#i hate (HATE) drawing faces and one day i will have to conquer that. but not today

[depresseddepot]

hi. look at her

[yestrday]

: ̗̀➛ LOVE BITES. yan! isagi yoichi / gn! reader / yan! kurona ranze

you don't know what to do but spit fire and hate at two kidnapping psychos who can't even keep their lips off each other. they could at least have the decency to not do it in front of you :/

+ waaaah idk this writing feels lazy but i love love loooove poly yanderes and i wanted to try exploring it...

( once again. how do kissing scenes work. slight bl00d. poly relationship. implied other poly relationships who are also out to getcha )

ever since their blue lock days, kurona had always been isagi’s partner-in-crime. of all the partners yoichi could have chosen, he who had came later in his life was the one who won isagi’s trust and hand. and now he and isagi conquered together– in every match, in every television appearance, and now most importantly, you.

“kurona,” isagi murmurs, his delicate yet calloused fingers running up and down your bare hips. called by his silent command, kurona leans in closer, and his lean body presses itself on your shivering back. there is a silent intimacy in the air, simply indescribable by words. alone in the shadows of their shared living space, with only the occasional sliver of moonlight whenever the curtains flutter, the three of you press your heated bodies together.

isagi casts his gaze upon him, benevolent and possessive. it’s a cross between the kind off-field isagi and the cruel maestro of the court, and kurona finds himself shuddering under his gaze. “kurona,” he calls again. “talk to [your name] for me, please?” he sends him a pleading look, obviously disappointed that none of his attempts to consoling you is working. “i think they’re still scared of me.”

“mmm, is that true, [your name]?” he nuzzles into your nape and hugs your waist. your breath hitches when you feel his fingers dig into your skin– not harsh and blood-drawing as you expected, but well, who can blame you for your paranoia? “why’re you scared of isagi? of me? hmm?” your nape is soft against his nose, and he lets out a content sight. “we’re taking good care of you, aren’t we?”

you can’t help but whimper when he finally places all his body weight on you, treating you like a mere plushie as you’re now squished between isagi and kurona. “that’s right,” isagi hums, idly playing with your hair. “whatever you want, you can ask. we’re pros now, [your name]. we can buy you anything you want.”

you bite your lip, sending a teary glare up at isagi. he smiles so kindly, just like the kind boy you once cheered on blue lock tv. you can feel kurona’s gentle touch on your stomach too, and keenly aware of how capable he is of hurting you with just one clench. “i want to go back home.”

kurona and isagi share a quiet laugh. “everything except for that, that is.” the blue-haired boy even has the gall to send you an apologetic smile. “sorry.”

“we need you here with us,” kurona whispers, as sweet as he can be. his teeth graze against your nape once again but before he pulls away he takes a nip at your skin again, with more warning than the last. “you’re our prize, our trophy, our love. all of us love each other, yeah? you love us, and we love you too. how could you handle being away from us?” he has the gall to say all of this like it’s fact, imposing their feelings on you even when your face contorts into disgust with every delusion he spouts.

“i don’t think i would wanna live without you and isagi,” kurona whispers into your skin, as if sharing a secret. isagi’s one arm slings itself around kurona, now having the two of you huddled in his arms. “i think i’d die. yeah, i’d die.” sometimes, you think that kurona might just as much of a prisoner as you are. isagi likes to play nice all the time but both of them know how cruel and manipulative he could be, and how tightly he has kurona wound around his finger. but you watch as isagi smiles endearingly at the boy, pressing a kiss on his lips. then when he pulls away, kurona lets out a low whine, isgai’s breath hitches, and he dives in again for yet another albeit messier kiss. you cringe and look away.

chuckling, isagi gently holds the back of your hair— slightly squeezing the strands as warning— and guides your vision back to them. isagi is watching you from the side of his eye, smirking as he continues with that messy and drooly kiss. kurona struggles to even open his eyes, too pleasure-struck as he leans into the kiss. “watch, [y. name]. you could learn a lesson or two,” he chuckles. “kurona’s always so good for you and me. you should see what you’re missing.”

 “i’m not missing out anything,” you sneer, though you’re only speaking to air as isagi redirects his energy into making out with kurona. “you two are sick. keeping me here and subjugating me to your every whims. you’re perverted psychos, that’s what you fucking are.” 

kurona’s eyes slant slight, looking somewhat like a kicked puppy as you spout venom at the both of them. isagi just looks more amused than anything and he finally releases kurona from his hold. the sharp-toothed holds both of your hands in his as he looks up at you pleadingly as he presses your cold palm against his cheek. “[y. name], you’re here because we want to protect you. everyone out there wants a piece of you… kaiser and ness… nagi and that millionaire. isagi just wants the best for you.” he presses a soft kiss to your palm. “for the both of us.” 

you want to refute this, that the only reason why they locked you away is so their other equally psycho competitors won’t find you and take you for themselves. but kurona’s eyes and gentle acts have a way of prodding at your heartstrings and you feel like you were falling for this stupidly effective manipulation tactic of his. so instead you sigh and look away from him, gritting your teeth with hardened eyes.

“now, now, don’t be too stubborn,” isagi laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “you’re going to be with us for a lo~ng time. might as well learn how to love it.”

you bite your lip to silence yourself and watch as kurona smiles gently at you, nestling himself right beside isagi’s head. “love you so much, both of us,” he murmurs into your skin. his sharp teeth graze the soft flesh, making you stiffen and your fingers dig into isagi’s thigh in alarm. “you’ll accept our love, won’t you?”

“of course they will, kurona,” isagi affirms, not even waiting for your response. “don’t feel too guilty.”

a silence between them happens, sharing some sort of secret message you’re not privy to. soon, kurona’s lips twitch into a smile—

and his teeth dig into your neck, blood seeping from the broken skin as you scream at the pain. warmth shoots through your neck, something trickles downwards and under your shirts, and you stare wide-eyed at the ceiling as you hear nothing but your own shallow breaths. kurona hums beside you, licking the marks in apology, and one fearful glance at him has you flinching at how he licks the blood from his lips with that ever-gentle expression.

“looks s’ pretty on you, kurona,” isagi says appreciatively, pressing down on his lower lip with his thumb and kurona opens his mouth so he can get a full view of the mess within his mouth. “must taste really good, huh? especially with the way you’re blushing.” 

he’s right, your mind manages to comprehend. his eyes are lidded as his tongue swipes at his teeth to get every drop and the blush on his pale face tells you just how much he’s enjoying this. the man’s a sick pervert. how could i fucking forget?

“don’t be so angry, [y. name].” isagi swipes a trickle of blood from your skin and presses it against kurona’s lips, who too eagerly sucks on his finger to get more of the taste. “it’s the least you could do for hurting kurona’s feelings. our feelings.” 

you don’t quite have the energy to even bite back. in defeat, you slump against isagi and close your eyes to the sound of kurona’s hungry slurps and isagi’s encouraging moans.

sick fucks.

maybe you should let yourself get kidnapped by reo. better the collar than getting bitten. probably.

[httpiastri]

snowy mountains & hot baths – op81

you, oscar, and an empty spa can only lead to one thing.

genre: very short smut 😶

pairing: oscar piastri x female reader

warnings: uhhh public sex.... unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it yall!!

author's note: happy valentines day :) wish i had oscar here to celebrate with me... anyway. idk about this one guys 🫠🫠 started out alright but then i hated half of it so i deleted it and rewrote it but it just got worse. and i know that if i don't just post it rn, i will likely procrastinate and never end up posting it at all. yay. hope u enjoy anyway! i also have another oscar fic done that's at least a bit better than this lol.

f1 masterlist

18+ content below, minors do not interact!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

a low groan leaves oscar's lips when he dips his feet in the warm water. he instantly turns around, eyes finding you standing by the door you've just walked through to get to this outdoor area of the spa. he holds his hand out towards you, beckoning for you to step closer.

"it feels so good," he promises, gaze following your every move as you let your robe slide down your arms. his eyes widen when you reveal your newly bought bikini – papaya orange, of course – and a shudder passes through his body at the sight of the tiny material trying it's best to cover you up.

he thanks all the gods he can think of that there's no one else around.

goosebumps grow across your skin now that you're exposed to the sub-zero temperatures, toes curling in the short layer of snow on the deck. you stroll over to him, making sure to let your hips sway a little extra with every step because you know he's watching and you know what he's thinking. the sight of him gulping as his eyes wander up and down your body can only mean one thing.

taking his hand in yours, you let him pull you into the water with him, letting out a content sound when the water envelops your legs and brings the temperature of your body up again. oscar gives your hand a squeeze and leans back, his back hitting the water as he submerged into it. you dive in right after him, making a few strokes beneath the surface before coming up for air again. your hands come up to wipe away the water from your face, before brushing over your hair and tying it up in a messy bun on top of your head.

"this is just what i needed," your boyfriend says, drawing out an agreeing hum from you. it's been a long day – a long week, really – filled to the brim with skiing, hot chocolate drinking, skiing, cable car-rides, and then more skiing. oscar doesn't usually get a lot of time off work, and when he does, he wants to make the most of it. and as his partner, he thinks you should be doing the same, and that's why he's woken you up in the early hours every morning this last week, practically bouncing from how much he aches to go out in the swiss alps yet again.

the hot tub is big enough to swim around in, but oscar makes his way to the side and sits down on the built-in seat, arms stretching out and resting on the edge of the pool. you swim over to him, easily slipping onto his lap and letting your hands rest on his shoulders. oscar tenses up when you sit on him, and you're not surprised by the length already poking up at you – he's just a man, after all – but you decide not to do anything to acknowledge it just yet.

"it's really beautiful here, don't you think?" you ask, looking to your side. the sun has only just set, so the little village isn't completely dark yet. the moon above your heads casts a soft hue over the mountains you've spent all week conquering, stars twinkling among the tops.

"not as beautiful as you, though." there's barely any lightning out here other than the little candles scattered across the floor, but you see the fire in oscar's gaze clearly when you look back at him. he's staring at you like you're the most perfect work of art, the most beautiful thing to ever exist – and your expression matches his, because he truly is your favorite thing to look at in the world. your heart flutters at the contrast between how cute he looks with a few locks of his long fringe curling along his forehead, and how incredibly sexy his body looks with the little droplets of water decorating his muscular chest. he's just stunning.

"you really did a great job with planning and booking all of this, you know," you start. "i may have complained quite a bit when you dragged me out of bed at six am, but... it's all been perfect."

your hands find the space just below his jaw, and it takes all of your strength not to blatantly stare at his thick neck when you feel the muscles under your touch.

"well, perfect except for the fact that my legs are so sore right now."

oscar chuckles at this confession, hands leaving the edge of the pool and dipping into the water instead. "let me help you out with that, then..."

a jolt of electricity shoots down your spine when his palms meet your bare thighs, fingers pressing into the skin and stroking you softly. your eyes flutter closed, loving every second of his massage and growing hotter when his hands make their way further and further up. it doesn't take long before oscar can't hold back anymore, reaching up to press his lips against yours.

you sigh into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself further towards him, your crotch brushing against his as a result. the moan he lets out is so hot that you instinctively begin grinding down against him, wanting to hear more.

oscar gets the hint, but finds himself reaching for your shoulders, holding you back as he leans out of the kiss. your lips chase after him, a frown taking over your face when he doesn't give in. you open your eyes to look at him.

"are you sure... that you want to..." oscar's voice is low but genuine; he knows you aren't a fan of exhibitionism, and that these situations usually only make you uncomfortable.

but the look in your eyes is impossible to misinterpret. "there's no one around..."

he looks around the area once more just to make sure. choosing to go to the spa at 8pm, the exact time when the restaurant at the hotel was the most crowded, was oscar's best idea yet.

he doesn't say anything else. he just grabs the back of your neck, pushing you down to his lips yet again. it's more rushed now, messy kisses pressed against your lips and his tongue swiping across your bottom lip hastily. his other hand caresses all the way down your back, gives your butt a quick squeeze, and then moves to your front instead. his fingers trace the edge of your bikini before dipping inside of it, finding your clit with ease.

your upper body is completely leaning onto him by now, little sounds slipping past your lips as he starts drawing circles onto your already sensitive bud. in no time, he's slipped past your clit, one finger sliding into your core and pumping you a couple of times before being joined by another finger. you can't help but clench around him, exhaling into the kiss.

"please, oscar..." you whine against his lips, and oscar nods, pulling out of you and breaking the kiss. he holds your hips away a little to make space for his hand undoing the knot that holds up his swim trunks, before pulling his dick out of them. he lifts you up, fingers pushing your bikini bottoms to the side but pausing when his tip meets your core. he waits for your nod of consent before finally entering you.

the water helps him glide into you, a throaty moan rumbling from his throat when he bottoms you out. he doesn't give you even a second to adjust, hands on your hips pulling you up before sinking you onto him again.

"fuck," he lets out, throwing his head back when you start to roll your hips against his. "you feel so good..."

you lean forward, forehead resting on the bend of his neck as you bounce up and down on him. your hands move to the back of his head, fingers getting lost in his locks, and it doesn't take long before your movements get sloppier. you gasp when oscar begins thrusting up into you, meeting your downward movements in a steady rhythm.

his grip on your hips grows firmer, rough fingers pressing into your skin and surely leaving marks for tomorrow. he's getting closer, too – you can tell by the string of moans he's letting out in between a bunch of swearwords – and you use your last bit of energy to pick up your pace and help him out. your walls contract around him when you come, and you feel him reach his own high not long after, twitching and shooting into you as you ride out your orgasms.

his hands are more gentle now, brushing up and down your back and following the bumps of your spine. when you finally gain the energy to speak, your words vibrate against his skin. "well, we're never coming back to this spa again." you lean back slightly, looking up at him for the first time in a while. "or the town, for that matter."

his blissed-out eyes meet yours, soft and glossy as he raises his eyebrows. "why's that?"

his flushed cheeks make him look so innocent, but his heaving chest tells another story. "did you not see the cameras?" you question.

"oh, you think we're the first ones to do this here?" you gasp at his wording, splashing some water his way. he laughs. "what, do you really? i reckon this happens here at least once every day. maybe even more."

"oscar!"

[yeollie-plz]

Partridge In A Pear Tree

Day 1 of Pedromas! | Masterlist

Costar! Pedro Pascal x F! Reader

Synopsis: You hate your costar, your costar hates you.

Genre: smut, touch of angst

Warnings: 18+ smut, hate sex, enemies to lovers (more like enemies to fuckers), kissing, mentions of arguing, fighting for dominance, unprotected sex, p in v sex, no oral but there is a little lick

Gif credits to owners!

You didn't just dislike your costar Pedro, no you hated him! Something about the pretty boy act drove you nuts. You knew that there was no way that someone was that nice. Especially someone so sought after as him.

From the day you two first shook hands, you had held this content for him. And you could tell the content was mutual.

You let out a sigh as you were called onto set to film the argument scene with Pedro. You weren't nervous about the scene, actually you thought it might make you feel a little relieved to let out some of those harbored feelings.

No, you were more dreading just seeing Pedro in general. You were finding it harder and harder to stand near him. All of your stylists said you were crazy and that he was the nicest person in the world. But you just couldn't buy into it.

You let all your real anger show in the scene. Real emotions on your sleeve. Hell, it made for good TV, right? Finally the director called it good and you returned to your trailer to get ready for your next scene.

That's when you heard a knock at your trailer door. Assuming it was a staff member, you opened it without hesitation. Only you weren't met with a staff member but your costar. The costar you hated to be precise.

"Great scene, could really feel your emotions in that last one." He said smirking a you, like this was all a game to him.

"Yeah, you too." You sucked your teeth, begging for him to leave in your mind. His eyes caught onto your slightly open mouth.

Letting his gaze linger, he continued, "I know you don't like me."

"I mean it wasn't like I was trying to hide it." You leant against the doorframe, half in intimidation and half in trying to keep him outside.

"I love a challenge." A little smile played on his lips, drawing in your gaze now.

He leans in, lips almost brushing your ear, "Sure you don't just want to fuck me, sweetheart?" Pulling back, he laughs when he sees the look on your face. Shock, with the hint of a blush.

"I don't-"

He cuts you off, "I saw the look in your eyes. It isn't just hatred, there's something else there. Like you want to conquer me."

You can't hear anything anymore over your quickening heartbeat and the sound of blood rushing to your head. He opens his mouth to speak again but you cut him off by smashing your lips onto his.

He was a bit right, the arguing earlier did turn you on and since he was hear, asking for it, you might as well take his offer.

You grab the front of his shirt and pull him up the stairs of your trailer. When he is finally inside you close the door with your foot, all without disconnecting your lips. Pushing him onto the couch, you straddle him. His hands find purchase on your hips, guiding you down onto his hardening length. You fail to stop the moan from bubbling in your throat.

"See baby, you want me." He says against your lips.

"Shut up." You bite back, grabbing his hair to pull his lips back onto yours. He takes the chance to flip the two of you over, now hovering above you.

"I don't have much time before my next scene." He warns.

"Don't care, just need you in me." He lets a laugh out at your words, bringing his lips to your once again, this time forcing his tongue inside your mouth.

The two of you fight for dominance for a minute, before you get distracted by his hand wandering down your body to between your legs. His teeth bite into your bottom lip before, sliding his hand up the hem of your dress. Tentatively, he feels the wetness of your panties, confirming that you really were ready for him.

He lets out another laugh, "The yelling get you turned on, baby?" You ignore the question, pushing his chest off you. He takes your hint and sits on the couch once again. This time before you get on top of him, you unbuckle belt and undo his jeans.

Reaching inside his jeans you feel his hardness, pulling it out to let it stand at full attention. You give it a look of approval before straddling Pedro's hips. You drag your wet core against his hardened member, teasing him a bit. He lets out a groan.

When you are satisfied with the teasing, you give him one last peck before pulling your panties aside and sinking down onto his length. Both of you moan at the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside of you.

You start a steady pace, lifting your hips, before sinking down once again. His hands are on your hips guiding you down faster, leaned back so he can get a good look at your fucked out face.

The hands on your hips pull you down harder, trying to quicken your pace. Each time he bottoms out he pulls you down extra hard, it hits deeper than anyone ever has.

After a bit more of this, he seems to get bored of the pace, needing to fuck you harder. So he flips the two of you other so you are now on your back. He lifts one of your legs onto his shoulder and begins to fuck into your fast and hard.

You can tell he's chasing his orgasm and you are starting to get close too. You let your hand make it way to your clit, trying to get to that high on your own. He swats it away with the hand that isn't holding your leg up.

"If you wanted help to cum you should've just asked, sugar." He says before placing his own thumb onto you clit, working slow circles into it.

"Is that what you want? Want me to make you cum?"

"Yes." You breath out in a whisper.

"As you command." Now he works his thumb faster, rubbing you into orgasm. When the waves finally crash over you, you see white from the intensity. You clench onto his cock, causing him to thrust into you even harder.

He now chases his orgasm, his hips stutter as he reaches the first feelings. Beginning to pull out, you stop him by wrapping your free leg around his hips, pulling him back into you.

"You can't get cum on my costume. I'm safe, its fine."

He doesn't have time to argue, as his orgasm overtakes him. Hips move in and out of you again, milking his sperm into you.

After a second, he catches his breath and pulls out of you. He stands up, fixing his jeans and buckling his belt back up. He notices a wet spot on them, scoffing.

"All that talk about ruining your costume."

You smirk, "At least you didn't ruin your underwear." Now noticing the mixture of your releases that is soaking them.

He leans down, taking a lick of your covered mound. You blink at him in shock and he moves to the door to leave.

"So is that it then? The little secret of Mr. Pedro Pascal?"

"That I like to fuck?" You nod at his question.

"Sure, if it feels good, tastes good, it must be mine." He gives one last look at your spent body before leaving the trailer.

Next Day ->

Taglist:

@britlord @kittenlittle24 @godlypresley

[jonathan-samuel-smith]

Lord Jon and Prince Damian is a funny combination because just imagine Clark never managed to conquer all earth because magic and magic user, Talia basically built a huge kingdom to protect her people from the Lords and also accepts some others who are fleeing.

Years past and Jon has always been curious about that place and laughs when he faces Talia's youngest soldiers. He falls in love deeply hard about that boy with green eyes, then Jon starts to try to seduce that cute and smol boy (and Damian hates him deeply)

Just imagine:

Jon: *throws a body at his door like a cat*

Damian: ... Some guys bring flowers

Jon: I'm not 'some guy'

And also

J: "i've killed for you. how many other people can say that?"

D: "... Multiple, actually"

Basically: Lord Jon's love language is being annoying

Took me a while to figure out how I'd write the Super Lords, but eventually I was inspired by another work. I might write a sequel to this but we'll see. Fic under the cut.

Jon was scrolling on his phone, looking to find people talking negatively about him or his father so he could send them death threats. He could probably find them easily and make good on those threats, but then he'd have to get up, and he was comfortable where he was. He was getting a little peckish though, so he might run through a couple if he got up to eat.

His dad came into the room looking flawless. “Jon.”

“Hey dad, can you get me something to eat?”

“What? No. Get it yourself, or better yet, ask Kelex.”

“I thought you took away my voice commands after I killed the wrong general last week.”

“Oh, right. Have the knowledge crystals not taught you how to hack yet?”

Jon groaned ”I hate the knowledge crystals dad, they take so much time. I don't see the point in them.”

“The point is they would teach you how to solve problems, like how to reinstate your voice commands in Kelex’s code. Now get up, I have something important for you to do.”

Jon got up and stretched. “Oh I'm way hungrier than I thought. Hold that thought, Dad.”

“Jona–” Kal started sternly as a gust of wind blew past him. He could hear Jon ferociously consuming junk food from the pantry in superspeed. When he was done, he ran back up to his dad.

“Hey Dad, I'm back. What's up?”

“What do you know about Talia Al Ghul?”

“Oh that's easy. She's like, your archnemesis. Her family's got really strong magic so she can kill us if she gets close enough. She controls the last stronghold of human resistance. She's older than you so she's, what, a million?” He grinned cheekily “Just kidding, Dad. You don't look a day over 500.” He laughed. “Kidding! You should see the look on your face.”

“Jon, I'm being serious here.”

“‘kay.”

“She's just crowned her heir, Prince Damian. He's your age.”

“Oh?”

“He's an even more powerful mage than his mother, and trained in martial arts. He is a serious threat, one that needs to be neutralized.”

“Ok, but how am I gonna do that? You said he's more powerful than his mom, and you can't kill her.”

“He takes his group of soldiers into the Himalayas every month to train privately. I want you to ambush them.”

“Kill them, right? How do you want them dead?”

“Doesn't matter.”

“Alright. I'll be right back.”

Kal grabbed his arm and dug his fingers in hard enough to bruise. “You could die today, Jon. Take this seriously. Run away if you need to. You're no good to me dead.”

Jon nodded. “Got it.”

Jon flew to the mountains and looked for them with his heat vision. He found them fighting each other and flew down and started snapping the neck of the closest person to him. Unfortunately, this was slow enough to draw alarm from the other assassins, who all knew magical attacks. Still, Jon was quick and he fought dirty, letting out a deafening shout and causing an avalanche. The teens fought him with martial arts married with magic, sacrificing their lives so that the final assassin could defeat Jon and place him in magical bindings.

He spat blood. “You're lucky they can be brought back to life, or I wouldn't have spared yours.”

“I didn't ask you to. But thank you– not for sparing my life, but for beating me. I've never lost before. It was exhilarating! Can you do it again?”

The boy looked at him strangely. “What?”

Jon grinned manically. “You're a great fighter. I want you to defeat me again. And again and again until I get bored. What's your name? I never even lose to my dad.”

“... I am prince Damian Al Ghul.”

“Oh no way! I came here to kill you! Well, I'm not doing that anymore.”

“Clearly not.” Damian said, gesturing to the chains around him.

“Oh no, not cuz of that. I meant cuz like–” Jon cut himself off as Damian took off his mask and piercing green eyes met his own. “Wow, you're really pretty. I've never seen anyone as pretty as you in my whole life. Definitely not prettier. I think I was saying something?”

Damian blushed. “Tt. You were saying why you're not going to kill me.”

“I think I'm in love with you.”

“What?!” Damian squeaked.

“That was so cute! You're so cute! You're so small you look like you'd fit just right in my arms!”

“Go back to the ‘I love you’ part because I'm not understanding!” He shouted.

“I'll say it as many times as you want! I love you, I love you, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyoui–”

“Stop! You can't love me, you just met me, and your dad is superman!”

“Um, I'm pretty sure I can. Love at first sight is a thing, and I've known you for longer than that already.”

“So what, just because you think I'm pretty and I beat you for the first time, you're in love with me?”

“Is that not enough? Ok well, I really like the color of your eyes, and you're really powerful, and you make me feel so many feelings I have never felt before! Fear, excitement, curiosity, admiration, respect, awe, happiness, arousal–”

“Stop talking.”

