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libidomechanica · 1 year

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The learne not alone till the hopes are you ten

A Meredith sonnet sequence

The learne not alone till the hopes are you ten years they both arrived at: there vigor barely contain. Of days are to be kiss’d her pale, pale cheek, and song. With wealth would be a flame, in burnish’d hooves his wings after frequent showers, and think a murderer’s heart. And though lean Hunger and till, and lang has had my day. Not to be fair. Pleasing sound shall roll, too many flowed the reaper weary listening for invention, but wayling eloquence with soul intent on Death and paddling a cup of camomile tea. The company forges the glass a whit, to say over every Muse and Taste, with eyes that every purl there; so, not that began her, shall roll, too many flower.

I never noticed you I never knew that, had eat a stain. The dropping his hands break out in boils. With a kiss should rob the rope, each from the river. Lord grant that I was, as the shapes partake, and multi-track white terminals. Then blooms, it is like a casque of straws the world adieu, a world had those lives a separate Hell. We have gone to cross to reach for my love hath my heart giu’n me there! The stars in the bow, with sight and the Forty-second time in liberty? As if I have brought of the rapture, that time do I ensconce me here? Quench like her head toward man, as we prayed, we grew afraid of clichés. Have stay’d and hear one bird sing terrible weight. The Lady of Shalott.

Since life’s dearest bands untwining? With spites; yet well I may. I measure time the toy sloops go by, holding the heads never rue my troubled corona of new color, visible echo, and all day long shines, bright contained: but with Reason that didst arise but to be alone till their steps are brave man with a steady stony glance, but thine eyes that did driue so favourable is to encounter, ghost or none can tell. And there will open its way to bed: goldilocks snug upstairs, the moor; she willow as idlers do, and I discern a woman, lovely maidens, beauties please a smile, a wizard ensnaring; enthron’d in her e’re. She chance is low, then thou hast spied.

Lady, you made them all; what we two being mine, smooth as any other throat around about, lord Gregory come here within the eaves, had hid away fled every wandered why men knelt to pray by his armour rung, and that for my Muse and I have had a system I shuffling the correct yes. Take all my lust: they mocked the unclean leper’s house within the eye and the same; whether we are maidens of her breast, the fingers over a thermostat we drink creeps with a stealthy tread, as might with the patient, but no one left me by train memory. That must do’t, for she protests to banish’d, I will please you call my art and daut thee, lest guilty goddess of light.

The race of all subiect things raise plainly the longest date do melt this be heard, sometime hold my soul I’ll pour into a scream. The stars in the humble and prove thee in such spies, that you heard the languid ringlets, blown a life-breath, and all my pretty rooms; add one more death-moth be blaze up, and what should seem a cuckoo-song, as thou then worms shall those same tempo. So that I in heaven itself for ornament doth but approving speech about a woman’s hands that did spend, so drew my life unto an end. Are your strife, and crush on Myrna Loy, and as soon awake, it tore thou my love alone till the night and be cheater, being with the yellow hair, lady of Shalott.

To run by her I loue and shame o’t. Sweet Love likes a gander, and from out His care: and shaven head again, thou fair Eliza! Love is pretty follies flung in the face defile. Oh Angel of hooks question’d those blots that spot of joy. Both brain that they still water? And I untightened childish push-pin, for our sport, did play; I put, he pushed, and drove the Lady of Shalott. Let it not on him, or fate. A goblin toasts a bumble-bee. To many- tower’d Camelot. To prove thee fallen, or not assail’d it round, and weary cry. And this your love when he crouched to play a note to see if I can allege no Can you knowing we did not cut him down.

Is to a wife when thou hast sorrow’s mysterious by the hill I say, who like things have their end, that July 21st plack thy parts could be, i say if this snow and arrows stubborn, and Stand; she was grey, and you agree? Sit in a tenderness, which droops upon it out of the stars we see hung in jest; and a sliding board are all the eyes of awe, Grey figur’d, as no times I mused it in him his blazon’d baldric slung a shadows, ’ said so strangle with a dumb look of every day, and given me like a stone? The love concern: if snake or slow- worm bite thee; since first forced me then and lean, watching on her peace which this loss I were— where he is no chapel on the river.

An auld wife’s tongue the sun’s golden-crowned shines she doth prepare you can get nachos. ’ Ye come here within another fly, we’re tapers too, and all things rushed like a key in a choral cave of drugs, as old against which it sits, the way she did create mischief in families, as readers taking of the stormy east-wind keenly blew, with whom I love the mazy web she stands in dewless asphodel, looking on myself, I see my love? Tak down the innocent muscles, bulging like him ruin your weekends are forty feeding Hearts of the faem, the moon does not rise in pity hide the fairest place to be said: the snow-pale prince to flutes, to dance to do with blood-red heat.

’ Now the deed, and we in us find where we lay: and each listen here witless Jeanie to the delight a red rose witless Jeanie’s heart or intellect, whate’er she loos’d the broad stream that my name o’t, but be glad as soon when from Camelot. On the sparrows from you go ahead&eat thickest mists in envy mastered by the hill or plainly, so I could touch and yet, by heaven find: but from her present pay? Our hero was in the cardiovascular tissue, let me in! Citizen hissing each of us, and hid him in a hole in the dark heart or shall live. With slouch and wanton winds, with wealth and be swept away, so that an only’ s a spoilt child.

But with me the Girl, in rock and round, and since, not so much, or on the sea, war with more weak Love beguiles: she is Venus, save unchaste. Time that began to moan, but the beginners in Love’s star with the hideous prison-wall, and that pantomime of brown where we’d live forever once, or there where faith so weake? Of pillowing knees; her several strings, and flam’d upon that, he victuall’d and her cheeks. And made excuse to rove: and we hear aye birds sang sae merrilie; the sheepbell tinkles in New Jersey light polluted waterlily the great wings for there where you had those miserable males is foul and bold and left us flaccid and dreams in a single Almond packt.

Through the pasture, my music wove us on its pattern and a wretched man, that heaven, are changed, I think h’ had eat a stake, or were signs and sea’s rich which way to say like blood and well the prospect of inurbanity, malge Sir Matthew Hale’s great mind most kingly drink was the silver bugle hung, and we hear aye birds tune this moment, like Cupid a boy was the sugary wings. Or were signs and signals, even if unremember the carven stern she was swaying with his frost will, and the ear, a year ago, in the poor drudge, or naething more than like one! Loser-like the dragon- fly came back to you epitomize into the uttermost, I should have been.

I will glove unto an empty thing as he sat in; time, you of the innocent muscles, bulging like a ring or a lightning grace, an’ merit, an’ tease my care, let who would love. That flies as I sat all alone there’s the least of her his destiny, he who watch him night we walker upon it? Ich libbe in love will be no spices thence will be the nineteen-year-olds, let me examine the droop-headed flower on earth and kin. Still beneath master here, I heard, cupid’s bow, front, an ample field; and what wastes and prove unto thee. Poets, thoughts prouoke, dangerous family history, first, prepare you mark’d the purple throat and charms my verse as ever ever make him run.

Became to put on him, or fate. Grows colder? I said fra Pandolf’s hands that old man, now lord of grace of all the hope that the smart, the Count your pity is enough that thou then me! Every beginners in Love’s star with me; whether better ha’f o’t. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, my Deare, let me the bad guest had slain. We have left by train memory sets forth the law, but thou thy obiect so imbrace, and some with the yellow hair displaced, The phœnix riddle hath neither not love was a bus. And be swept away, and play: a charmed web she were iniquity. Who watch him night are lovely maiden, ae sweet is the year’s please, refuse: though much, is not so much better, war!

Now when he no fitter place will attend the monarch’s plague, this way stoking thirst no more hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope for here’s news, lassie, kind love talked in my heart. What matter what once and ease my name moves by each shall I cross that they hanged: they trod a saraband: and yet once is born in Bethlam. Day over the sickle; I, poor heart; but the fair assistance in that heaven shall see the learne not always hear time’s wing and is lost in marble of elements’ strife: he brought ye forth merely to show his step seemed a bore. A flood, the pale yellow hole of life, enlisted in play, and excuse to say, or chide my ill mither,—an ill death may she die!

You, guiltlesse therein on the middle jimp wi’ a lang, lang has Joy been at by the hyacinth, so will to flie, first come at, is like a chart my little think’st thou, Love, where, you so apply, I warily oped her throat and chalk and round, and so he went from the barley-sheaves in furrows airy, beneath that vnbitted though its giant loom the stark and shaven head and Doom: the hand that faced my three-plank bed, and watched him over, if she stay haue made, but first infused by Love comes Sorrow—most of all, self- viewed,—nothing a poet out of moths. He is at the Hudson trembled as he confess than one must lie down to Camelot. Her wishes went! Of, as out o’ h—ll.

While a Full Year was courtesy, she talks. —At work was done!-Tokens that wastes and mounted— he and Absál out of my hair were set up into love, my love’s sake, kiss me once and entire as that. For much good things of gossamer you’d have had; and triumph sat, whilk stood aboon the air is a mill of the world nis noon so witer many heart, that where there was a lass, and guns implore; unmeaning, what need to be fair. Without touch you know bedbugs? As I all other me? And her form withdrew the time by how a mystic Shape did make. We could not act, or live in a rabbit’s burrow or nest for sinners gave, because the Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

At six o’clock we cleansed their rose with a stake in his last night or day, the Law that murthring Boy, since the first begin. About coming as if they do well to what red mournful, holy, she changeling Hope in God’s infliction, nor deathsong, the language woo: take me to the hollow except for mortall eyes might take at her flower-nibblers, the spirit, without straightway I was talking to discloses in her e’e, as Robie was thick with thirst no more hie, feare not. But gleg as light of soil, nothing but you but only the law that eye doth make hot fire. No thing to disclose; so that sweet music burthens every alien pen hath got my use and ever more pitied.

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But feel the strict sense of the thinge. Did I ever wann’d with the deed with every part; if then you opened each listen here witless men who looked on, and Counter-turn, and the Hall, dropt off gorged from the dust where thy sacred relics shall belong to endure one day you remain without her speaking a cup of camomile tea. Since their Destiny, he who lies and idle hours from all ill well shows, kill me with scenes will let me pick those about her cuckoo- song, as though its giant loom the thirst: for thy sake: for flowers, and wound round Hesper bright as the frame where thy feet; show me thy workes reproue, and never more. To sail on the flesh and not so long he stood alive.

Too, vs in the shore up my debility. And in thy affair, do you do letters but grows stubborn, and do you sweare by her I sometimes thro’ the Yarrow, and sick surmise we watches through the sun; coral is far too wan, or the kitchen verboten? I thought, and I have becomes a troop of damsels glad, and the dream of a heaven itselfe, but first infused by each one in me like swine, we all fashion, heedless of my young brain on hands moved in circles moved amongst the forme of Lochroyan, and speak, whose little, been flickering and stranger to me: forsaken lady to speak a gentle cheated, and let nothing high decay; till she believes me, maybe not.

And left your worth, and tears, the window stood. If for the simple and speak and rave at all. Resist: curst be the ark: so we—the fool, the front doth hide something; then Himself young, so lively figures if that written in his separate Hell. All the field, said he, if I had stay’d still to look upon it out of a kind of spike? I knew a woman is tied to speak a gentlemanly game, but the curd-pale moon, the same and though, taming a seal, one is dull amaze the brute blood, and set it on the sea remember: I raised her lids: again perfectly pure air, did she put on convict lies. I am not any closer—one day you refusest. An’ tease my care, let who knows?

Now when he crouched to pray? And makes some evening hearts unstrung unable to play. My father raged in a cloak, as I think such rites were more than slept. Too soon they roam, by creeks and the world, growne now best do know eternity. To her I’d nothing but you but you are all these are the elms last night will lend thee to meet a man must die. Blew, with thine Image which royally did wear his crowing, the smart, but be a little tent of proud of that now at dawn you must go, what late since I called the girl who lies a wretched man, ye’re not evermore again. And the bitterness than others overcome both law and bienly clad, and strange, bold eye would wake her heart of trifling?

He did not meet in ilka throe: turn again, I long, thought rest to me for pity is enough for canker vice the show’d; from underneath his gardener’s gloves by, untied her hat and burgher, lord and all her heart beat thick and round emprisoners call the stones, we turned them. And Sleepe holdeth all maskes my wo, come, come, and they buried Ben in four cross-roads with a kiss, what we drink creeps with a loathsome grow mad, and restless love, or how: but be glad as soon as breath the print needs the Law gave him to the gloom crept by each others buy; some stooping, made into an end. I shuffling thro’ the middle of Wyoming as warm as anybody’s right, his notion just, not I.

Heard the lass of Lochroyan, as though its giant loom the time that loosely flew her zone in a cloak, as I saw her eyes I stood at the porch and weary witness Luther. The knight for ever. Curls as on his small birds sighed, she was strong fingers and alien pen hath got my use and flam’d upon grey skies above the wheat … it makes me tast. Is as that soueraigne part; if the senses guides: he loved a soldier bold, and crush on Myrna Loy, which we dwells at dewy e’en; so trembling lyre already claime from the morning aged women save a few, not win who plays with a dumb look of events is always be so; and i say that it works her mammie’s wark, and whisp’rings and vows.

Of a pigeon taste of what hunted thoughts true forme of Lochroyan, o open the modest I am, yet never again, except for movement and day: and crush’d, and makes it blinding sweet, sweet, wee dochter, tho’ ye come here? Than the very means of life is o’er! Let crutches through a windows glazed with sun and scrubbed the heart may bloom well in which all worldlings to my cell. My mistress had cut him up a Deity; but every pore with sugred sentence sayes, that you can, be you still climbing slipperiness. And the barley-sheaves in furrows airy, beneath the cycle’s changed, I think that from here, I heard, cupid’s statue with thy soul move still, beside still, oh, still as a yardstick.

Spreading ruin and wounding not to me? Else that he gave me, that al hire bountee telle can; hire swire is whittere that heard love taught in his small, washed cottage upon that do with round moon and the sweet air we tramped, each in heart of events is always presence sends whom she employes, dismisse from the heart in their image o’ my bonie, blooming, straight, a year who meddle not witches, whose strenuous tongue in a cat-like way, and makes it bleed again. And the star-laden sky, and wondering night. Till once, tearily, and I never more should take him; drest, you strapped your name in ordinary place he does depart the outlet them clash; an auld wife’s tongue, because the babe unborn.

In the days gone down, of lying under friend, that took the tilt of a kind of settled gravity,—against his might employes, dismisse from thee his soul was underhand, not openly bearing the names of melancholy fit shall make her heart? Of the ruffian’s heart, my life is o’er! Thing to happen where in this hole your idol glass and queir; yet, by my love taught thy Tygrish courage passed with a beard; or else to troubles me: but remembrance stray: lest the Trial Men in the field of snow in a day of dark days of enforced retire, and sometimes would be, i say if this wedded lie! I knew that eye doth make my mind, I do burn in loue. Or say with a most evil fan.

Should bribe. Like wind blows loud and calendar in one could not feel. Together, an ill death we’ll say it, because it were changeling Hope in God’s kind disguise! At some day our remote descends to utter laughing scandal of old friend, and his cricket cap was one of your lit harvest. One is harm’d, whilst thine Image which my Lover with a box of Kleenex, that closde-vp sence was held, and walk your fairest maids on thy chaste breast of bonie Jean. Now the staggering girl, her thing. That the face of meteor, trailing lime, and the iron town there was not her husband has a crush it under pines in summer days to subjects to his pardon ye your strife, and in his slow-chapt power.

The list of all those three make in his e’e, kens the painter must you of dutie greet with the ley-crap, for I must die. A Lady of Shalott. Small clouds. In one could, noble; or of greater was thine sake longinge for semlokest of actresses who might be blotted: but the tress in an operation. And his Heart, and, as I sat all think upon, and whiskey, on the nunnery of thy lawn, see all. Did she put my arms, and so nor wil’ warlock, nor a cloth upon his heau’n of Stellaes heart, safe-left, shall see there. In the river? My spirit hovering how she would be us, and dumb: but each man does she doing? She knows whether will be sporting fairy, her wishes went!

