemed special to her brain, or heart, or whatever.

Doesn’t matter anymore, does it?

Chase proudly shows her their matching marks, which Nico would roll her eyes at if she could, and Karolina laughed with a sigh.

Nico’s got a sense that she’s, still, not all in on this. Too late now, she supposes.

And she’s never understood couple tattoos anyhow, because in Nico’s relatively short life on earth so far, she’s learned that most things come to an end.

It’s not necessarily pessimistic, or at least she tells herself that, because graduating was nice, and then she started an internship, so maybe endings really just mean that you’re ready for beginnings.

Sounds ridiculous when she thinks about it, but maybe they discuss that on Karolina’s philosophy course, who knows.

Besides, seems odd they would do it without mutual approval on both parts.

But of course, Nico doesn’t know these people at all, so who is she to ponder on their relationship?

And so the couple pay their bill, Alex exchanges numbers with Chase, because of course, and Karolina lingers just long enough that Nico suspects she might have something on her mind.

The blonde has a hand on her hip when she says, “He’s ridiculous.”

Nico doesn’t know if it was meant for her ears or the taller girl simply thinks out loud, but none or the less, she’d feel rude not to respond.

“It was nice meeting you guys,” is what’s coming out of her mouth, as casual as possible, emphasis on guys, “and hope you like the tattoo, regardless.”

Karolina scrunches up her nose, which is, um, adorable, like her words were troubling, but she still nods, more than once, “Definitely.”

And the girl looks to the side again, the boys fistbumping and Chase already snapping a picture of his mark. He’s stupidly proud of it, huh.

Nico can’t say he’s unlikable, can she? Maybe that’s part of his charm.

“You coming?”

And Karolina laughs again, sticking her tongue out, but starts moving when he almost bounces out the door, his attention immediately taken by a very important text message, it seems.

“Your art’s gorgeous, Nico.” she says over her shoulder, “See you around, right?”

And it’s said like a matter of fact, a law of nature, as if Karolina had searched for her work on the display walls, carefully eyeing the artist name labels.

She couldn’t have sounded any more sincere.

Nico nods, before she mentally combusts.

And the girl and her flowing dress are out the door in a flash, and if Alex’s laugh is any indication, Nico’s flushing beet red.

Gorgeous.

…

As if she received a small static shock, that’s how the weekend passes by for Nico.

Fast enough that she sits, on Monday, failing to remember anything noteworthy she spent her time with.

Well, she stayed over at Alex’s, since he swore to introduce her to Wolfenstein, whatever that word means. It turned out to be a game about killing nazis, so yeah, her interest was won soon enough.

Not that this is the point or anything.

The point’s more like in the evening, when the boss has a family emergency and needs them to close up alone, which they are fully capable of, mind you, and a familiar face walks through the door.

It’s not the first time customers have returned, far from it.

Whether it be one of many patrons of the parlour, who they both have been introduced to by now, or the many new friends Alex is so brilliant at making.

Today, though, Alex does show off a knowing smile, but it’s pointed right at Nico, and she kind of wants to pinch him and his ever annoying smugness away.

And he doesn’t even stay to greet their former client or anything. Looks like his plan is to leave her to her own devices, spotting Chase outside and swiftly swinging out the door in one fluid movement.

Asshole.

And well. Nico’s one again faced with this girl, who made her blush too damn much for just one meeting.

Karolina’s wearing blue jeans this time around, and a crop top, damn, she cannot imagine that white leather jacket is giving much warmth on a foggy day like this one.

She waves. Nico has to wave back. It’s not like she was supposed to clean this chair or anything.

Seems like duties are put on hold around the prettiest girl ever.

Her smile comes off shy, but Nico can’t imagine anyone feeling shy around her. Well, she’s come off rather terrifying, more like, to the local school bullies back in primary school.

They made her sick, she had fists, and her all-black wardrobe was certainly helpful in that mission too.

Then, in the thought of punching bullies, Karolina’s in front of her, seemingly, consciously, leaving her some space, which she’s grateful for.

Common decency, Nico supposes, but also, a reminder that this infatuation needs to fade if she wants to remain some form of contact with the blonde.

Her very real, very annoying boyfriend laughs outside. Nico wishes she didn’t sound so bitter.

It’s fine, you know, they’ve met one time.

Nico wants her luck to be different, but since that’s out of the picture, she wants to be her friend. Very badly.

If she could just open her mouth, dammit.

“Hey,” she starts, finally, judging by Karolina’s hesitant silence that she expects her to put out the first word, “Good to see you again. And so soon.”

The last part with a quick laugh, would sound weird, or judgmental, otherwise. Not the perfect second impression.

Is the second impression even a thing?

Karolina chuckles herself, thank god, but squints her eyes a bit and scratches her arm, “The tattoo’s looking nice, I think.”

Nico doesn’t know if there’s a question laced into that statement, but the tall girl shrugs the jacket off just enough for her to view the work, and so she moves a tad closer.

It does look nice. Still needs to heal, extremely fresh, but nice.

Definitely one of the better couple tattoos she’s done, Nico tells herself.

And she nods, and Karolina settles her jacket properly, and that subject is dealt with.

Now what?

Maybe this was all the blonde came to talk to her about. Makes sense, but also, a tiny disappointment settles in Nico’s stomach.