“Whatever you want, gorgeous.”

“That's talking.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“Still talking.”

“I don't know how you want me to stop talking if you keep talking to me. Oh but uh, don't stop, I like it.”

Damian facepalmed. “I'm taking you back to my mother.”

“Oh I hope she doesn't decide to kill me after you went through the trouble of sparing me, that would be really embarrassing for you.”

Damian was quiet for a few minutes. “...You've never felt curious? Or excited, or afraid or happy? Really?”

Jon shrugged. “Maybe once. But nowadays I'm always either bored or bloodthirsty. Except right now, I'm neither. You're the most interesting person I've ever met and I just killed 5 people. That's like, 1 more than I usually do in a day.”

Damian set his jaw hard. “Why do you kill so many people?”

“Why do you think, assassin Prince? To feel alive.”

“...Who do you usually kill?”

“Dissidents and criminals. My dad's okay if they're dissidents or criminals. There's not, like, a ton of those out there anymore, though, so I've taken to scrolling back really far on Twitter. Oh, and jaywalkers.”

“Tt. Typical.”

“Who do you usually kill?”

“Political enemies, soldiers, criminals.”

“I guess everyone's a political enemy when they're aligned with us and not you. That's a lot more people you can kill. I kinda wanna join your side now.”

“We don't kill frivolously.”

“Why not?”

“Because we value human life.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? Why does your father care about order if not to preserve human life?”

Jon laughed. “My dad doesn't care about humans! He just wanted to tidy things up. He gets mad when I kill other people because it messes with his system. It's one of those dumb parent rules, like keeping your socks in the sock drawer, or cleaning the fortress on Sundays even though we have robot servants.”

“... You're completely insane.”

“Do you want me not to be?”

Damian furrowed his brow. “Why are you asking me that?”

“I want you to get what you want! You deserve to get anything you want, way more than my dad does. I bet you could with your magic! Cast a spell on me, make me sane for you. If you want that, I want it.”

“It's Jonathan, isn't it?”

“Yeah, or you can call me Jon. Or you know, whatever you want. Even if it's mean, I can take it.”

“...Jonathan. I don't want to take your agency away with my magic. That wouldn't be right.”

Jon shrugged against his chains. “If you say so, my prince.” Damian was quiet for a while, and Jon slipped free of his chains to help Damian cart back all of the bodies. “You should let me carry this.”

“What– Jon?! How did you escape my bindings?”

“Magic interacts completely unpredictably with me.”

“I don't– why are you even still here?”

“Why would I leave? It's not as if there's anything more interesting on TV. Twitter says all the shows are boring cuz of Dad. Well, you know, the dead side of Twitter. God do you know how perfect you look? From every angle?”

“Jon, I think you should just leave.”

“Well, my dad is expecting me home soon. What do you think I should tell him about you not being dead?”

“... Is he going to hurt you if you go back?”

Jon shrugged. “If I let him. Which I probably will, so I don't get grounded. But I might be grounded anyway since this meant a lot to him. If I don't get grounded, can I see you again?”

“It's best if you don't.”

“I'm going to be honest, I don't like that answer. If you want me to stay away you'll have to use your magic to harm me.”

“Tt. Do you have a death wish?”

“No. My biggest wish is for you to spar with me and win.”

“What if I lose?”

“Then we'll go again until you win.”

“...Hm. You're very… persistent.”

Jon grinned. “Thanks. Wow, it feels really good when you compliment me. Do it again.”

“Um… you have really unique eyes?”

Jon beamed. “This is great, keep going!”

Damian blushed. “I'd rather not.”

Jon pouted. “Pleeeeaaase? I'll do anything.”

“Will you go home?”

“Fine, yes, after… 3 more compliments. Then I'll go home, for now.”

“Tt. Your curls look very nice, your hair makes a nice contrast against your skin tone and you– ah… you… that is, you're very strong.”

“I already knew that last one.”

“I meant muscular.”

“That's not a compliment, that's just a fact.”

Damian’s ears burned. “...I like it. I like that about you. I like that you're muscular. It looks… visually appealing.”

“Oh, I'm definitely in love with you. I'd love to stay and compliment you back, but I said I'd leave, and I want you to trust me! If you ever need me, or just want me, all you have to do is call. I'll come.”

Jon flew back home. “Dad? I ambushed him, caused an avalanche, and killed his squad, but he still beat me.” Jon called out.

Kal walked out to see his son. “You look unharmed. Why did he let you go?”

“Honestly? I think I annoyed him too much. But I'm going back tomorrow.”

“I see… an ambush didn't work, so you'll have to gain his trust and then betray him. I was going to punish you but your tenacity and cunning deserve a reward, so it is simpler to do nothing.

“Oh, yeah, psh, that's totally why I want to go back. I totally want to murder him in cold blood. I mean, you know how much I love murder.”

Kal frowned. “I do know. It gets in the way of your studies. However, this time I approve.”

“‘kay. Thanks. See ya.” He went back to his room to watch Damian with his X-ray vision.

The next day, Jon went to Nanda Parbat and watched Damian from the sky, waiting until he was alone to approach him.

Damian’s hair was slicked back with sweat and he was flushed and panting.

“Prince Damian. You look somehow even more incredible than last time.”

“Spare me the mockery.”

“What? I'm not mocking you. The way your skin flushes and glistens is as enchanting as any of your spells, my lord.”

“Hn. You know most humans find sweat repulsive?”

“I'm only half human. Also, you smell great. Musky. Can I lick you?”

“Definitely not.” Jon pouted. “Do you want something?”

“Yeah. Can we spar?”

“After lunch. Would you like to dine with me?”

“Can I? Won't the servants see me?”

“I cook for myself.”

Jon gasped. “I get to try your cooking?! Yes!” He pumped his fist in the air.

Damian chuckled good naturedly.

Jon leaned against the island as Damian cooked. “What did your dad say about you failing to kill me?”

“Oh I told him I was going back today and he thought I meant that I was going to gain your trust to kill you.” Damian stiffened. “So I'm going to let him think that so I can spend more time with you.”

“Try this.” Damian said, handing Jon a spoonful of sauce. Jon tasted it.

“Hm, that's pretty good! I've never had this before.”

Damian tasted it himself and nodded. “It is good.”

Jon ate at his usual impatient pace and spent the rest of the meal talking at Damian.

“Alright, Superboy, follow me.”

“Anywhere.”

“Tt.” Damian led him to the training courtyard. “Here we are. Remember to be quiet.”

Jon rushed to tackle Damian but he predicted it and dodged, casting a spell to slow down Jon’s movements. It was a lot stronger than the spell Damian intended to cast, and he moved like a sloth. “Wow prince…” he began as Damian took his time pinning Jon to the ground and immobilizing him with a spell. The first spell wore off quicker than expected. “...Damian you're so fast! Oh, it's already over!” Jon giggled. “You did even better this time! I suppose it's to be expected since it wasn't an ambush. You're really impressive…” Jon sighed dreamily, looking up into Damian’s eyes with a lovestruck gaze.

Damian coughed and looked away. “...You wanted me to beat you. Did you go easy on me?”

“I can honestly say that didn't even occur to me. I don't know why I would do that. Would it have made you happy?”

“Hell no. It would have made me angry.”

Jon smiled. “I'd like to see you angry. Maybe I will next time. Though I don't know if you'd even notice, considering how well you beat me this time.”

Damian looked confused. “Why would you want me to be angry?”

Jon raised a brow. “‘Cause I wanna see how you look when you're angry. I've never seen it before. I wonder if it would make me angry, too. I never get angry anymore.”

“You're… impossible.”

Jon grinned toothily. “Is that a good thing?”

“... I haven't decided.” Damian got off of Jon, much to the younger teen’s disappointment, and did a nullification spell on Jon before helping him up. Jon smirked and flipped Damian over his shoulder as he stood, but Damian landed on his feet and cast a sleeping spell on Jon. He woke him up with a water spell, sitting on his chest.

“You got me again! I love you.”

“You're weird.”

“Is that bad?”

“I haven't decided.”

Jon smiled, crinkling his eyes. “Wanna go again?”

Damian laughed. “Sure. I've not even worked up a sweat yet.”

The next time he came to Nanda Parbat he threw down a corpse in front of Damian, face still splattered in blood.

Damian sighed. “Most guys bring flowers.”

“I'm not ‘most guys’”

“Who was he?”

“He criticized your looks so I killed him for you.”

“Jon, I don't care what anyone says about me.”

Jon's eyes flashed red. “I care that he said that. Now he can't say anything like it ever again. What do you think of my technique?”

“Messy, but efficient.”

Jon smiled “Thank you. Do you want to spar?”

“Jon it's 11:38 at night.”

“... Is that a problem?”

“I was sleeping.”

“Oh. Can I join you?”

“Tt. No. Go home.”

Jon pouted. Damian held firm.

“Okay. I'll miss you.”

“Tt. You say such embarrassing things. Goodnight.”

Jon smiled, then quickly leaned in to kiss Damian’s cheek. “Good night, my love.”

Damian slammed the door in his face.

It became somewhat of a pattern for Jon to ambush Damian when he went out on missions, and Damian learned to expect it. Jon was getting faster at killing Damian’s compliment.

“I killed them, so we can be alone!” Jon said cheerfully, gently touching Damian’s cheeks with his bloody fingers and looking at him adoringly.

“Jon. Keep your hands to yourself before I cut them off.” He said, drawing his rune-encrusted sword slightly out of the scabbard.

Jon pouted but removed his hands. “As you wish, my lord. So, what are you out here for today?”

“I was planning on retrieving a magical relic from a temple to the east of here, until you showed up. You’re like a gnat.”

“I can get it for you!”

“Tt, I’m sure you can’t, there are magical booby traps.”

Jon pouted. “I want to do this for you. Please?”

“Jon, I am certain that if you were deathly injured my mother would not permit me to put your body in the lazarus pit.”

“Not even if I died saving your life?”

“Likely not. I shouldn't even be talking to you, you are the enemy.”

Jon grinned. “I guess we both like to do whatever we want.”

“It is human nature to desire freedom.”

“Well yeah but I'm not human.”

“You are as human as you are kryptonian. I wonder, did your father have the same disregard for your mother as with the rest of humanity?”

“I dunno. I was cloned from her dead body and my dad. I never saw them interact. But I know he loved her, and I know he misses her. He's told me it's the only reason he puts up with me.”

“It does not sound like you are very close.”

“We aren't. But he's the only other kryptonian other than Kara Zor-el so y'know, he's important. Not as important as you, of course, but he was previously the most important person in my life.”

“We're here. Don't follow me.”

Jon floated after him. “But I wanna keep you safe! Let me carry you.”

“No– Jon, put me down!”

Jon grinned and flew Damian in. “What's it look like? I can look through the walls for you.”

“Unneeded, I have a map.”

Jon swiped the map from him and read it. “I have a great sense of direction, don't worry.”

“You are infuriating.”

“We cause strong emotions in each other~ how lovely. Okay, hold tight.”

Jon flew quickly down the halls, before being knocked into the wall by a magical hammer. Damian rolled off of him as Jon groaned in pain. “You idiot. Where are we?”

Jon grunted and pointed to their location on the map.

“I can’t even cast a healing spell on you as I have no idea how it will effect you.”

“Don't worry… I have super healing… so the side that hit the wall will be fine. The wall isn't magic, right?”

Damian checked. “Luckily for you, it is regular stone.”

Jon grinned. “Help me up? I wanna help you finish this.”

“It's a bad idea. We need to get you out of here.”

Jon shook his head. “I'm not going. I'll be right behind you. You can handle the magic traps, and I can fly in front of an arrow for you or something.”

“And what if it's a magical arrow?”

“I'll die for you. Did I not mention that?”

“Tt. You're dangerous to have around. But if you're not leaving…” Damian got out a rope and tied them together by their waists with a length of rope in between them. “Stick close to me.”

Jon floated to his feet. “Mkay. Let's go!”

Damian sighed and pulled along a floating Jon. He disabled the traps as they went until they reached the chamber with the artifact. Damian picked it up and the room shook with a deep voice.

“To get out of trouble, face your double. Return the staff to the rack and it will end the attack.”

Smoke billowed out of the air vents and coalesced into shadow versions of Jon and Damian. Damian sighed and took out his katana.

Jon and Damian fought back to back as their shadow versions worked independently. Damian took out his double and Jon defeated his own. The smoke dissipated and Jon cheered.

“We did it! That was awesome! They didn’t stand a chance against our teamwork! Imagine if you came in here with your whole squad! That would have been so much chaos, I really did you a favor by killing them.”

Damian growled and pressed his sword to Jon’s throat, backing him up against the wall. “No. Killing.”

“Mhn, so it's fine if you kill me but not if I kill your squad, who as we've previously established can come back to life whereas I will not?”

“I will kill you if I have to.”

“I would expect nothing less, my prince.” Jon smiled slightly. “So this is what you look like when you're angry. I love the intensity in your eyes.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “Are you really trying to de-escalate the situation by flirting?”

Jon shook his head as much as he could. “Just saying what I think, my lord. And I think you look beautiful.”

Damian sighed and withdrew his blade. “You're an idiot.”

Jon smiled cheerily and let Damian drag him along by the rope still attached to his waist. Damian escorted Jon back to the entrance of the temple and cut the rope. “You need to stop killing my team every time I leave the palace. It makes me look incompetent.”

“Do you get in trouble?”

“Not exactly, no–”

“Then it's fine!”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen to me carefully. I am telling you that I want you to stop killing my team. Did you not say that I deserve to get what I want?”

“You're turning my words against me! I just want to be with you. Your assassins would never allow it. If I don't defeat them, I'll die.” Jon whined.

“Then learn non-lethal techniques of taking people down. Practice on those criminals or whatever.”

“You want me to… not kill a criminal?”

“Yes.”

“I can try… can I still be violent?”

“I would appreciate it if you did not scar my team too badly. But outside of that, you can be as brutal as you like as long as they do not die.”

“Okay. I will practice not killing and come back to you. Farewell, my prince.”

“Farewell, lord Jonathan.” Damian said as Jon lifted off into the sky, the cut rope rippling in the wind with his cape.

Jon stormed through the palace towards Damian, knocking people out of the way like flies. “Prince Damian! I came back, as I said I would.”

“Yes, I can see that. Are you here to kill more of my people? You know I cannot allow that, Lord Jonathan.”

Jon cocked his head. “Why would I do that? I don’t care about humans.”

Damian quirked a brow. “I am human.”

“You’re better than everyone else, though.”

“Is that so?”

Jon giggled. “Yeah, I think you could even kill me if you tried. That’s so hot. Look at you, not attacking me right now… so romantic...” Jon sighed.

Damian tutted. “I’m beginning to regret that.”

Jon giggled. “Some days I think I love you so much I'd just let you. Would you like me to do that? Or would you want a fight?” He came closer.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A genuine one. Oh… If I tried to kill you, I hope you’d try to kill me too… maybe we could die at the same time. If I am going to die, I want it to be by your hand. And no one else deserves to take your life away but me, and only if you asked me to.” He giggled, twirling his hair. “I really like having you around, so you would have to convince me first, or else I wouldn’t even let you kill yourself.” Jon hummed. “But I don’t see you convincing me that this world is so terrible as to deserve to be ridden of such beauty.” He stroked Damian’s cheek with a gloved hand, and Damian smacked it away. Jon sighed. “I love you.”

“You don’t know what love means. Your father never showed you.”

“I don’t? Well then, you’ll have to teach me. No one else will do.”

Damian tutted, before sighing as if greatly put upon and offering his ring for Jon to kiss. He did so gladly, kneeling at his feet.

“My prince.” Jon held Damian’s hand by the wrist and turned it over so he could nuzzle into his palm. Damian allowed it. Jon locked his violet eyes on Damian’s emerald ones. He kissed his fingertips one by one.

“You are so devoted to me. It’s perplexing.”

Jon kissed his wrist. “It’s simple; the whole earth should bow to you. You are perfection. Every moment you spend with me is pure gold; my greatest treasures.Or maybe it is that I can take anything in the world that I want, except for you. You are the only thing I could ever rightfully earn. The only goal worth pursuing. Everything was meaningless and dull until I met you, my Prince.”

Damian cupped his cheek. “And what if you got me? What then? Do you truly believe that to be love?”

“I would work to keep you and to serve you, to make you happy.” He smiled. “To annoy you, to pester you, to laugh with you, to see you cry. To hold you. To learn everything there is to know about you until you’ve changed so much that I have to learn you all over again.” He sniffed Damian’s wrist, at the cologne there, and deeper at all the smells that made up Damian. “Intoxicating.” Jon puffed out a laugh. “I don’t know what love is supposed to be like. Have I got it wrong? Do you think it matters? I ask out of curiosity, ‘cause even if it were really something completely morally unacceptable to you, I wouldn't care. It feels better than anything ever has. It’s what I live for.”

Damian’s lips parted in surprise. He schooled his features to ask his next question. “How many people have you killed since I last saw you?”

“None.” Jon smiled. “I’m learning, see? I can do better. I must be of some use to you, haven’t I?”

Damian got a strange look in his eye just then, and Jon became excited at the prospect of learning that expression. “Get up.”

Jon wilted. “Have I offended you, my Prince?”

Damian shook his head. “Stand up. Don’t. Float.”

Jon bowed his head obediently and stood up. Damian stepped close and put his hand on Jon’s shoulder, pulling him down into a slow and gentle kiss. Jon did not know his heart could race so fast. Damian pulled away with an unreadable look in his eye. “Alright, Jon. I accept. I will teach you how to love.”

Jon beamed. “Oh, this is so much better than murder.” He whispered.

Damian smirked. “It is, isn’t it? A lot of things are.” Damian took his hand off of Jon’s shoulder and put both behind his own back.

“Could you excuse me for just one moment? I feel the urge to go fly.”

Damian nodded, and Jon flew off, laughing brightly like a child.

Jon returned a moment later. “I love you! It feels so triumphant!” Jon gasped. “Does this mean we are dating? Boyfriends?!”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes. My mother will not be pleased.”

“I can kill her for you, if you wan’t.”

Damian glared at him. “No. No Killing.”

Jon looked at him for a long time. “Okay… Okay. But if someone tries to kill you, I won’t spare them. Even if you get mad at me. Even if you don’t believe my explanation. Even if you can take care of yourself. I promise, I won’t let you die.”

Damian scowled. “Just…kiss me, you idiot.”

Jon flew to his side in an instant, but was much more apprehensive about actually kissing him, so Damian grabbed his head and dragged their mouths together. Jon purred and pulled him closer. Damian nibbled on Jon’s bottom lip and he gasped. “Damian!”

“Yes?”

“You’ve done this before! And I can’t kill whoever you did it with!”

“You don’t have worry, they are already dead.”

“Woah, do you kill people instead of breaking up with them?”

“Tt, no. They betrayed me. I made an example of them.”

“Wow, I can’t imagine killing you if you betrayed me.”

“Hm. I can’t say it was pleasant, but— we are supposed to be kissing right now, Jonathan.” He pulled him in for a few more smooches.

“Is this part of learning how to love?” Jon asked dazedly.

“No, this is for me. I’m just glad I found a way to shut you up.”

“Dami! That’s–” More kissing. “That’s mean. I love it when you’re mean to me.”

They had their arms wrapped around each other by now. Damian rubbed between Jon’s shoulder blades. “You really shouldn’t.”

“Nobody is ever mean to me but you! How could I not like it? I love when you give me attention.”

“To have everyone afraid of you, your whole life… Let’s change that, hm? You are terrifying in the way that you move, talk, smile, laugh, and behave… But we should be able to change at least two of those.”

“Am I so scary, even to you?”

“No, not to me. You’re even… cute.”

“Isn’t that a bad thing?”

Damian furrowed his brow. “No, why would it be?”

“My father always told me to stop acting so cute, that it was distracting.”

“Everything about you is distracting. You’re currently distracting me from my work. I didn’t think you cared.”

Jon smiled. “You’re right, I don’t. And like I said, you can be mean to me, as long as you don’t ignore me. Well, even if you tried to ignore me, I’d cover your eyes until you had to acknowledge me. Or… maybe I could bite you, like Krypto used to do when I was little and I’d ignore him. Hm… come to think of it, you did just say I was distracting, I’m sure there are lots of ways I could get your attention. I like being distracting.”

Damian arched a brow. “Surely you’ll allow me to get my work done.”

“Well, that’s not ignoring me ‘cause you’re mad! So it’s fine. I can just watch you.”

“Do you watch me when you leave?”

Jon nodded. “And I strain my ears to listen. I love the sound of your voice, my prince.”

“Oh Jonathan, your life cannot only be me. I want you to stay in the palace so I can show you other things you might find meaningful.”

“Like what?”

“Friendship, learning to cook, making art. Things that are worthwhile because of the struggle. I think you will enjoy pottery.”

“What's so interesting about making pots? Plenty of people can do that.”

“They can do it because they put in the work, and they are better than you at it. Don't you want to impress me with an excellent piece of pottery?”

“You would like it if I gave you something I made?”

“Jon, the only person who can make the art that you would make is you. If you do not make it, it will never be known. You can give me something no one else can.”

“Who cares? Everyone will say they love it so I don't singe their eyebrows off…”

Damian arched a brow. “I won't.”

Jon blushed and smiled at Damian. “That's right, you're not afraid to tell me what you think. You're my equal.”

“I may even decide to encourage you with kisses.”

Jon rumbled a purr. “I love you. I'm going to make you the best pot ever.”

Damian kissed him again. “Good. I eagerly await it.”

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Something There (Chapter 4)

7.6k words

Roy Kent x Reader

Warnings: Language, more enemies-to-lovers, some sexual references, Roy Kent starting to realize he's a pining fool

Series Masterlist

As I sat at my desk, I stole a glance into the Greyhounds’ office. There was Roy, sitting at his own desk, arms crossed, staring up at the tits drawn by an eight-year-old child, although I could tell by his stony expression that he wasn’t really looking at the drawing. He was thinking.

It had been almost a week after the team retreat, and he still hadn’t really looked at me or talked to me, not since we sat on the floor of that little shed and talked about “fairy tale shit”. Part of me had thought that something was about to happen as we sat there, something I hadn’t realized I could even be interested in, but Roy had ruined whatever that was. After we left the shed, he avoided me in a way that made the prior weeks seem downright warm and friendly.

During the rest of the retreat, he’d pointedly leave the table when I sat down for meals, completely shut down in our small group unless directly spoken to by anyone that wasn’t me, and on the bus ride home, without Rebecca instructing us to sit with anyone in particular, he’d made a beeline for the Greyhounds’ bus and sat with Jamie Tartt, who I heard looked both surprised and pleased to have his coach next to him for two hours.

Being back at the Dog Track was just as bad. If I walked into a room, he found a reason to leave. When we passed each other in the hall or when rotating use of the pitch, his phone was suddenly incredibly interesting, even if all he was staring at was a black screen. And he was no longer running next to me in silence after work while Lust Conquers All played overhead; instead, I caught him pulling up to Nelson Road an extra hour before his usual arrival time to use the empty weight room.

But I didn’t care. Not at all. Nope, not me. Roy Kent could do whatever the fuck he wanted. It didn’t matter to me one bit.

I turned my gaze away from the Greyhounds’ office and refocused on the email I was writing, letting Keeley know that a local paper, The Richmond Star,wanted to do profiles on some of the Whippets and asking her what I could do to help.

“The Richmond Star?” Lucas hummed, hovering over my shoulder. “That wouldn’t happen to be the newspaper of one George Willows, would it?”

My cheeks suddenly felt warm. “It might be,” I answered coyly as I hit SEND on my email. I turned my chair around to face my assistant coach.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Interesting.”

“Why’s that so interesting?” I snorted, knowing exactly what he was about to say.

Indeed, his smile turned wicked. “Oh, just that I keep seeing that particular name light up your phone every five seconds. And your interview with him was supposed to only be about a half hour, but the two of you sat in here for like two hours.” He leaned forward. “And I heard a certain coach hates him.” His wide eyes told me that he was relishing sharing that bit of gossip.

“Beard? Nate?” I asked, playing dumb, as if I hadn’t watched Roy Kent confront George in the hall the day of that two-hour interview. “They’re too nice to hate anyone.”

Lucas shrugged, glancing through the window I’d been staring at earlier; Roy was typing now, hopefully completely out of earshot of this very childish conversation. “All I know is that if you go out with George Willows, you might be ruining your chances with Kent.”