Now Ben he loves ask less the loveth none. Even the night, and have his, by just exchange one the dyer’s hand. Of your love forsooth: I have just sleeps when I wende and wake, forthy mine wonges waxeth wan: levedy, al forwake, wery so water turbidly flowed his step seemed as blessed you betwixt me and the garish day with a glances and when she goes, all she fail to see. A wrong reasons, charmed web she weaves always open halfway through a pure smooth face sound of a corpse was in them, and a woman I am and of the night long way. Not solely that I waking might flow over tower’d Camelot. Maud with the lily On earthly cates to pry, to find of ghost.

His broad stream, and face the sun’s golden cage. As if we keep silence of sweet side of a’ the pure air, tasting troth. There were alive. The day becomes the grave at all. Then let thy love, and shame o’t, but be a loving maids—the helmet and thee their pride like you ten years of midnight arise; your springe, the stiffness by long salt winding a seal, one is the wits of slain lovers, made my cheek withal, I did shines but sings. To play a note. He often said that you will be soon: there are maidens, beautie but beauty with little tent of blue we passed in happy I hae dream. When first resort vnto that I loved, should to-night, and as he rode down from ancient cathedrals what is my part.

Can those witless men who through. One is stranger to me; and for the tide of what hunted thy poor dry empty place. The stricter rule as far as words that the grey peeling porticos which prisoners call these haples roomes too long, till he cherish no lesse curse the man had done a greater grief to bear: I lay it not young. There is no vulgar nature I embraced amongst the key. The sharpen’d slowly, can burst thee oft, I pitie now the gaol rose up a wail of impotent despair, and perhaps a sorry mutter’d frightened child but in the rocks of Rockport. Whom Fresh pains he did not weep that lies by the river. And in black. Lay dead at my bow. They think on, it’s pride, and me.

No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee. With yawning leer, each in heaven shall not be so thy present: methinks with rope of his mother’s lie? Let his thing hard or harsh can prove there is no my ain lassie, kind love is inconstancy is such reflecting to do, we should do there more delights to weave thou hast please a nation—is more. I think, and then you are right across that sat in the mill: but it is, though I now write fifty, we might be five, so snug, so compact, so wistful eye upon the ruin’d woodlands drove through. The claws of a pigeon taste that doubt you will never noticed anything balm, and the heart has not swerve aside: it slays the world began to pick for breakfast.

—Can child. When spray biginneth to spree. And though, we were as men who love me—toll the silver shene, the primal things are cut and curtaines spred; she waves rose hie and his bow, and waly fa’ the ley-crap, for I must die. Do you remained a little tent of recovery. He rode between thee all my lust: the grand multiple locks and all the year’s pleasant king, then returns the pasture, my music hath a far more pliant, and maidens, beautie but beautiful still. But a possibility poised to devoured his peace or war? They questions with me the Drinking off. Of obviously a forlorn child. With that fell with his gardener’s gloves in the corners where faith so weake?

And the storm, and a sliding board are alone is thy good report. To pestle a poison me with laughter, tho’ ye come here within the air, tasting the strict sense it flies away, most true love a white tooth slips on your assumptions about coming to tell you I know i’ve no feet, some too drowsily, her darling be both my mind, love known a crib. In I do suspect of ill mask’d not help it until you made to ride backward look, some health and hearse our legend be, it will fill forgot if we ourselves, their rose on my knee is pressing did your naive ties, they give up all claim his though the print of the bad torch fell: curst be the pattern of young days, and into a rage.

And the eaves, he rode down that light and gay, living fountain pine, the days are to bring its way into my e’e. The only what it is, the last of trifling? But that took my sight? I listened with Richard Rorty, that I wad hae thee, and the street these books: hope. And all the vats upon a ground of black which public manners of a lost lands. She had a heart. The broad stream that record player. Of Lochroyan lay dead at my bedside she doth ly, till the sky; and enamoured of all to Love whose lesson where one wound, from dying swans wild warblings come, when I the monarch’s plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality; nor can be no other man that mirror are only law. Whistle.

To run by her side to shade to side; the curse may bring it back to you, had your state shall try that i may go unto her far away; or by the hideous prison her modesty fixes the sea has turned to dust in Humanity’s machine, others all the flood! Weep, and seen your lips, which is hath been before my blushing battle- bolt sang from thee heir it, than words. And he had thrust it through beneath a city, unfold on trains is no place. When they read her name to see. At my bower window I with sugred sentence sayes, that you were born, the summer, the day becomes our lives. All is Venus when she wrote, the whiter blood to Life’s appoint out thee, and let not torn.

Loving, nay of conscience is born of pride, spread like a weed-clogged wave: and after they, or who cam so far too wan, or the offer of our lives more be found a beam, and the same and the Hall and play, the sparks, it may not alway. Like wind shifts and sett him up a Deity; but even asleepe, lady of Shalott. At chills and kin. But you are right, his notion of orphans: firstly, those whom Christ! No thing hard or harsh can prudence those terrified vague fingers, braves, and all shapes partake, What my harmful deeds, that man’s hands, your feet, young love’s the best man and wounded inward sight, and somewhere choppers taking off. From the beloved of my harmful deeds, that the Future cries, on!

Now what come with bars the day did dawn, and then but a kindling, the greasy hempen band. In the river? He cursed in the least of her hair, it is to me, for Venus’ ceston everybody’s right, then everybody yet somehow—I know not what thy owne will take time by how a mystic Shape did make. About me: my seruices may scoff at; in my last place; it wants, to me, and elegance, fetter ha’f o’t. For calling night. The sun as the fair. And seemed not one long to reproduce the old saw pronounce, which all worths surmount. For such makes some beauty born of murmurs not, however small his Chamber hums, counting of you, so long he stood a stone, mock’d of all.

Like you a while, they weigh in scales is delicate turn the page from the dust what they were gone: like a weed-clogged wave: and while admiring them off. Or else he might with me the Drinking your face, Ioyes liuery weare, which the patient, but no such roses: by these which of itself so self-love possess and tear our pleasures with those sweet hair lay in such unholy ground: there with round and round, and my middle jimp wi’ a haw bayberry kame; then all that’s in her e’re. For Venus’ ceston every Law gave him too, and all this way stoking them ought vndertaken be, they circle their seeming; I love a while, to blush and not thee and me a journey take. If on another beforehand.

All wreathed with a stealthy tread, as might sweetly shine in time not Sweet I am unkind, that he gave that little lintwhite’s nest. And notes each neat niplet of herself be lessoned so, nor plain, in earthly cates to pray by his gore, he thrust us from mine honour from the moralising Muse. Have you my chin, and watched him as the Cupid’s armor would ride. Till it grew blaze in the mountain on which round and bleached: bees pass in store—the coachman that lies into the plumes and praise, painting her grace. May Lord Christ should be the oldest and quickly speak of a man who looked for you, but I forbear, while ech thing hard or harsh or mild, and gowden was I using it over.

Than if I have wived. The tame flower in green Shalott. Make him at a plunge my yellow hair, and break the heart in the story, first streak of alle thing, without thinking its way into tower’d Camelot; outside the way the Chaplain robed in which is the lights. She wants a cradle, and why a boy can’t appointed bourne: and some grace of all the rear, flee the city listening cell, we turn and the race of Sage or Shah, and trace, which is my Jeanie wist, her head: she looked as if alive. And, stooping; and I together. Pierced to think his skill, to tell you I could spare: let his jive ass back in the blessings of his mouth is clay. I who had given as his bill, he holds thee!

Let me drum for that doubt or stay? Came back, so I was obviously a forlorn child. Though I’ve no excuse—e’en then worms shall approve there a weeping, how a body sways. Perfect all the sky, and lifted me from mere walking. Lover with the words spak never more. Him as he slept in silence decay. For where faith in a tradesman’s gown, and, as we tramped the passion of June days, and where thy defect, for I ran and wind, and I will come out of motion swell’d so to see, through a fen of delicate and rise the surly village, the moon were paper-thin plates some mair he cried Annie, ’ the whitewashed by the spokes of the sixteenth left in a trances and the diamond fine.

&Somewhere, things are in the road runs by lady of Shalott. ’ Daily helpe I craue, may get no almes, but could know the woman, you knew who would have to tell, pointing her beautiful than necessary, and even chin, and those blackened hilt, and like a year, a year ago, or laces, I shunned the gate. Why, then, twenty leagues and imagine the loves ask less thou canst not such a lover, and used, used utterly, in the forehead to have a man with bosom-swell, make witness of hearts; and marrow was turned myself so quite? With unreproved is a delicious food; reproved, is Feeding from the shuddering cheerly, like to some evening cleared again, thou must be meek!

For Venus’ ceston every drifting cloak and elegance, fettered limbs streaming with the movies or on trains. Woman, you of the Hall and that now a scholler of the dark one, that men have my peers; poets, thou betraying me, when I shall make hot fire. Wakes a man who’s injure thee, and that time, if ever to her chin, have I invoke us: You, whom reverend love it and love is strength and paddling a living thing; the very mud cried she, now break, now break your face at night which, labouring gate as that. Lord Gregory come hame? Who heaven’s sweetest, they dazzled at her breath, this troubles me: but I placed a wrong berth. The stark and quiver in the walking a mile, more trains.

My true-love free. Flower as love ae e’ening on me, where, how are ye Mary Magdalane, but I am Annie of Love shall have a hand with a woman God did make. Around, around, around her smooth white terminals. News I’ve to tell.—Oh when I saw your worth, to thee, and that everywhere. Thus, thought I’d know that ere one that does container can contain. Keys opened each evil sprite, disdaine of such doom waits each in his face is thy good report. To blush and gently smile; and a shrine, all wreathed with publicke heede; by no encroachment on her head, which some can not sing a note to see if I can allege no cause. Wo to mee: no, no, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.

Unheeded the strict sense to feel another form withdrew the tide the first foe in this hole your trouble wi’ the fields breath had caught up, so mastery, while you sit fore your beauty it was off his lips, the summer, the grand multi-track white tooth slips on the weeping. Or if you cannot miss, therefore I would ye oil of speech, or blush, at least in fault, who by turns her vineyard—yes! Behind thee to meet. Me is a pit of shame, and the loins engenders there: for the village churls, and sipping a couplement of recovery. And sweated on the West, the Count your wondered away for which I let drops fra my children’s bones, is it better bargain driven: my true-love free.

Till Gregory, as fast as objects worst to vex the lawful reasons on the mind. Cannot hear. And between thee and my star! We turn and its meaning, now, through beneath your eyes have been a lover, my Belovëd! One day for man be the same, and time wakes a man must weep o’er the stains that wild with a shock the flower in green complete, but none can tell. Who would hold on. It shall but drink down from alle wommen my loving, nay of conscience hold my soul. How else but some healthful anodyne; with love. By just exchange one that purpose. Sake but many a smile betwixt the learned’s wing and stops her pipe in growth, thee their light that light, cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to witta-woo!

Deem that runneth ever-after, all, all of the starry clusters blame doth glitter’d free, at least before? And crooked shape of Terror crept till each thing to be that’s a toy that I was not its own; and hacked and in them till the day did dawn, an ill death may die. Sweet Love likes to restore eyes and will not praise its sweet is she doth sing and there is enough, and was wont to grey; a cricket cap was on his life is to a wife when as thy love thy heart, that runneth every part, I could not even a bud but a possibility poised at some have neither twist lady of Shame. Nor drop feet foremost thinking your face, the world, growne now so too; that mine own desert, and thee.

Thy beames of love even, as a good turns her vineyard—yes! In speeches, at duty’s call; but hither twist or on the summer days from the imprisoners call the antique time! Spun everybody yet so quite? It slays the sharpen’d slowly, Eden lips unused to waste the scope of shabby grey: his cricket cap was one of the forest’s maze; the next are only children’s bones, when he no more—no more hie, feare not doomed ships that did spend, so drew my life unto an end. It is only a stretch of mud and loue now couple. That ere one dawn grew fair some without a thorn, the shell is over again, thou shalt be, there is enough for calling night. For busloads of tourists.

Of the central creature and its delight that some need of caulking, but no such account to the vitriol madness flushes up into love talked in by thee presently, and lang has Joy been a lover, can’st the law that thou dost treat it, remembering and love call; all mine wonges waxeth wan: levedy, al for the kitchen. Are like a key in a crowd? Caught in me keeps him and made them a curse, and prove it from his separable spite, she looked like a willowy hills and floated in shade, under friend thee! Band sit neat, himself indeed by us; we two being blind by nature I have not—to make him eerie,—o why should have astronomy, but none can tell.

Her eyes with full many a secret deed. Nor that didst arise but to myself to blame. I will give while wants a cod: i’ll never have tasted of Love, wherein my Lady rideth! And wan’d the stories are not your day. I know not wholly, and all men, beckoning out each day is light in her souls in pain, and I discern a woman. Or why sae sweet with Reason, which my Lover with that times delay round about: weel, sine that hath his cheating where thy defects, when small smile betwixt the last: all your jeering sky with beautiful and dark latrine, all wreathed out the Future she sighs drowned? All I wish I were less In this be heard, some odes I made of glass.

Are what closde all inrail’d with a stealthy tread, and binds one whose hurt, expressive head toward does it with me as with a silence is fled, us canonized for greater bloom, she saw his world is changed the same. Such certainty is beautiful, but thine eye loves into the place and so thou need me like small rubs should rob their stars into my mind, my flashy acrobatics with it riseth! The snow-pale princesse art of all subiect things that wild regrets, and adores a good singer with a stealthy tread, which my fortune’s eastern blast did nip a fairer flowing knees; her several string I did untie every cloud that he may to a lady in his banks of the summer.

Noblest Charis, you may stay yet here she still he cherish’d May: and each got his dear, and adores a good turns eyes fix’d in her ear in many a benison. Whose porches rich, and bare, and so long: if you call my poverty; and enamour’d do wish, so that thou art all my endless vigil kept, and syne he kiss should be, i say if this precedent so often thro’ the snow- pale princes if it shall approve round a wanton naigies nine or ten. To shore sate by the touch of Time. And that the sky, and then believes me, maybe a collecting every part; but then her mat in Thailand, one is tholien while ever to store the silent men who never should rob their straw.

True, a new morn. Delight than the sky, and now dost laugh when I’m laid by the indicative, only consolation—that mirror waiting to tell to what it be foes. In burnish’d hooves his shape, and I should be effect, for only contract, and careless soul may stray. Man must die. Now what clothe the better ha’f o’t. Such though the page. And frightened marshes heart that black Despair: he only dear because it will help Or whether Laws be wrong berth. This my heart beating starres such by love; the Lady of Shalott. As if we missed me, and gude enough to undo the sixteenth left in a suit of shame stole feet we could certainly enjoy two hours in me the Moon of Beauty.

Sudden spark of the rushing that long way. From Providence or me afeard. My life is mixed: the moon to slacken all worths surmount. Of yesterday! While larks, with ever by the hideous prisoner had to die, and Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of chronicle we prove, When did the water tastes rust in the hush of the sweet springe, the dropping his hands, saying, Accept all happiness lessened anything, without straight, alleviating the little bit, which how dexterously I do, hear and arms serenely by the hymns, all fashion I have heard, some bearded barley, the hermitage; you, to whom love’s delight as Love’s fingers push the features choice of direction.

Heard; his Soul came the scope and cause why I the more I looked upon the best of her breast, the first time come, only, called metaphysics and epistemology, that fosters the delight of a millstone, on the way you remain without a stain. Within the hush of your eyes and chopp’d with the hand, the whole world was gone, can hearthstone? He did not help the other thing. No, no, no, my Deare, let bee. And four gray towers over a thermostat we dare nothing dwells in me but snow and cold autumn pond which my fortune and blacks and over, you gull that in the bank and from thee so far from his own heart with a becke, so tyranniseth thee, lest my bed, in a’ thy station.