It’s not like she had high expectations though, hell, she didn’t even expect to see her just three days after the meeting.

It seems Karolina meant what she said. See you around.

But that’s just politeness, Nico figures. Artist and client.

She doesn’t know if she can ever learn from Alex’s mastery of the social art, to be honest. Stupid Alex things.

“So-” the girls find themselves speaking at the same time, and Nico chuckles awkwardly, but the blonde smiles too warmly for it to matter. “You were saying?”

And Nico’s about to answer, only she notices a third person joining Chase and Alex.

A relatively short girl, pushing her glasses up her nose and purple-dyed hair in two small buns.

And she kisses Chase on the cheek. Which, of course, friends do that. Nico and Alex don’t, but then again, they fistbump and shove each other more than anything else.

She can’t help but furrow her brows. It’s probably nothing, she thinks, forget about it.

“I was just thinking, if you wanna see some of my non-tattoo art one day.” Nico shrugs, better make it as casual as possible.

And Karolina’s eyes light up impossibly, and her nose scrunches up again when she smiles. Nico didn’t notice her freckles last time, weirdly.

“I’d love that, Nico!” she says, of course, looking excited and adjusting her ponytail, “I figure Chase wanna show Alex some of his gadgets. Something like that. I don’t know.”

That they can both laugh at. Doesn’t surprise Nico, given that Alex has been honing his coding skills since he was like fifteen.

She wasn’t even surprised when he offered to hack the school system and change her stupid history grades. It’s not like she agreed. But oh, did she consider it.

Nico scratches her neck. She wants to escape the conversation, which she’s experienced too many times to count, but also, she wants to stay there forever. Not that usual.

“Honestly, Alex has been talking about him. A lot.” she tells the blonde with a huff, and she smiles fondly, “Be careful he doesn’t steal your boyfriend.”

Nico’s been organizing the table in front of her during the conversation, it’s natural for her to do something with her hands, especially, well, now that she’s able to be nervous, apparently.

But it’s like something suddenly shifts.

When Karolina doesn’t laugh at her remark, Nico looks up, and the tall girl is frowning.

It looks wrong on her face, even though her nose is still scrunched, just the way it was with that smile a few minutes ago, making her feel these weird flutters somewhere deep in her chest.

So, naturally, Nico’s about to ask if she’s okay, because she’s suddenly terrified she’s said something wrong, or implied what her thoughts, somehow, until, “Chase? My boyfriend?”

Okay, Nico doesn’t really know what to say now.

Given her tone, Karolina’s clearly not comfortable. Maybe she’s ashamed of Chase? But that can’t be it, they got tattoos together, for goodness’ sake.

“Yeah? Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“Oh, no!” the blonde looks confused, but reaches her arm out, like she’s going to touch Nico’s shoulder, but she doesn’t, “Or I mean, Chase. He isn’t my boyfriend.”

Her tone is stern without being angry. Elegant.

It’s now Nico’s own turn to frown. Shakes her head at herself.

“I’m so sorry.” she says, and tries to form a longer sentence in her head, without sounding desperate, “I didn’t mean to assume anything. I just, well, the tattoo looked like a couples tattoo, is all.”

And she tries a small smile, unsure if this relation’s already gone to hell after a weekend, but luckily, the tall girl’s frown is gone as fast as it appeared, and she’s biting her lip.

Nico’s more relieved than anything that she’s smiling back.

Then Karolina shakes her head, “Chase is an idiot.”

Again, like an unspoken, mutual understanding, they both laugh. Nico cannot for the life of her tell where this conversation is going.

And so the blonde continues, “It was a stupid bet. The tattoo, that is.”

Now, it does take a second, but it clicks in Nico’s brain. This is also new, and she didn’t know she could be more nervous, but here we are.

“I see.” she replies simply, glancing out the glass door, and figuring the bright haired girl out there must be Chase’s girlfriend.

Karolina chuckles. “They’re adorable.”

They’re looking at the same thing, it seems, so Nico can only nod, and wonder, if this is all, and the blonde is going to step out the parlour, and if the misunderstanding will be forgotten or not.

And they stand there for what seems like forever, but Karolina doesn’t leave.

No, she turns back to Nico, licks her lips, and folds her hands in front of her, “I’m sorry. I mean, God, I must be bad at flirting.”

Flirting?

This is going a little too fast for her. And now Karolina looks nervous too, but continues, impressively not stumbling over her words, “I mean, boys aren’t my thing. I-uh, I wasn’t sure if I should come, but Chase insisted I should make a move.”

Nico knows what’s going on. And she can’t say Alex was wrong when he said the blonde was “totally into her”, despite her very concerned, real protests about the very real boyfriend. Or well, very not real, it turns out.

So, instead of thinking of the nerves still sitting right beneath her skin, Nico lifts an eyebrow, trying to make sure what’s happening isn’t some imaginary dream scenario that’ll end in a blink.

“A move?”

The tall girl shrugs, biting her lip again. “Please tell me if this is crossing the line. I just…. you’re very pretty, is all.”

That’s fucking adorable.

“You think I’m pretty?” Nico replies, feeling her smile grow too stupidly bright. It’s not long before the girl in front of her mimics it.

Fuck, Nico, you’re going soft.

Alex is going to tease her for weeks after this. But she’ll worry about that later.

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