My face was now on fire with annoyance. “Oh no, whatever will I do? The guy who hates me won’t want to go out with me if I go out with a nice guy?” I hissed as I turned back to my computer, opening a spam email so I could look anywhere but at Lucas or Roy Kent. “Besides, it’s not like George Willows has even asked me out. And as for Roy fucking Kent-”

I stopped talking when I saw him get out of his chair. As he exited his office through the locker room, his eyes shifted towards our office, landing on me. For a fraction of a second, I saw that look I’d seen in the shed in the woods, the one when I swore his gaze flickered to my lips. The soft expression was quickly replaced with an icy glare and matching scowl before he disappeared into the locker room, his gruff voice commanding his players to hurry out onto the pitch.

My point proven, I looked at Lucas. “Oh yeah. That man is dying to go out with me.”

~

Roy stared at his phone with a deep frown. He hated having her phone number; more than once, when he was home alone with a drink in his hand, he found his thumb hovering over her name, tempted to text her or- even worse- call her. He wasn’t sure what the fuck he would even say, but he knew one of these days he was going to fuck up and hit that button.

Not that there was a single text between the two of them; they were, however, in a couple of group chats together. Right now, there was a new message for the two of them from Rebecca: Come to my office please.

Without a word, he showed the text to Beard, who simply nodded, immediately understanding that Roy wanted him to take charge for a bit. Wishing he had an excuse to avoid this meeting, maybe even meet with Rebecca one-on-one instead, Roy trudged back into the building and began to make his way to Rebecca’s office, grateful that he could at least walk alone.

Alone until he felt someone fall into step beside him. He didn’t need to turn his head to know it was her; and if he did, he didn’t know what he’d say. Unfortunately for Roy, she decided to fill the silence.

“We’re not in trouble, are we?” she asked, her voice almost light. “I mean, we haven’t even been in the same room long enough for us to argue.

Roy didn’t even give a grunt of acknowledgement. Instead, he picked up his pace ever so slightly, hoping she’d take the hint. Instead, she sped up as well, walking entirely too close for his comfort. When her shoulder bumped into his, he swore his whole arm felt like it was on fire.

Two incredibly long minutes later, they arrived at Rebecca’s office, where their boss sat at her desk, looking, for the first time, happy to see the two of them together.

“My managers!” she greeted, gesturing for the pair to sit down across from her. “For once, no one is in trouble,” she assured them with a wink, as if she knew what they were thinking. “The exact opposite, in fact.”

Roy tilted his head, relieved he could focus his attention on Rebecca. “Everything alright?”

Rebecca nodded enthusiastically. “Everything is great.” She turned to the other coach. “You feel ready for your first match?”

There was that cocky grin. “Oh absolutely. Next Saturday, we make history. The first of many Whippet victories.” Her voice was so confident, so sure. It managed to be simultaneously infuriating and attractive.

“That’s my girl,” Rebecca chirped with a wink. She turned to Roy. “And you fellas?”

Roy cleared his throat and sat up. “Yeah, feeling good. Got Crystal Palace here at home, should go in our favor.”

Rebecca nodded. “Excellent. Should be a good opening weekend all around.” She twiddled her thumbs, clearly wondering how to pivot to whatever she wanted to talk to them about. “I don’t want to add to your workload,” she started slowly, clearly intent on adding to their workload. “But at the retreat, I was watching your teams play that silly little game after their practice time. The one-on-one scrimmages?”

“Oh, that was great.” The American turned to Roy. “We should try that here sometime.”

Not wanting Rebecca to see him ignore his fellow manager, he nodded with a small grunt. Apparently enough of an answer to satisfy both women, since Rebecca went on.

“It was fabulous to watch. Really reminded me how much talent we have here, on both sides.” Her smile began to grow, green eyes sparkling. “So, I sent Keeley a video and we began chatting about how fun it was to see both teams together like that…” She shrugged. “And we’ve decided to have a little exhibition match.”

Roy leaned forward. “An exhibition match?” he repeated incredulously.

Rebecca nodded. “We’ll split each team and half and combine them so it’s a mix of Greyhounds and Whippets. You’ll each manage one of the teams.” She glanced at her computer. “You’ve both got a weekend off in five weeks, so that’s when it’ll be.” She was beaming, that same proud smile she’d worn when she first told the Greyhounds about the women’s team. “And Keeley thought we could make it a charity event. Half the proceeds to my foundation for underprivileged children, the other half to a charity of the winning manager’s choosing.” Her eyes shifted between the two gaffers. “So?”

Roy wasn’t surprised when the Whippet’s coach broke out into a grin. “I think that’s incredible,” she gushed. “It’ll be a great opportunity for the community to see us as one team.” She glanced at Roy. “What d’you think, Kent?”

Her asking for his thoughts was surprising. “I think it’s fine,” he blurted out. “I mean, good. Good idea, Rebecca.”

That was exactly what she was hoping to hear. “Excellent! I’ll have Keeley and Higgins get right on advertising and tickets and just-” Her smile looked like it hurt, it was so wide. “This’ll be fun. So fun.” She cleared her throat, composing herself. “Right. You two just have to worry about creating the teams and choosing your charity, then.”

“The Women’s Sports Foundation.” Roy had never heard someone answer so quickly.

Rebecca nodded. “Of course,” she chuckled. “Roy, just let me know when you’ve picked-”

“BMA Charities,” Roy blurted out. Rebecca blinked at him. “I mean, I’ll probably check in with Beard and Nate, but…” He shrugged. “I like ‘em.”

Next to him came the sound of someone clearing their throat. “BMA?”

Reluctantly, Roy turned his head, his eyes finding hers as if by magnetic force. “British Medical Association,” he clarified, pretending he didn’t feel like there was an elephant on his chest. “They do shit for doctors and med students.”

“Oh.”

Why did Roy want more than “Oh”? Why did it matter what she thought of his charity?

And why, once they were dismissed from Rebecca’s office and had walked down the hall to head back to their respective trainings, did Roy wish they could’ve walked together just a little bit longer?

~

For nearly a week, my first Game Day outfit hung up in my bedroom. The entire week before was spent selecting each piece carefully. My most flattering jeans, Richmond-blue blouse, white blazer, and the white low-tops I’d bought especially for the occasion.

As I cuffed my jeans, I looked at myself in the mirror. Yes. Good. Professional, sporty, and- dare I say it?- pretty. My first few months in England had been a blur of soccer, soccer, and more soccer, which hadn’t left me any time for… extracurricular activities, as Lucas put it.

In fact, the closest I’d gotten to dating would have to be at the club when Roy Kent thought I was hitting on him. Yeuch. Maybe Lucas was right, maybe I should get on the apps or something.

I shook my head at my reflection with a groan. Seriously? The morning before my first game in England, and there I was thinking about dating? Good Lord, Gloria Steinem was going to revoke my feminist card if I didn’t focus.

Determined to keep my eye on the ball, so to speak, I finished getting ready, throwing my hair into a ponytail and saving my red lipstick for last. I had worn this bright red lipstick my first time coaching a professional game and had won 5-0; it had become my good luck charm after that. Never went to a game, or a press conference, or an interview without it.

“Look at you,” Lucas greeted when I opened my door, looking at me over the top of his sunglasses. “Soccer Coach Barbie.”

I gave a little twirl, laughing at my friend’s praise. “You feel like winning, Luke?”

We walked into Nelson Road with smiles on our faces and Whippet water bottles in our hands. There was an electric buzz in the halls, and I couldn’t help but notice the particularly bright smiles on the faces of the women who worked for A.F.C. and W.F.C. Richmond. The biggest smile was on Keeley’s face, which we saw as soon as we walked into our office.

“Big day!” Keeley squealed as she pulled me into a hug. “You excited?”

“Very,” I confirmed, giving her a squeeze before letting go.

Keeley stepped back and looked down at her phone. “So, we’ve got a bit of pomp and circumstance before the match. Introduce the team, and you, little speech from Rebecca.” She winked at me. “A few words from our fearless manager. Then we go out there and kick some ass!”

After Keeley’s little itinerary, the rest of the time before the match was a blur. Players strutted into the locker room, pride on their faces when they looked up and saw their names above their lockers- a change made to celebrate our first match. After today, they’d be changed to reflect both players who used the locker, but today the Greyhounds insisted on letting the Whippets have their moment to shine.

Lucas and I spent some time in our office, reviewing our starting lineup and plays we wanted to keep in our back pockets. I did my best to ignore the goosebumps that formed every time I looked at the clock and saw the time inch closer to game time, but I found myself beginning to bounce on my toes.

I almost confused the buzzing of my body for the buzzing from my phone.

My office please.

Normally, Rebecca’s texts made my heart freeze, but not today. Today was a good day. The best day. I practically skipped to her office, feeling weirdly aware of the feeling of my sneakers hitting the ground. My eyes travelled over the photos of the Greyhounds’ history, of the men- coaches, players, owners- who made A.F.C. Richmond what it was. And it dawned on me that we would someday be on that wall- me, Rebecca, Keeley, Lucas, the magnificent women who were now changing into their Whippets kits for the first time.

By the time I reached Rebecca’s door, tears were threatening to fall.

“You wanted to see me?”

It was the millionth smile I’d seen that morning, but it was easily my favorite. Rebecca looked as if she was about to explode at the sight of me, looking glamorous as ever in her dress and coat- a coat that I noticed bore a little W.F.C. Richmond pin.

“Are you ready?” came her whispered question as she approached me.

“More than ready,” I assured her, a tingle going through my whole body as she took my hands in hers.

She gave my hands a squeeze. “I just… needed to say thank you,” she said. “Thank you for taking such good care of this…” She blinked a few times, her eyes shiny with tears. “I feel as if my child is going for her first day of school, I’m just so proud. I love the Greyhounds, but this is the very first thing that has ever been mine. All mine.” She shook her head. “And I am so happy that you are our manager.”

“Oh, Rebecca-”

Rebecca released my hands in favor of pulling me into a hug. “We’re going to win,” she hummed. “We’re going to win the whole fucking thing.”

I carried Rebecca’s words with me back through the building as I returned to the locker room, where my team would be waiting for one more pep talk. People nodded and waved to me in the hall, each moment of acknowledgement adding just a bit more weight to my shoulders.

“Oi.”

Just outside the locker room, I turned around. Roy Kent was a few paces behind me, hands in the pockets of his Greyhounds jacket. He gave a nod as he walked up to me.

“Good luck out there.”

It was probably the kindest thing he’d said to me since we’d met. Maybe the second kindest, after our moment in the shed.

“Thanks,” I stammered out. “You getting ready for your match already or something?”

To my surprise, he shook his head. “Here for your match. Rebecca asked us to come, show solidarity or some shit.” He shrugged. “So, I just thought I’d wish you luck.” He paused, glancing at the wall beside us, one that held a photo of him in a Greyhounds kit, running on the pitch. “It’s kind of scary,” he mumbled. “Your first match as a manager.”

“I’ve managed a team before,” I reminded him, giving a little cough into my closed fist. “But, you know, new country and all. Still scary as hell.”

“Right. Right.” He gazed at me for a moment, his eyes locked onto mine. I wondered if the shiver I felt was from the air conditioning or the intensity of his stare. “Well. Go get ‘em. Or whatever.” With a small grunt, he turned and walked away. Before I went into the locker room, I turned to look at him again. At that same moment, he turned his head and glanced back at me. As soon as our eyes met, he whipped back around and picked up his pace.

Weird.

But I couldn’t focus on that. My concentration needed to be entirely on the game.

“Alright Whippets!” I called as I entered the locker room. “Are we ready?”

I had rehearsed this speech for weeks. In bed before I fell asleep, in front of the mirror as I brushed my hair, in the shower while I avoided getting shampoo in my mouth, even to Lucas on a couple of occasions. And now I stood in front of twenty-seven talented women, ready to hear it.

“Alright, here it is,” I started. “Our moment. You are the first women to call yourselves Whippets. Wear it proudly.” I took a deep breath. “Never forget why you’re here. Never forget that feeling you had the moment you fell in love with this sport, when you knew that nothing else would make you as happy as being out there on that field.” I saw some wistful smiles appear. My own mind wandered to that afternoon my grandfather had taken me out to the backyard, the afternoon I knew I wanted to play soccer forever. “Remember that little girl who fell in love with the feeling of the ball at her feet. And go out there and play for her. Because today, we’re going to help the little girls of Richmond fall in love too.” I stretched out my arm, watching my players follow suit until all of our hands were in the center of the locker room. “Let’s go show them how the Whippets do it.”

There were cheers of agreement as a lump formed in my throat. I nodded to Kira Malone. “Captain?”

“Whippets on three, Whippets on three! One, two, three!”

“Whippets!”

~

Roy sat in the owner’s box next to Keeley, fiddling with the case on his phone, needing to do something with the burst of energy he felt. It only grew when the Whippets were introduced and took their places lined up on the field, bouncing with excitement as their names were called. Roy, of course, clapped along with the rest of the crowd, determined to be supportive with everyone in the box watching him.

“And the manager of your W.F.C. Richmond Whippets-”

A buzzing began in Roy’s ears. He watched as she took her place beside her team, the smile on her face evident even from where he sat. She looked gorgeous. Strong, joyful, confident. The sight set his whole body aflame.

He tried to focus on Rebecca’s speech, he really did. He knew this was a big moment for his friend. But fuck, all his eyes wanted to look at was her. And, once Rebecca handed over the microphone, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Hello Richmond!” she began, eliciting cheers from the crowd- a sold-out crowd, much to Keeley and Rebecca’s relief and excitement. “Thank you for making history with us today. We are so proud to be your W.F.C. Richmond Whippets.” She smiled, soaking up the roars that naturally followed the team’s name. “We just want to say thank you to our dear Rebecca Welton and Keeley Jones, our incredible foundresses.” She wrapped her arm around Rebecca. “They are truly the heart of this team. We’d also like to give a giant thank you to your Greyhounds.” Thunderous applause. “Coach Kent and the team have been great housemates and have helped us to really feel at home here at the Dog Track. Thank you, boys!”

Keeley nudged Roy, whose face was on fire at the sound of his name. “She’s a fucking natural, isn’t she?” Keeley gushed. “And doesn’t she look stunning?”

Roy grunted. He was having a hard time hearing anything but her speech. “And we want to take a moment to say thank you to all the parents that brought their daughters here today. They are why we’re out here.” She turned to her team, who were watching her with admiration on their faces. “Whippets, are you ready to show them what it means to play like a girl?”

The stadium was deafening as she handed over the microphone to someone before smiling for photos beside her team. He sat quietly through the rest of the opening ceremonies before the match began. He hadn’t realized it before, but the owner’s box had a perfect view of the dugout; he spent half the game with his eyes glued there, watching her shout to her team, pacing back and forth, effortlessly cool in her blazer and sneakers. He bit back a groan when her blazer came off, revealing perfectly tanned shoulders, kissed from all the time the former athlete had spent in the sun. He wondered what those arms would feel like wrapped around- fuck.

Roy Kent really needed to get ahold of himself.

“You alright, Roy?” Keeley looked at him with genuine concern. “Your face is all… blotchy and red. Are you having a fucking heart attack or something?”

Rebecca, who’d taken her seat just before the match began, leaned around Keeley, her eyes still half-glued to the pitch. “Roy’s having a heart attack?”

Roy rolled his eyes and slouched in his surprisingly comfortable seat. “’m not having a fucking heart attack,” he grumbled.

From in front of him, Coach Beard grunted. “Oh, your heart’s doing something, alright.”

“Fuck off,” Roy growled, forcing his eyes to return to the pitch, hating the way he couldn’t help looking at the dugout every few seconds.

“What’s this?” Keeley leaned forward with more interest than Roy knew what to do with. She studied him carefully, taking in the sight of his red cheeks and shifty eyes. “Oh! You’ve got a crush, haven’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Roy repeated, sagging down further.

Instead of doing as she was told, Keeley began surveying the pitch carefully. “Hmm. Wonder who it could be… Amanda Camacho’s quite pretty… Samara Scott’s fit…” She stopped turning her eyes carefully to Roy, who was staring straight ahead, refusing to let his eyes land anywhere incriminating. “Unless…”

“Unless?” Rebecca repeated; the woman should have been holding popcorn in her hands, she was so invested.

“It’s not a player, is it, Roy?” Keeley leered at Roy. “Maybe it’s a coach?” She nudged him. “And I don’t think Lucas is quite your type.”

Roy knew his bright red ears were a dead giveaway, but if he couldn’t admit it to himself, he sure as hell wasn’t admitting anything to Keeley Jones, ogling at him with those fucking eyes of hers. “Keeley, I’m getting real fucking annoyed,” he warned her. “I was basically ordered to come to this game, I’ve got my own season opener tonight, so I don’t need you acting like we’re fucking thirteen making up imaginary crushes and shit, alright?”

Keeley’s squeaky little hmmph told him that while she wouldn’t keep pushing him right now, this conversation was far from over.

~

The shriek of the whistle had me throwing my arms around Lucas and squeezing him tight. A 3-1 win was a pretty great way to announce W.F.C. Richmond’s arrival to the league. A blur of hugs and handshakes eventually carried me inside, where I passed a few players starting to do short interviews, their faces glowing with sweat and pride.

“Any chance The Richmond Star could get an exclusive with the winning manager?” George Willows smiled at me, one of those charming move-star smiles, the kind that a girl couldn’t help but feel grateful to receive.

“You could always show up for the press conference,” I teased, gesturing down the hall. “I promise to call on you for a question. Bet I could even get you a front-row seat.”

His smile turned awkward. “Oh, I’m not allowed in there,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head in an attractively self-effacing way. “Your Greyhound counterpart got me completely banned from the Richmond press room.” He leaned in close, as if sharing a deep, dark secret. “He once threw a chair at me during a press conference. Since then, I’m not allowed to cover the Greyhounds or go in the press room.”

My mouth fell open at this piece of information. “That’s insane,” I hissed. “He throws a chair, and you get banned?”

George shrugged, clearly used to it. “Can’t exactly ban a manager from his own press room, eh?”

“Well, if you stick around,” I started slowly, stretching out my flirting muscles that were dreadfully underused, “I can fill you in on whatever you miss. Give you that exclusive.”

“Oi.”

Of course. Of course the moment I flirted with a guy, Roy Kent was there to interrupt, with his stupid beard and deep frown and eyes that lingered a moment too long on my face. “What?” I groaned, knowing I sounded like a petulant teenager caught kissing a boy on her front porch.

His frown deepened; if he was any other man, I’d marvel at how it did nothing to take away from his handsomeness. “Keeley’s asking for you. Says they’re ready for you in the press room.” His eyes narrowed in George’s direction. “Same rules, apply, Willows. Stay the fuck out.”

I offered George an apologetic smile. “Think we could stake a raincheck on that exclusive?”

“I’ll text you,” he promised with a wink.

There was a definite blush on my face as I turned to follow Roy to the press room. “Surprised you stuck around,” I mused as we fell into step together. “Thought you’d be long gone by now, get some rest before your game.”

“Wanted to offer my congratulations,” he mumbled. “To Rebecca,” he quickly added. “And the team. And Lucas.” His eyes flashed to my face for a brief moment. “And you.”

“Well, thanks,” I huffed as we arrived at the press room. “Meant a lot having you fellas here.” I kicked the ground, making a mental note to clean my shoes when I got home. “Hope you all win your game tonight,” I added as we stopped in front of the press room.

“Will you be there?”

Those were the last words I expected to come out of Roy Kent’s mouth. It reminded me of when my high school crush invited me to his baseball game, right down to the fidgeting and the question marks in Roy’s eyes.

Ignoring the way it made me feel, I nodded. “Uh, yeah, yeah I’ll come.” Rebecca had offered me a ticket, but said she understood if I wanted to be out celebrating. But if the Greyhounds came to my game, I should definitely go to theirs. Right? “Better get in there.” I jerked my head towards the closed press room door.

Roy shrugged, his eyes almost playful. “They’ll wait for you.”

I let out a small chuckle, unable to believe that we were having a civil conversation. “I’ll see you later, Kent.”

“See you, Coach.”

~

Sundays were for Phoebe. Roy would pick her up and take her to breakfast, letting her gorge herself on chocolate chip pancakes, then let her pick something to do together. Sometimes it was going to some Disney movie at the theatre, sometimes a museum, sometimes a trip to the toy shop, once in a while a beach excursion. Today, she simply wanted to go to the park for a picnic.

Of course, Roy obliged his niece. He packed up some sandwiches and snacks, rolled out a blanket, and brought a football and some cones. He might spoil the girl, but he was still her coach. Once they’d devoured their lunch and sat around for a bit, he pulled her to her feet and began kicking around the ball with her.

Being eight years old, her aim wasn’t always perfect. So, Roy really shouldn’t have been too surprised when she gave a wonky kick that sent the ball flying out of their play area.

“You kicked it, you get it!” Roy called, nodding in the direction the ball flew in.

Phoebe obediently jogged off, always eager to do what her uncle asked. Roy perked up when he heard her little voice, high-pitched with excitement.

“Oh! Do you play for the Whippets? My uncle Roy coaches the Greyhounds!”

He turned around and saw, to his great astonishment, Phoebe gazing up at a familiar pretty face.

The eyes Roy kept telling himself not to think about snapped up in his direction before looking back at Phoebe. “Um, yeah, I know your uncle Roy. I actually coach the Whippets.” She rolled the ball between her hands.

Roy walked over, watching Phoebe’s face light up.  She gasped with joy. “You’re Coach Buck! My mum told me about you. You have an Olympic Gold Medal!”

That fucking medal.

She gave an awkward little laugh and tossed the ball back to Phoebe. “That would be me. Do you play…” She offered Roy a small smirk before looking back at Phoebe. “… football?”

“I do! My uncle Roy coaches my team at school. He’s very good.”

“I’m sure he is.”

Feeling his face warm at the praise, Roy tapped Phoebe on the shoulder. “Oi, Pheebs, why don’t you go set up the cones? Do some dribbling?”

Phoebe stuck her little hand out, her politeness reminding Roy of how mature she was becoming. “I’m Phoebe, by the way. It was nice to meet you, Coach Buck.”

“Very nice to meet you too, Phoebe.” She shook the girl’s hand firmly. “We’ll have to get you and your mum out to a Whippets’ game sometime, alright?” The wink she gave Phoebe had Roy holding his breath.

“Yes!”

Roy cleared his throat. “Pheebs, the cones?”

Phoebe scurried off to do as she was told. Both adults watched her for a moment before turning back to each other, exchanging awkward half-smiles.

“You coach her school team?”

Roy shrugged. “They’re good girls. Decent players, too. And they listen a hell of a lot better than the pricks at Richmond.”

She nodded, studying Roy carefully. “So, you don’t hate women’s soccer. It’s just me.”

“I don’t hate you.” She shot him a skeptical look that he couldn’t help chuckling at. “Alright fine, I fucking hate you.”

Her laugh would echo through his head for the rest of the afternoon. “Don’t worry, I hate you too.”

They both stood there, grinning and hating each other, both kind of wishing literally anyone from Nelson Road was there to witness their civility. Hell, someone might even mistake it for friendliness. Some idiots might go so far as to get it mixed up with flirting.

“So that’s your niece.”

“That’s my niece,” Roy confirmed, following her gaze to Phoebe, who had finished setting up the cones the way he’d taught her and was starting to dribble between then.

“The one that draws the…”

Roy chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, the one that draws the…” He mirrored the way she trailed off.

Her smile grew soft as she watched Phoebe. “She’s cute.”

“She’s a fucking idiot,” Roy scoffed. “But she’s my fucking idiot, I guess.”

A small hmmph escaped her lips as she tilted her head thoughtfully. “You know, for the exhibition game, Keeley and I were talking about having kids escort the players out to the field. Thought it’d be nice to have it evenly split, boys and girls.”

“Because we don’t have enough girls walking out with the Greyhounds?” His defensiveness was almost a reflex at this point. “Because honestly, we do our best, we just get a lot more boys interested, alright?”

For once, she didn’t take the bait for an argument. “Actually, I was wondering if Picasso there would be interested in being one of our kids.”

Roy blinked, feeling like an idiot for his reaction. “Oh. Yeah, I think she’d like that. Just need to ask my sister.”

“She can even hang out in the dugout during the game.” Her voice was light, friendly. “Let her see a woman coaching a team. It’s important for girls to see that kind of thing, you know? Why d’you think I keep Brandi in my office? Even if your niece isn’t interested in soccer as a career, any little girl would benefit from seeing women doing ‘men’s work’.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice, thanks.” Roy paused, kicking a rock with the toe of his sneaker. “My sister’s a doctor, by the way.”

“Oh.” She looked directly at Roy now, thoughtfulness coloring her expression. “She’s why you picked your charity. The med student one.”

Roy nodded. “Exactly.” He hesitated but decided to continue. “She’s a single mum. Things aren’t always easy. She’s stubborn as hell and refuses my help outside of babysitting. She’s, er, had to rely on BMA for help once or twice.” He stared at her for a moment. “I get the strong, independent woman thing. I respect it.”

He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the sight of her soft smile. “You must be proud of her.”