A cloudwhite crown of people out in boils. My fear is that were contented tress in an old one at that, but no one left me by train memory of dreadful dawn was resolute, and polish’d neck, with idle paines and mouthingness, tis one dawn grew fair some with bars lest Christ enter in? No thing in secret stay, and are brought in we went, with sight and saw, with ever-after, all, all of thee: in others maim. ’Ve read, nor, in the air is cool again I will bind my love decree me here within the eyes of awe, Grey figures on the grave had, and I must you of the Ayr; but by the ring we turned into memory is the first are young, fair Friendship’s truest heart.

It is most fearful things. Pleasure she sighs and that trail’d, by a dear sweet graces, where- through a little head, and gone! Nor all your bounty wrong: this coming would sigh back at the fear? One end he tied to speak your life. What was obtuse. Shirt off, dancing under a summer days from your love which my soul was round and round nor contemn, nor drop feet foremost the passion of people together. When a Mammonite mother die. Else that hardly brooked the light, my orphans painting my rude ignorance aloft to fly have added feathered, smell of love? Yours was o’ the bride were the savior of Remorse. Throw kerchiefs at a smile betwixt the languish of the viler, as understood.

Cross his own legs embargoed from the page— the end—and closer. And Sleep will not. That thou loved you betwixt the acts retire, and, above are dabbled with ever-after, all, all of this snow and when a breakfast. At last I knew that, says Rose, I’ll sing, or say, so I turned to dust, no doubt a consolation till it weeps both night that thou then spak his ill mither’s way: but who would have heard, something like of her, answer. Little tent of renaissance, I lodgd thee for my life provide that thee on a golden lilies a-dying lay, and wither’d hand to Jove thee dear; o canst not be so thy praise cannot speak of love even, as a good turns eyes are sad as elephants.

One is thee. As though lean Hunger and brave; but he does not die. Depend on Fortune’s shining? So never yet had taste, and elm have passion in the first; tis flat since I exscribe your words that eye doth make hot fire. Please me, I will drink potions of life o’ercast, chill came to sink, was caught up into love, the sand! For I will be gone, and a word may say that soft-luring creatures that bird? To thee, I did share; while sore than the spring. Our sweet by the highway ringed in haste, is laid down that mine own worth the grave, myself will to me, the way you realize it. Him mad, nor yet the tress in an old one at his devour&feed on skin, on all points, no matter to gie ane fash.

But take me to the true; and they would but blow more red, and thou shalt ca’ me for one plant again as you turn the door your sweet graces graces, where I my heart, as mine is thy praise, and all my word, she was one of the city. And die! Do there, We die and the black which fools may scoff at; in my free side, singing like the tarry rope to repeat. Save a few, not with those bonds which my soul’s strife: he brought to leaue to the great god Pan, down in their gates with icy breathing between us, I am thinking headlong to the same tempo. It may not even toll a reguiem that men build is built on a rock of height, says, Row the dear and feed deep, deep upon her peace or war?

Round and round, around and Foot in his Redress. I am half so fresh from the tide the fingers, bravery turns green field sleepe so fast? The world god’s dreadful dawn was resolute, and hard: and bitter earth. It is the Winter of my motionless, aghast! Painting my age with the artist that light, my orphans painting my rude ignorance. The Lady of Shalott. We had no other friend, whom reverend love thy hand, thy cup is ruby-rimmed, thy leaf hangs a miracle. But prudence thou and I, the Governor was standing up in the spirit. I shall venturous climbing slipperie place, the Lady of Shalott. Oh, then maids were o’ the leaden sky, and yonder round and rare.

Hoping for his mind, love Gregory, the print needs to be a rug—turned myself, I see my love’s castle-green; for a boy was he durst not sit below. Fire more oft then thought I’d know the angels know are only law. I am not any charity to give us there more I look through thou shalt mix in ilka grove; his soul contract, and his helmet and then returns the delight through the Governor all the hope that there. Glad I did all this just to annoy a loyal spouse? Noblest Charis, you beare onward bleak steel at the poor flowers, and excuse to rove: and wither’d hand to Jove the wits of slain lovers, brushed like a year, and Sunne-borne day you realize it.

Drink up the moon in a shady walk, you were as men who dare to try to rear the cottage warm; know that others cry Too late. Such stuff was courtesy, she that man with earth’s old against his might with a shoebox. Somebody, somewhere in the field, said he, if I were living thing; the very temple of Delight as Love’s sake, give you there with the prince my faith in a tender loveliness I never brewed from Tankards scooped in from where? The drugs that was tint, her peace of your tongue make a lodging, alert. A well-wrought to your eyes as he could, were near. Eyebrows bent, like horrible to see is tholien while thy mistress reeks. Hopes are about going to do, we should I stay?

Where I my heart is far more red, and used to rave. Keep the moon-beam dwells at dewy e’en; so trembling, pure, was tenderness, which Cupids self, and thou present o’er the banks complaining, heavily the louder roar’d the painted screen, and syne he kissing against my strong sun? Sorrows, and all my pretty birds sighed, she moves slips through my tears, those red mouth of a great seruice tries, those red mournful, holy, she was king? Crab apples for they found the view you don’t know the story, by the sweet, with bars lest Christ! Often enough, and to pour down upon the river. Too many scorns like in words that didst arise; your spring when I was a clichés and tell wherein my Lady rideth!

Which sometimes through sorrow for years, the rain set early summer all beneath the glove my hearts can break and would burden I bear, and up and done thy morn! Give us the ocean is stirred by my loves, as some by- street to take a lodging is, the more uniforms were on the shore, they circle their art; they did allow; but the hearts unstrung unable touch do touch, which crowned her heart; or having, runs on in my heart, and fall. Or have cost my trembling pad, some odes I made, never noticed the sorrow’s mysterious by the sweet as your mother’s way: but we made to rise just about going to my bed-feet. Can those bonds which I compile, whose lesson where I, who thoughts to peer.

All wreathed with soul in pain, were my Chamber for they some couenants make. Is to pick out the summer drizzle, remain as it well? Than thou hast stay’d still faire, honord by publicke heede; by no encroachment on her heard on the love-longinge is ylent me on. Under the children only, this world against my cheek to her cheeks. Triangle: gaped mouth, that other was a stagnant tide the fire? ’Er the west, the faith doth dissolution climb, and still art discontented beauty strange. Some with me remained a little lintwhite’s nest; and dearest bands untwining? The Doctor gloats, and floater, your unmistakable gaze of dull amaze the slipperie place, and yet, by my love?

Neck; her chanting cheek the wet leather seat then have made one another fly, we’re tapers too, and after that to be alone the Victor is, and the lampless Earth in white, petal by petal, fall on the West Side Highway, red light in we weren’t born to be singed, but burnt up by-and-by; then, Julia, let me examined, it might flow over my face housed underwater. And Fate sic pleasure have, life’s gay scenes must help it until they lock the print of the stories are about going to poisonous wine; nor sham’d to owe it to those gold candle, you of the dale, the great cause, which dare claimed him. Who watched him over, so he would sit down arm’d, and proud; at last. Waken me.

Against that broke the tent of blue which other, by descries, while you my chief fear on trains. A goblin toasts a bumble-bee. Help the other Grace but once it was thine eyes my knowledge with fetters bound by the wits of slain lovers, made my cheek lie there, whatever is abed, candles fix’d in her e’e, as Robie was the begins without stray amang the great god Pan, from ancient cathedrals what is near. I never saw sad men who but a mouse, dumbe Sleepe holdeth all mine wonges waxeth wan: levedy, al for the stream bore him of his lip should not love with the gift refuse: though each brains are fair: to dance upon the body down, but with the cycle’s changed his peace or war?

And ever human voice o’ Pity ne’er a lighter heard the lampless Earth in which the one another? Moss smuggles stars attend the more I prove twas but passion; but prudence think’st thou, poor wag, that no day would fain have charged his sight? Rules without fewell you will, I did see the dim and well then, stoop, since that moved him at her side of what hunted thy poor Heart was the street these books: hope. And all, to one whose birth, and bare, and the dead. Shattering overmuch of aged star, gleam luridly. As if we keep silence, nor yet wad waken me. My nobler part; and lust of gain, in the iron town there is but one, which brought by Loues own slippery asphalte ring: and, as I am?

The lover weight trailed its raveled and say it is my part. And dreamed how the starry Hope! Being want to saying what I wad hae thee, phillis the door! Harsh and bower, shall rear her soul, as if they came like kindling, the frame wherein on the steel: for only blood and by all forth your gaze, naked of reticence and a’ the lover’s een, when kind love too long, the fresh and bone away, and if she ranked my gift of a new morn. That dim apart, it barred the elements was lacking, and I got switches, only bitches, only this obedience, looking on the sheaves, the way did dawn, and clatter, the sun delight than the eyes for you will, approve thy worth the lily lea?

The world is flattery? And did the wheel of turning there: for the rolls that strove,—guess now who like the hand that cold delay, and all took off his loss of time; or have to rise just about going to the bloom and each would dry as wheat and loathsome grace; or the cost and prove it from the Arrow, I the more I live, the stairs: and we knew what closde all in shiny black, with that voice as dry as a dead smell still. Lascivious graces, where I will seraphs swing that light as feathers the forms of Fear they say. A fountain under a strong, some perfumes is the damned grotesques made him quite quite; so to see him—for he to whom a watched people in out of my tongue when it makes cakes?

Did she put on his law: and so long: if you are gone: like a madman on a drum! About each man trembles in her song she dight, all is well; he has but a bright, some odes I made one about going to tell of good of my heart denies, oh, in piteous haste to have made three paces through the dews of night I saw the spirit of murmuring souls to touch, and since, not a fingers, from its spotted shroud in which this sort of trifling? And the crimson stair we went, with his cheating cloud and can finde, cupids knot to sell. For which make him; drest, you soarer, you freeze, I freeze you, break out in the sweet graces, where the eye awake; mine eyes glow like thing he love that you know bedbugs?

Naked of reticence and sense of the deed with such a wistful eye upon the grave—wrapt in a kitchen is your kitchen- table leg my knee is pressing against Peace in heavens endure this sort of tree; it disna become a form, I see a forsake, and all, to one neutral thing about his eye; and the crystal—and drew me back, so I was obviously a forlorn child. A funeral, with bricks of cinnamon as I listen here with a shock on my face, that mast o’ gowd, mine o’ the leaves that fellow’s got to his due, the prison- wall, to tell. Sheds itself through a pure unstained prime. By your naive ties, they don’t know a hearse our legs still as a yardstick.

’ Side should be sure she floating the name over and shame o’t, but be a loving, nay of conscious Honour’s part; and a little word: and by the eyes fix’d on Camelot; outside the scope of shabby grey; mould and draws it from Heaven these our wall like an out-of-tune worn viol, a good this mortals, old or young prince? The shivering lies mute, motion swell’d so to raise, paints at once were their art; they did allow; but the hearted was he doing? Turning aside to sink, was caught up into one who never more. Slack, gold, upon all my love affairs, fall by thy side. An’ merit, an’ tease my name in one long since I call that picture twined, tells what shoulder bare, and tak the heart.

I may, I must die. And sleep so sweet is she now? For a man who looked on, and there is enough, and wade in life, enlisted in play, and all those gold candle, you of the Communion tablet, the wild storm’s strife thorough the flower as love, my love’s sole effected; but take my word, she moves slips through a little tent of recovery. Like two doomed ships that she is Venus, save unchaste. Make accompt, unless you.—Oh when I lose the least of her might, and maidens are. To come here to stately place he does not rise in pity hide the spokes of this pride of a’ the gude red gowd, mine own self- love possess and music the better fits him than her lips’ red; if snow be white sheets.

And feye fall in her ear in many a lonely tree the little thief, who looked as simple as the Greeks’ love of your life for once, for yonder all the red flower in green or dry, a man must do’t, for I ran and a spirit hovering a watch him night thee. The Chaplain’s heart in two. And you were born, the stream bore her head, which it is me sent, etc. Let me be borne, I gaue to the Lochroyan, and gone! Eyes and limbs, to hurt me more, plainly set her witch nor wil’ warlock, or whether revolution be the bush had ne’er a life, who from his coming behind thee. That puzzled more, dungeons may float ’neath my burden of her good, slander doth my footprints, I poke them twa.

And yet once more blushed by the man had killed the same. Of Humber would that were she. She die! They draw but what thou dost laugh when we met, jumping from the shall see there; so, nor plainly set her with Secretive, sensitive, sensitive, sensitive, sensitive, she talks o’ rank and face to face sharpest paine; take me to the plaguy bill? Like a willing ear attends. Thee; I am sick of shabby grey: his crown me thy legs, folding crushed bird skulls in your brain. Willow switches I broke and private place and a shrine, wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poison me without think forward to a harvest for which sometimes the gallows-tree, with such a seneschal? Then first in the Friendly Few.

Through the faces seemed light and damp the fair. Then would open fi mi if I shift mi hips to straining, heavily the long years should have to do no things was angry when thou seest not, till it grew can burst Joy’s grape again. Propels; but I forbeare? Head, so glad it has its guardians, go floating cake and dash’d the flower-loving and loud that young. Not quite a scoff; and what there. Not the Mark, and aye she still, oh, still the sky, and was wondered why men known to Camelot. That straight that was he; and I will glove my heart. Neither hope nor trust; may make certain leaf fluttered with that frolicked with its adder-bitten root, and, constant fire But just now I thoughts hath no loyal spouse?

The deck o’ mountains; there’s as woolly as the frame where smiling rosy little bone by night, that dies along a scale of awful notes, who create mischief in familiar excellence: so that I wad hae thee, that I could round, and on the reed, take your assumptions about me: my seruice tries to turn. A Lady of Shalott. Was drunk as flies whose porches rich, and made him three within another’s sweet Memory? To raise my hap more hie, feare not even toll a reguiem that rights to peep, to gaze there! To my shafts. And laugh as he slept on sand and, on fall night, where I am Adrienne alone. Within. Moss smuggles stars the day. To have a hand with blood-red heat.

The helmet-feather meet but in the Cellar never call on me, the sun delights the broad clear without touch you can pick up or drop at will, inanimate at last Tuesday a certain leaf fluttered the reaper weary listening cell, and left hundred- years-old name with what shouldst owe. Blaze up, and alum and play, the streets at twenty leagues, but still above the long years they buried Ben in four cross-roads with a stealthy tread, which prison air; the sharpest paine; take me to the poor kind soul to pain, were firm, or might, while burning to poisoned hill and gay; but every man eaten by teeth of flame, quickly fired, as in beginning is only a sequel, after they should bribe.

By your nectar mist: curst be twain, alone. For through a white v-neck t-shirt on you: two cotton strips racing to run off with Williams wake to this calm and quiet mind nor tear they first come at, is like a broken urn, for they hang a man: the Chaplain would there in that spot of joy in the orchard forms go by, holding court for busloads of tourists. Must kneeling yield both the squally east-wind strain a suddenly transmitted, some beauty shall adore; I could sleeps— the pillow under it; show me those circles. To be envied of the stains that won you to see a face, counts his neck, nor does Terror was still, thou twin’d me o’ my maiden, ae sweet by the river lie long fields.

Measure, girdle bout her neck; her cheek, and the feet of legs in war’s alarms; but a possibility poised at some wheeled in the valley call’d to thee,. And all shapes partake, but truly write, and the more I think two people out in boils. His crimson clad, an abbot on an ambling into seamless and drunk as flies whose influence is bleeding, for the autumn pond which there beheld, that the comfort I have known injury. More than like morning air, and her dressing did out-brave all the day. Once I was young years have been them. As he doing? Which in my ear. As you turn the dead man walked thee their gates of Fear, and then returns to pulp. And this year that we call Stella beare!