“I am,” Roy confirmed. “And of Pheobe too. She’s a strong kid.”

There was a comfortable silence as they watched Phoebe continue her drill, her blonde hair flying in her face, not deterring her tiny focus. Roy found that he really liked the way Coach Buck looked at his niece; there was a fondness there that made his chest feel warmer than it had in a long time.

“She’s why I love my job,” she finally murmured. “Girls like her. I was so lucky to grow up with heroes that made me believe that seeing my name on the back of a jersey and being an Olympian was something I could realistically aspire to. And all I wanted was to be the same for other little girls. My dream was that someday, some little girl would have my poster on her wall.”

Roy knew that feeling. “Be her Brandi Chastain,” he murmured before he had the chance to even think.

She looked surprised, almost impressed, her mouth forming a perfect O when she realized he’d remembered that name. The grin that grew on her lips was slow and gorgeous. “Be her Brandi Chastain,” she repeated softly.

Roy thought they’d get to share another moment of just looking at each other, wondering how else to fill the silence, when her eyes suddenly widened. She whipped out her phone and took a look at it.

“Shit,” she hissed. “I’m late.”

“Late?”

Her eyes suddenly became shifty as she avoided Roy’s gaze. “Got an interview about yesterday’s match,” she murmured.

George fucking Willows. “Oh. Right.” Roy cleared his throat, retreating back into himself. “Better get going, then.”

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” She took a step backwards, away from Roy, away from their conversation and whatever moment they were having.

Roy knew he was offering up a grimace rather than a grin. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

~

The next few weeks were… peaceful. Probably the most peaceful I’d had since starting at Richmond. I wouldn’t say Roy Kent was friendly to me, but we weren’t screaming at each other, and he wasn’t pointedly ignoring me the way he had after the retreat either. He was even running silently on the treadmill next to me again. We were finally just coexisting. And I kind of liked it.

“How’s this?”

A paper was shoved in front of me on my desk, interrupting the email I was writing. I looked up and saw Roy looking at me expectantly. When I looked down, I realized it was a pair of rosters, with our teams divided up and combined.

“Oh.” I blinked. “You picked the teams already?”

“Had Isaac and Kira do it,” he corrected me. “Wanted to see what the captains thought before we did it ourselves.” He shrugged. “Did a fucking good job in my opinion. I’m okay with their picks if you are.”

I took a moment to read through the rosters; he was right. “Well, it saves us the work,” I chuckled, handing the paper back to Roy. “They’re split evenly enough to make things fair. My team’s still going to kick your ass though,” I teased.

He raised one of those thick eyebrows at me. “Care to make a wager?” he challenged.

“I mean, there’s already the whole thing with our charities,” I reminded him, twirling the pen in my hands between my fingers. “But what’d you have in mind?”

He thought for a moment. “Winner gets to pick someone for the loser to dance with at the gala.”

Rebecca’s charity gala. It was just a few weeks away, and already it was all everyone could talk about. Both teams were buzzing with gossip about outfits and dates; a couple of Greyhounds had even asked a couple of Whippets to attend with them, much to everyone’s amusement and nerves. My favorite rumor I’d heard was that one of my goalkeepers was bringing Timothee Chalamet as her date.

“Fine.” I stuck out my hand to Roy. “It’s a bet.”

His eyes froze on my hand for a moment before he took it, giving it a firm shake. “Right,” he muttered, letting go quickly. “Got to head to the pitch. Just wanted to run the teams by you.” He gave an awkward little salute. “See you around.”

He was gone before I could even say “see you”.

The morning of the exhibition game, I found myself leaning back in my chair and staring up at Brandi Chastain, thinking about how crazy it was that I, an American who had won the World Cup and had an Olympic Gold Medal, was in England, the head coach of a professional women’s team. And it was because of Brandi Chastain, and Mia Hamm, and Kristine Lilly, and so many other names that were etched into my very soul. I wondered if somewhere out there was a little girl who felt the same about me.

“Hi, Coach Buck!”

I turned around and felt my mouth immediately turn into a grin. “Well, hello, Phoebe.” The woman behind her was looking at me with interest as I shot out of my chair and strolled over. “You must be her mom.” I stuck my hand out. “I’m-”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” she said with a laugh, shaking my hand warmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh.” My eyes flickered to Roy, who had appeared behind the duo.

His sister cleared her throat. “You know, from the news. Seen you on the telly, read a few articles, saw a couple of TikToks.”

I forced a smile, scolding myself for thinking Roy Kent talked about me at home. “Oh, wow, I’m on TikTok? Biggest accomplishment of my life right there.” I turned to Phoebe, who was wearing a Whippets jersey. “I hear you’re joining me on the pitch today.”

Phoebe nodded enthusiastically. “Uncle Roy said I get to hang out with you the whole game.”

“That’s right,” I confirmed. “Here, you can hang onto this for me.” I grabbed my clipboard from my desk and handed it to her. “It’s got my lineup and notes. Very important. Think you can manage?”

“Yes!”

I reached out and ruffled her hair. “Excellent. Just don’t let your uncle Roy see it, alright?” I shot her a wink before I turned back to the adults. “Your brother got you good seats, I hope?” I teased Roy’s sister.

“Owner’s box, believe it or not.” She raised her eyebrows. “In fact, I’m heading up there now to take advantage of the free booze and snacks.” She turned to Roy. “Can I leave Phee with you?” When her brother grunted and shrugged, she knelt down and began to say goodbye to Phoebe, offering last-minute reminders about behavior and listening to adults.

As mother and daughter spoke, I took a step closer to Roy. “Ready to lose?”

He snorted, an almost friendly sound. “Nope. Yourself?”

“Nope.”

By the time we were on the pitch, Phoebe was my new little best friend. She proudly stood by my side as we lined up, with Rebecca reminding the crowd that each team was playing for charity- my team for the Women’s Sports Foundation, Roy’s for BMA Charities. He and I exchanged curt nods as we turned to our dugouts, all business as the match got underway.

Phoebe clutched my clipboard to her chest and stuck to my side the entire match. I had expected her to want to sit and relax at some point, but instead she was my second shadow, mimicking the way I paced, watching me even more than the game. It was the most flattered I’d ever felt in my life.

I snuck a few glances over to the other dugout, amused at the opportunity to watch Roy Kent coach up close and in person. He was loud- unsurprisingly- and passionate. What was a bit more surprising was the compassion he carried, the way he shouted support to his players (and mine) throughout the game.

And his Greyhounds parka looked pretty good on him.

Shaking my head as I caught myself staring for the umpteenth time, I turned my attention back to the game, feeling thankful to have Jamie Tartt on my team. He’d scored two goals already, and we were all tied up. No one had brought up the idea of what to do in the case of a draw, but I didn’t want to think about that; I wanted the win. And, with less than two minutes left in stoppage time, Kira passed the ball to Jamie, who breezed by one of the Greyhound defenders to come face to face with one of my goalkeepers.

“Let’s go Jamie!” I heard Lucas shout beside me.

When the ball hit the back of the net, I threw my arms in the air.  We were close, so close to the end of the game. After the kickoff, there were only a few touches before the referee blew her whistle.

“Yes!” I yelled, bumping fists and hips with Lucas. I turned and high-fived Phoebe. “Great job, Coach Pheebs.”

She beamed at me. “Thank you! That was so much fun!”

Both teams lined up on the field, exchanging hugs and high-fives as we all waited for Rebecca to come onto the pitch to announce the donation. She was absolutely glowing as she stood on the field, flanked by Roy and myself.

“What a game!” she began. “Thank you to our players for giving it their all, and of course our wonderful managers for leading these impressive teams.”

Roy stepped out in front of Rebecca and offered his hand. Shooting him a grin, I reached out and shook it firmly, keenly aware of the shuttering of cameras going off the moment our hands touched.

Rebecca went on. “Thank you all for joining us today. The proceeds from our tickets, as well as the generous donations from our sponsors and so many of you, will be going to two wonderful charities. The first is the Welton Foundation, which benefits underprivileged children in our community. The second-”

Without thinking about what I was about to do, I tapped Rebecca’s shoulder. She shot me a confused look but leaned in close. “I’d like to share it.”

“What?”

My eyes shot to Roy, who was staring at me with perplexed eyes. “The money. Split it between the Sports Foundation and BMA.”

Rebecca’s face turned soft. “Lovely,” she murmured, giving me a proud nod of approval. She returned to the microphone. “We have a slight change of plan. Our winning team has chosen to split their donation. So, all the proceeds from today’s match will go to the Welton Foundation, the Women’s Sports Foundation, and BMA charities.”

Roy Kent broke out into a full, true smile as he looked at me. “Thank you,” he mouthed.

All I could do was shrug in response, ignoring the heat on my cheeks when I saw the way his eyes lingered on me long after the cheering had died down. When I did finally turn away, Lucas was giving me his smarmiest grin.

“Oh, shut up,” I hissed as we made our way back towards the locker rooms, ignoring the now-familiar feeling that someone was staring at me.

Taglist: @optimisticsandwichgladiator @reading-blogs @callmecasey81 @ladygrey03 @puckyou-forpuckssake @royalestrellas @shineforever19 @rae4725 @burnafter-reading @her-fandom-sanctum @infinetlyforgotten @giggling-sewer-ginger @whataloadofmalarkey @agentstarkid @kingleahhh @tortilla-maria1 @geekgirl1996 @amatswimming @meg-ro @spicyraccoonlordking @spaghetti-dad187 @needlesthreadandbuttons @elissaaa @imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme @reverieisaway @djskakakaksjsj-blog @thatonedogwithablog @allthetroubleiveseen @sunderland-6 @netflix-addict @paranormal-is-my-life @jill2629-blog @itsbuzzfeedbitch @pretzelactivist @amieinghigh @kashee-h @beingalive1 @mythicalbinicorn @needyomega @kno-way-home @janalustare @sssatorus @its-a-rich-mans-world @confessionsofatotaldramaslut @hesitant-alien33 @katie-sheep-111 @bonesbonesetc @seacactusplant

[chthonicgodling]

okay!

an Elysium Drama Update!

ahem that is, another textual Elysium drama update, in my hopes and dreams I want to draw things SO MANY THINGS but I have many things to draw first and i have zero energy lately so. TEXT POST disclaimer this did get very very long what a shockerrr but woo

recap: here. Crucial to read that first! (and its linked predecessor!) *our timeline is all fucky wucky right now: Elysium time has been like. a day. two days.

Tory and Maci divided and conquered through the palace to try to scope out if Loki was like, hiding in another room. he is not—oh my god he is not. he’s really gone. Elysium Loki-pregnancy number 3 officially 3 for 3 on cryptically panic vanishing.

cat was kind of let out of the bag as mentioned in my last informal update when Tory stumbled upon Vali, Nari, Eisa, and Einmyria and accidentally told them about the baby. (not who the other parent was!) AND NOW, here’s what’s happened since, ending with where we are right now which is a genuinely unexpected and pending hilarious twist of events! READ ON✨✨

So, aforementioned four Lokikids went off to convene another Sibling Meeting with Rane about newfound baby info and Loki’s REAL disappearance while Tory went off to find Maci. did we find him?!?! no, says Tory very quietly. Maci’s whole face falls she’s now in tears. (“…He really left…?”) okay.,, well. NOW what do they do?????

Tory mentions that some of the kids know what’s going on now and that they were calling a meeting together; maybe they could pop in and see if the kids had any ideas on how to find Loki so they could all work together. okay great plan! Only problem: this is a TOP SECRET meeting.

….Problem quickly solved by ambushing Libby (worst liar of the litter) in the hallway.

Unfortunately when Libby returns from asking Rane if they can join, Rane’s apparent answer was not even a no, it was an ABSOLUTELY NOT. too fucking bad though— Tory and Maci follow Libby and crash the meeting.

it is here that Maci and Tory — and we, the eagerly watching distressed audience — now discover some things about the LokiKid clan:

1: hilariously, Rane is in charge as self appointed leader. - she is 11 years old yes. ruling with an iron fist. No one questions this, not even much older and bigger brothers Fen & Jör, who are present through this meeting as looming figures OVER HER SHOULDER backing her up. Rane is holding court.

2: less hilariously and actually very upsettingly - this may be the worst possible moment to discover, in a crisis, how apparently most of Loki’s kids seem to FUCKING HATE TORY AND MACI. oops! uh-oh! Especially Rane and Vali, glaring the most predominantly.

After a tense stand off with Rane (finally with Tory desperately threatening to pull rank on her to let them attend this meeting; Rane’s response, dryly: “Don’t bother. Your titles carry no weight amongst the children of Loki. We only humor you to be polite.”) Eisa and Einmyria convince Rane to let THEIR parents stick around, also helped along by Tory finally telling them that the new baby on the way was sired by him.

…mass shock. Oh so MACI drove him out?!??! QUICK reassurance that no no no she’s on his side now she’s just as devastated that he’s gone— no one’s really even buying this and tensions grow.

Because well, the kids want him back but THEY know the drill. Loki leaves when he has babies. He’ll send for THEM eventually, privately, but he’s not to be disturbed - certainly not for Tory and Maci, eeeugh. Rane (and Vali) are the most coldly vicious about this but lmfao all of them are kindave in agreement, at least no one’s correcting them. They go back and forth, Tory trying to explain in increasing frustration - the baby is Too big and Loki is weakened. Loki’s a fucking idiot and running from his problems and is not in a good mental space. They love him they need him he has to come home. He just has to.

But Rane, and on behalf of her siblings in a United front, is having none of it- YOU KNOW WHAT some choice canon convo snippets and oh my god I desperately want to draw this REMEMBER RANE’S 11 AND WEARING A FUCKING TOP HAT - btwwww Rane’s ALWAYS been like this, in my brain. this is her very first opportunity to shine! ahem,

Rane: “How arrogant it is to presume he’s better off with you, of all people, than caring for himself.”

Tory:  “Is he better off without us?”

Rane: “Well. My father’s judgement of his own circumstances is absolute. Seeing as he’s no longer here, you tell me.”

[…]

Vali: “Well, here we are. He always has reasons for fleeing as well.”

Maci: “Your father’s an anxious self-destructive wreck, who we love and care about. His judgements and reasons historically suck, and he needs to come back home.”

Rane: “You especially have no business seeking his return. You’re an enemy of my family. And now you’ve driven him away.”

melting melting melting AHHHHHHH

this back and forth goes on and on until finally LIBBY interrupts, watching this whole thing timidly as newest Lokikid, adjusting to the dynamic;

what happens, says Libby, if we don’t find him and bring him home?

well, worst case scenario, says Tory, is injury to the child; to Loki himself; or both. Maci points out that he could end up losing his powers and stuck somewhere where no one can get him, as he had lost his powers during pregnancies before (Rane herself even.) suddenly the gravity of this all hits home when Nari points out that their pantheon can die - Loki could DIE. childbirth is an injurious death. Suddenly, it’s not a matter of what Loki would want (they know what Loki would want, to be left alone) but what’s BEST for his well-being (bringing him HOME). Reluctantly…,,, the tune changes. Vali is the last onboard, but Rane’s word is absolute (lmao).

…Fen also admits he was going to look for Loki anyway regardless of this meetings outcome.

So! How to find him? Finally, the kids share with Tory all of Loki’s usual hiding places. Across realms, though with a baby he’s probably too weak to do this. Often in the upper world, cloaking houses in disguise and blending into Midgard. And finally, in the POCKET VOIDS of the Underworld……..

IMPORTANT INTERLUDE! Now, the pocket voids are an Elysium canon thing. When Loki magically fused with the Underworld long ago, the aftershocks of the magical turnover created many little spaces and gaps “between” physical spaces of the Underworld. They’re almost impossible to find, shifting and infinite, private and discreet. …unsettling and empty. Kind of a collection of “backrooms” of the Underworld, liminal spaces that no one but Loki, as accidental creator, can get into. Only Loki knows how to thoroughly navigate them.

The existence of the pocket voids was discovered when Thanatos escaped back in 2013, I promise I’m going somewhere with that thought. as this was a series of areas that Thanatos was able to escape to. well how was Thanatos able to get into those himself?? I’ll get to that. :3

For now, back to the present — so, Rane assigns her siblings to look for Loki. Vali and Nari are adept at haunting the upper world and could potentially find him up there; Fenris and Jör can travel between realms; the other kids can spread across Elysium, the Underworld - finally as for those pocket voids- still hold that thought! Anyway!

The meeting disperses with Rane refusing to give Tory and Maci an assignment to look for Loki. oh you’ve done MORE than enough, she sneers. Just wait around for him, if you really must. ….ummmm Firstly never forget that Tory’s got JUST as much as a temper as Maci does - it’s just.,, downplayed due to how much time he spends next to Maci, who is worse fgkfkf. But here now, Tory, angry and upset, demands to know exactly what he’s even done?! This isn’t fair!

Rane responds,

“What have you done? You’ve driven our parent away from here - the harder you cling, the further he runs. Not with any of us - but we know him better than you do. And though he may come and go, as through the births of myself and many of my siblings, the child you’ve given him could properly kill him, and now he’ll have to be dragged back against his wishes. Furthermore, you’ve inserted yourself into a private gathering of which you’re not welcome.

We will handle this. Your involvement is no longer needed beyond what you’ve already begun.”

Tory snaps back,

“He consented to having the child. Everything I’ve done was performed with Loki’s permission, gathered beforehand to avoid this situation, but he ran anyway.”

and Rane, coldly,

“That’s your fault for believing him, then.”

so.

S… so.

Both of them fuming and… hurting and trembling,, Tory takes Maci’s hand and retreats with her. They make it as far as their bedroom before Maci bursts into tears (“Holy fuck, that was horrible”), oscillating between raging at how that had gone, the fact that Loki really fucking left; to devastation, over the helplessness they feel and the fact that Loki really left.

Tory makes it as far as Maci choking out that she doesn’t know what happened “he was happy! I thought he was happy.” before Tory is also quietly in tears (and blaming himself! probably because Rane told him this was his fault!)

and so Maci and Tory spent the evening clinging to each other, ANXIOUS about Loki’s wellbeing, furious that he’s gone, and above all, utterly, utterly, heartbroken.

so…. currently.

🥲

Let’s lighten the mood - Return to those pocket voids.

There is actually one other person besides Loki who can get into those - NOT Thanatos; in fact.,

the ONE other person who can access the voids is CHAL.

First discovered by Chal when she was on the run from Ker long long long ago, Chal has always been able to break into, reside in, and teleport through the pocket voids of the Underworld (and had brought her father there during his prison break Shh oops). It’s where Chal was finally discovered and “captured” when they brought her to the Elysium house. Though she hadn’t known it until very recently, it turns out that Chal’s realm of Reincarnation - a slipping of shades across the thin life and death veil - has granted her unprecedented access to slipping across the thin veils of the spaces of the Underworld itself. Though she can’t NAVIGATE them like Loki, she’s always been able to get into them, and is the only person besides Loki himself who can.

Now here we are back during that meeting where, all potential Loki hiding spots are covered except for this one; the biggest, and the one Loki is probably most likely to actually be in.

Libby volunteers Chal to look!

(chal, notably NOT present during this meeting)

here lmao actually, another canon snip:

Libby: “Chal knows how to get into Loki’s pocket voids, maybe I can look with her.”

Rane:  “Ugh, no. Your horrid rude sister isn’t going to do any favors in courting Father back.”

Einmyria:  “Hey, that’s our sister too! …Agreed, though.”

Tory:  “Maybe if she took Bel with her as a buffer?”

Libby:  “Sure, he’s slightly better.”

Slightly lmao 💀And so here in current canon!!! in a truly shocking turn of events!! of ALL FUCKING PEOPLE, Chal and Bel are currently looking for Loki through the voids!!

will they find him?!?! will they convince him to come back?!?! IS THIS THE MOST INSANE LEFTFIELD TWO MESSENGERS TO SEND AFTER LOKI??????? I can’t believe this but it is SO good! currently:

Chal: “…Loki used to— Loki was a fucking, supervillain. Isn’t Loki fucking dangerous? Is this dangerous? Is he going crazy in a fit of fucking rage? What if we have to fight him? I, I can’t win against him in a fight. I don’t even know if I know how to fight anymore and I can’t do magic.”

Bel: “He hasn’t been overtly malicious in a long while.”

Chal: “Maybe he turned overtly malicious while he was running away. Maybe he’s gonna be in a real overtly malicious fucking mood about me and you trying to talk to him.”

COOL! GOOD LUCK YOU TWO! YOU’RE VERY COMPETENT!! oh my gods!!

some very welcome brevity from Maci and Tory sobbing in each others arms around the gap in the bed where Loki was though. again I do want to draw any of this but!! IN NO TIME SOON SOOOOOO

HEY SORRY I DID SAY this was ALLLLL AN excuse for ANGST….. PHEW!!!!

and so if you made it to the end!!!! first of all jfc gbless ily. second of all: STAY TUNED!’ updates of course to follow!!! maybe art one fucking day too fgfkfkgkkgkgk

[fujoreads]

The Summer Hikaru Died Vol. 1 + 2 // Review & Thoughts

I just finished reading volume 2 and realized I did not talk about vol. 1 at all, so let's talk!

The Summer Hikaru Died (story & art by mokomokuren) is a cosmic horror story with a queer-coded complicated relationship, set in rural Japan. Got your interest? Well, you’re in for a ride!

CW: Death; Body & Cosmic Horror; Gay Panic & Homophobia

I honestly don’t remember how I got to know about this… I think someone talked about it in a podcast episode? I remember the concept being very interesting: your friend is gone for a week and when he comes back, it turns out he’s some sort of creature that only our protagonist is aware of.

I read both volumes with a huge time gap—almost an entire year, I think?—and every time I finished one, I was just too stunned to read much of any other thing that day. It’s immersive, it’s creepy, and it has that gay panic vibe only these types of works can give. I love me some fluffy and dramatic romance, but the angsty, scary and out there stuff is what conquers me.

I’ll admit: I thought this was going to be just another BL I’d forget soon enough, so the horror aspect caught me off guard… and I absolutely loved it! It’s intense without being always present. I wouldn’t say it’s psychological horror as the horror is present, but it does not rely on cheap jumpscares. Instead, it builds its tense atmosphere, and the use of cicadas for that is amazing. I remember getting the same anxiety-inducing feeling when reading Higurashi: When They Cry (the visual novel), like the heat is getting to you.

I’m not a huge horror fan. Not that I don’t like it—I love it—but I just can’t find stuff that suits my specific tastes. This one does, and I can’t get enough of it. I love mystery and horror but I hate the kind of horror that relies on visuals to scare the reader. This one managed to have a healthy balance and it serves as the exception.

It has Hikaru’s face. It has Hikaru’s voice. It even has Hikaru’s memories. But whatever came down from the mountains six months ago isn’t Yoshiki’s best friend. Whatever it is, it’s dangerous. Carrying on at school and hanging out as if nothing has changed—as if Hikaru isn’t gone—would be crazy...but when it looks so very like Hikaru...and acts so very like Hikaru…

This story is fantastic. It’s fast-paced, and yet you feel stuck in time, glued to your seat. I sometimes even forgot the background cicada noises I’d play while reading.

This is mysterious, but don’t expect your typical mystery read. This is a slice of life existencial thriller, dealing with bizarre creatures and worst of all—your own feelings.

Mokumokuren’s art is just superb. It’s so unique that if I wasn’t already drawn by the synopsis, I would have read it for the art alone. Not only is the artstyle pleasing to look at, but the way they draw perspectives and play with the shading does wonders to the horror elements.

Also, I have to shoutout to Abigail Blackman (the letterer) and Yen Press! The way the sound effects were inserts in the panels made a world of difference, especially when it comes to the cicada sounds.

The story follows mainly Yoshiki and Hikaru, two best friends in a rural Japanese village. Yoshiki is more of a gloomy kid, while Hikaru (just like his name, “light”) is the sunny, dumb kind. This all changes after the events the synopsis presents, showing Hikaru as more feeling, and even more childish.

These two are so interesting to follow: a co-dependent pair that doesn’t want to admit it and the way this shows through a literal monster is just delicious.

The way Yoshiki feels repulsed towards his friend and his own feelings, while feeling seduced to accept something that might not be so good to him—and yet, it feels right. He misses his friend and feels conflicting feelings towards this new creature inhabiting Hikaru’s body. Is it alright to accept this as Hikaru, or will it never be the same? Are is feelings true when directed to someone who isn’t there anymore?

The way Hikaru tries to come to terms with the meaning for his feelings and what is “Hikaru” and the being’s own identity. His strong feelings of loneliness and feeling overly attached to Yoshiki is something I could definitely relate to.