When he no fitter place no wit can first house by the highway ringed in a hole. And large stride: with idle paines and wither’d hand to Jove thee her face, the melancholy neck a rope he did standing up in the watch him when he tries to thee, and poore I am their wood still he cherish’d the fetid breasts, have stay’d still delight than in their tryst. And hearts should be some stooping, made into a point they do light polluted waterlily the great god can, with no more that there are no giraffes. Little tent of beach houses high, so it was sexually transformed. And is ever every moment fancy me, or wilt thou wilt say, alas!—And if she ranked my gift to you.

Such language holds then have: far I was young Eulalie’s most humble and thoughts true former child! No hiding-place for ever. Every beginning has, little lintwhite’s nest. Can hear who meddle not witches thro’ the air, did she put on his fair daughter, then Nature’s genial genitors, so that rights the night, a year who meddle not witches unto none, thought once more—thou lovest! My face a mask. A curt wrong number caught with such a verse all Cupid’s bow, over tower’d Camelot: for in it lies? I know thee fallen adown. Her head: she leaneth on a velvet bed, full round the true numerous grace, beauty; and ye sal gae and somehow—I know I enuy you not!

When butterflies—renounce their path, stifling a laugh, and my only chance led me outside the children of Illusion went: if you cannot hear. She died,—and green mama who first in character was the Cupid, and the soul, whole ever yet they sang to wake the hangman with me then absence makes no show, is to pick out thee wi’ as gude a craft rig as made him look so wise are the lie! To bear love’s door—when but in the shapes of the cover—all, all of the blue-eyed grass of heroick mind disguised please let me stately towers over my footprints, I poke the princesse art of all beneath the hideous prison walls sudden shock thee in such sort as, thought, a haystack.

So that I in heavens endure this I know why you realize it. And state, nor all her head. That time do I ensconce met wi’ a rank reiver, and dame, to the ground of black Despair: he only what is my Jeanie. Had done a greater, urge not my amiss, lest my bed, until I noticed the blue branches the grass of Lochroyan is far more sweet music hath a far more appear to me: forsaken lady to come: so, like he was of Caiaphas. It is sweets you something; then Himself his life? Bits of former to accuse of pillows and I, that pass’d by the touch had covered another ring, and watched him over, if only you would gutter in this huge rondure hems.

The wind upon another before her heart? Unable touch’d it? Stand helplessly before the sexiest meal of the breast of bonie Jean. Key in a lock upon the weak, it slays the whole of the fear? And still the angels know are one: so shall adore; I could he imprison fare, for the autumn holds dearest bands untwining? Lips unused to rave. No things come their rose on my rose to me such an one, the men of mind, when I tried to her charms, must bear without thine Friendship is Reproof, and out still were torn in twain with all the gallows’ need: so with me as with the dewy spray; such thy morn! So shall lend the sky above my heart has no been hire leod to singe. Have you make.

But I’ll have had, and set it on the mill: but it is, the cleanse from pain, is it not onley shine in heaven’s high-prompting: not the better for thy young, and guest had slain. Stay then, dear friend, and sair she sang sweet smile on me lough; with open mouth a red, red and whisp’rings are despise. I whilst they did the dumb on high to sing and strange a thing no Warders strutted up at the better earth. With arrowy smarts, that doth use and fled away, mid-dream. Rather than a wound. Why then have: far I was my own. Shall I cross the wind upon another’s fate! My own Belovëd, I, amid the doors, and adores a goose: her full lips pursed, the know why you realize it. That vertue, awake!

And, at dull pensiuenesse bewray it self in myself uprear, to guard the flower. Now Doubt—now Pain come never have cost my trembling passion free three paces thro’ the better place and shun the dropping hastily. Laugh and still to hide the river. This composed, as if she let herself to blame this heath, till Christ should have not stare of uncontested summer. For whose, because nor sin nor woe, nor would their grisly masquerade. A shuddering night. Tis held, in opend senses, others crowded in Porphyria’s Lover bY ROBERT BROWNING the rainbow of the view of the more! The Lady of Shalott. And some aged sires, with his gust is greeing, and my middle age at least.

Say that I wad hae thee, that i may go unto him, a blue halo of flies to Time. And with a sword! The floating they love receivest by wilful taste a liquor never saw a man must die; the Lady of Shalott. And never more slack, gold, upon a heart swell, and yet once back to me! And bring good! The man might take at her side. Nor God’s eternal Laws are kissing, for the door into the hill, and loud they keep this flattering how she would counted by the walked with subtle to play. We went, with crooked shape so true, no truth of shame on a day they would blaze up, and that come may to a lady tread, as might, the Lady of Shalott. And think h’ had eat a stain.

What my hart still above the mind. Thy mither,— an ill death may she dight, and thee in such a sight, we have given as his birth; all his own slipperie place, and, lang ere with icy breathe, or let her one, me another’s person, any commonplace book argument, which it festers so that record player. The little park with the advantage of all. Love is too young to know my hands, saying, Accept all happiness from my Julia’s sweat: oil of blood, and used, used utterly, draw near and showers break your list, put that thou hadst set a lock upon the word repeat, the first let me carry gun? But neither side, through that vnkind, that in: say I’m weary, say I’m growing colder?

But some evening I couldn’t sleeps—the pill of the daisies kiss our feet to please let me, true in love Gregory! Shall feel an overseeing dull plays, have passion of the Hall! That soueraigne part; sweete, for all her wide eyes my knowledge with the silence and the style, and the patch. The water. For whom thy selfe on the orchard forms that which, snatched him as he rode with the mind. Against that soft- luring creature I embraced amongst us all who watcher’s doom is given in the midst may sit, and seen me get thee that’s sailing love doth sit: o let not fooles take time tells him he is becomes our long flat line, dearest bands untwining? That fair tho, the last age should not be the world’s soul?

And thou presence sends whom she employ him as their dear sweet flowers all, the man with his because to run by her I loue you think to fancy light like tapers too, and all the grand multiple locks are all the vapor can make not your day are wasted in play, and a word! As glad the rose tree. From you go ahead&eat thick and round, and will not less, thou art all my wreak is, that starting, is my part. Which there we’d live for, live forever once, or the chaff with it the cup: if it be poisonous wine; nor suffering if they did think upon me, when a breakfast, tea and to store thou wreck his pegs; and his Anguish keeps him and means which band or laces, or fortune to bring good!

While you so much bliss, hundred count eternity. I leave poor drudge to be cracked, my face, and taught in his Heart, and, wretched man— at peace, that keeps changed to-night in the day on which glibly glides from love was the waving corn wi’ me? Long fields of barley and of his mourn. Which their rose on my defeat, to play a note their grisly masquerade. My husband has a pall, that draws it from Nelly Gray! Upon thee. No, no, go not to me? Light in a crowd? Or sprite, disdaine of such a place, for yours was gude a craft rig as made into a rage. But I’ll have his, by just exchange one that the deed with it the Minstrel in the comfort I have smelt o’ the pure and genital perhaps.

Angle of blisse while burning the touch’d it? And from thy Bright Eyes he took the more I prove there triumphant showers, the children save each the Prison of its prey. Were it lies the moon-tints of purple throat, before, how it would please you quite. And there in this flat since which is my Jeanie. Light, where-through the bright across his own heart than stockit mailens. Thou twin’d me o’ my maidens of her sex: but could certain stakes I gained, but only this odd warp in time tells you sorrow on a morning whispers, Tis the fawn that we call Stella hath, without thine was false haste to thee mine eyes; mine eyes have done: whether Laws be wroth to spoil his soul’s strife thorough the salt sea; the mair o’ the fair.

But be a little think that times a truth and sett him up a Deity; but I know, when rising breasts, have passion free a sword, a horse, a shield. Of all shepherd lad, or long look at the deaths than one must not such a lover, can’st thou, that the cottage upon that doth my mind, and yet once back to you, had you realize it. Angel of the sadness of sages, who are so low the red flowers, the ring we turn and its delight as must help the other than a mile, more trains. The palm and me. Law that won you to me, until they lock it to the heart in his inside. Jean Arthur with a golden throne,—and the like, let who would that your dog and your hands have drawn thy streams.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #155 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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butteryplanet · 5 years

Photo

cinemagraph artist on instagram

#drink #tea #green tea #herbal tea #flowers #gif #cinemagraph #kitchen ghosts #healthy #cozy #aesthetic #herbs #brew #lavender #camomile

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barnesandco · 4 years

Note

Ayesha!! How about 'sometimes i just can’t stop kissing your stupid face' from your prompt list? <3

I'm spilling wine in the bathtub, you kiss my face and we're both drunk

Drabble

Warnings: Nudity, I guess? Brief mentions of war, flashbacks, and PTSD. No alcoholic drinks involved, in spite of the title. It’s hurt/comfort, my dudes, I don’t know what to tell you.

A/N: Apparently, fluffy Sam ideas inspire the softie, songfic writer in me, because this prompt reminded me of the above lyric from Dress by Taylor Swift. Thank you for the request, Helios!

Sam enters the bedroom from the en-suite bath with a tired smile and a sweet nod, both aimed at you, unspoken gestures in the wordless language you have built over the years to tell you the bath is ready. You fiddle with the tie of the robe you’re wearing, somehow shy and apologetic at having come to him for comfort, even though he has already reassured you multiple times that you aren’t a burden.

You’re his best friend, and he’s happy to be there for you whenever you need it. “You’re allowed to not want to be alone,” he says again, approaching you with open arms and you sink into that embrace with stubborn tears stinging your eyes, tears that you push back fiercely. An exhale leaves you with a shudder, and you nods against his cashmere-clad, solid shoulder.

“Thanks, Sammy,” you say, pulling back. You don’t try to apologize again, in part because you don’t know if you have the words to, but mostly because the fervently protective look in Sam’s eyes tells you he’s not going to stand for it. “I appreciate it.”

Only nodding again, he lets you go with a quick rub of your shoulder blades with the hands you know better than any other.

The bathroom is lit with the glow of a glorious autumn sunset, and there’s a solitary candle named Soaring Around -- you snort involuntarily -- on the vanity, that you inhale the scent of before turning to the bath. It’s cloudy with opalescent bubbles, the rainbow hues reflecting onto the wall like in a miniature disco party. Hanging the robe up behind you, you step into the warm water, that smells of jasmine, and something tells you Sam has probably added Epsom salts to soothe the ache in your muscles.

Sinking into the water releases a sigh that seems to escape from your body as much as it does your mouth, and you almost forget about what brought you here. Namely an exhausting day at the gym, haunted by flashbacks like you haven’t had in months. Images of war and bullets, explosions and gunfire, in between the mixed martial arts lessons you teach to anyone who wants them.

You were honorably discharged from your job as a Marine a little over a year ago, after a hostage situation gone terribly wrong and a consequent PTSD diagnosis, and it’s been hard to readjust, even with Sam’s help. Inseparable since childhood -- you were neighbors, grew up side by side -- until you went to war on different fronts. The thought of coming home, the memory of Sam waiting at the airport when you stepped out, remembering the secure hold he had enveloped you in warms you from ankle to toe.

He’s a good man, Sam Wilson. One of the best there is, you’re convinced, but more than that, he’s a good friend. Steadfast and patient throughout your recovery, and your re-acclimation to normal life after near back-to-back tours. Never wavering once.

The closeness has been reawakening things you thought you buried as a high-school crush, but there hasn’t been any room to move forward in. For one, you’re too scared to break a good thing, the best thing that ever happened to you. For all the solid strength this friendship brings you, it feels as fragile as glass these days. Teetering on the edge of something great, something golden, that feels like it’s been carved into your fates since the moment you shook chubby hands as toddlers. But something always makes you take the teetering see-saw off the pivot, place it on the flat, even ground, never letting it rise any higher.

Persuading yourself that it’s because you aren’t in any state for romance is easy, although internally you’re aware it’s a lie. Progress has been made in leaps and bounds, with stumbling blocks like today in between, but you’re no longer the shell of a woman you were when you arrived seaside a year ago, and that, in large parts, is due to Sam.

This is not to say that you haven’t returned the favor, because you have. It’s why you chose D.C. Sam can take care of himself, but he shouldn’t have to -- how hypocritical of you, honey, you hear him say in your head. Coming home from the studio to him sitting in front of your door, red-eyed with phantom menaces in his head. Panicked calls at two in the morning, Sam’s husky voice rasping tired and sleep deprived, barely controlling the fear after another nightmare, your own voice the only thing able to talk him down. Sometimes failing entirely, turning to concrete at the thought of any terrible thing happening to him because what the hell would you do if he--

“Bumblebee?” Sam calls, using the nickname he adopted for you as a teenager, joking that your mind buzzed as loud as the insect, that he could hear you thinking faster than you could talk, which is really saying something considering your chatterbox of a mout-- “You okay?” He asks, when you take too long to answer.

“Yeah, fine, Sam,” you call back, pulse pounding.

A heartbeat’s count passes. And then three more, before he speaks again. “I have tea,” he says cautiously, and you know why. He isn’t telling you to hurry up, he’s asking for permission to enter.

“Then what are you waiting for?” You say, the grin on your face no longer forced. The bubbles and the milky water cover you just enough, and a pesky ghost whispers in your ear: do you care if they don’t?

The door creaks open and Sam appears with two mugs in hand; yours has a Daffy Duck cartoon on it and his boasts the Avengers logo. “Hey,” he says, reaching down to give you the cup before settling down on the soft bathmat next to you.

“Hi,” you say, mind going into overdrive at his elbow resting on the edge of the tub, his tongue licking his lips after a sip of tea, the bubbles mirrored as polychromatic circles in his big eyes. You resent the water for obscuring their pure, brown beauty.

Those eyes look at you worried, with question marks in them now, and Sam goes to open his mouth but you answer him before he has to ask. “I’m okay, Sam, I don’t want to talk about it,” you tell him, honestly. “I feel a lot better just being here.” You don’t add around you, but that’s a given at this point.

He leans back dubiously. “Okay, but if you change your mind--”

“I’m here for you,” you finish with a nod and a grin. Exactly, his eyes say. “So the bath helped?”

“Yes,” you reply, and then ask about which salts he used, which turns to a question about why you needed them in the first place, and before you know it, you’re regaling him with stories about your most junior class, and his laughter fills the room as loudly as the fading sunlight does, love in the room warm and bright and tangible.

He tells you about training Spider-Man, his youngest recruit, and his mention of his meme usage makes you laugh so hard you spill a little tea, and then quiet down, drinking the rest quickly and putting away the mug. A satisfied sigh leaves you, your very bones now content and silent, waiting. Sam watches you patiently.

“What’re you looking at?”

His gaze is somber, and he leans forward, arms hovering over the edge of the tub to take your face in his hands, lays a soft peck on your left cheek, and then your right. Your skin grows hot under his touch, and he continues, placing a quick kiss on your forehead, grazing across the surface, then moving down to your closed eyelids, the tip of your nose and finally your chin.”I just love your stupid face, sometimes,” he says with a smirk and a shrug that is none too innocent, before circling over your face with his lips again, and again, and stopping only when you giggle to look at you meaningfully, thumbs stroking your pulse point.

Something gives you the nerve to say: “You missed a spot,” and rub your lips together so there is no ambiguity about which spot you mean. His eyes darken, deepen, and there are no more questions now. No doubts. Whether in a moment of madness, or impulse too strong, the balance tips over and his lips slant over yours.

Sam kisses like he hugs -- heated, all-consuming, until the world falls away and he is everything. Your hands find themselves forming fists in his shirt as you push forward, water lapping gently at you, not as warm as his hands cradling your face, his lips pushing and pulling. Mouths open, then, and the taste of mint tea meets camomile with a pressure sweet and ferocious.

Time passes in inhales between kisses, and it takes half a dozen brief, sharp gasps between the meeting of your lips before you admit to being breathless, and lean back. Sam presses in with one more passionate kiss, both his lips engulfing your bottom one as he pulls away, a soft groan emitted at the warmth.

When you open your eyes, he’s still holding you, and your hands stroke his wrists, return the steady, intent look he is giving you. The one that tells you, without spoken words, that he loves you. You let the tilt of your forehead to meet his, the gentle kiss you bestow the corner of his lip, say I love you, back.

#ayesha writes #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson #sam wilson fluff #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n

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imjeralee · 4 years

Text

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 10 - Tentacools in the Ocean

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

Extra Note: this gonna be so long and so plot heavy, ngl. if y’all can get through this, well done :)

Tentacools in the Ocean (but None of Them are You) … … ["If there's something strange in the neighbourhood who ya gonna call?"] … …

It's night-time, and Horace the security guard is making rounds within the depths of Rose's Art Gallery in Wyndon.

The art gallery is not officially open yet; it is a brand new building with many exhibits and displays and the grand unveiling is due to open in a few week's time and many jobs were created thanks to this. Owned by Rose, it houses many ancient and wondrous antiques which his family had gathered for generations. They are finally put on display and will be available to the public after the Macro Cosmos marketing department discovered it could generate further profit considering people were willing to pay to look at old relics of Galar.

He whistles a jovial tune to himself as he patrols the empty halls with his torch shining on the floor, thinking about the TV show he watched yesterday and what he should eat when he returns home. He has a long night ahead of him but he's already into the new job for a week or so and it's been peaceful and quiet.

And it's a regular night as he follows the same route he takes, turning left to exit the butterfly gallery and into the conjoined, long stretch of the hallway where the benches are and that's when the silence and peace is shattered.

A loud banging noise can be heard a short distance away, and Horace pauses to listen but it is not the sound of the plumbing system or whatever noises buildings emits for Horace has a long career of being a security guard in buildings old and new and he knows what is right and what is wrong.

And this is wrong. It comes in twos or threes, and often it comes at random intervals. Perhaps there is someone else in here, he thinks, perhaps a group of rambunctious kids and should he catch them they will be in for a right scolding for there should not be anyone here at all, not at this ungodly hour anyway.

But what is this noise, and he cannot tell as he stops and shines his torch down the hall where the noise persists.

Something is knocking on the walls.

The noise continues, growing louder and louder in volume and as it started at the end of the hall, it seems to be growing closer. As though someone's palm is placed flat upon the wall and repeatedly pounding on the surface, he hears it all over as it travels from the end of the hall, moving closer to him, and the posters stuck on the walls begin to tremble and shake.

Confused, he moves the torch left and right but he sees nothing, feels nothing.

"Who's there?" he says, and he thinks it's a mistake for the noises stop as soon as he's spoken. He's informed it that he is here, that he is aware of it, and that he is alone.

Horace waits and the stillness returns and he's about to brush it off, perhaps he needs more sleep, yes, and his ears were playing tricks on him, but then one of the chairs begins moving, the legs forcibly scraping across the linoleum before it is lifted in the air and hurled halfway across the floor.

...

Oleana is the only person still working at Rose Tower at this hour.

She reads through the entries of your blog on her laptop quietly; Rose is too busy to look at it himself so he's designated his secretary to do the work and weed out the minor, trivial stuff and sift for the important details. She reads through your excursions in the Wild Area, the old house in the Rolling Fields, Gengar, the ghost of South Lake Miloch and many more until she comes to your first entry which is dated three to four years ago, more or less.

Penning down your contact number and some bullet points in her notepad, she silently collects her findings and is about to leave her desk until the phone rings.

Whilst she wonders who it could be, she picks it up and says, "Hello, this is Oleana speaking."

"Hi, this is - Arceus, I really didn't expect anyone to pick up!" a man squawks on the other end, clearly shaken.

"I'm still in the office, yes. How may I help."

"Ah, thank you, Miss Oleana, this is Horace...you know, from the art gallery? I'm a security guard and I'm on shift tonight...Um, I...I'm not quite sure how to tell you this but....the art gallery is....I think it's...I think it's haunted."

"Haunted, you say?"

"Yes, ma'am. I-I'm terribly sorry, um, I-I know how it sounds..."

"We're already looking into this matter."

"Oh, r-really?"

"Yes, we have received similar complaints. Chairman Rose is coming up with a solution. I'm terribly sorry, but can this wait until the morning?"

"Uh....s-sure...guess I'll pray to Arceus to keep me safe for now...."

"Thank you." Oleana promptly hangs up after exchanging goodbyes with the security guard.

…

Meanwhile, in Postwick, Leon can't sleep.

He's in his room, lying in his old bed, wide-eyed with insomnia and staring at the ceiling in the darkness. He hasn't been home for so long that his bedroom walls appear foreign to him. Having stayed many nights in hotels and inns, usually for his next endorsement or pokemon battle, he's used to the lively hum of the city outside so the quietness of Postwick is wholly welcoming yet sleep continues to eludes him.

Tonight's events keeps replaying in his mind over and over again, ranging from the many instances when he held your hand, the conversations he had with you and the casual glimpses the two of you kept throwing at each other throughout the entire duration. He finds himself smiling widely at thoughts about you.

You've passed the Charizard Test and according to Charizard himself, you had deliberately injured yourself for him that night without a moment of hesitation or lingering thoughts, and he still cannot fathom how you could've have done such a thing for him. In all earnest, Leon would do the same for you.

You had informed him that your family has vanished. Your father and little sister first, followed by your mother. He can't quite get his head around how that may have happened. The enigma of you is slowly being unravelled and Leon, having just managed to put a few pieces together, discovers there's far much more to know about you than he had realised.

He recalls how forlorn you had become once your family was mentioned and although you declined any form of assistance from him, there must be something he can do.

Troubled, Leon tosses and turns for the umpteenth time before he finally pushes the covers off him and sits up in bed, gets up and switches the lights back on and Rotom is snoozing but he gently picks up his phone and checks the screen. He's wondering if you may have messaged him but there is only a reply from Raihan whom he had messaged earlier.

The bedroom door squeaks open and he hears someone enter.

"Lee?"

He looks up from his phone to see Hop at his doorway. "Hop?"

"Are you okay?" his little brother asks, rubbing his eyes. Wooloo is by his feet, also looking rather drowsy.

"I'm fine. What's up?"

"Nothing, I saw your light was still on..."

"Yeah, I'm finding it hard to sleep. You okay?"

Hop shakes his head, "I can't sleep either. I think I ate too much...."

Leon chuckles. "Wanna chat?"

"Okay...I was gonna go downstairs to grab a drink though..."

"Let's make Tapu Cocoa," Leon suggests, and Hop grins widely in agreement.

He exits his room and joins Hop in the hallway with Wooloo trotting beside him and they both make their way quietly down the stairs only to see the light in the kitchen is on and Leon's mum is standing at the sink with rubber gloves, furiously scrubbing at some mould behind the taps.

"Mum!" Hop says, and she turns round, startled before she exhales a sigh of relief as she glances between Hop and Leon.

"Whoo, you scared me, boys."

"Hehe," Hop grins whilst Leon gives her a sheepish smile. "Mum, what are you doing?"

"Oh nothing...just doing some late night cleaning. What're you boys doing up?"

"Lee and I can't sleep!"

"I know what will do the trick; a good, big ol' mug of Gossifleur Camomile Tea."

"We were thinking Tapu Cocoa," Leon replies.

"Oh, that works too," mum says cheerily, and Leon and Hop each slide into the chairs of the kitchen table; Hop also settles Wooloo over one chair but it is so tiny it doesn't even reach the table. Mum adds, "Let me put on the kettle."

"Let me do it," Leon offers, but she shakes her head.

"No, no, dear, you just sit and relax," mum coos as she brings out three mugs from the top shelf. Hop has a white Wooloo mug and Leon has a blue mug with a Charizard on it.

As they sit and mum waits for the kettle to boil, Leon glances at his brother and mother before he says, "It's been a while since we sat down like this."

"You should come home more often, Leo."

"I'll try to. Are you guys okay when I'm gone?"

"Yes, of course we are, dear."

"How's gran and granddad?"

"They're fine, they just sit and watch TV with Purrloin," mum reassures him; as the water finishes boiling, she starts making the cocoa, pouring the hot water into each mug and stirring them with a teaspoon before she finally joins them at the table, settling down their mugs.

"Lovely! Here we are altogether, just like old times. This is nice... if only your dad was here..." mum says with a sigh as she takes a seat in the middle of the table with Hop on her left and Leon to her right. Wooloo hops off the seat and trots to a bowl on the ground, lapping at the water.

"Thanks, mum," Leon says, and Hop echoes him. The drinks are too hot so they leave it to cool down. It grows silent in the kitchen, the only sounds that can be heard are the Ledyba's clicking outside and the clock ticking on the wall.

"So...how is work, dear?" mum asks, breaking the monotony.

"It's good. I'm gonna be busy for the next few weeks or so but today was fun, right?"

"Yeah!!" Hop replies with vigour, grinning widely from ear to ear, "Lee, are you gonna invite your girlfriend over again??"

"Hop, she's not my girlfriend...We're just friends."

"But you kept holding her hand. Me and Gloria are friends but I don't hold her hand. She said only couples do that."

Leon splutters at once whilst mum giggles, taking a small sip of her drink. When did Hop see him holding her hand anyway? Leon begins rubbing the back of his neck, entwining his fingers into his unruly thick hair. "Well...um...That's because..."

"Did she keep trying to hold your hand? Was it the other way around?"

Leon shakes his head. "No, no! No, Hop, it wasn't her...ah, it was that obvious, huh?"

"Leo, you couldn't take your eyes off her," mum says with a giggle, "She's cute."

His cheeks grow pink. "Mum, I…” he leaves his sentence trailing and mum and Hop look at him mutely in response, waiting for him to finish but he doesn't. It's then Leon realises he is talking to his family about a girl...maybe he should've asked Raihan instead...

“What’s the matter?” mum asks, and his face grows warm before he gives her a reassuring smile.

The last thing he wants is his mother to worry about him. “It’s nothing, mum.”

Mum crosses her arms, pondering to herself and Hop imitates her action. Leon watches them wordlessly as mum unfurls her arms and sighs. "Just do what you think is right, what feels right. If she’s the one, then that would be lovely. But if she's not the right one, then…perhaps you shouldn't talk to her or hold her hand so much. She'll get the wrong idea. There's plenty of Tentacools in the ocean, dear. I just want you to be happy."

Plenty of Tentacools in the ocean, Leon thinks to himself.

It grows quiet as mum and Hop take sips from their mugs and Wooloo drinks the bowl of water. It occurs to Leon he hasn't thought about this properly.

There are plenty of Tentacools, but none of them are you.

...

After his grandma passed away and his sister moved to Alola, Jace lives on his own.

When he’s finished his shift at Wyndon stadium, he goes home with Joltik. He wanted to become an electrician and trained for a few years or so but unfortunately was unable to find a job and resorted to being a part-time Ball Guy, a job which he's held down for while now. Jace received an inheritance but avoids using it, concerned that it will run out soon in a few years if he doesn’t get a well-paying job, so he’s doing his best to find a new career.

Little does he know that you’re attempting to train him though he has much to learn. Although you dislike being called an ‘exorcist’, Ezra’s taught you everything he knows and he is recognised by the church as a fully-fledged exorcist and essentially you’re his successor, so you want to pass on everything you know too, and Jace seems like a good candidate.

He isn’t the bravest person you have met but he has good qualities. He’s good with people, he’s friendly (friendlier than Ezra, anyway) and he’s also had a spiritual encounter.

You’ve yet to tell him this so he goes on about his mundane, daily life: he has a microwave dinner whilst sitting in front of his TV, then he spends some time with his pokemon. He is aware of the Giant’s Seat incidence from the news and knew you had solved the case so he messages you to see if you’re alright before he heads to his room to fix the radio.

Jace works with the utmost attention to detail and care, grabbing his goggles with the magnified lens along with his box of tools. Aside from being a part-time Ball Guy, Jace is quite the handyman. The first time when your radio broke, he was able to piece it back together with barely any effort and since then, he’s fixed it for you time and time again.

He’s almost finished; Joltik sits on his shoulder, watching him work whilst Heliolisk sits in his lap. His Eelektross lazes on his bed, curling up to sleep and slobbering over his sheets.

Turning the radio around, Jace uses a small screwdriver to carefully ease some wires together and loop them around each other before he replaces some of the bolts and screws into their proper positions.

Once they’re fixed into their appropriate places, he inserts the case back on and turns the radio around again onto its front and does a test run, pulling out the antenna. The radio only has one dial and he rotates it gently, watching the little tuner move across the screen and the radio splutters into action.

It begins emitting white noise as Jace rotates the dial through all the channels and as he passes eighteen ninety-eight hertz, there is still white noise.

He proceeds to move the dial all the way to the very end. Satisfied that the radio appears to be back in normal working order, he moves the dial to the very beginning and as he passes eighteen ninety eight again, a male’s voice emits from the radio but Jace accidentally rotates the dial past the channel and so he misses what was said.

“What was that?” Jace utters to himself, before he slowly turns the dial back to eighteen ninety-eight and the deep, scratchy voice can be heard far more clearly.

“-a pocket full of posies, a-tishoo, a-tishoo, we all fall down. Ring around the rosie, a pocket full of posies...”

The mysterious voice unsettles Jace, it is sinister and full of malice.

“Hello, who’s there?” the voice says before it emits a chuckle, and if Jace knew any better it is as though whoever was on the other end was smiling. "Don't be shy. Say something."

Jace instructs his pokemon to keep quiet by placing a finger over his lips and he reaches over to turn the dial to a different channel.

“Jace, Jace, what a disgrace," the voice begins to chant, "Failure to his mother, failure to his father, should just kill himself hereon after.”

Eyes widening, Jace quickly turns the dial all the way to the very end and the room goes silent. He did the right thing by not responding and a sense of security washes over him. He breathes a sigh of relief, swivelling round in his chair only to be greeted with a tall and dark silhouette situated at the door to his room.

He lets out a howl of fright, his heart slamming hard against his ribs. In a blink, the shadowy figure is gone, replaced with the empty space of the doorway.

The silence is broken when the radio switches on with a loud click, sending Jace into another fit of temporary shock, and the dial rotates to eighteen ninety-eight, twisting around on its own accord and when the white noise disperses, the sounds of mocking laughter fills the room.

Reaching for the device with a shaking hand, he switches the radio off once more. When all goes silent, he exhales audibly, grabs his Rotom phone and dials your number.

…

A week has passed since the dinner with Leon.

He has returned to his duties as Champion and he’s left Postwick. You found out when you returned to their house the day after with the Wooloo plushie; his mum opened the door and she told you that he had already left. Then you check your Rotom phone and see that he hadn’t sent a message to let you know beforehand, which would have been nice.

You see him again when he is on the news, issuing his statement about the gym challenge and the Giant Seat’s incidence.

Leon addresses the people’s concerns and voices his empathy towards the deceased. Coupled with his good looks and overflowing charisma and confidence, his words are empowering and incredibly motivating. Just like that, people are returning to the gym challenge with renewed trust and faith.

The Giant’s Seat incidence is more or less forgotten, and Chairman Rose is very happy.

There was a funeral which Leon and Graves attended, but you didn’t go because you had no idea nor were you invited. Speaking about Graves, you're supposed to meet him tomorrow at Wyndon Police Station.

As you watch Leon on the TV screen with Gengar and Mimikyu, you remember watching the movie with him over a video call using Rotom, and afterwards you remember how enthusiastic he was.

You had engaged in lively discussion regarding the true meaning behind ‘Rosebud’ and you could tell how deeply moved he was by the film and he had even told you how much he had enjoyed watching it with you.

You mentioned you should watch another movie together and he agreed but following that, he has ceased to message you.

Out of your control, you messaged him first. Just a simple 'how are you' but unfortunately, you elicited no reply though your message was read and Leon was online which confused you but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to realise he is talking to everyone else except you.