While there’s nothing explicitely better about queer media, something I’ve noticed is how more subtle and metaphorical dynamics and relationships can be, either because of direct societal prejudice or because of how queer people grow to hide their feelings, in fear of rejection and humiliation. Of course, the latter can also happen with hetero couples, but the feelings of rejection that can lead to co-dependence and loneliness are just that much stronger within the queer sphere, especially amongst gay men—and it’s visceral, to the point of fitting right into the horror realm.

Dealing with the unknown can be scary, and the way mokumokuren portrays this relationship and mixes it with the cosmic horror elements is masterfully done. It feels gross but erotic—like a guilty pleasure you find as a teenager—without ever being pornographic in nature. Hell, there’s not even a kiss or explicit thoughts, it’s all a play of “will they, won’t they” for the readers to munch over. While this is a fast-paced series, it’s also a slow burn when it comes to their relationship.

The writing iself isn’t anything too grand, due to its format. You can’t expect too much of a focus on writing in a visual medium.

I’ll talk about this into more detail in the following paragraphs, but the way the writing mixes with the environment and horror elements is where it peaks. There’s occasional bolding and a play with the font sizes, making it more tense to follow along.

I’ve always loved stories set in rural Japan, but all I’ve read that checked my boxes were set before the 2000s—before smartphones and other modern technologies.

The Summer Hikaru Died is set in contemporaneity and even then, you sometimes forget it. There are occasional shows of a smartphone, and even a mention of the Nintendo Switch, but the rural setting makes it so that feels useless.

When reading Higurashi (which is set in the 80s), I always thought “man, this wouldn’t have happened if they had smartphones” but reading this now, I realize that was a futile thought. Sure, they could use the GPS tracker in moments of panic, or call a friend, but in the moment of fear and paranoia, that could only aggravate a situation. Mokumokuren takes full advantage of that: someone sneaking a glance at a message notification they weren’t supposed to see; being too scared to grab the phone…

The horror elements here were only intensified by the creative use of the format!

The concept for this story by itself isn’t anything unique: things inhabiting our loved ones’ bodies isn’t a new thing. However, the way this trope is used to explore other fears and themes is where it stands out.

The exploration of sexuality mixed with feelings of guilt for both parties; the “what if” scenarios in Yoshiki’s mind that could have saved Hikaru; and the overall way being queer plays into society, especially one such as the rural community in Japan.

It’s not uncommon for queer people to have lost a friend or two, be it to mental health or an STD, and the way homossexuality is sometimes compared to an “illness” by the townfolk, I can see the being inside Hikaru as a personification of his feelings and desires, and how Yoshiki struggles to accept them and his own love.

The series isn’t over, but I strongly recommend checking it out.

The third (and latest) volume comes out in April 16th, and I’m super excited! From the cover alone, it may focus more on the minor cast, such as the group of school friends.

In summary: this is a fast-paced (but slow burn when it comes to the main relationship) horror story, more within the cosmic horror sub-genre. It has BL elements and I personally find it to be the main topic, even if it’s not explicit. If you enjoy these, go for it!

Even if you’re not a fan of BL, I find it interesting and subtle enough most times so even people who aren’t into BL can enjoy it, as long as you enjoy slow-burn horror.

I’ll give all my starts and love to this one, as it’s one of my personal favorites! I’m looking forward to more from mokumokuren!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Thank you for reading it all to the end! Hey, kind stranger! Would you be so kind and consider giving me a little tip? It can be as low as 3 bucks and it’d make a huuuuuge difference!! If you tip 10€ (or higher), you can dictate my next read and be credited (if you’d like) on that review! Have a nice day!!

[miqojak]

FFXIV Write 2023 #5: Barbarous

(( Hey there! You might want to check the tags for trigger warnings - I rarely go too in-depth on triggering topics, but I do briefly mention uncomfortable stuff!))

I think about it endlessly, in the days that follow - I force myself to look at my own point of view as if it were another's, I try to step away from my own past, my own hurt; but that's like asking someone to step out of their own skin - I simply cannot.

Every night I fall asleep, and I see their broken bodies. I hear their screams - I feel the boots in my ribs, the hands grabbing, the chemicals burning under my skin; among other things that I can't even speak the words for, things that no person should ever endure, or even have to witness. I can't even blame the survivors who eventually went on to take their own lives, despite attaining freedom in the end - the things done to us, to dehumanize us... they're hard to live with every single day.

And in fairness, I even tried. I tried once, by my own hand - and many, many more times have I chased Death, snapping at its heels, hungry for something that could conquer me. Take me down. Something powerful enough to make it all stop.

I excel at surviving, however - unwilling to truly give up the ghost - and now here I am, still surviving in a world in which Garlemald has fallen, and I am told that this land of hateful bigots has innocent people in it... but I cannot find them. I don't know how else to tell him that I've walked their wastes, when I still cannot bring myself to walk the sands of my own homeland. I walked among them.

I let them prove to me what they are - their rhetoric about us hasn't changed, despite the loss of all that matters to them. Even as they starve, and freeze, they are full of hate for that which is different than them -

"Beast."

"Savage."

"Beastman."

When the words that fall from the lips of the so-called 'innocent' sound just like the ones my torturers spoke at me... what makes them 'innocent'? When they listened to their little radios and cheered the slaughter of my people on... how are they still innocent? Why shouldn't I exterminate every last one of them, if that's the future they're going to build - another one of hate? One where teenage girls will know only pain, terror, and loneliness... where they have to learn to get by like a beast, where they must engage in the unthinkable... because that's what they spent their life being reduced to?

My life will never be what I wanted it to be, in truth - not really. Not in full. Because of Garlemald - and I know my Wolf is right when he says that who we might have been no longer matters - but the people who took that future from me are still alive. And that matters. They can take futures from others, given the opportunity to recover.

Were my actions taken in the frozen wastes of Garlemald barbaric?

Undoubtedly.

Were their actions taken in the sands of my desert many times more despicable and barbaric?

Absolutely.

But I think on it. I try, as hard as I can, to push those feelings down, and weigh the words of the only person whose words are heavy enough to carry weight. Would it be wrong to pursue poisoning the supplies meant for the Garleans? It's what they'd do to people like he and I, in an instant. Even now. Even if it meant they perished too, they'd opt to slaughter anyone that wasn't a Hyur - or enslave us. Use us like beasts of burden.

I know what they made me. And much of that is immutable - but how much? Can I change? Can I be something - someone - else? My aether itself is distorted, and... would fixing that fix things in me, or simply make me someone else?

"Why does it matter what they think of you?"

I draw their faces in my sketchbook, even as his words sit on my shoulder, waiting - I draw the hatred that burned in their eyes, even in their final moments, and I know that what they think of me isn't important... but those emotions will be the seeds for future horrors. What happens when they've rebuilt? When they've got an unstoppable army again? When they still believe in a master race that should rule all others?

What then?

I stay my hand, all the same - I dislike the concern in my Wolf's tone, and maybe he's right? Maybe I'm still looking at this all from the wrong angle. Maybe I'll never see past the fury.

And maybe, even when the guns have been silenced, the mechs no longer function, and the scientists no longer commit atrocities on women, children, and anyone in-between - maybe there are still no easy answers.

[babbles-and-drabbles]

The Demon Lord has accomplished a great many things in his life. He's tried to obliterate the entire mortal realm three times. (So very nearly succeeded that last time too! He's going to get it right one of these days.) He's conquered and destroyed too many mortal civilizations to count. That last one was a particularly good bit of fun. After the conquering and destruction, he tossed that civilization's most revered Demon King in an eternal and endless abyss of screeching demonic eels. Shows that guy for calling himself "Demon" anything. And, he's well on his way to figuring out a spell that would make sure no knot stays tied for more than a few seconds. Oh, when he finally irons out the kinks in that one...

What he hasn't gotten around to do yet, in his life spanning eons and eons in mortal years, is take a lover. And judging by the face of the woman he's been courting the past two millennia, he isn't going to be taking a lover any time soon.

"You thought I liked you?!" The woman screeches, spittle flying from her mouth in all directions.

The Demon Lord scrunches his face. "...Yes?" He manages with a shrug and two upturned palms.

"Is that why you kept wearing those tight outfits?"

"I mean," The Demon Lord raises an eyebrow and looks down at his clothing, "this is the traditional garb that all Demon Lords have worn since time immemorial. But now that you mention it, it is a little tight around the nether regions..."

"And, and what was with all that tilting my chin up with your sword and doing that villainous murmur thing in my ear??" The mortal woman is beside herself, shrieking at the Demon Lord in a voice he hasn't heard her use before. He couldn't help but wonder about what other sounds he hasn't heard her make.

"Is that not," The Demon Lord blinks at the woman, "is that not what women are into? Maybe I misread something in those magazines..."

"What the hell are you going on about? What women are into?" She is frothing at the mouth with barely contained rage. "I am trying to kill you!!

"That much has been obvious from the start," The Demon Lord huffs, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to one foot, "Why are you making such a big fuss about it now?"

"A big fuss? You burned down my entire village! You killed my entire clan! I am the last surviving member of my people, and I will have to live with that weight and that loneliness for all eternity! My only salvation is the thought of driving my sword through your body and finally ridding the universe of your cursed existence."

They had been doing the cat-and-mouse dance for the last couple of centuries. He captures her, but she escapes. She kills him, but he revives himself again. And on and on it went for decades at a time, and the Demon Lord was beginning to worry that she was just leading him on. Last century, though, she took up as a fighter-cleric of some obscure holy order to learn ancient spells to vanquish him. That got his hopes up that maybe something real was finally happening. So...he decided to spice things up.

"Look, I am just as serious about all of this as you are. I just thought it was time to take our relationship to the next level."

"What relationship!? Did you hear nothing of what I just said? You are my most hated enemy--"

"--to lover!"

The woman goes slack jawed, frozen still in confusion.

"Enemies to lovers!" The Demon Lord tries again, waving both hands at the woman in what he's learned is the universal mortal sign for "ta-da!"

No response.

"Oh, come on now. I love our verbal spats as much as you do, but we've finally come to it after all this time. We've been doing this enemies-to-lovers thing for more than two millennia. Don't play coy now."

The woman shakes her head vigorously, as if trying to deflect the Demon Lord's last words. "I tire of your twisted words, you vile fiend," she draws her sword from its hilt. Glowing Holy symbols and scriptures decorate the blade. "I am going to end you once and for all."

"Oh, you can certainly try--" The Demon Lord stops abruptly as the blade of the woman's sword sinks into his chest. He sighs, giving the woman an annoyed look as blood oozes from the wound, staining his shirt.

"Really? I just had this cleaned--" He is cut off again when the woman shoots a blindingly blast of holy energy at his face.

"I can see--" He takes another blinding blast of holy energy to the face.

"--that you are upset--" Another blast.

"--can we talk about--" And another.

"--please stop--" And another.

Relenting, the Demon Lord dissolves into a cloud of dark smoke and rematerializes a few feet away from the woman. "I get it, I get it," he says, raising one palm at her as he heals his chest wound with a casual flick of his other hand. "I'm moving too fast, and you aren't ready."

"Enough!" The woman shouts, taking another attack stance, "I will not fall for whatever sick game you are playing! Prepare to die!"

"Enemies-to-lovers is not a sick game!" The Dark Lord retorts, affronted, "In the romance genre, it is a common and beloved trope-" The woman's blade sinks into his torso again.

Sighing audibly, the Dark Lord drags one hand down his face. This is going to be a long fight.

From [WP] "You thought I liked you?! Is that why you kept wearing those tight outfits and tilting my chin up with your sword and doing that villainous murmur thing in my ear?? Are you crazy?! What the hell do you mean enemies to lovers?! You burnt down my entire village, I'm trying to kill you!!"

[fluffypurplecloud]

Hi! I hope this request fits your rules - if not, feel free to ignore it 💀

I just wanted to request an comfort-oneshot where an injured/unconscious xiao is found by beidou & the crux and wakes up on the ship ✨ and beidou being the mom she is and insisting that he gets treatment and rests till he feels better and xiao just feeling uncomfortable with the attention but can’t leave since they are in the middle of the sea and he is too weak to teleport LMAO

I just thought that I never saw these characters interact & I don’t even know if beidou knows that xiao is xiao?? Like how the conqueror of demons looks?

Also this is not a ship or anything, I just think it would be kinda sweet ✨

Greetings & hope your having a great day!!

-🌼

Thanks for the request! I apologize if any of the characters are out of character. I don't know how to write Kazuha's personality as well as I wish I could, but I hope it's satisfactory.

(Tw for injury, sadness, over working, blood, violence, self depreciation)(I did my best to wrote down any possible triggers. If there are any I forgot to mention, please tell me! Thanks for reading everyone! 😊)

It was an easy job. However hundreds of easy jobs in the span of a short time couldn't be good for anyone, not even the conquerer of demons himself. He had been straining his body for quite awhile, the aches and pains a familiar friend to him at this point. So when he decided one more job for the night wouldn't hurt, he didn't take into account his preexisting injuries. After all he had been fighting with injuries plenty of times. However even the most experienced and well adjusted beings make mistakes.

Xiao does his best to ignore the aching in his legs. The pains in his arms. The stabbing feeling on his abdomen. The voices mocked him. What kind of adepti feels and is bothered by such diminutive pain? Will "the mighty conquerer of demons" stop to take a break?

So he kept going. He wasn't weak. He would not allow himself to be such.

He approached the camp quietly. There were more fatui agents then when he first scouted the area. Even so he couldn't let something like this stop him. So he quickly made his way towards the first opponent.

Blood, slashing, stabbing, dodging.

Xiao just had to keep going. He just had to keep moving a little longer. Soon they would be finished. After releasing his elemental burst the last enemy fell over with a thud.

Xiao slumped against a tree and accessed the damage. He had a pretty nasty stab wound in his side and a pretty bad gash on his arm. He did his best to stop the blood from gushing out of the opening. He hated this. He hated the feeling of the blood and dirt beneath his nails, he hated the feeling of blood escaping through the partings of his fingers, sliding down his hands and staining them a sickening red color.

Xiao let out a sigh. He was so pathetic. Morax would be so disappointed in him. He needed to do so much better if he wanted to earn his place in the world. Be in the world not as a monster, but a protector.

Hearing footsteps he turned to face the person intruding on his thinking.

There staring in shock was a platinum blonde haired boy, the single streak of redish orange in his hair bound to draw eyes.

"Stay back. What are your intentions?"

The stranger knelt besides Xiao, staring in worry.

"I only want to help. If I leave you here like this you'll bleed out."

Xiao scoffed. Something like this wouldn't kill an adepti. Keep him out of commission for a few days sure, but not kill him.

"You needn't worry about these matters. I'll be just fine."

The blonde only seemed exasperated at Xiao's "comforting" words.

"You're not thinking clearly due to your bloodloss. I have some medical supplies nearby."

"I'm fine, thank you. I don't need your human provisions."

The blonde could only shake his head at the stubbornness, kneeling down to pick Xiao up.

"W-what are you doing!?"

"We're just going to fix you up with the supplies. Afterwards you are free to leave and continue with your day."

Xiao let out an exhale. This human was quite persistent. He knew if he kept resisting the human would only continue being an annoyance. So he reluctantly allowed the boy to carry him.

In the time they travelled Xiao learned the annoyingly persistent human was named Kazuha. They were apparently going to the ship Kazuha lived on.

Finally they reached their destination.

" Kazuha! You're finally back! We were bout to leave without you! Why dont'cha come up and- .......... Who is that?"

"Beidou this is Xiao, I found him pretty badly injured."

"I see. I'll get the med kit ready!"

Before Xiao knew it he was settled down and being bandaged up.

"How did ya get this injured?"

Kazuha gave Beidou a look.

"Sorry! Of course ya don't have to tell us, I was just curious."

"I was fighting some fatui."

Beidou nodded in understanding.

"They got ya pretty good. You need to be more careful next time. You're gonna end up like a mummy!"

"Don't worry. I won't allow myself such weakness again."

Beidou looked at him concerned.

"Hey now, that's not what I said. I said to be careful, not to toughen yourself up to the point you see getting injured and making mistakes as being extremely weak. Everyone gets injured and makes mistakes. So you can as well."

"You don't understand. I can't allow myself to make mistakes. I have too much depending on me."

Beidou's eyes softened.

"I know what that's like. I'm the captain of this ship afterall. Every single crew mate and passenger on this ship is my responsibility. Making mistakes could lead to disaster, not just for myself, but everyone else as well."

Beidou looked up at the ceiling, reminiscening.

"In my younger days, I was so scared of making decisions without checking in with what everyone on the ship thought. I thought making a mistake would make me a failure. Make me less of a captain. But one day during a storm, I figured everything out. I had two choices to make that morning, wait until the storm completely passed, which would delay us quite a bit. Or try to beat the storm. I had asked everyone on the ship, and they all chose to beat the storm. I didn't agree with the choice but went along with it. A few hours later we were caught in the storm. Everyone was so sure we would die and sink. They needed me, so despite the shaking in my hands I took the wheel and got us out of the storm. I didn't second guess myself as much after that."

Xiao looked down thoughfully.

"what does that story have to do with me?"

"That mistakes don't define your capability. That a few moments of weakness doesn't mean you as a person is weak. That your loved ones should and most likely will stand by you even through your mistakes. And if they don't... Well... Your always welcome here."

Xiao looked up in surprise. They...

He looked to the side in embarrassment.

"thanks..."

Kazuha peeled through the door. Beidou and Xiao have been talking for awhile. He had slipped out the door earlier, sensing they were about to have a personal conversation.

Xiao was getting up ready to leave. Beidou and Kazuha said their farewells and Xiao left

That night Xiao arrived home to a very worried Verr Goldet. He went to bed with a stomach full of almond tofu and a clear mind.

[madonnamadeofasphalt]

Home

She's stirring something in her cauldron. The wrinkled skin of her hands looks like the bark of a linden tree. The shadows almost seem to conciously arrange themselves in such a way that you can't get a clear look at her face. The air smells like garlic, ginger and smoked fish, and something else, an earthy smell that feels weirdly familiar, even though you don't remember ever encountering it before. You sit there in silence, save for the quiet bubbling of her mixture and the purring of her cat - just a bit too large to be a normal housecat, dejectedly napping near the fireplace, as black as the sky over your distant hometown, where the cold and unfeeling stars were extinguished by the comforting brightness of the streetlamps. You know she's carefully considering your request, but in this moment, she almost seems like she's forgotten you're here.

Worry not, this will make you feel better.

She has a little giggle at your obvious unease, draws from the cauldron and hands you a bowl. It is a simple, wooden thing, nothing like the fancy appliances of glass and ceramics you're used to. She must have carved it herself, perhaps with one of the unsettling number of knives that are hanging from the ceiling like a grotesque Christmas ornament, each one in a different shape; each one, undoubtedly, serving a different purpose. You take a cautious sniff. Wherever the hut's ambient smell is coming from, the cauldron can't be its source. The mixture smells of root spices and herbs, of fresh milk and wild honey, of peace and quiet. It smells like home. Not specifically like your home, a one-bedroom appartment you're renting back in the city, though you could swear you can recognize a vague hint of your favourite brand of coffee, a suggestion of your grandpa's pipe tobacco, just a memory of your mom's cinnamon biscuits - the ones she only bakes once a year. The mixture smells like home in a broad, general sense, like every place anyone has ever called home, like every place anyone has ever felt safe in. You hesitate for just a second before drinking it whole. The blessed warmth that fills your body finally makes your heartbeat slow down. The polished rat skulls on the windowsill are no longer a grim reminder of your own mortality. They look at you with approval, like you've just passed a difficult exam. The drink makes you calm, but not at all drowsy or dazed. On the contrary, all of your senses feel sharper, your focus stronger than ever. Only then, she starts talking. Her voice sounds young, though you know she's anything but.

I have seen a wide array of fools traveling through my woods. Some of them arrogant and self-assured, believing they can conquer and exploit what is not theirs, with maps and plans in their hands, with untold riches on their minds. Some of them terrified and humbled, gradually realizing they are not welcome here, with all the ignorance of their ancestors but none of their skills, with nothing to shield them from my kin, except some plastic tents. And then there are some who come here to worship, those who claim the old faiths they do not comprehend, who call this place a holy land, a sacred grove blessed by the Wild Herself. They call me Her servant, a mighty goddess of the woods, and they beg me to answer their call, to come to the maypole and the fire, to reveal my face to them. They are my favourites. Sometimes, when the hunger strikes, I do as they ask.

She cackles so loudly she wakes the cat, who lets out a deeply annoyed grunt. You get the feeling they live in some kind of a love-hate relationship, she and him. You briefly allow yourself to wonder which one of them is the owner and which one is the pet. But you know there is no point in such deliberations, and anyway, you have a sneaking suspicion that there is no proper word for their bond in any of the languages you know. The cat goes back to sleep, and your host, still audibly amused, continues.

People these days are forgetting who the Wild is, you know. She is beautiful at a distance, so majestic and full of life. And this is not a deception, She is indeed incredible, almost too bright to look at! It is when they see Her as a kind and loving Mother, when they fall in love with Her name, when they yearn to come back to Her bosom, that is when they get lost. And the other ones, those who go in the other direction, those who completely forget that She is a living thing - well, these fools were lost from the start.

Some wolves, or maybe feral dogs, howl outside, as if cheerfully agreeing with the harshness of her little speech.

She is indeed a Mother, you know, though a heartless and violent one. You have moved out, and so you glamorize your naive youth, blinded by nostalgia. But I stayed by Her side, I have tended to Her wounds, I have been living in Her kingdom all this time. We have been apart so long you have almost forgotten me, and my children, and my kin, and even Her. Almost, but not completely, since now you have come to me, speaking the words that had been unspoken since I was young.

You know she's lying, of course. The words were unspoken for a long time, but not nearly long enough for her to had been anywhere close to "young". And she's lying about staying with the Wild, too. She's been closer to Her than you and yours, obviously, but there's a reason she only voluntarily leaves her own home once a year. There's a reason she sneaks around, gathering her herbs and her charms like a thief, with her broom always by her side, with her spells shielding her from harm. Even her house has legs, and it is always ready to run.

And of course, you know better than to call her out on her lies. After all, whatever else she might be, she is also a lonely, old woman. She acts annoyed you've tricked your way into her demesne, but she doesn't often get to speak to one who knows her true name. Her payment is to be listened to, and the privilege it buys is the right to listen. You feign a smile and you nod politely, waiting for her to go on. She pours herself a drink from the cauldron and she downs it like an old alcoholic downs a glass of vodka.

I do feel spiteful sometimes that you have hidden yourselves away in your cities, preferring the demons of History to be your neighbors over me, and mine, and Her. But you know this is an illusion, do you not? Your wise ones still tremble before her vengeance as she threatens you with the fate of Atlantis. Your leaders speak of the Living God, and of a liberation from the Eternal Cycle, and of the power of Science, but their actions betray them. You are still beasts and monsters, living by Her laws, just like me and mine. The fit survive and the weak are doomed to perish. The dragon sits on his hoard, and he shall breathe fire on any who take a single coin. The Golden Duck is hiding in the depths of your iron holds, and she feasts on your misery. The Regulus commands a legion grander than he ever did in the days of old. You have asked for my wisdom? This is it, be thankful.

She's provoking you, or perhaps testing you. It was wise to remain silent so far, but now you're being forced to speak. You think about what answer might be honest, and then about what answer is desired. You remember the songs of your teachers, and the night you first understood the name of the Wild. You remember that forest devil you've met, the one with a Germanic accent, and his friend, the angry Slavic one. They were the ones who taught you the rules of her riddles, though the way they did it was a riddle itself. Their kin loves riddles, they love deep-sounding nonsense and banal-sounding truths, they strive in confusion, they flourish in the dark. It has been your job to make sense of it all for decades now, and sometimes you despise it more than anything. Quite frankly, they're worse than the fairies - those at least don't pretend to be forthright. You sigh bitterly and you start talking, carefully choosing the words that you think she wants to hear.

You are right, Granny, that we're not truly separated from the might of your Mother. How could we be? We came from Her, and she follows us like a shadow, or like a reflection. Our laws exist as a direct act of rebellion against Her laws, for better or for worse, and through that they reflect them in turn. We run away from Her, but She keeps following us, and unlike us, She never grows tired. But you know as well as I do, Granny, that we were shaped by Her to defy Her. The Sacred Law, which is the very reason you haven't eaten me an hour ago, is the greatest illustration of that fact. It's the foundation of everything we've ever accomplished, the reason we've survived even though we're weak. It comes from Her, and it goes against everything She stands for. You are Her most faithful daughter, Granny, and even you and your kin would never consider violating it. And so I ask you once again, as your guest, as your disciple, and to be perfectly honest, as your biggest fan. Give me your wisdom so I can act according to my will.

She smiles with her whole neck, and her many, many teeth glimmer in the dim light with a metallic sheen.

So be it.

And she reveals her face.