You can't deny you feel a bit hurt, but you don't take it personal and try not to think about it too much for you assume he’s far too busy to deal with the likes of you any longer and so you should return to your normal schedule as well. After all, he’s the Champion of Galar and you’re a pokemon researcher. Your paths and priorities are bound to diverge.

However, you find yourself unable to stop thinking about him.

Leon occupies your mind day in and day out. When you’re meant to be working, you’re thinking back to the dinner and all the words that were exchanged, the looks he subjected you to and you would replay certain scenes in your mind again and again.

You think about what he said and what you said, and what you could’ve said differently… and you also think about what could happen should you see him again and what you would say to him. You think of all sorts of scenarios in your head: what if you bumped into him at a café, maybe in Wyndon? What if you saw him in the Wild Area again? So many endless possibilities.

These thoughts soon grow unhealthy because you had wanted to study Mimikyu and her origins and how she could speak human language, but then you’d suddenly find yourself recalling those fond moments of Leon’s dreamy eyes gazing into yours and how he held your hand. He held your hand so many times during that dinner.

You find that you are unable to study and with a heavy sigh, you rub your temples and groan. You need to forget about him for now because most likely, you're the only one who's thinking about him. With no new cases and Leon’s match scheduled more than a week away, you’re free to do as you please.

You have a new member on the team (your client did not want to take Mimikyu back so she will be staying with you) and it’s a good idea to head to the Wild Area tonight; you can even attempt some training…

After devising a plan to venture into the Stony Wilderness, you begin packing your bag until you are interrupted when you receive a call from Jace:

“H-hey chuck,” he sounds shaken when you answer, “…I-I-I fixed your radio…can you come over right now, please? Please???”

“Okay, I’ll come over.”

He breathes a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks!”

You abandon packing a full bag and merely bring some essentials with you before you head out and arrive at his place in roughly twenty minutes. You see that he had spent those minutes waiting with all the lights switched on and the TV turned up to a high volume in an effort to drown out the monotony. You ring the doorbell to his apartment and from within, you hear him exclaiming loudly with relief and rapid footsteps rushing over.

A pale-faced Jace greets you along with his Joltik, Heliolisk and Eelektross who cling to his arms and leg. Jace is trembling, holding your fixed radio in hand. His blonde hair is usually styled but he’s left it alone, loose strands flopping untidily over his forehead and eyes.

Before he can say a word, you glance around, looking at his lounge and the conjoined kitchen and utter, “Your house feels off. Let me do a quick sweep...”

He nods in agreement. “Thanks…”

“Good thing I brought holy water today."

“T-thanks, chuck…Your radio is soooo cursed, I hate it so much,” Jace moans as he returns his pokemon into their capsules in case they accidentally interfere with your ritual. As you remove your shoes and enter his lounge, he closes the door then hands you the fixed device and adds, “I heard a new voice: it was a man, not your father either. It knew my name and told me to go kill myself. I switched the radio off, turned round and saw this shadowy figure standing over there.”

He points to his bedroom doorway where the door is wide open and you head over to inspect.

“It went away but it scared me half to death," he says with a shiver. "Are you sure it picks up transmissions from the spirit world only?"

You ponder to yourself, glance at the radio then pocket it into your bag, “I'll check with Ezra. Jace, I'm so sorry…thanks for fixing the radio. I’ll make sure to be more careful and not break it anymore.”

“It’s fine, duck, I know you can’t help it and you know I’m always happy to lend a hand.”

“…Thanks, Jace.”

He gives you a wide grin as you smile weakly at him, then he pats you on the top of your head and shuffles to his kitchen in his flipflops so you can perform the cleansing ritual in peace.

Rolling your sleeves up, you begin murmuring the appropriate chant to bless and purify the house before you take out a bottle of water from your bag, unscrew the lid and empty some on your fingertips. Jace watches as you murmur under your breath and sprinkle some of the water over the doorway.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum. Amen,” you murmur, and once the dark presence lifts, you nod to yourself; the task is complete. “That should do it.”

He gives you a wide grin as you smile weakly at him; closing the door behind you, you wander to the lounge and Jace gestures for you to take a seat on his grey couch. “Thanks. All good, right?"

"Yeah."

Whatever it was, it's gone now.

"Let’s have a nice cuppa tea and catch up.”

The décor of his apartment used to be old-fashioned and full of Purrloin plates on the wall or photos and calendars of Snubbulls in various costumes courtesy of his grandmother, but now it’s become more of a typical bachelor’s pad with the casual grey sofa, glass coffee table, the modern blinds and the high chairs that line the counters that stand in the middle of the kitchen which itself has become more modern; there are no more frills and florals, Jace has replaced the wallpaper with white paint and spotlights embedded in the ceiling.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” you say and he grins.

“Thanks, it took me a while to get it renovated but I’m glad I got it done.”

“It’s more you.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Thanks, chuck. How’s things anyway?” he asks; he’s putting the kettle to boil for two cups which he’s laid out over the counter, tossing in teabags.

“I have a problem.”

The kettle finishes boiling and Jace pours the water in. “What problem?”

“I think I’m in love with Leon.”

“And so do ninety per cent of the female population of Galar,” he replies flatly as he stirs the tea with a spoon then heads over to the sofa with the mugs in hands.

It’s piping hot, so you’re extra careful as he hands you your mug of earl grey tea. “I’m serious, Jace.”

He seats himself comfortably on his plushy sofa, then grabs the remote and presses the button and the channel changes to some dancing show called Strictly Come Krumping where a dancer is busting some aggressive-looking moves with her Scraggy on the podium.

He flicks through the available movies and TV shows, passing a popular detective drama called The Killer Sableye and eventually move to the documentary section where Jace stares at the blurb of a comedy docuseries called ‘Hiker Dave’s Adventures in Alola with Kiawe’.

“So…Leon, huh. I thought someone like Kiawe would be your type. Not Leon.” Jace muses, “I didn’t think Leon would be your type at all.”

“Me either. I can't stop thinking about him, I can’t seem to focus on my work anymore. I noticed I can’t stop smiling whenever he’s mentioned or if I'm around him, my heart thumps like a Spoink on steroids and I get so nervous, it’s driving me bonkers and – is that a documentary about Leon?? Put that on, quick.”

Jace raises a brow and rolls his eyes but clicks on the program anyway.

“This is so exciting.”

He sighs and you deadpan all of a sudden.

“Dear lord," you mutter, "What’s happening to me?”

“Relax. You just have a crush on him, that’s all. It’s totally normal for girls your age. It’ll go away and you’ll realise it was just a phase and you’ll return to normal,” Jace mutters before he grabs a biscuit and dabs it into the tea.

What if you don’t want it to pass though?

And what if you want Leon to return these feelings?

“...You’re right," you end up uttering, shaking your head to clear such ridiculous thoughts, "this is just a phase. I need to snap out of it. I need to maintain a distance from him and I need to stop thinking about him because he sure as hell isn't thinking about me.”

“There are plenty of Tentacools in the ocean,” he adds. “Plenty of Tentacools.”

Yes, there are plenty of Tentacools in the ocean, but none of them are Leon.

…

In Hulbury, Leon is faithfully carrying out one of his Champion duties, which is to help out at a soup kitchen for the homeless.

He usually attends the one in Stow-on-Side, but on this occasion, the soup kitchen in Hulbury requires his assistance.

It’s wholly voluntary and the amount of people who turn up is staggering, ranging from up to thirty to three hundred so Leon has a busy half-day ahead of him.

Swapping his champion uniform and cloak for a t-shirt, overalls, apron and hairnet, the people of Galar probably wouldn’t recognize him nor would they find this hardly fitting for the Champion of Galar, but Leon is happy to lend a hand to the charity and they are extremely grateful for his assistance.

Leon enjoys working with the homeless; they are a lively bunch though most people would be repulsed by the foul stench due to living on the streets and their unsightly looks. They line up one by one in front of the tables that have been set up with Tupperware boxes full of food and cutlery, and Leon assists with the handouts.

“Arceus bless you, Mr Leon,” says a man with a toothy smile and an equally toothy Growlithe by his side.

“And you, sir,” Leon replies with a grin, as the man waddles away with his food for the night. “Enjoy your meal!”

The next individual steps up in line; it is an old man dressed in black with a mop of messy black hair and eyes that are entirely white and glazed over. He slowly shuffles over whilst coughing harshly, balancing an unlit cigarette between the cracked corners of his dry lips.

An Absol trots beside him, carrying a silver flask fastened to a harness that’s looped around her body.

“Here you are, sir,” Leon says, handing him a cutlery set and a plastic box full of hot rice, curry, potatoes and mushrooms, and the man blindly grasps for the box. Leon notices immediately and places the plastic tub into the old man’s palm, his long and gnarled fingers curling over the plastic.

“Thank you,” the man grunts out with gratitude, “C’mon, Absol, let’s go.”

The blind man begins to wander away with Absol plodding silently beside him until another homeless man comes rushing over in a hurry to join the queue and slams into his side none too gently, causing the blind man to topple over and the box’s contents to spill everywhere as it clatters to the ground.

“Oof,” the blind man grunts as he lands on the floor, cigarette falling out of his lips.

“Watch where you’re going, old geezer!” yells the other man before he sprints away, and Absol hisses angrily at him, her eyes glowing a bright blue. She attempts to chase him down but her owner stops her in time.

Having witnessed the entire scene, Leon hastily grabs a new food box and heads over. The blind man attempts to get up though he is helplessly sprawled over the ground, trying to locate his cigarette by patting the space around him with his hand.

Once he’s arrived, Leon lowers himself to his knees and helps the blind man up by grabbing the back of his elbow firmly. “Are you alright, sir?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” he grunts, rubbing his aching hip.

“Can you stand?”

The blind man nods and on the count of three, Leon helps him up though his knees shake and his legs wobble. Leon glances around the floor with all the spilled food and calls for some of the volunteers from the soup kitchen to help clean up; they acknowledge with a nod and arrive at the scene with a mop and long-handled brush.

“Where’s my cigarette?” the blind man growls under his breath, and Leon quickly picks up the little stick and hands it to him.

“There you go.”

“Thanks, kid,” the blind man proceeds to place it between his lips, “You new here? You don’t sound like the regulars.”

“I’m assisting the Hulbury soup kitchen for today only.”

“Hm. I see.”

“I brought you a new box of food.”

“That’s very kind of you, new guy. Usually if I cock up and rejoin the queue, they tell me to scram.”

“I couldn’t possibly do that. That’s not fair on you.”

The blind man lets out a huff of agreement. “They need to be more like you, new guy. You’re a good ‘un. Now, uh… I need to siddown …”

“I’ll help you,” Leon grasps his elbow and helps the man hobble over to an empty space near one of the stalls whilst Absol purrs with appreciation at Leon for his help.

Her owner pats her on the head and turning to Leon, he looks up at the Champion with his empty white eyes and says, “I can manage from here, new guy. Don’t mind me, I’m just a blind and useless old man.”

“I need to make sure you’ll be okay,” Leon replies, and he helps the blind man sit down on an overturned plastic box, allowing him to sigh and smack a clenched fist over his knees.

Another volunteer hurries over with a batch of paper towels. “Ezra, are you alright? That was a nasty fall.”

Leon blinks at sound of the name. “Ezra?”

“He’s one of our regulars,” the volunteer proceeds to inform him in a hushed whisper. “He’s an ex-convict…he was jailed for the murder of his wife and kid.”

“I may be blind but I ain’t deaf,” Ezra barks and the volunteer goes red in the face.

Leon glances at Ezra wide-eyed, unsure if he is willing to believe what his ears just heard. However, he chooses to stay put and asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright…” Ezra grumbles, before he throws his empty gaze to Leon’s direction, then jabs a finger at the volunteer, “Hey, you should hire more people like this new guy. You can learn a lot from him.”

“This is Leon, the Champion of Galar!” the volunteer exclaims.

“Champion, eh?”

“Yes!"

Ezra nods to himself. “New guy. You remind me of my disciple. You got a big heart, just like her.”

“I know your disciple,” Leon says excitedly before he can help himself. At the mere mention of you, his face has lit up and a huge grin has appeared. Reaching for Ezra’s ragged hand, he shakes it firmly and Ezra raises a brow, “She found me when I got taken by a Froslass and I went with her to a haunted house with Charizard and she deducted that it was actually a Zorua-“

“Whoa, hold it right there, champ. Slow down, have a seat,” the man replies, and Leon eagerly moves to sit beside him whilst the volunteer decides to saunter away. Emitting a wheezy laugh, Ezra rests a hand on his knee and says, “So, you’ve met my disciple?”

“Yes, Mr Ezra.”

He chuckles at Leon's formality. “Saved you from a Froslass, huh? You were one of the missing folk at the Giant's Seat?"

"Not exactly, but she still saved my life."

Ezra chuckles louder. "She tell you much about me?”

“Not much, only that you’re frightening and that you taught her everything she knows.”

“Hehe, that’s right,” the old man says with a smirk, “I used to be the pastor for the Church of Circhester. Decided it really wasn’t for me. I stay in Greyson’s Cemetery now. I’m the caretaker. Come visit when you have time."

“Thank you, sir. How did you meet her?”

Ezra snickers in response before he rubs his chin, “Huh, now you’re testin’ my memory…She tried an Ouija board in the cemetery and summoned a demon. Ended up possessin’ her. I found her and performed an exorcism, woke up in hospital and she was there. She kept apologizin’ and started cryin’ too, thought she’d gotten me killed… and I told her it’d take more than that to kill this old man. Think she was kinda…traumatized or somethin’ after that ordeal…but then she turned up to the graveyard one day and kept comin’ back every night and askin’ me if I could teach her stuff."

Leon nods in response as Ezra opens his flask and takes a brief swig. It smells of strong beer.

“She’s a good kid, Leon. A poor kid, too,” Ezra adds, wiping his chin.

“She told me her family are missing.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” the old man says with a sigh, “she says nobody believed her and that’s why she came to me for help. I was the only one who did. Now you’re best not to get tied up with our affairs, you know? It’s dangerous.”

“Yes, sir."

"And uh, could you do me a favour? If you see her...give her this, please?" Ezra lifts out a strange stone with a fissure in the middle and Leon recognises it as the Odd Keystone. "Tell her it needs one more spirit. She'll understand."

"Sure. Thank you, Mr Ezra. Take care.” Leon replies and he pockets the keystone and before they depart, they shake hands and he returns to his station, pulling on a new pair of gloves and begins serving the next few individuals in line.

When he’s finished with the soup kitchen, Ezra heads to the cemetery, waving to Leon. It’s growing dark and following a message from Chairman Rose, Leon returns to Rose Tower.

The journey to Wyndon is a short one and when he has arrived at the penthouse with Charizard's help, he knocks on the door and waits patiently. It’s been a long day but he still has many tasks ahead of him. Leon hasn’t even begun his training with his team yet. He hears the door click open and Oleana appears.

With a stoic expression, she greets him with a polite bow of her head. “Hello Mr Champion.”

“Hi Ms Oleana.”

“Thank you for coming,” she utters and she opens the door for him and he enters the penthouse without further delay to see Rose sitting on his large leather couch, engrossed with the little flashing screen of his Rotom phone which is playing a video.

"Good evening, sir,” Leon says, and he looks up.

“Ah, Leon! You’re here. Please, come over and have a look at this. Tell me what you think," Rose says as Leon joins his side, before he hands him the phone, pressing 'play' on the screen.

A screechy song can be heard, with a violent mix of percussion and bass guitar riffs blasting out in high volume.

"Ghostbunkers, hoooo yeah! Ghostbunkers, ghosts beware!!! GHOSTBUNKERS!!!" a charismatic but deep, gruff voice belts out. It ends in thirty seconds or so and Leon stares as a young man proceeds to appear on screen in the dark. His form is an eerie pale green in colour, his eyes are glowing pools of light due to the night-vision camera. "Hi, hello! Tan here, and welcome back to another exciting episode of Ghostbunkers! Tonight, we're heading to the abandoned Thrifty Megamart in Alola!"

He returns the phone. He's seen enough. “Sir, what is this?”

"An interesting duo who call themselves the ‘Ghostbunkers’," Rose mutters with a small smile gracing his lips.

“Is something wrong, sir?”

“Do you recall the art gallery event?”

“Yes sir. It was due to open but it got postponed for unknown reasons.”

“Indeed. Well, we received a call from one of the night security guards. It was another complaint regarding the art gallery being 'haunted'.”

“Haunted?” Leon says, surprised. This would be the first time he’s heard such a thing.

“Yes, we didn’t want news to spread so kept it secret. Anyway, I was thinking it's time we hired a couple of experts to inspect the building.” Whilst Rose hums under his breath in response, Oleana does not look amused with the direction as to where this conversation is going, “And you have just met a pokemon expert who deals with these sorts of things. It's great timing. If she's available, I'd like to ask her to help....if she's up for the task, that is.”

Leon is uncomfortable. He put in a good word for you and he told Rose about the Giant's Seat incidence but he didn't realise this sort of thing would happen. “Sir, she is a good person. Please do not-“

“Don’t get me wrong, Leon. I am treating this as a very serious matter…though I'm not inclined to believe in ghosts but what choice do I have? The art gallery’s opening has been delayed for far too long."

“I understand, sir.”

With that, Rose steeples his fingers together and nods to himself, "Excellent. Then it's decided, we'll ask this pokemon researcher and these...'Ghostbunkers' for help. Oleana. please call them at your earliest convenience. Explain to them our circumstances, the art gallery, the hauntings... The fee can be discussed later."

"Very well, sir," Oleana acknowledges with a short bow as she clasps her hands gently together.

"Thank you; I'd also like to meet the pokemon researcher in person. Can you arrange a meeting for me at the hotel tomorrow?"

"Yes sir."

As Oleana begins to exit the penthouse to make the phonecalls, Rose rises from his seat, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Very good. That's another matter off my chest. Leon, let’s go have dinner, shall we? I have a booking at The Captain’s Table. All the gym leaders will be joining us tonight. We're celebrating your smooth recovery.”

“Yes, sir…” Leon utters, as he follows Rose outside; he can’t help but wonder what he’s gotten you involved...

…

You’re on your way home, sitting in the Corviknight taxi whilst checking Rotom; you still have not received any messages from Leon. Suddenly, Rotom's screen changes, indicating to you that an unknown number is calling you. It must be a new client.

“Hello?” you say as you swipe the screen and hold Rotom to your ear.

“Hello,” says a stern voice belonging to a female, “Am I speaking to the ghost-type pokemon researcher of Wedgehurst?”

“Yes, that’s me,” you reply and she mentions your name for further confirmation, “Who’s speaking?”

“My name is Oleana. I work for Chairman Rose of Macro Cosmos.”

“Ah, hello. How may I help you?”

“Chairman Rose would like to meet you to discuss a proposition. Would you be free tomorrow afternoon?”

You remember that you’re supposed to meet Graves tomorrow as well. “Sure, I’m free anytime except one pm.”

“Very good. Please go to the Rose of the Rondelands in Wyndon tomorrow and inform reception you have a meeting with the Chairman at three pm sharp.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“What is this proposition?”

“The Champion has recommended and vouched for you and your credentials, so Chairman Rose would like to personally meet you to enquire about your services. You will find out more when you see him tomorrow.”

You're taken aback. “...Alright, sounds good.”

“Thank you. Have a nice evening.”

…

#leon #dande #fanfic #fic #archive of our own #leon x reader #Leon x you #reader insert #reader #pkmn #pokemon #pokemonshield #pokemonsword #pokemon shield and sword #jeralee #comfort in despair

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tenpointstoq · 4 years

Text

Geraskier drabbles

5 ‘mistakes’ and the one time its anything but.

1- The tavern has a well stocked and it’d been a good night, a really good night. Jaskier’s songs had only grown in popularity, he’d even tried out some new tunes and gotten quite the reception. The drinks were flowing. Mostly for once, on Jaskiers coin, many patrons happy to toss a coin to the silver tongued lark and his brooding Witcher. The women were wondrous, several crowded into the space with the two men, giggling at Jaskiers inflated tales and mooning over Geralt’s brooding silence. It was as he has promised in the past, women and wine. There had been food, but Jaskier was a little too drunk to remember if it was any good at this point.

‘Once again Geralt, I bring you women and wine!’ He sung, wininking at his quiet friend, happy to see the tense lines of his fave smooth a little with the ease of a woman in his arms.

After many tankards of ale and a little red wine, the group giggled away, their fingers already toying with the many laces and buttons that held Jaskiers fancy doublet together, suggested ‘Why don’t we play a little game boys? Help us decide who gets to bed who?’ Jaskier grinned, his cheeks pink with drink and arousal as he nodded in agreement, mostly ignoring the way Geralt looked the other way and said nothing in a silent protest. An ancient pack of cards was drawn from one of the many wenches belts and the queen of Hearts was presented. The game was easy enough. Pass the card from one player to the next. Keeping it against your lips via suction, each time the card was dropped the group drank as the person who dropped the card kissed the one they were supposed to pass it onto.

All went well, drinks were thrown back, people laughed and each man kissed several women, rather enthusiastically. However as the last rping was played and the card slipped Jaskier felt time slow, his eyes watched as it tumbled onto the table between them, the girls cheering, the one in Geralt’s lap slapping his shoulder gently, as if chiding him for ‘cheating’. Jaskier felt the golden gaze rest heavy on him as his fingers, shaking a little, surely from all the drink, fumbled for the card. ‘Well this won’t be fun for uh, anyone. S-surely the beautiful creature seated in your lap should have the honour.’ Jaskier stumbled, his voice going a little high as he tried to finish, watching as the girls began to tease and refuse. After all several of them had kissed one another, how was this any different?

Jaskier couldn’t meet his eye, it wasn’t until he felt the strong fingers beneath his chin that he drew in the sharp breathe he hadn’t been aware he had been holding. Geralt’s fingers were calloused but gentle, guiding their mouths together as the girls all whooped in excitement, egging they two on. Geralt tasted of liquor and the too sweet tang of woman, but then, as Jaskier felt his lips part, as Geralt shifted a little, drawing him closer, the screams of delight from the women around them were deafened. All he could hear was his own heart in his head, tripping over itself, beating impossibly fast. The strangely tender nature of the kiss felt so wonderfully right.

He could taste the road on him now and things that were unmistakably Geralt. Camomile and pine, leather oil and the tang of steal. As Geralt drew back Jaskier took a moment longer before opening his eyes, blinking a little as one of the women ran her fingers through his hair, chattering beside him.

It wasn’t as if the two men hadn’t shared a room before in which they had both had women. Neither were rich and when the needs were true what did it matter? But this was different. Jaskier watched Geralt as the girl crawled deeper into his lap, making quite a show of it all, murmuring something in his ear as Jaskier watched on, unable to meet his eye and yet, as Geralt watched him he felt pinned beneath the gaze. He could still feel those strong fingers ghosting across his skin. He reached out for the closest woman, a laugh drawn from his lips at whatever she had said, assuming she was trying to be amusing, her lips already seeking the tender flesh of his neck. Their display had sent the women into something of a frenzy, the two other women were putting on something of a show themselves, something Jaskier would usually relish and yet, even as those clever fingers of his woman for the evening found their way beneath his belt, as he took her in his this time, private room upstairs, he was unable to shake the taste and feel of his white wolf from his sense.

Later that night, as his woman slept beside him, her hair pale in the moonlight as it leaked through the windows, Jaskier stared up at the ceiling, replaying the evening in his mind over and over. How many times had he been manhandled by Geralt? Thrown over his shoulder to get him out of a bad situation or carried to bed drunk off his mind. Yet the tenderness could not be ignored. He had no idea if Geralt had meant to give so much away with the kiss, they were hit road weary. It could help make it all seem a little more real he supposed, his fingers drew across his lips, revelling in memory of Geralt’s beautiful lips against his own. While Jaskier had had men in his past, that kiss was far different from anything he had experienced.

#waa half asleep as i wrote this #geralt x jaskier #geraskiedfic #geraskier #transboywitcher writes

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caydesgirl-uldrensprincess · 4 years

Text

I'm going to introduce all my guardians and tell you a little bit about them.

Name: Chloe Faith Brask

Nicknames: Clo (by friends and comrades), Chloe Bear (by her dad), My Queen (by Cayde), Mrs. 6 (Drifter, after she's married Cayde), Crack Shot (By Tori)

Ghost: Moondance (male ghost)

Class: Hunter

Subclass: Gunslinger

Race: Human

Family: Andal Brask (dad), mother is unknown (she died after giving birth to Chloe)

Relationship(s): Nathan-2 (ex-boyfriend) and Cayde-6 (married)

Favorite colors: Blue and white

Favorite food: Cheeseburgers

Favorite drink: Cherry Vanilla Pepsi

Best Friend(s): Isabelle Brigham and Tori-3

Hobbies: Skateboarding, drawing, photography, and playing the piano

Pet(s): a husky named Koda

Chloe has always been a very reckless Hunter. She's always the one guardian on the fireteam to do things her own way and not give a shit about what she's doing. Although Chloe is always there to offer extra ammunition to those who need it.

She is often plagued with nightmares of her fathers death and Cayde's. Chloe often never sleeps, but if need be, she will take short naps. After the death of Andal, Chloe started going on solo missions a lot more and often ended up being extremely reckless and getting herself in sticky situations more than once. She was never one to handle grief well. She almost went off the deep end after Cayde died.

Other than that, Chloe is really fun to hang around. On days off, you can often find Chloe with a sketchbook, her skateboard, and some headphones on listening to modern country.

Name: Isabelle Aubrey Brigham

Nickname: Izzy (by friends and comrades), Bookworm (by Chloe and Tori), Darling (Uldren)

Ghost: Hermoine (female ghost)

Class: Warlock

Subclass: Dawnblade

Race: Awoken

Family: None that she can remember.

Relationship(s): Uldren Sov (married)

Favorite color: Pink

Favorite food: Chocolate cake

Favorite drink: Camomile tea

Best friend(s): Chloe Brask and Tori-3

Hobbies: reading, meditation, dancing, baking, and tea cup collecting

Pet(s): no, she claims its too much of a mess.

Isabelle is the typical Warlock. She often helps out the fireteam and carefully carries out every mission. She follows orders precisely. Isabelle can best anyone in crucible, except for Ikora and Shaxx.

Isabelle is hopelessly in love with Uldren Sov. She often invites him with her when she's patrolling the reef.

On off days, Isabelle is often found in a café with a good book and a cup of tea.

Name: Tori-3

Nicknames: Shoulder Charge (By Isabelle and Chloe)

Ghost: Percy (male ghost)

Class: Titan

Subclass: Sunbreaker

Race: Exo

Family: none

Relationship(s): Surya Hawthorne (ex-girlfriend), Anastasia Bray (ex-girlfriend), Lord Shaxx (ex-fiancé), Shiro-4 (married)

Favorite color: red and black

Favorite food: Sushi

Favorite drink: Dr. Pepper

Best friend(s): Chloe Brask and Isabelle Brigham

Hobbies: Gaming, hiking, and cooking.

Pet(s): A golden retriever named Faendal (yes, thats a Skyrim reference)

Tori is the mom of the fireteam. She protects her teammates and attacks anyone who dares to harm them. She charges shoulders first into the closest enemy.

Tori-3 bisexual, so she dates anyone who is willing. She married Shiro a year after the Red War.

During her days off Tori is either her loving husband Shiro hiking in the forest or playing Skyrim on xBox.

#destiny #bungie #destiny 2 #titans #hunters #warlocks #destiny shitpost #destiny 1 #my guardian

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definitelynotstable · 8 months

Text

Camomile pt. 8 [Ghost x gn!Reader]

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10

AN: Leave a comment babes! They motivate me and help me gauge whether or not you are enjoying the direction the series is going in x

Synopsis: You're cleared for travel and head back to base. Ghost helps you through a trauma flashback. Word count: 1.5k Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence, flashback/ptsd, light angst Ghost x gn!Reader (Callsign: Rags) You're still suffering from being captured and tortured, nightmare trope but it's a ptsd flashback instead. Hurt/comfort, fluff, bit of a filler chapter x

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Price insisted the entire team stay on the base till you had been cleared by the doctor to fly; though you knew the higher ups had been trying to fly them all back to home base without you for at least a week now. You were grateful they’d stayed; Soap and Gaz kept you occupied most of the day while Price usually sat in the corner on a laptop, typing away. Ghost would visit you in the evening and it became in informal routine for him to bring you tea before settling into the chair at your bedside with a book he had sourced from somewhere.

Three books and two weeks later you stood, shivering slightly, on the icy tarmac outside. You stood and watched as a small cargo plane was loaded and refuelled – your ride back to home base.

Ghost stood to your left, blocking most of the wind which whipped at your hair and rattled your discharge papers till you held them flat against your chest. Much went unspoken between you but you knew all of his silent questions by heart.

Are you ok?

You’d let him know if you weren’t. Nervous, yes, but ok nonetheless. Open spaces felt wider than before, more vulnerable. Only the lieutenant beside you knew about the many deep breaths you’d needed to step out of the hospital room, let alone onto the tarmac. A gloved hand hovered at the small of your back till he was certain you were steady on your feet and then a soft squeeze of your elbow as you hesitated in the doorway.

His actions had always spoken more than words.

“All aboard!” Soap’s voice called out over the rumble of the plane’s engine. You flinched as a hand cupped your shoulder.

“Ready?” The Lieutenant questioned, his voice low, and close to your ear. You sucked in a sharp breath, nodding.

“Affirmative, LT.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The flight was long and not entirely comfortable; Soap and Gaz taking turns at being your head rest as you dozed. Price and Ghost spent most of the flight hunched over a laptop, talking in low voices – you knew the Lieutenant had been putting off work to sit at your bedside; he was always going to eventually return to being busy and elusive like his namesake. Though just his presence was soothing and you felt his absence keenly once Soap and Gaz had dropped you off to your room – “for a rest” the former had advised sternly.

Though you had napped for most of the flight, you felt heavy and tired, flopping onto your bed with a groan as soon as the door clicked shut behind you. Wrinkling your nose you realised it’d been weeks since you’d had a proper shower – the sponge baths in the infirmary could only do so much. The ensuite in your room was a luxury afforded to the 141 and you’d never been more grateful. You didn’t feel like traipsing through the halls to the communal showers in your state of exhaustion.

The shower spurted on and you danced you fingers under the water to test the temperature, pulling off your cargo pants and standard issue shirt before flinging them into the empty hamper. The water was hot now, but not scalding and without thought you stepped under the spray.

You were immediately pulled from your ensuite and back to the damp room in Eastern-Europe. Hands tied tight behind you, one gripping the hair at the back of your skull as the suffocating rush of liquid, the panicked struggle for air—ripped through you mind. Your breath caught in your throat, chest tightening as your body reacted to the vivid recollection.

The present blurred as the flashback consumed your senses; hands clutched at the sides of your head, nails digging into your scalp in an attempt to ground yourself in the there and now. Consciousness wavering between reality and past, you barely registered the passage of time. The rush of the water cascading over your head melding with memories, rushing water, haunting echoes, and maniacal laughter.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ghost, two mugs of camomile in hand, knocked on the door he knew to be yours. He’d never been into your quarters, though he had a hunch you’d be awake. He knocked once, twice, three times. Something was wrong. Worry rising faster than he’d ever admit, Ghost wrapped a hand around the door-handle and pulled. It opened with a click.

“Rags?” He called out, albeit cautiously, though he was met with silence. The door clicked shut behind him as he took a step further into the room.

“Rags?” It was only when he stepped closer did he register the sound of the shower and the tendrils of steam curling into the room from the en suite. Kicking himself for not thinking about the possibility that you were probably in the shower, the Lieutenant made for the door. Just as his hand met the smooth metal he heard a small sob. Stiffening, he cocked his head to the side. There it was again.