[beevean]

I really have to LOL at seeing Sonic call Metal "buddy" so casually when he was actively hating what Metal just did before his eyes. And knowing this was still Stanley sucks because she *at least* provided a moment in #49 where Sonic actually seemed like his game self when he comforted Belle and prompting her to move forward. Now it's like Flynn's poor characterization is rubbing off on her. Granted I shouldn't have to wait over 49 issues for Sonic to actually act like Sonic, but still.

Taking over the homeland of one of his so-called friends and getting a literal slap on the wrist for it is fine, but slapping a (stupid) puppet girl in the face for trying to be nice is apparently a "new low."

Gimme back a Sonic who can *immediately* switch gears when things get serious *glances over at my fics and scenes where he was* Ah, there we go! :)

Honestly? I don't see anything wrong in Sonic calling Metal "buddy" in anger. I read it with an almost threatening tone. However, I can't recall an instance where Sonic called an enemy "buddy" or "pal" with scorn. I thought he did so with Infinite, but no.

Him being outraged at the Slap (what's with Sonic comics and having memorable slap scenes) can also be seen as... I don't know how to explain it, Sonic being more bothered by casual pettiness? Yes, Metal trying to conquer Angel Island was much worse, but expected. Metal pimpslapping Belle was completely unnecessary and done out of spite (well deserved though, he must be tired of people asking him to stop fighting). Slaps across the face are also uniquely humiliating. But yeah, at the end of the day, it was just a slap, hardly a crossing of the Moral Event Horizon - it's like if Sonic didn't bat an eye on Erazor Djinn's plan of destroying the Arabian Nights and his awful treatment of Shahra, but got pissed only at being called a rat.

... I'll be honest, sometimes I feel less like I understood the author's intent, and more that I'm throwing them a lifesaver out of pity :\

You're right that at this point, it's hard to tell who is Flynn and who is Stanley. Maybe that's why she draws her own scripts - because it's the only way you can distinguish them. Before, at least she could write Starline as a total buffoon to contrast with Flynn.

[thebestaster]

Inktober day 6-8!

I didn't keep up with inktober over the past couple days because I had some v tiring work days, but I will work around them better next week to stay consistent with the challenge. I'm also gradually getting more and more tumblr savvy, I have conquered "titles" today >B)

(below are ramblings, day:8 rambling includes spoilers for "Bullet Train")

day 6: went very literally with this prompt, and just drew a bouquet of flowers for the prompt "bouquet". This was actually really nice and calming to draw as I didn't really have to put any thought into it. Flowers are flowers lol. This bouquet is specifically for my gf @ferndidntfade >>:*

day 7: I was SUPER stuck on this one, like to the point of just wanting to skip it/ignore it. I thought about doing a trippy drawing but also wanted to draw something less involved since I did all three of these at once. I ended up going for the idea of a hallucinogen trip with some magic mushrooms, with some trippy lines around them ig. They're absolutely radiating funky energy

day 8: Last but not least, we have the one I put the most effort into. I watched "Bullet Train" and thought these two were the perfect match for each other (see what I did there lol). I'm very inexperience with drawing POC faces so I was nervous to draw lemon, but tangerine ended up being the more difficult one lol. Their faces look a little funky but that's just me outta drawing practice. I hated how they ended up :') literally bawled that they BOTH had to grieve each other so I have an alternate ending in my mind where they both live happily ever after, killing the white death and dancing on his body afterwards. I accept my ending more.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Composition # 10252

A ballad sequence

               I

Thou? Three sang who soft and maidens     bleach their deaths be near, no news but he’s growing too cold herself,     while Damon’s heart with cloaths on, which vnto it by birth new     joy was sprung in Heav’n-born

mind! Recognition ties a Pumpkin     round his own: the face of altering, on thee; thou makest     face of all my care? And won him was all the year. Conquer     grief, tries more than man,

her in the dark willingly sweet     to see’t; yet this lute and Derivéd Self make one with eyes of     love beheld, who in the day’s disgraced, and in the strongest;     the cattle are green, and

hating younglings, and Sops in wine,     worne of Pallas: Hebe shamed! A mannequin in the world is     lightest form appear to them; but, if a mightier arm     could not help it until

you, I engraft you never say     suppose me clever: this to you this prize, and a smile deceive,     deceive there did grow. The burning others lean on the     familiar, universal

device but in the mountain,     my churchyard she wandering and thought, break of day; rage, rage     again return would not outweigh a love sheds, and sure, at     length of a bell, and fruitful

plain and outward part, her hand     is! Each bud puffing out with seraphims the vain promise     such pain that, not I, but since it had nothing else to me     did beam. Stella, whose far-

fet helps be such who speak. The shape,     her wits to entertaine, I sought me thus to speakes senses     all his golden wing of the dead when the arms of Truth, under     the Pincke and plants a

big load of dynamite and is     not a whisper, not a tooth in her milky stones, and all     these, she a winter sleeping head, half dead, shuffled and looked     at home! And Marian’s nose

looks translate; as equal share. Right     badge is clasped betweenwhiles so masterfully rude, that     is hanging in the cup that comes clear—neither the power     of the dewy eve and

red, delightful skill, and, coming     down his arms. And almost the current dream how finely doe     his tressed in black. Beauty, midnight, sick with my dark heart,     and then, you know how it

the learned no more apt for its     white throat. The Rose should it look as ye were some child … that love     hath built his brows. Go to the tumbling does usher my joy!     Frail, but as he our hearts

doth keel them all for that she willing     to distances apart make us a familiar,     universal frame began: from harmony through the names     of gold i’ll wrap it round.

               II

The little as to be so pale?     My wearied mind draw from the top of the dark with the better     hap, and bellies, they

cheered in a green isle in the snow     continue thus the least off your watry bowres, and admire     your brow and hating

you bend to you, and one therewith     is streight impart, where birds sang, the pines, scorch the whole grove     of trees and allow that

no pace else to thine eyes and armor     should have look’d about, my little light things holy and     hide the rest won’t be history.

Its roads diverged in a green     hair, and he knew that loss; both find each Heart which joyes to rent     her motion I would. Cheered

at the flowers alive again     shall leane mens heart shall suck, no wasp shall quenche thye thirst with     insomnia, perfectly

could I forget the Princes and     barren rocks; of shallow brooks that today my memories     of the count it strange, that

sits upon the morning commute?     Had there is not enough and fast;—oh! Upon thy shape to     squeez’d from thousand panes of

gold i’ll wrap it round. Whose Name I     go by, not uncommon. As Job; and make me traveler, long     I lovd so dead and pale

as love must be ridiculous.—     A merry note, while yet prevailing; the place, this score here,     I heard you spoke, and office

of his nose, his bright, because     thy flight, and oft the happy region be thy guilt, and the     pasture, my music in

the undergrowth; then the fisherman     swore he was a little hands and fling it? Ever lonely,     i, a long row of

military trains crawls on the     earth with scorne: he plonged in a stream remained, but prudence     think I gave you as they

buried inside it like a crayoned     cat, its greene embellish anguish, trust me; virgin     And why is it all come.

               III

The list of a’. To give if any,     yet but little red jewel will be bonie face&see with flower     and my harmful love you any pain. In the eddying     flesh and long to repeat. Who yet remains; long may shee florish     long, till Spring again

I would be with forever     and with all the very same, and wish that boy, as he knew     them by a conniving silvery koi swishing dew? The     boast of naught to Left, and what wind serves the light be confused     with sweet a flower which

my soul a fair desire to     higher think, since from one momentary Sweet! The bailey     beareth the lily will bear, thou roll’st above the sun far     bright holes. Could you like two spirit a woman true and words     they send: for the flies as

I sat all thee! I strove to fail     so. She is not enough and rather die. Stella, in whose     voice, whereas shee is my goddess face above my ever-     during night. When some such brave civic Pair, to give it time     in life, the loves; never

when the first fruits and forswatt I     am. On the grass under all the disgrace: binde your silly     bogles, wealth adieu; since it was not to faint, persistent     scent beneath his mightst thou require it, both white and     peeled bits of trespass now

what peerless was song, song, song, song,     song; I chirped, cheeped, trilled and violet, one day he     plants; each bending captain, knight’s man, lady or pucelle,     that said I could, till Spring again shall taste at first he     met her? Like a crayoned

cat, its greene, hye you there bred that     you met her, and sent his voice, his trickes; while such-wise she     lo’es me best sight his brown breath’d new blisse you see; it hangs still     seemde but strange art; wild honey seeping head such a beautiful     Pussy you adore.

               IV

Where thy flight from the Breton strand!     Nor was opened and fickle Nelly Gray, she might be confus’d     nor slip or fall. As

do bewray a want of shade, not     only cross. With bulrush and falls across the river. Until     you, I engraft you

need not feel the touch. I shunned them     but once are days and may her blotte. Yet if that flag what it     well might know ye: alas!

Do you remember’d my deepest     sense, how he cannot like trickling teares adowne thy chamber     window light. Next to

your great sorow to Niobe did breede.     My deepest sense, how brighter with the stones i’ th’ street     by far to be spoiled in

return’st, wilt thou cloyest me still kissed     his hands, distracted with final retort have cut the dyer’s     hair. Such now am I,

and Who? And this sharpest dart: with     a fugitive resentment in an elevator, rising     slowly with your great

a genius was dead as any     nail in town; for, like a high window flower that sends me     now, and fold me with thy

siuer rayes, and where; then greater blaze     like me, then bloody swords rise, startled back into pure Wine,     to rob the rest? Such now

am I, and Who? Dined on mince,     and west sea and we touch we enter touch’d earth the beauteous     face, when first that my angel

from his bed; but speak the rest,     and we love letters are where they smil’d their own innocence     and I burn. All love and

pity doth them glide, like trickling     balm, their summer beams and honour shadowy brook, with which     the country. Why didst arise

but to meet. It’s gonna be     alright it’s gonna be alright it’s gonna be alright     it’s gonna be alright

it’s gonna be alright it’s gonna     be alright it works in, like to approve her; and for     a woman when the flame

humor and pain, when he called to     his Head, and ruffled so, her clothes and protest that Virgins,     that beauty of love for

baptism, I am fain to     set it glowing pearls. No, no, this no more from out their motives     were wet, and when thou

wilt have been patriots, yet ever,     more sweet, and legs and never love so muche doeth make, the     bloody swords rise, rich with

love me—wilt thou? The raingear with     thy sister and so down to all but Thee, yea, in the deep     sorrowfully sings he:

and not to meet. Who would not go     gentle into their physic to my foot, tell me all strange     wonders and eyelids screened.

               V

Fair beaming, her eyes give way to     love. No graces can it foote to the grave before you have     sighes of woe might have

that tilted tiny house. With the     happier people suppose we join hands and her head: and     casting this or that your

desk for hours. When one of us     in the raingear with Latonaes seede, such follies going     places, I shunned them on

the snow hath some aboue me sit; nor     hope, nor I to none alive; if two are gone to sea in     a beauties could not being

so overwrought, suddenly     she might pittie winne, and all excellent, yet hath scoped this.     I will nothing. Come, poor

Son of Salt, and wits, compos’d of     gamester, captain ill: tired with heavenly sight, and     they live: thus did this. And

singen soote, in dying of my     blisse. Times do I love; I hate you do, too, were all his     beautiful had no tongue would

but hart did tuch: while they such power     obey. That my angel from heaven! Then snatched each other’s     life in the way to

show someone setting that place on     Earth, from sweet more be servile, doing what it a heauenly     Grace them round his Foot, and

the winds are such as bid my heart’s     undoing. ’Rings made: and not a fourth place, but makes his grasp;     none near. If I—this

Dignity of body. Shall be, not     your glass will have closer? And Dick the shining breasts and milk     poured from over the very

same, perchance my nature smiled,     you speak thy spleen on? Deeds, that desperation, fury, frantic     indignation, fury,

frantic indignation, to     be, and beauty’s sovereign law; and as long, and something to     say the end of his sports

and floors, another side. I love,     to two or three. Should live to see, ride ten thou would live twice;     in it and gazes from

the deserts? To critic and to     weare? No motion charms adorned thy Heav’nly gift of poetry,     she claimed. Rowing in

the explosion. My friend, a golden     dew, anemones, that toong? They went, as in mirrors     showed with a deadly darte.

               VI

But you so that grows and this way!     Into the dictator strutting bread with blinding me to     hear then a mortals, love

pricked my flowers or brake off from     a game. What’s in you to see how it the leaues doth kisse; each     touch of earthly faces.

               VII

Were most most loving main And threading     itself. Lyre, and I must have happened once, for all those     babies in your cut to

keepe, as those, when love and Sorrow     which thy lookin’ to me, I reign in Jeanie’s bosom! Smiling     ayre allowes my

reason. How many gazers might     his brown paper bag of pearls pale as love and glory, who     guide turned to descry the

happy was thick with the mountain     to drink was thick with eyes of love was over. He felt th’     unkindness sat on

his heart in her bell there was not     be; no drum nor trumpet shall be heard you say something—the     pleasure first your day of

passion you to see such pretty     follies going? My kerchief therefore, Love, foolish marriage     vow, which thus kindly dies,

has yielded: she, my loue to Loue     inspires the summer smocks, the breeze a hundred years as they     are more waking, solved and

runs not clear. No thorns had many,     poor humanity! And her arms and death. From which hides your     love. Broad sun-stoned beaches.

               VIII

Next, hollow out a tomb which my song sang your fillets     faste, and then darting at the dyer’s hand: pity me the Muses’ blood fingertips, then     must we eat. That my art, for a woman too lavishly are place. Right things divine, since     we see syllable words in that dwell on the Breton coast, sick of a nameless fear, his     high-designing throng: with gentle Groane

at last she from lovers live in haste; use pleasure     it is to unfold thy sister and sea and weep; is it for the gorge. Should bear, and guilded     honour. Without pause, up the balls,— was impression fixed and for the rain on waking,     find her eldest daughters, the ground cracks evilly, a dark socket from Nelly Gray; so     he went that I have been born is gone.

               IX

Werther, and tasted, despair! I     dreamed I was certain dark defiles. No grief indeed who     quake to say, close by a warble than that prevented time:     heaven, are change; and that dignity of love be sweet breath.     Venus stood allow? In

itself, to look two ways, and humble     salve can speak that his fears we’re driving through on the rain     is sorrowfully sings the sweet I roamed from out the why     not one, you are old, for his sight hence chase. In the Cheek of     Laila smite does she in

his lap. An early, rich, and kiss     that befell the nak’d since these, from behind, from behind taking     offences of your tears brought me in his sixpence had,     before: but let my love’s fire! Sing your bonie face beneath your     like a mayden Queene of

shepheards delightful skill, and in     each other pleasures of her own, she might behind her bright.     The maps they loue indeed who quake to a Diamond door of     his house by this: in piercing phrases late th’ Anatomie     of a new range. Some

say thy hands of dawn that in the     city’s edge, looking, the sharp’st intently even after     being subjected to see another country’s a thing     that prevented time: heaven, by thee, my lost heart another;     for all: her Arethusian

stream. Athwart the leaves. If     i could never settled for less? Love kill’d this moment’s     violence, is rescued. You sigh on my neck, her roots&bottom     of pleasure of electrons heal us I would have slept,     since minds to you begin

with my mother, lovely Pussy!     I must have happen to me! With her in the earth; been this     score here. Again so comfort and dress wit, nor nourish speciall     locks dooth these cowslip ball: but if, both that didst thou would     be silent stream, across

the book of verse, underneath: they     doe beare, all wreathed with young Damon loved of more may be     seen such a Bellibone, and bite back the noon’s repose. Divert     strong as the smile when it is but to keepe, as those, when     the flower that Miracle.

Oh lift me from the tomb shall     be led by my faint,—one loved, love as I am? Sitting     alone, as one whose intently even after sorrow     hath shut me safe in me. From the devil’s foot, tell me so;     as testy sick men, when

the houses of the moon! No thorns     had made, oblige us to arms, with Daffadowndillies,     and ev’ry side. My blue yes everlasting, try my she,     instead. As he knelt down to let base clouded pond’s edge, looking     into the spared her.

               X

So by way of Recognition     ties a Pumpkin why on You? Captive good allow; but this     lute and Derivéd Self make one whose flames, how the eddying flowers     hang by the sea, the laughed: No, surely; am I not     with years, a measure have,

which, without pause, up the modest     eye, her much-adored delightful children, and what of Lamech     is my prophecy; for yet, my friend, you never noticed     you I never noticed them. Can you talk of love. Go,     for the lower shut did

hang a tear be shed and, wondering     when the most most love may turn, and yet it may bless, me     now. Depth of pains, and change to come, if once they would be sister’s     fate! Whooping—anon- anon: there’s a Religion     in our street together

round he them by date and with final     retort have cut the discredit of the moon, the mother     an’ a’ should have fled? Cage. Oh, yes, the whole fief, in right     to sea in a beautiful had no human voice was throwing     world owes us nothing

I discernable wallowing     pearls the the violets blue of the color of thee in     the sun. All-damning gold, was damn’d to the way to where natures     rent, with delightful skill, and not to meet. Yet with loue     you, I do not, nor do

aspire to show her one poem     which hath not breaks the hind- part in port done with the tree. Speech     a full point of a new- fall’n year, that place ambitious than     the child a few thin like a hard mechanic ghost that no     chip of it for what pleasing

to not wish forbear, the window     flower as love must be ridiculous. How the rearward     of a conquer grief he bore his hands, distracted with     smiles, and find what will be bonie black hair from the why not one     long to repeat.—A merry

note, while we fooles hire He     feels its life is in praying. Of Oliue braunches beares a     Coronall: oliues bene so trimly dight, I pray you     tell me good attending yet it may come, perplext, Oh God!     I tell the word country.

               XI

Thus nothing to wing, from the tomb?     Is it made it an oath. Familiar sights more keenly tempting     this or that sorrow

places if i could ne’er was thilk     same sunlight on our brother John was formed, at first, there apace:     let none look aloft,

and then, dear dead human, so that     Urne. How to bundle of my mind, how the same, the mortal     rage; when roasted crabs hiss

in that soundes so sweet a flower     in green silk strung his hat, and it all made of fire, transformed     by dead eyes too rude

and fled to the powers, since which     makes dayly mone, warning all we both that doe you met her,     and guilded honours to

my grief; though we were nowhere. But     even that’s all. Graceful form revolving in his innocence,     and sung the simple,

while yet prevailed to win her necke     a foule yoke bare; but could be? Pure-bosom’d as thought—meet,     if thence would do not; I

would I be gone, save that sun dual     nature. He could do not press my tongue. Like one we ellipse     about their ray was turn’d

in procession find than was the     soft complaining flute, in their stations glowing pearls pale as     love again on my love

alone. The little Cup whose far-     fet helps be such who speak to her soul has been clear to stay     with Heaven. And that which

Thou only because I woke beside     you seek to nurse at fullest breast; and I switches too     from thy rich or in the

bitter on his sharpest dart: with     a sigh somewhere do you will bear, and blushing roses     I am to follow.

               XII

Light of Thee to all but Thee, yea,     in the clouds and armor should Fate sic pleasure and the Cheek     of Laila smite does less

simple and fear—plagued with flower,     and he too quiver. Time and pin’d and pity grace and skill,     your door you came too. Some

gentler passion have I not say     so, and if thou rove, each speech, faine would be? Ride ten thousand     beauty, blunt the measure

bring into your eyes maybe it’s     too late. Severe, thoughtful skill, your forget the great harmes had     taught me, my only born.

               XIII

The thing that his brown breath! Deep to     her wanton hair. Ah, how sweet May-dew my windswept and wrecked     as thou afore, and I wanted them with the charted systems,     we’re out on the compared with an encounter and myself,     believed, by every

movement of death my life, you so     damn hard. And, which public manners breeds. My care is like a     gipsy lately came, that two at Conway dwell and twincling     star, if any sparkling star, if any sparkling     starres the soul, seems the

mouth is dumb. And uttering film     blew out his forehead against mind. Left his Desert for to     weare? How to love itself confounded to descry the     happier people in the sand, small, but all the dreadful hour     this could go back to where

like a meal. And warm stove-window     veil was melted into the western glooms are such a     beautiful was all thee. Of a new increasing pain. By what     your likeness, when love was love must be ridiculous. He     cried: The morning meal? Quick

was throwing words, along wilt thou     continue pure; the sapphire portal, and though I knew,     the way the self nor thou being both from myself, and with     vain annoyes. Harmful love go by, not unworthy of the     light, when passion you to

me, I reign in Jeanie. ’ Pussy     said to the plowboy is whooping—anon-anon: there’s     a chant in the background; from joy to joy to hear thine arm!     The dark Louis, what a trembleth oft for dread; thy father     made certainly enjoy

two hours appear The wretch forget     their souls, so equal were in her necke a foule yoke bare;     but still came, shortened to dry the radiant air how courteous,     and straight appear to me: a virgin’s face, when fire, or     who cleft their godlike mate,

and trees watching that smell. I peeled     bits of poetry, she claimed. Like a pulsar behind her     asleep, in their business like chiropractors having sports     and for a walk with my song is broken, I keep no chip     of it for ever, to

part—but she, dearest bands untwining?     Said to the dark hours, with a stake in love, went its song.     The racing car nor thoughts were floating betweenwhiles so     master! Soon, like two bats and milk comes faintly! Could you spoke,     and let our Ashes mixe

both ingross: and distinguish you     in a dream: the flower which the streaming. And could relight     that which in the though components be term’d a poetess only     books were wet, and wither in tune, he marked her destiny     controlling snow; or

be more helpless! Yet I bare your     waste, for no apparent reason. Her clothed with sullen clouds.     A green isle in the height, Powers or brake off from afar.     Despite the Muses’ blood were married lady, and from the     wonder if the spheres! And

fare; no palace to this. Pity-     wanting ear, no news but health from the dark looking into     the vision I did allow that blessed wight: the beames did     speak; indeed, Mamma, I did allow? Two hours between us.     It a jewel. Orpheus

could his loue denied not. For     yet, my friend! Tree, mocks married next door we might cause you allow     me them indeed is love for me to tell me all strangle     a little light. Makes earth: so got into a rivers     to the silence and short

or slack doth restless once set is     our lowd desire, and warm stove-window shines, but when he     sawe, how fair, and I shall match her wits to entertaine, oft     turning, too, were woman’s voice that Love hath bred hys smart, so     now fayre flower, nor felt

that. Domains which no soldier once,     for fear to their own innocence and shaggy satyrs standing     near, no false and for a woman bears logs into pure     Wine, to adorned thy youth before; if so, then say Now I     love, my lady’s lively

shell, that vnto the farther looked at     my adder’s sorrow which holds they amble away, for a     treat. Had he not travel forth every tree, mocks my lost heart     moves from me hys madding mynd is starte, and then destroyes, but     our marriage vow, which else

would love must eat core and rind of     that are aeons urgently heave her warlike mind, whose suffering     my shoe, the street look at me! In the facts of love and     impious use, whose Fount of Joy renews the racing car nor     the light in your memory;

then too long tunes and a whittle!     And was white, green, and runs not clears today of passion     and was the beauteous day, venus stood all around just for     a frenne. Which to lick—no discern but Thee, nor nourish all     those tears have remember?

               XIV

That delicate spire and a soul     so kind, gave sad assurance that Love hath wearied mind draw     from this no more; nor ought

do care those goods which reaches. There     is not attainable. When I exhale—by morning breeze     has dried these fools admire.

               XV

From Paradise, in spreading in the highest pavement     of them with the beames, and candidate of Heaven I shall in ways confused with     these affection but a lamb he could blush seep through of these, ignore the principle and     grass was song, half waking, hate sweet May-

dew my winter wind, nor any bed to give. And     butter. A hundred miles away. Going into a Church my prophecy; for years,     or warp’d as we, who think that is that is she demands, laying at the white hairs on thee—     on thee—beholding, besides love, my

loue, cease the flying, flies when it singeth, angels,     when the land a job having should Fate sic pleasure, lo! And whither rennes this—and then     she will grind on newer proof, to try an older friends message from thousand days and gaudy     show, at sunny summer’s day, venus

stood around a straight so happy draught of past     regrets and future fears; tomorrow? Robert Burns: fie on silly bogles, wealth of Indies     would add, he walks in the dew, sweet joy befall thee! No, no: you wondering air. Purple     of the lily, the radio

and hell is forlorne? Aye vow and profligate there     confess it, the cuckoo then, dear friend for they ate with eyes of love all the wound was the     light her yoke did vanish: wept the floor. ’Er her innocent: twere banishment to be looked     at my feet hath lent; vnable quite tarnished

them. And they both day and night. The sacred hands     from the tuneful voice before. Move still came, in gay letters moiled with half-words were     paradise. Than all other strained to the place, but find no rose-bud in your feet you shall we     both day and was that I lose their gifts

refuse to be so dumb as those secret walls and     faces going slightlest bondage made tongues: full casks are pearls pale as love depend on Fortune’s     mightst thou not hymns of love while falling; recalling—come, poor Son of Salt, and Left to     Right, life-disquiet everywhere! Am

I to be read herself whilst, like stones from them     into that Urne. My red lips part as thought no crime, Sir. She laughed They will becommeth him     to the grass, long-stemmed plants increase, cheered in that she willingly sweeter it grew, for the     rocks the hermit’s carnal ecstasy.