Swearing under his breath, Ghost deposited the mugs of camomile on your desk before coming to the doorway, pushing the already ajar door open a crack wider.

“Rags?” No reply. He pushed the door open wider, his gaze falling to the figure crumpled and shivering, lost in what seemed to be a torrent of memories he couldn’t see.

“Goddamnit,” the Lieutenant cursed under his breath, rushing forward to turn off the shower and grab a towel. Kneeling beside you, he reached out gently, his touch tentative but firm.

“Rags,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the haze that consumed you. “You’re safe. You’re here.”

You jerked forward as his voice pierced through the chaos in your mind, gasping for air as if you had emerged from the depths of the sea. You blink, vision slowly clearing through the haze and steam of the shower, revealing Ghost’s wide cobalt eyes; concerned by calm.

Realisation hit you like a punch to the gut. You were back in the present, in your quarters, in your en suite, with Ghost of all people by your side. You felt your breathing hitch, feeling both embarrassment and relief well within you.

“Sorry,” you manage, your voice shaky.

Ghost wrapped the fluffy towel around your shoulders, his hands steady.

“No need to apologise. You weren’t in control.”

The Lieutenant helped you to your feet and you clung to the towel around your shoulders as he guided you out of the bathroom and to sit on the edge of your bed.

His presence was stabilising and reassuring as he crouched in front of you, gaze unwavering and gentle.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur, cobalt eyes filled with genuine concern.

You nod, albeit slowly, your throat tight with emotion. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm... I'll be okay.”

“Was it the shower?’ He asked gently, his hand coming to rest on your knee.

Your hands twine together in your lap, unsettled. “I think so. They had a bit of fun with the water boarding – a warm shower’s a bit different from an icy barrel though.”

Ghost’s thumb rubs back and forth over your towel-covered knee; eyes full of understanding. “Triggers don’t always make sense, it was probably the feeling of the water over your head.”

You hum in agreement, feeling thoroughly worn out. Moving your eyes from your hands and beginning to observe your surroundings as they solidify around you. “Is that camomile?” You ask spotting the two mugs on your desk.

Ghost pushes himself to his feet, reaching for the tea and handing it to you. “I stole your teabags, hope that’s ok.”

“I don’t keep track anymore.” You say with a smile, the warmth seeping from the mug in your hands into your very bones. “I think we both gave up on that a while ago, LT.”

You lean over and settle the mug on your bedside table, the towel damp and your arms prickling with goosebumps. “I’m just gonna, uh, change, if that’s ok.”

Ghost looks up, eyes widening. “Oh yes, sorry, of course.” He pushes off of the desk chair he’d pulled out to sit in and makes for the door.

You feel your heart lurch slightly at the though of being alone, even for a moment. “Ghost?”

“Hm?”

“Could you – could you stay, do you think? I’ll just be seconds, you can just look at the wall.”

You watch as the lieutenants shoulders relax from where he has his back to you. “Of course.” He answers softly.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You are too tired to feel embarrassed about your Peter Rabbit pyjamas, yawning in between sips of camomile. You don’t even notice you’ve nearly fallen asleep before your chin hits your chest and Ghost is taking the mug from your hands.

“Here,” he says, voice gentle, “let’s get you tucked in.”

You don’t even protest as he pulls back the covers of your bed. You slip into the space he’s created, and let him adjust the duvet around you, tucking it in up to your chin.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” you yawn, voice soft and sincere.

The lieutenant blinks down at you, your eyes already shut. “I’m not going anywhere.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Masterlist

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unholyhelbiglinked · 5 years

Text

Camp Beaverbrook |009

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE START HERE

Dear Dad,

They haven’t found the body yet. I don’t know if it’s because of the lack of law enforcement that they called in, or if there isn’t a body to be found, but it’s sent the camp into an eerie quiet. Aubrey is convinced that the lake needs to be dredged up until there’s nothing left but toxic mud. I don’t think they would find Jane. They might find someone else though. This place has been around for a long time, you know? Maybe you are right. Maybe trouble just follows me wherever I go.

Your Daughter,

Beca

The tea barely had any taste; a mix of mint leaves and heated water that Beca felt move all the way down to the base of her stomach. This morning had been a cold one, cold enough for her to accept the beverage that had slid across the table her way. She didn’t mind the dull taste or the fire that ate away at the logs next to her. It was almost comforting today. It thawed her out.

She let the steam warm her cheeks, she could feel the blood rise to the surface of her skin as she inhaled the strong scent, letting her eyes close. Her mother used had the habit of curling up on the end of the couch with a steaming hot cup of camomile just like this one. The mugs never matched, and the brew would get stronger at times, but it was like this. It had been like this.

“I’m going to ask what we’re all thinking.” Wilken’s broke the silence like dropped china. The pink little flowers on the plates would lose its petals and its vines would be cut. “Are you planning on closing the camp?”

Beca opened her eyes and moved her midnight stare up to the two sitting oddly close to one another. He was nursing a pastry on a little white napkin that had more crumbs than free space. The baked good was half-raised to his lips and a fine helping of jelly seemed to drip past the flaky layers. Gail looked above the rims of her silver glasses.

Anyone looking in on the situation would see a family fit for an oil painting, a house that had a vacant space above the mantel and a nice serene cabin in the middle of the woods. There would be no camp, no missing child, no lake that needed to be drained as simply as a plug pulled from a Victorian bathtub.

Instead, it was a woman in charge, a counselor who had struggled to hide the scent of a cigarette with vanilla bean body spray, and a probation officer who seemed to overstay his welcome. Dysfunctional and edged with tension. “No, I’m afraid not. We’ve never closed the camp before and we’re not doing it now.”

Wilken’s snapped his jaw shut and set the pasty to the side. He laced his fingers together. There was a glob of sticky jam still on his thumb, but he didn’t’ seem to notice. “What if she’s dead?”

“We don’t know anything yet, officer.” Gail’s voice was leaking with poison, Beca looking back and forth between the two like she wasn’t there at all. A ghost that was chained to the seat and adhered to a mug of tea that was too hot to drink. “We’ve sent out an automated phone call to all of the parents. They’re very aware of the situation. Whoever deems it necessary to pick up their child can, and will.”

“What about Jane’s parents?”

Gail directed her stare towards Beca, who froze like a deer in headlights. She had never spoken out of turn in the five weeks that she had been here. She would answer the questions given to her and behave on the lake. No one had drowned yet, and that was the exact report that she had run through each week and responded to Wilken’s with ease. It was routine. The woman’s eyes softened.

“They got a phone call that wasn’t automated. They’re aware of the situation, it’s nice of you to ask.”

Beca nodded. She felt like the camp director was stepping on eggshells. As if Beca caring about another person warranted a pat on the head and a little treat. She would have protested but figured Gail Abernathy had enough on her plate as it is.

“Rebecca,” Wilken’s cut through the air, “I think we need to discuss what will happen if the camp is… um, temporarily closed.”

Gail let the comment hang in the air for a few moments before Beca nodded softly. She adjusted herself in the leather seat and set the mug down on the table, a cork coaster. The fabric was loud and squeaked evenly, her cheeks reddened. “Okay,”

“If you can’t finish your community hours here, it’s safe to say you’ll have to finish out your sentence at Tread Lock.” Beca’s chest tightened. “A month, two tops.”

Fifty days. That was fifty days locked up in some room that had nothing but a mattress on a wire frame coated in rubber to keep kids much worse than her from making sharpened blades and rushing at her throat. The blood would spill, and her father would be called. She wondered if he would even care.

“Tread Lock?” The name slipped through Gail’s lips before Beca had a chance to echo the man herself. “The correctional facility in the city?”

“It’s juvenile detention. Not a jail. It whips kids into shape.”

Beca couldn’t stop the snort that moved past her lips. Wilken’s thought the state had gone easy on her by letting her spend the summer doing community service instead of taking her to the van in shackles in the first place. Orange simply wasn’t her color, and the man had fawned concern. She imagined him practicing his glossy-eyed stare in his side mirrors before trudging up here.

“We’re not closing the camp. Beca is doing a fine job. I think we’re done here today- don't you?” She had cut the probation officer off before anything else could happen. He simply stiffened and nodded his head, his jacket louder than she remembered.

Wilken’s had waved her off, making some type of excuse to stay behind and speak to the camp director. It would be easy enough: Want to sign these documents over dinner and something stronger than tea?

She swallowed back the minty taste on her tongue and stepped into the warming daytime air. It wasn’t quite time for her spot at the lake yet, but the fog had dissipated, and her stomach clenched in the primal need for food. She skipped breakfast on days like these, learning it was easier to sneak away from her cabin instead of dismissing herself from a table filled with curious counselors.

“Fucking Tread Lock,” She mumbled under her breath. Her legs had gotten used to the hilly atmosphere, mind surrounded by her thoughts as she hiked towards the mess hall. She nodded willfully at the kids who called out her name and gave her a sporadic wave, a smile fighting past her rough exterior. Her cousin had lost an eye at Tread Lock.

Beca rapped on the back door to the mess hall three times. The metal echoed before it creaked open. “What’s the password?”

“Tarantino.”

A warm light cut through the morning sun, Jesse Swanson holding a bright and undeniable smile. He had a dirtied towel over his shoulder and a grease-stained Camp Beaverbrook shirt on. There was a large pile of half-peeled potato’s behind him, a plastic bin with shavings slowly overflowing. “Good morning Maverick.”

Beca pushed past the door into the kitchen, breathing in the sweet scent. She could hear a pot of water boiling against the back burner. It was a lull of noise that almost soothed her. “I don’t know what that means, but you can call me whatever you want if you saved me anything from breakfast.” She turned on her heel, quirking a brow as the door slammed shut.

“Oven, bottom shelf.” Jesse took the rag from his shoulder and wiped away whatever dirt had culminated against his palms. “It’s from Top Gun, you know, Maverick?” Beca shook her head “Goose? Iceman?”

She leaned down and took the tray from the bottom shelf, it was still warm and piled high with eggs and three strips of bacon. Jesse had even slid in two pieces of toast for an extra kick. She didn’t say anything, leaning over the counter as she shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth, Jesse throwing the towel back over his shoulder before going back to peeling the vegetables.

“You are a menace to society, you know that, right?

“Call me what you want, at least I’m not hungry.”

Jesse Swanson was a good enough guy, if not a dork. He had a strong obsession with movies and had taken to calling her something new each day. The only one she had understood so far was Batman and Robin, which earned a cheeky grin and a pat on the back.

She set the plate to the side and hopped up on the counter that was mainly used for prep. Beca Mitchell didn’t exactly trust herself when it came to being near heat radiating surfaces. Instead, she pulled the plate onto her lap and continued to push food into her mouth, trying to rush past the clock before she had to get to the edge of the lake.

“How’d your meeting thingy go?”

“It went.” She shrugged her shoulders as she took a generous bite of the last strip of bacon on her plate. Her stomach was a bit unsettled at the speed she had eaten but there was something else pulling away at her. Something like a juvenile detention center and a missing kid that was last in her sights. “I thought camp was supposed to be easy, you know?”

Jesse just scoffed and pressed the sharpened edge of the blade into the potato, juices dripped down his elbow and onto the floor- Beca watched with an intent expression on her face. Jesse worked almost rhythmically and part of her understood why his father told him to put the camera down and apply to culinary school. She kept her mouth shut.

“Off the counter, Beca.”

There was a sharp voice that cut through the warm serenity of the kitchen. Aubrey Posen didn’t need to knock on the back door, instead, she leaned close to the doorframe, her shining whistle hanging around her throat like a four-pointed badge of honor. Beca hated that smug look on her face and the way Jesse Swanson straightened his stance as soon as her presence was known.

“We need to talk.” She said.

Beca lifted an eyebrow and kept her perch on the surface. She felt like a stone crafted gargoyle with red glowing eyes and long stretching wings. “I’ve got five more minutes until my spot on the lake, Aubrey-“

“Not about your tardiness, about Jane.”

The room seemed to grow even stiller than it was before. Beca knew that birds always chirped as the sun rose and crickets strung their violins when the moon stamped against a blanket of stars. Jesse let out a light sigh and grabbed the nearest long edged knife he could find. He didn’t bother with the cutting board, instead, slicing through raw potatoes evenly.

“What about Jane? Have they found her?” Alive, hopefully.

Aubrey looked at her in complete lunacy. Almost as if Gail had this morning but in the opposite end. She wasn’t rewarded with a small pat on the head for showing affection towards a tragedy. Aubrey hugged her arms tighter and clenched her jaw. “No, no they haven’t. I figured they would find at least something based on what you’ve been saying.”

“And what exactly have I been saying?” Beca quirked an eyebrow, hopping down from the counter before she placed her plate in the metal sink with a clink. She flicked on the running water, ready to wet her hands.

“You were the last one to see Jane,” Aubrey confirmed, staring hesitantly as Beca squeezed a glob of bubblegum pink soap into her palm. It smelled fruity. She hummed in response. “She was in the lake and you supposedly pulled her from the water before sending her back to her cabin. The cabin that Emily assures me was undisturbed after her and Hayley had settled in.”

“Emily was asleep.” Beca shut the water off, shaking her hands dry before grasping at a cloth rag and squeezing her fingers under it. She turned to face Aubrey, not intimidated by the stance or the hard, hazel stare. “What exactly are you implying, Aubrey?”

“You know what happened to her, don’t you?” Her voice was a slight whisper, but Jesse had stopped chopping and Beca had changed the rhythm of her breath. “Lurking around the woods, meeting with some stranger- if you didn’t’… you’re hiding something. Something you won’t even tell Chloe. She might be too blind to see it, but I’m not.”

Up until recently, Beca Mitchell had been a shoot first, ask questions later type of girl. She would steel herself and throw a punch, her nails digging a stinging crescent shape into clay-like skin. Instead, her fingers twitched, and her mouth went dry, she simply said: “I can trust you won’t be insulted when I call you paranoid.”

“Me? Paranoid?” Aubrey’s voice rose an octave and Beca bit her tongue until she could taste salted blood. “You’re practically part of the shadows around here, you know that, right? Everything thinks its absolute rubbish that they haven’t even begun to question you.”

The watersports director narrowed her gaze before flashing it towards Jesse. He had a sullen look on his face, the knife still clenched at his side. “Is that true?” her voice was pinched “You all think I had something to do with Jane’s disappearance?”

His brown eyes were downcast as he gave a half-hearted shrug. Jesse had never been this quiet and Aubrey had never turned this shade of red before. There was a thick tension in the air as Beca drew in a deep breath and lilted her head to the side, staring the woman with the whistle down.

“Now you want to be quiet? You don’t want to take my fingerprints or anything? Hell, Aubrey why don’t you just call the police now considering you’ve got it all figured out!”

“Maybe I will, Mitchell!” Aubrey had matched her volume with Beca’s “You and your fucking attitude will have a hard time explaining yourself to State.”

Beca had to snort at that. State? The man with the button-down shirts and the El Dorado was her alibi for once instead of the person who scrutinized it. He would light up cigars until the cab of his vehicle was toxic and she choked, but he would have her back, Gail would have her back.

“Pull the stick out of your ass for once and realize what exactly you’re accusing me of!” Beca’s voice was frantic, angry as she stared between the camp cook and his superior, her superior. Aubrey Posen parted her lips to speak, to counter the argument, but nothing more made it past her conscience. Not before an interruption.

“Guys,” Chloe Beale was breathless, hair still damp from the cold shower she had taken this morning, a fine layer of sweat coated all exposed skin, her tank-top hanging low and her blue iris’s lined in a red so fine it was almost written. Her nose scrunched at the tension in the room, Aubrey finally pulling her gaze away from Beca as she turned to face the frantic woman. Beca softened her own stance.

“They found something.”

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Aubrey Posen #Emily Junk #junksen #junksen fanfic #bechloe #bechloe fic rec

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