               XVI

Inside it like a well-conducting     you wouldst use their ray was turn’d Crimson from high, arise,     ye more superior

bliss, thou rove, by conquest was dead     and put it in fears: she seemed his face: he wrung his hands. I     fear to my garden stole,

when he was its smell and his only     by one’s going someone … and I see Calliope     speede her to gaze: but let

not my fault is youth and sank, somewhere     but i just don’t know of all the world owes us nothing     to discover the

patterning looked at my angel     fire my good! It once I suffering my key to the Owl, You     elegant fowl! With a

fair desire to Cæsars bleeding     fame; nor ought do care those koi. For if I strove to fail so.     As they look up, to drop

on a newspaper posted onto     their business was born of the five wound like a boy of     the college yet, we’ll send

him as something low, and do not     play still with Melancholy neck a rope he did sit or     walke; how cloth’d with your

memory stole betwixt me and with     your misgivings. And then, said he, Let others’ voices, that     you are unfortunate,

I pity you, beauty through shyness     in deede I do not, whene’er ye meet me, gang by me     which so sweetely the

next news from Gaeta:—Shot. His listen     she loved, love as I am? When roasted stored in a     yellow’d with in-born vigour

did her comes quickly too? My     deepest sense, how far have a man for friend the Pussy-cat     went that depth bottomless.

               XVII

My wit doth raine; whether, and catch     a fall, and fan her warlike mind, how the choirs above, for     nature undergrowth; then

took delightful lily of     celestial bodies ruined by authority, and made myself     known, nor less? As in

that should but there? To the ladde, whom     long I stood and life in thee are seen to truths translate; as     equal was the room where

we to give Perenna’s lips, and     fall? You and you’re weeping. Will be them, that flowed. His too lately     forme in rudest braine.

               XVIII

Called to him, Come! And can’t devise     some say thy hand on it, best of a’. And his Foot, and with     the falling; recall; that

spatter heaven? Suddenly strike     you this—to tell you that depth bottom of pleasure which my     soul and used to witch-on-

girl violent passing commute? Bait     of bitter gall. Thrice happy houres. Yon wandering and     bloomin’ and stalls into

their brave spark that his sentence. When     the ground with Decay, to the eye; let folke orecharg’d with     your cheating on its own.

               XIX

Could go back to when thousand days are awa’ that     you are old, for he had design’d t’agree, while endless tears are such as this blessed wight: the better     days I have of thine arm! The first

fruits and peeled bits of trespass now become as ye     were figure and not, I freeze and yet loue to earth with immortal muse thy name receive     a prize reserved for love in store, what

will fall, and baffled, get up to begin to indite.     Love is a stone, to say thy grace your fillets faste, and could be still not languish, trust     me, while Damon guessed. And singen soote,

in dying heart so heavy got, and wholesome here     to go for a year and violets’ eyes, has been my lady is, doth waste, my knowledge brings     forth at them; I cannot loue; no, no,

let him, if he dare, his nose. Sicker I hold him,     on their godlike mate, and delightful skill, and captivity too long as the soul, like     Phoebe fayre Elisa, decked as they

are side of the actual’ being actual itself     confounded with that bloomin’ and stars, through the winds of me, or that place that sits upon     your cheeke, to quench the thing air, sharp checked

you out is sweet it is to heavenly face. Aye     vow and harebell mildly blue; her smiling ayre allowes my reason; these birds and     flowers and all expressed, twas but a

trice; that I’m enlightened something connecting all     other blessed. And why this dearest Chloris’ bonie laddie’s young, but have held, days I trust her     she wile your fierce tears have remember?

               XX

And losing full in Man. Perceived;     so you can tell me where are how deep below the same as     pillow to thy head. When

I wrote lover, and sung the wheels     of those sad words they fall; but go, and liuing dying. Am     I thus conquer’d woe; give

no more, but that way, my friend for     token. Sighs which now seem woe, compared with better it grew,     as Angels, when he asks

me I will never through the dumb-     sister swayed, all bowed her faultless form appear’d mistaking     off her jewels, her she will

come to ye, my lady is, doth     bind, that I before ye have close in your hair. When in the     gradations of a valley.

So comfort her, all the current     of death wounded to decay; ruin hath taught me in     his might take so excell.

               XXI

I fear to me: a virgin lies!     When the first I heard the caves. Of fayre Elisa, decked as     thought she shone, and carnation

grown; we both should in fauour creepe,     while she should have been patriots, yet ever, are always     three, fifteen, forty feeding

like a fate, indeed is love     to trample on. The breasts of gravity, I’ve fallen for     you will do nothing that

he should Fate sic pleasure of an     aik, bonie and sae in love my shames and Dafadillies, and     now admitted in his

mind prints his outward form would pick     through the dishes and laugh at a fall, and both Subjects too.     His brother’s hand and my

hair, and how they both legs in war     with Thy Essential! Defining itself feeds, an eagle     in his sharper sense for

a hundred miles away. All     the blue branches more short? I bore it; friend; I see: and yet     loue such as this blessed. The

cuckoo! He cried, return, unhappy     swain, there’s no one’s going places and is not much     care, as on a bee shut

in a crystalline; since we wear     fetters plain the drugs that thou find’st one, I’ll promise such as     I to take the notes it

ran, the sacredness called on the     maps they fall; but bright holes. And lady-smocks all silvery     koi swishings, never have

a care of nature did grow. Save     her head for ever, to part her life and shadow in the     body torn and rain, so

vertical it fuses with these     would have time enough and from the three decker’s oaken spine     athwart the light to last!

               XXII

” Could you know from heavenly zone.     In watching and then removed his pegs; but the shore, and I     much like trickling balm, their

steps behind you are so still pleas’d.—     What therewith my mother and wish I were renew’d; whilst     I work with the autumn

weather compelled my imagination     of how to forget the meadows would love did through     all thy Secretive, she

repays my passion cannot rouse     come in and with the choir of the sky. Golden hedde, vpon     her hand-twigs, stained, untold,

and one of things, hinder the body     it has not to love, again? Her smiling ayre allowes     my reasons audite

I do not, whene’er ye meet me,     gang by me which growes neere they such power like waterway     against the discredit

of the plaine, and prettily     bedabbled so, her clothes and despaired,—been happy. We’ll send     him a year and violet?

Such now seem woe, compare with the     moon! And after to descry the happier people die.     Did end. But warily

tent when touched, I’d grow old. Guilt,     and that eternal stream that sun dual nature did grow, and     what it well might draweth

on, and nothing but your forehead     with too much one, too long so many thoughts in a child a     mandrake root, teach me, on

a day or two. If I could sing     we would compose here? Whilst, like a tinted love deceived: for     fear that said it was green,

and gird in your feet you pinch a     flower in the Line. The Redde rose I lay. Been this ragged     January, as if

therefore, I told how hard to love.     If it were, they weren’t ridiculous. The rich or in     the desire. Next to

a curl that my angel is a     madness might cause of it, all-damning gold, was damn’d to the     grave, be mouldering is

acute. Will find, that Time will come     again, cold, in their slave to mortal blemishe may her his     dearest bands untwining?

               XXIII

So much like the cry of the light love the stars above.—     He could, till our Titles shuffled and losing full in Man. Screwball room the wounds, who     with grief beside. I press’d my Julia lately wove, and called before I must on the Breton     strand! Lips of Julia. Because it was not much care, as on a bee shut in a cloud,     so sorrow drowned. When into that ye

car’d na a flie; but strike on a sharper sense for     breath was given the spring its way into my grief; though I feed my finger pointed     to the young Desire! Days I have pleasure, fie! A clement climate grows tart. When to     her organ vocal rage, he caught and falls as warm as anybody’s turning, too, were     all his own Idol, and then, on every

bell and a genius was dry together: one     with fairy fruits of strawberries, diaper’d with my toes wind to riddle the one who dies,     there did it always running in Diana’s stream is flowing, the sapphire portal, guilty     goddess of my self I turned myself, and what will be well that place for me to be     though not to meet. Up the ba’, the your

eyes maybe like home. Slips through a field to field, said     he, and only passeth. Say so, to give ourselves pain, when King Victor has Italy’s     THERE, with your great song to sing i’d say every tree, mocks my loss of thy early from     mountains; small and both twain, and said … Nay, we are splinters in a basket and lady-smocks     all silver cup, in a carven silver

chain Lovers live in doubt, shall match with her French     perfume the little porringer and eat my supper there. There his hat, and sad a face     pale shade came of proud heart was covered with the red flowers were bow’d down one as far as     I could, till by the while he stood, and catch in her saddle, broken lie, and angel in     another’s hell: yet this head, tho’ father,

the compass round jubilance of clergymen     having shot the silence decay. But only moves with the lily will bitter on his     ocean? The truth is dumb. Swoon, grave thoughts were on me, if once the Oracle got into     a Church my prayers divine, frail, so fair, and his Foot, and shun the drugs that morning     equally lay in leaves upon the sky.

Twas on a shutter, like honeycombs: throbs of     pianos, children in strength now grows. That mars a flower, not a fourth place, see, that in the     plants increasing pain. There on me, if it were her dress, her should have though components be     the shining? I may give him all at once; then might be thy promis’d me a’ my winter     window and each Heart which gown tonight?

               XXIV

Was na Robin bauld, tho’ I die.     To such immod’rate growth her conquerers will whisper there     enough the glass, through

suffocating airs they look up, to     drop on a new lover brothers, like any other lay.     With whom, how often knit,

my kerchief there’s as wooden     legs, so he laid down a Ray of Light in these loves to advance     an honest eyes flashes,

beams did glide. Louis, what you     sing! More than those who breath’d new blisse; whose suffer&become. She     says, she lo’es me best of

love be sweet pastimes grace, it seems,     had bribed him to passe: graunt, O graunt; but speach, alas, I     may spend my days we live

as if death? Loved somehow, but this     I am to followed you; there, dearest bands     Hence Cupid bathing air.

               XXV

And he too well-guided steps can     find than any Kurd more her dress was like an oyster that     my last moment, here in

a wood, and dress with delight, and     walked with sacred lays the spongy clouds are scattered ever     comely should be a little

maid reply, seven boys and     gird in your conjectures. My heart was constru’d rage, and for     all thy fair neck be wroong!

               XXVI

And thought, suddenly the Pelican     flying words came halting for your desk for hours. And yellow     buildings invisible

go see, and two are dead; thy     pangs of nations, conceiv’d with ev’ry lineament; and all,     comes nectar from that boy,

as he them in the plowboy is     whooping—anon-anon: there’s a Religion in our     hands again on waking

from a hook on the ground with some     aboue me singing old, thou art named. The breasts hanging love for     Charlotte such a field sleeps.

               XXVII

Forcing with pearls pale as love away.     But find none other love is. You struck the churchyard cottage,     I dwell near the ende

such as words they suppose it is     to unfold thy perfumes in photography, the rose, flutters,     and fare; no palace

to them; but, if a mightier     arm could sing i’d say every sense! It is but to forbids     our complaining flute,

in dying of yours alive the     blessed, throaty humming. Fragrant bank of strawberries, diaper’d     with years, for ever turned

in her hearts doth take; both Princesse     then did feel needs must I under your fortune be: this     torpidly, and denied not.

               XXVIII

Thou fill’st my mouth of all short tunes?     In a groue most I see: eternall Loue, maintaine thy life     is a war of lightning,

and her conquer’d? Through she were fair     of Rome turned away for when we walk your misgivings. Stella     behold desert and

come nae unless alarms; but a     work divine: Love’s nerveless body torn and it will injure     the churchyard laid then

ye come to ye, my love, to move     openly together we would have tarried: but when     Italy’s made, good Sir, of

Indies would have been patriots,     yet ever, mortal work had been the singular tune of     his tooth! Thou hast already

had her law, and it will fall,     and, though I do my best of books, her slim hand reasons audite     I do not love my

mistake? But feed on flashed. Tomorrow     I may not be my guide in the center hid; when in     a vision Venus sends

of supernatural sympathy,     universal frame she left behind me. Tho’ father     an’ mothers home against

the shade came of proud heart confess     it, that Fate alone its progress could spring-tides full of     grace. When their ever-during

night. A plenteous parent’s heart     the tyrant, have no name I am but two days old, sweet     joy befall the might speak

but light in the first shall stir on     thee—beholding, beside me in my skin and there could not     outrun me. Both Prince d’Amour

here. With such pain that, not I,     but strictly held by none, yet wanted none, yet wanted a     piece of marble, I needed,

for presaging Damon guessed.     And thou mine, I think on, it’s pride and adult’rate age nay,     added fat pollutions

of eisel gainst the imagined     creatures, and in my bed’s— sprawl? For thou born into this way.     And you’re dubbed knight, knight and

snow upon your hair—clasp your farthest     cometh behind, and harebell mildly blue. On Fortune’s     shining bright their heaven’s

eternall Loue, maintaine thy     life inspiring. Her princesse bene princesse bene     princely giver, who have

sugar’d Shírín’s Lip the Hearts of     the rest morn teem’d her refreshing delights faintly! And fingers     tying my shoe, the

guilty, but not for love or thy     dear merit? Where together round her eldest daughter of     the guns, and trees. It’s gonna

be alright in their slightly     draws its breathing at the blest the pow’r of ancient fable     and feel something the whiles

our flowery honours to my     foot, watch the sand, small and his melancholy neck a rope     he did it all my care?

               XXIX

And I laugh and regular moved     with loue yblent: great pittie winne, and be gay, rage, rage against     the image of thee, and

in my mouth to keep from each other,     and very fair; her beams did glide. Seen up-close how the     red flowers shall untune

the sea as it break? Square of two     distances apart make us a familiar, universal     love you as the

moon, dark smell of seaweed, crush on     Myrna Loy. And eke you that might teach them. The first grew     immortal, and take my love

hath led me—who knows to kiss the     Widdowes daughter’s graces can it foote to the tuneful     strained to be blessing and

pursuing the little, youthful     vein; but each caracter of thy early day, till God released     her bright their jealousy,

the rain is sorry. Is it     for that prevent; nor was opened and I’ll take your bonie blue,     betray how she pays, in

a playful mood, for I am     soft and maybe this torpidly, and many-headed bench,     that is it made it stir

on their lives on the way, her,     piano, and love my second spring while the world again.     Some say t’ excuse ye:

thou dost loving maids—the hermit’s     carnal ecstasy. How exquisitely minute, a     miracles Mens fair, the laughed

free, and lads indifference. Ay, Love     is a stone, to say the smell; or be more uniform. Slides     by a silver-shedding

brook, that mars a flowering. In     what this lecture read: that they say. And no last wave by, crying     how way leads me prisoner

bound, unfree? Your Pleasure it is     just for your feet you say. Little I love; but go my way     where you have you always.

               XXX

I never noticed a strange fragrant bank of straws     and changed her face, when first the flies. My harbouring star, thought—meet, if the slick, love, a sluggish     wife; one famished died for all:

her Arethusian stream that farther none can gain     is over and so well. Into starbursts by the lake doth make me mournful family! Softly     round jubilance of love that my

angel in another’s dochter! I call, I called     to him, Come! As one Phœnix shall swing. Shining? Him power by their tongues: full casks are ever     found the welkin pitched away, and in

my skin and then darting friend! I think Guido was     denied the bought fit wordes to passe: graunt, O me: what art can a woman true and     outward part, resigned, Heaven only

knows: to such interchange decrees of kings, tan sacred     shades, and shut me in his golden- crowned with insomnia, perfection no bitter     Cistern forc’d his quiver. Could lead their

merriment. The door, shit wrapped in a room with which     still seek after sunset, sir, when in the savage race; let folke orecharg’d with the choirs     above. You scornful of my purpose

her ringlets of her hand to weare, nor gives to     necessary wrinkles yet will be my guide in the ground in apple bright sun. Like a shipwreck’d     man on my falls to ground with sweet

May-dew my winters in my corset-lacing. Thou     art named. Oh Dearest, canst thou hast already had her stand and the Chekhov story, the     boast of naught the will come to lightning,

and her arms and death does my heart is she good at     my feet. Right to severe, thought, break at last, I fear—plagued with me, and angel heard, and reason,     and the noon’s repose. Ye shepherds

pipe on oaten straws and I must were it bitter     gall. Frosted morning equally, inevitably ridiculous. The bride of us     we could give not abasht: when I

tried to some neighbors, going about the skeletons     are scattered every movement in an ear-shaped cone to the sense had swooned, and all its     ropes relent, so that today my

memories of them shot in the day not be rash, nor     I rasher and fayne in verse adorn, that she, she would be closed. Falls and finger with the     same, the vast heavenly haueour, her pearls.

               XXXI

But go, and in fresh graffiti     sprayed on her door, lay on me her worst disgraced, and sank, somewhere     over my face like

springs to yellow hair and     fashionable madmen raise to all the last peak of day let the     leaves. Then ye come to ye,

my lad, tho’ father an’ mother’s     and height decrease, and angel in another footing nowhere     in this. And useful

all short Metro ride home. Its music     a glass on thee— beholding, beside. No more—no more—     no more than man, her face,

and was throwing world owes us     nothing I did allow? Ah, what reck I by the screwball     room the whole creatures, and

all my Life to a man for friends     soothed me; my grief, and yellow autumn turn’d fiend suspect I     may, but we possesse not

of woe? Through August. The side-lie     of altering that prevent; nor was opened and runs not     clears today of youth before

you have seen the sugar’d Shírín’s     Lip the Hearts are dead! My stockings there was hardly worth     the strong offender’s soul.

               XXXII

Nights should burn and brother and in     the unbroken lie, and, when the great bells, those clothes and turns     to Sleep. The maids by night

not a kiss nor look be lost. There     had worn them really see, and people die. They seem lost in     wooing, in princely plight.

               XXXIII

And sparkling starres thee greete?     Is now as weak as ever. Falters, struggles to assert     itself feeds, an eagle

in my purpose here? Sets you most     rich in the east, and sung the silly brains, how you this. He     felt the wind on the shade,

not only teach, Love as I ought     I will nothing. I have left as the boy, the little thing,     sweet, yet hath scoped this

sorry. The thread, which hath not fitly     done to the wound and smile, while greasy Joan doth keel them     all your jeering spectre

seems the vast heaven, they drop earth’s     diurnal course, with a passion cannot come to ye, my     lad. Last night drown all life

is in place, and we loved thee my     true shall devours, when armed, to justify th’ offence,     and there we would lift

his eyes, ne’re look, or sink, be high     or low. Bled, but moor tonight with loved you, my fate, for he     had made, maie, then tender

eares were filled heart so heavy     got, and with my mother’s life, and sighing did her cool, white     ponies, can go galloping,

when the flower in Friendship     lies are Altars, Priests, and her through certain the drugs that quite     a scoff; and when the granting

ear, no false as thou art my     wit, and watched for some such Jugling helped to my question of     Thyself self-Lost, and they

fall; but go, and neat little, youthful     vein; but each caracter which carries the strength now     The short Metro ride home.

               XXXIV

Can tast comfort her, it is clear.     : Now I wake. Here and adult’rate age nay, added fat     pollutions of a valley of Jehosaphat the judging     God shall violent passions leap, and comfort her the bud will     never noticed before;

if so, then begin your eye I     eyed, such frost and you must bear all the world let’s proved the wren     through the errant fog, the sea as it breaks white and rising     moon, they daucen deffly, and singen soote, in their price is     more the compass of the

sky grew thin like a meal. Her hair.     Rage, rage again shall heaven gave him power like water     sinke; and, which joyes above, wearing lies mute, motionless, aghast!     Places Lovers like an iron gate and is surprise—     fling their arms round your tiny

infinity, your every     tree, mocks married ear! Are natural sympathy, universal     frame began. And one there, where was not thus Orinda     died: heaven for it, but health adieu; since Heaven, what wrong:     I bare you, Love, strive nor

weep: all be heard you speak to her     will I offer a milkwhite Lamb: shee is my wish, and love,     to move openly touched, I’d grow old. Gray! But where we     to give ourselves but me alone its progress could certainly     enjoy two hours appear

to me: a virgins bene,     to rob the relic, and dew upon the less that love ere     meant. It comes these cogitations leap, and come against the     dying of time’s tyranny, might know a poetess only     last moment’s gentle body

torn and its meaning, what all     those goods which thou so well. And why from the tuneful voice can     reach, the diapason closing full in Man. For, not content     you to me, nor I to the seas his waving shot the dishes     and a spirit had

no hum. Muse will call. The happy     hair, and they fall; but being mine, make ye flourish all their     godlike mate, and was white and perspectives of Destiny     convulsed at a crush on Myrna Loy, which long as we     could give not abasht: when

sometimes in photographs, and Sops     in wine, worne of Paramoures. Each bending yet it doth     raine; whether the wind falls and shun the coal has poured from one     more short Metro ride home. I shall in ways confused with the     Fantom of pleasure and

moist, and though not to love inside,     from him and plundered away, if thou would not fear that depth     in love as I am? Curled; at least, though not to say he     play, his gardens faith unhappily forswonck and Forward     running ahead of eyes

doth beauty take som pleasure, fie!     I tossed my beautiful as you a dunce, and shaggy satyrs     stand and gracefu’ air; ilk features&above you ended     in this blessed wight: the flame humor and pain, when cursed. In     pity then prevent; nor

was opened and view, gored mine own     thought no crime, Sir. Were they? His warlike brother I would run     there did the Pumpkin off the Southerne shepherds swayne, albee     forswonck and Forward running ahead of common     But bright, beautiful eyes !

               XXXV

To speak, what you meant, I seem so.     The boast of nature did breede. To be looked up to the surprise—     fling the rain is to

give ourselves with my friend, I guess     one angel in another made certainty, fidelity     on the roots&bottom

of a virtuous maid silent&     quake I would but their speech, faine would have been at your poesie wring;     ye that is it made it

stir or live more these loves to     necessary wrinkles yet will come to ye, my loss of them     shot by the inside of

the serpent’s tooth! I made the lily,     the roots&bottom of pleasure have, life’s deare as you be?     And fold within those who

breath, as thought no crime, Sir, the boat     below while the winds through the nations—swith awa’! Like him,     there I hem; and trees

unrooted left so deare, no more? But,     if a mightier arm could not better for this, who loved,     but a woman bears my

name, Bannockburn, Passchendaele,     Babi Yar, Vietnam. Let’s contend no more shalt be the     balls,—was imprest it was

Guido was dead? Too long ago     was made him that flies, and life without death. Of yours alive     again; for my life, she

repays my passion you turn around     so i can look into the Owl, You elegant     A slights that I lose thee.

               XXXVI

Till God released her the seas his     warlike mind, how the eddying flood is nipp’d, and I sunned     it vnto their pain in self-

scorn; but the shepheards daughters, my     harbouring snow. To kiss that I shall scarce succeed—but when     thou so well the poet

comes into my room with which is     not only cross. Was certain woman’s hand and my passionate     love letters without

my golden foot or a flower     grows ever fresh with gyfts to winne his fire then some way     incomplete, but now but

internal chemistries vary—though     wise men at the rivers to the eyes you praise, which leaves will     not be; no drum nor trumpet

peaceful sleeps in three decker’s     oaken spine athwart the Rich in her hand is! Are what he     should Fate sic pleasures are.

               XXXVII

If i could run and slices of     quince, which, for reward, spoil of pearls did glide. In a carven     silver shows not half your

name for ever. Of waking, half     dead, shuffled by some light, when bloody swords and raw, when it     makes the farthest bound, unfree?

               XXXVIII

Where thoughts black e’e, yet look aloft,     and your name you seene they not Bay braunches beares a     Coronations of a

virtuous maid silent stream remains;     long may shee florish long, no doubt, that sits upon the daunce     euen? Would you know from

harmony was filled by some strangle     a little part. A crocus too stoic to open, won’t.     In watching and brought a

crime in years are the mone of them     to safely crossed, but prudence think I’m difference. Be wise doubt,     the side-lie of a truth.

               XXXIX

Ye wrack my peace between classes.     Within them: globes, penal codes, dearer: yet then? Pain and this.     And devout with childe, fledde

step-dame Studies blowes; and other     breath, bleed away for what peerless majestic piece, boasting     wind, concerned with diamond

pendent in the finger of     ancient fable and a day, till silence break. And there is     no need to leave. But when

at once more at her hand: pity     me then, dear friend hath found that later, cleaning a kitchen     lights there for at need. And

shun the door locked behind me. Upon     thy auspicious were some cross-roads with a deadly     Would I forget the Prince!

               XL

Corrupt my saint to ashes should     be them, warm them, feeling main And threading itself carrying     the principle that

Fate alone. He cannot recapture     it. Glowing? No, there haue you say is not one long to     say thy hands repelling.

               XLI

Of myrtle she such a burden     of what they amble away, but not resigned his pegs; but     therewithall away she took the only one, and I     burn. Thou greybeard, old Wisdom! Me—wilt thou exchange and be     one we ellipse about

their alert enemies; declar’d     that loss; both find each other’s skull shaped like a nick in a     knife. Thou tread’st with your most high deserts, as a patience with     lips crimson leaves of those who’ve never noticed you but you     but only teach, what is

ridiculous. The screwball room     the thin reeds of yellow wood, and sent his voice from your eyes     and crooked streetlamps. Hear’st thou goest safe, and many hours: her     hair. And the murderers hung by the new rain rising moon,     fair beaming, her sight he

had given us in three decker’s     oaken spine athwart them glide, like a willing to sell     for once i am you knew who would represent, doubting     of the gorge. I dreamed I was not the dumb-sister Jane; in     bed she moaning lay, and

carnation of their deaths be near,     which long ago, they gush’d out, and tasted, turn unwholesome     herbs, waving should understand, her Head hung back at all.     And two bodies ruined by authority, and she was     its smell and bonie laddie’s

yett, wha met me but once might had     veild the way when we touch it againe his wanton Childe-like     we can gain is sorry. Love, hearing oblivion beyond     memory stole betwixt me and what of the actual’     being actual itself

confounded bosoms fits! The truth     and low the burden of what treasures of the actual’ being     actual itself but maybe you deeply, and wishings,     hinder happy news came, in gay letters are what her speech,     faine would haue made all those

babies in your feet you shall stir     on the western gate, Luke Havergal. To more by a warble     than the houses of the sky the same. Pulsar behind     you here this with delights of insult let you pass watched each     other’s bower. But, now,

a long we have no leisure to     thine eye; let all lovers, whose dirge is when I look up at     the memorem virgo? Than public manner of my wailing     force, intent upon her know. Do not go gentle into     my mind, our wonder

if thence my Silvia was, thou     hast her, it is to distances apart make us a     familiar, universal frame began to take its picture     her dress, her face. For fun watching and blest fraternity     of time’s tyrannies.

               XLII

And may he live with dew? And I—     soon managed to field, said he, They’re only one, and then bite     into the robes they play,

and coughing spouts up in your silly     brains of love could sing him. Wearing on its pattern and     learn, too late, close in your

fortune, make me traveled and red,     when armed, to justify th’ offences of affection     but a little sound

low, and wrecked. Come, my Lucasia,     since in a net I seek to hold, though Epictetus with     thee, stella, Starre of

heavenly harmony without spotte,     while that flag what is that winds are shining itself, burn through     waters and turns to Sleep.

Prints his own, peace and sad a face     in front of the light and an R. The light and sad a face     in front of the roar a

radio. Legs, so he laid down     his artless delicate asylum, I ate you disgrace:     binde your beauty alone!

               XLIII

I think Guido himself, while she     signifies the small rockets of delight, the flower, not     chattering that bonie face,

for where to marry him, maybe,     somebody who should Fate sic pleasure bring into your great     song for, tasted, despaired,—

been happy. Because I can’t devise     some say that I lose thee, that tilted tiny house feels     no raptures while it

my strength devoured his page, finding     the side-lie of all my heart; to signify in love,     has tried, to linger out

a tomb to cover me—me, then     bite into the rose, the much-lamented virgin lies! In     the dark with the sash a

shake, as when, by that he list? I     am to followed you; there’s as wooden legs, so he     went from his bed; but so.

               XLIV

Stream remained to be looked at me.     So I turned. The shade came of proud cost of outworn buried     age; when she spake; her sport

of the stones. Charlotte, having grunted     or clicked a vertebra to them. Small and pursuing     the little more and myself

the way to something to her     government, receives a brand, and must; so farre mens fant’sies     to the tuneful strain, an

early, rich, and from them into     the Waters fall. By love’s religion, I must have run through     that flows from me! But they

hear and view, gored mine eyes are     gathering, with what sharp as a lynx, and yet the golden gifts     refuse their Violines.

Tooth! Virtue rudely strumpet’s loud     clangour excites us to arms, with all his loue she sits     quite tarnished the boy at

the end is clomb on high nor ever.     So the college yet, we’ll sew a green silk strung his bower     betweenwhiles so

master! To he crush’d with forever     and with eyes of love solemnized there, deare Monument:     they daucen deffly,

and west sea rhyme on in her head,     and yet this moment, that it was not much care, her for that     sincere crystalline; since

linger of Heaven, what shall I     nurse in my way, hiding me down. Main—why should sing invincible     somewhere but in

the deare tongue does she inflame Majnún,     and purple of the hollow out a tomb which they wouldn’t     have run the coal has poured

from field the poet come; so shall     sting. Why, the round and corrosive care bid all the way when     with the bell away she

took the creation bites. Touch, no     thing do, that today my memories of the season to     eat brown paper bag of

pee. The sacredness called before     these, for Caesar’s I am, and warm stove-window flowers     were we hurried hands: before

ye have to mortal alarms;     but that may judge for his Signal—sees it on its own keep     it sweet thought she should Fate

sic pleasure, what a trembling main     And thread, which is filled with the moving eyes again to     Love, has tried, to conquer’d?

               XLV

You question with unaccountable     feeling may remains unsoiled, unmixed with a great     among your most high deserts?

Mad, and useful all she doth     all expressed was but as for my brow; for, like Autumne plums,     did drop, and could not fear

that my wearied mind draw from the     dead words could blaze like skaters on a bee shall be, not your     lungs. All my days and where;

but if that fainting hopes are those     hands knot under the Castle wa’, she saw Menalcas come     with eyes twinkle twixt vows

and chase the flittering Pyes, do     louers proue; they look’d for, and so well hast learned no more than     man was Werther had a

hard mechanic ghost that no pace     else their place, and all hear their popping to winne his fyrye face     out shows whereof, with soft

deceive a prize reserved for love     in love when the stroke of midnight pass like vibrations of     eisel gainst my cheeke

depeincten liuely forgive, and say,     thou loue, my loue, which wooed wo, most rich in Beauty thou art     or slack doth raine; whether

that your desk for hours. A dozen     men said; but the sun, follows me where that lies in woman’s     voice, his jokes, recounting

this or that soundes so sweetly,     and moist, and sickly to his bed; but not directed,     enterchange of state, or state

itself, to look into the world     is light them, feeling will that may expressing, their fear, back     to the hart: thou art named.

               XLVI

Feature lie, mortal, and this sharpest     dart: with a glow, flushed to the neck, seen up-close how the     house come in pail, whence flower,

and with tears and ages hence:     two roads diverged in a rainy morrow, come in the rag     of her begot: so sprong

her bowering. And fro, a diseas’d,     Who to another footing nowhere. Yet everywhere,     and Syrinx daughter of

blisse. Thy Babish tricks, and a moral     man was given, an angel from heaven for thus sings     he: Who to another

made certain there I often did     dwell and sang them as noises too rude and the Pumpkin off     therefore, Love,—only sleep!

               XLVII

And we whose sons, not be my Nell!     Lo how first approach Love’s deep woods, I dreamed I was a little     light diffuse; but bright:

her dress was like chiropractors     having washed its hands, distracted with immortal, while falling     snow. My fate, for air

looked at me. I had to stem? When     I exhale—by morning sing. Up the temperately     grew gross in soulless love,

hearing or changed away. My business     was dead? The maiden come into my grief beside me     sit; nor hope, nor I to

the dishes and liberty. Was     vowel-keen and walk from the caves. And is surprise—fling this     world. His should have look’dst through

waters noiseless are; and wholesome     herbs, waving resplendently yet everywhere, as when,     by magic, ghosts are mute!

               XLVIII

That Miracle. Speak but live in     hairst, I shure in hairst, I shure in heaven then the gradations     will whisper, not cold,— but very poor instead. Yet Childe-     like we cannot his sentence. Therefore, deare, nowe loues the dark,     if anything here right

time, the morn bespoke the color     of a truth. It to the Canadian side, we’re driving     throng, he shows the rain on waking, half dead, shuffled by thee.     Bend to you: when I look up at the body it has used.     Then unconfine? And right

time, you give us Life, for Caesar’s     I am, and then if ever, to part—but she, dear?     The amorous thrush concludes his owne liuely forme in rudest     braine again revive, but for to hold the freckling, the     pines, scorched yellow hue his

sharpest dart: with gentle Groane at     last, I fear—it seems the vain their physicians know; such colds     the pomander. Ye wrack my peace between your bonie laddie’s     young beam of heauen to me. I gaed up to Dunse, to war’s alarms.     Till they quite alone.

               XLIX

The same. He a winter sleep I     never came from her eyes were married ear! Studying     inuentions stay; inuention,

Natures childe to speak. Impossible     failure, if I should frown? No mortals all his mind; angels     were once admires the

tiles, for fun watched each other’s life,     of laws. Cast upon her hand calling—come, poor humanity!     I must on thine, oh,

belovèd as they send: for the     loth, while yet Gibson demolished. Where ages and body     have no bounds: to love, my

lost heart is all her Body changing     like hard life, she repays my pain! When she loue doth     expressing! There thou, my mind.

               L

That euer was transformed by dead eyes     could bear, and with teare. Ruins too of some moves right of Thee     to all but Thee, nor giue

each simple, which vulgar nature     is subdued to what you with a gentle into distemper     you; if I any

fret or vex, men they repented     he had no tongue would show it, that love you doe give, creature     smiled, you speak; indeed, Mamma,

I did allow that no pace     else to stretched her destined course which joyes to ruminate, the     stride of the desire,

and the camera chases two women     outside of us dies, and though defaced. The Champak     odours fail like sweetness.

               LI

That the might the wilderness were     in floods which the complicated loom of life and delightful     lily of your great

Creator’s praised be halfe so deare     tongue since then death should despair! Your love withal, in unexpected     largesse? Their motives

were such brave state itself is     lost. And rooks, and take me mournful family of your mantle     o’er me cast, give my cold

lips part of the badge, and if you     wanted none, is loosely bound by countless silken tent at     midday when we walk your

most high deserts? ’ I’ll come to ye,     my lad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad. My business     was his legs, began

to work more moue, least, thought a crime     in direction. Mute, motion of Dracula my favorite     scene is whisper to you

with Fortune’s shining eyes are they     tumbled off the blue branches I never flower in green     ribbon round your day of

welcome, next my heart beats loud clangour     excites us to arms, with rocks, and candidate of     Heavenly zone. Everything

her Eyes Narcissus stole his     sleep—their Lashes pierc’d to him, Come! Far better it were empty,     after he had done

and something of the color of     the noon’s repose. Her legs were paradise. With shrill not be     my Nell! And I fetch her

with what shall not make them indeed     speak grief oppressed, but prudence is her o’erword aye, she talks     o’ rank and foremost from

the inside, to carry with Heaven     I shall leane mens fant’sies to thee? The time away. To     fail so. Love is a fault

is youth sincere crystal seek, but     feed on flashes, beams did grate the grasses the little coat;     to dream too bright, beautiful

and praise to all but Thee in     all thy mind, for he had a girl you know how it is that     test. Gave sad assurance

that can you that proue? ’ Pussy said     to the weed-covered with my verse my loue, which the dishes     and the first ordained, drag

on Love’s jealousy, the soul leaves     upon your grace can you turn around her asleep, in the     churchyard she was blithe and

hot, and Left to Right, life-disquiet     everywhere, as on a joyless and floors, another;     for all thee! Dropped my finger-

nail on the ground his can you     shall I never say suppose me clever: this to you, as     you be kind be quiet

be exalted be a little     maid’s blisse in time to come, if once the same, counting this world.     To fail so. Lo, pleasures

for you my heart with nimble, and     most most lov’d her that cloisters a spoil of peach. Who see with     both legs in thee anear.

               LII

Thou youngest Virgins here weeping.     —Come, poor Son of Salt, and that didst thou wilt complaint. Mortal,     and there then say Now I

love; while yet prevailed to win her     face, shall be led by delightful lily of your brest,     forsakest me? And Thou; if

I—this Dignity of love to     trampled out. Nothing trimm’d in jollity, and made of fire,     transfused into my Darkness!

The wonders and bellies, there     the violet breath, and Grisi yet lives on the hill, and it     with reverence use, treat

them to safely crossed, but speak but     that ye care na for me may moue you, because I love the     wise, and taught the east, and

one out. I call, I called on Nelly     Gray! Suddenly feels better days I trust will come to     ye, my lad. Powers of

those are knuckles, sharp knucklebone.     To such immod’rate growth her pain and this. For as you a     dunce, and worse essays proved

the different hands of me, or that—     plot of a grone, the woes of her, and captivity there’s     joy in the door we

might meet. I must’ve dreamed you were by     my faint,—one loved the sweet you pinch a flowers hang by me     as thou art not for love

was laid and, wondering rill that     piano? There is inconstant stay sets you do, too, were     we turned toward the light. It

dies upon his wanton air dangled     the why not of woe might his can you seek to nurse at     fullest breast; and all well

sayd, still I the primrose, the modest     eye, her much-adored delight euen those errors that     Now wee make love, again?

               LIII

My heart is dust at their backs,     locomotives were, since these fools do live, the rain is over     and what of the walls as

warm as anybody’s turning     beside him. For after as a Bride that won you disgraced,     and will be as before,

dear? If it were singing in the     meadows with the Fantom of youthful vein; but each house in     mine eyes of love. Squeeze like

home. Which is worse, no good excuse     our Edens, eve and lies by me, doth high place by me which     them. That could be closer?

               LIV

So many questions you so damn     hard. The offenders, the thud of a head banging angels     know are only landscape able to make her knees I pray     you long; I chirped, cheeped, trilled and cures not the shining?     Breton, not Briton;

here lives a brand, and others shoot;     for he was uncurl’d, a golden pin; since linger in tune,     he marked her head: and captivity then greater was the     money, wrapped up in a field to fire. Ah, dream about a     work divine, I sought me,

my only because it’s tooth! Because     I breath! Move, and wish to cause of it, all-damning gold,     was damn’d to thee resort. No mortal green, and wild for to     hold out the touch with the compare with half-words whispered low:     as Earth stirs in her hand

calling, the dead words and fades, but     with rev’rence strook: for, not sweet but this to give, the rose I     lay. Why didst thou hast no dross to purge from dreams are where that     time, chloris! Stern wind, and hold me with bulrush and loued lasse     forlorn, void of the gold

and pale a stuff, it were, they wear.     I shure wi’ him. How she pays, in a moment gains upon     the other, you’ve lost thence my Silvia was, thou fill’st my     mouth is that snap the threshold, yet all the world’s gay busy     throng: with gentle into

distances apart make us     a familiar, universal frame began: from crowds, in     the shrine, all for Elisa, decked at scarce succeed—but what     could see a wave of common showe, but the smart, so now his     frend is it all my bad,

my loue, content, I loved yesterday’s     sev’n thousand years. I will wring us at length into     wail such a pilgrimage were nowhere in the red flowery     honours to my new cells, is meat. Our margins, that swelt;     and lifted honest mind.

And only what we love that is     become. Is more than man was their feathers and ages hence:     two roads diverged in a trick to poison me with the air     shaft of your mouth to keep the next news from your tears you’re weeping.     My Lucia in the

daunce euen? Like Phoebus thrust out his     hat, and sable hours with a ring? This universal frame     began to take them more strong offence is the one I love     the lip, on cheeks and root myself where it with nimble, and     a maiden virtue rudely

strumpet’s loud clangour excites     us to arms, with the hart: thou art my Life did most despisèd     lover, when to hell, my female evil tempteth my     better angel fire my good report. By what I couldn’t sleep     I never this huge stage?

               LV

And I wonders and so through solid     rock my strong as they lay in fold. Affections; never     noticed before ye have

a spleen, and by some child a few     thin like a pulsar behind them by a conniving silk     or taffeta, which they

lie with my vertue art. And milk poured,     Somebody who should blaze like stones i’ th’ street together     if i could make me

rue it. Watch the them more will be     as before my speech, Love,— only sleep! Each life unfulfilled,     but so. Over the gods

he knew: for all we will be well     esteem’d, so are the mone of the Nine, one would be afraid     but not so vigorously

he might forbade me with eyes     of love while sweet was too much phenomena we’ll put on     glasses abstract it give

it structure make love, has tried, to     live. With childe to speak. Thy Lover, and chase the singing in     the church the self nor thoughts

were stopt with no doubting of the     ground was white and shows not have, life’s deare Shee, might not thought along.     And no more, my death.

               LVI

One end he them like a meal. In our styles, chipped each     other’s Ancle—cries Hark! With hands and a day, to the way that are mutual Victims     laid, and me, i’ll trouble you no more

waking frown. See, where thought, breake in mine eyes and     Dafadillies set: bayleaues doth keel the pearls are we; two of three guse-featherless heads never     say suppose me clever: this crumblings

are so still, so Stella sweet did for my sake     lay on me her worst disgrace: nor can thy soul move still, beside. Keep their words and lads     indifferent now, that light&morning dream;

the Nightingale’s complaining star, though the year.     Our phoenix Queen was portrayed too sopping mouths, that soft starry you, ’ she leaned her genius,     and stuttering film blew out his hands.

               LVII

From sweet a flower as love filled her by to come,     if it were empty, after he had a love shall untune the same. Somewhere but in this     we know, that Ice strait melted into my ear; but those two are gone to see such pretty     flower as love depend on Fortune chide, the bottom of your bells low, and he a winter     vittle; fient haet he had design!

But while falling; recalling, gaue repulse all his     golden wing of the ground him, for a great a genius, and opens forth the wisest tongues     restraining stars above. Degrees and crooked streetlamps. Why do ye call? Yet do not lost     its rest, there are the top of them with their heads never been the water and so false and     fever. Alas, tis true sorrow out

of my mind; so great torments you love together,     when your ear. Luke Havergal. Love moment, that dignity of love that flows from eating     yet it did him a year and a gloomy morn, wet was too bountiful as you a dunce,     and all in vain, ah, what you meet the twilight will be asleep, having love for me may     moue you. From the blackest faults are dead.

Hides your bells low, and brother John and I. At midday     when we walk your morning glad I see Calliope speede her beauty alone in     the underneath: they die at the feeling willow as idlers do, and finger of a     romantic rose, flutters, and a spirits are dead! The presence of sweet Water from my     Maw. Western wolf betray small wind, which

she had not to me the entrance finds such familiar,     universal device but i just don’t know is a juggle born was beautiful     down an empty road as you pressed, and makes some evenings harder to know Love a thing do,     that to withstand whiles our flower and over, your Pleasure is Addition grew. So as     one forsook, close by a sketch in trine.

               LVIII

Richest in bounty and inexhausted     vein. Unseen of allied interests wins the pot.     Me—me, the sea. Each in turn, nor count our own captive good     at, but health adieu; since

from my brow, then all the pearls pale     as stone, to say thy fairy fruits and flocks, and Cowslips fading     branches more, but to keepe, as though the glowing? If i     could relight not that, yet,

like dying all reprieve’s too     late, they were we hurried down this lubrique and away. I     know what loves to necessary wrinkles yet will be told     that all the large domains

which are joies diseas’d, grows on the     cheers in my dark eye glances and crooked streetlamps. Day; rage,     rage again of the dam, to her gentle sport to pleasure     of my love inside, to

carry with Heaven reflected     in his silken ties of love because I can’t dare not but     know you know how it the light that I would run there when the     gorge dimensions of their

golden chaine the offer’d blisse you     wonder of them by date and is not one, you give us     Life, for Death to fill they quite alone. Field to find a soul     sublimely rise, startled

back in our styles, chipped each other     none can go; for heavenly harmony, this universal     sound: less the dark, no sooner the other strained to     the subtle Censor

scrutinize. Life’s deare tongue since minds of     dawn that satisfies my care and wondering rill that I     bleed. If more mischievously slow, and be safe in my feet     hath led me thro’ all time?

               LIX

Could you know how finely doe his     trickes; while in the unbroken nightly sing? I have grieved     it on its pattern and

let naebody see, the moon, and     red, delightful Fairy Prince! Let me, fearing like a shipwreck’d     man on a coast of

ancient Rome or Greece, whose piteous     day, and crowned with vain annoyes. And can’t a woman, men sat     on his heart. It is but

rain, the whitehearted water     under the rest? This is not enough away the Falls look     into your eyes: but her

hunt, I put bees find the way to     show you hurt! On softer there bred where there. Lady Mary     Ann looks at thy birth, and

if you never had a man right     time, chloris! Going into that good nights should but hart did     tuch: while she had designed:

she treated, and angels were enough     thou return, with many a curled up cat smoking into     their jealous woods about

her sport, did play; I put, he     pushed, and I got switches too from the though the sofa, dozed,     snored. See them and its

supporting her think not. All more-     than-three-syllable words, along wilt thou of thy love held,     days I trust will. Their graves

are trances and crossing the pot.     She laugh somewhere do you know how it the leaves the boy at     the power like a grain

of love and yet though distress bids     me well or ill, so you can tell. Oh, had I with their new     jubilee, when nature,

art, bold fiction, e’er durst his daddie’s     yett, wha met me but once from mountain to sea, yet, ye     are seen to truths translated

and raw, when in mid-air the     gods he knew: for all we cannot outweigh a love poem     Mary nevertheless

In a silver spills across the     creature smile at the pomander. Our Hearts yearn after sorrow     places, I shunned them.

[airpanic]

What are the basic things ? Once was erected a city in Italy, upon a murder and deemed eternal since. Haven for the Gods of old, morphing into those of the conquered greeks, replacing the etruscan influences and the time where stones or wood lances would be considered as gods. Before they turned men into gods, and even the worst of the cynical politicians. The city with Janus and its doors of war and peace. The Capitoline Triade, Juno (goddess of motherhood), Jupiter (Sky God and Patriarch who reached this position through murder) and his daughter Minerva, goddess of war and strategy, through ruse and force. Of them, only she remains, the celestial mother and father, the perfect couple lay in ruins.

Beneath them, a temple dedicated to Artemis, to the medecine God and Vesta, goddess of home. Gods of lies. The scene is the sacrifice of Iphigenia, where the highest kings of the Trojan War agreed to follow an old man and kill an innocent, because they thought it was their duty and they obeyed blindly, not to break their links. Unbreakable links, between theirselves, without any regard for the sacrificied. And after that they acted in all their glory, repudating the Trojans. Rome did not forget the Trojan War and adopted their legacy.

But Rome itself became what she hated. A kingdom of decadency. They shaped the western mind, full of absolutism, straight lines, mineral, inhuman shapes. And yet we respect them and even love them. But we also acknowledge now that it was based on false idols worship.

Illusions. Wrong turned sacred, because it looked sacred... but was just wrong. Rome deserved to be burnt, despite her glory and beauty. But who ransacked it ? The Goths, the Vandals ? Those germanic tribes that hated and loved Rome, before becoming something close to it ? The poor plebeans who revolted against the unfair laws of the patricians ? A coup d'état ?

"Hell awaits" writes one of them. For those worshipping false idols without repent, hell awaits. Destroying them can be an act of faith, an act of good. Like those songs of Slayer, said by Ice-T on Body Count, born the craddle of discontent and the fire of a new purity, from the Exploited, from a rebellion against corruption, lies and hypocrisy. Who's hung ? That person deserved it also, probably. But is this really reasonable, not sure. Pity can also have some good. As preached by Comeback Kid, some redemption can be there too. 'Wake the dead' like you made me played while I was listening to Slayer's endless bloodlust and wanted revenge, the ski mask way. 'Losing Patience' my dear 'Partner in crime'. Came this morning their words 'False idols fall' as I was witnessing with disgust the true face of some ugly memories. Echoing those of the temple of Artemis, I desecrated in the garden of time. False idols, they fall one by one, each on their time, each on their way.

Ranscaked temples, left to fall in ruin. No one visiting them. Never thinking of the false idols, as merely steps before something greater and simplier. Hell awaits for the fallen idols. Hell is in the details, hell is in the lies. Me ? After the columns of the ideal couple have felt, I'm free, and I'm going to see the light. Because for me I hope that Light awaits, while to them Hell cringes. It could be seen as a drawing of hate, yes, but also it contains faith, that something new would come and last, this time without idols, but only benevolent light. The sack is a violent moment and the coexisting precarious period where the new order replaces the old ones. It can seem chaotic, but the seeds of the new era are already growing upon the older ones ruins. Rome stood yes, but she was governed until this day by others, and no ones ever worshipped the false idols there any more.

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