#i shall forfeit everything for her <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[sunnysideray]

FUNSHINE JILL FUNSHINE JILL FUNSHINE JILL FUNSHINE JILL I LOVE HEEERRRRRR AAAAAAAAAAAGH

…I’m normal about her I swear……

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

bloodlines (m.r.)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 13.2k (wow)

Summary: When a centuries-old vow comes into fruition, you're bound to the boy who once swore he'd never love anyone — especially not you.

A/N: I actually hate this😭

Week 3 of @acourtofchaos's Festival of AUs

@obsessedwithceleste hope u like it pookie <3

The crackling of the fire in the hearth was the sole sound that stirred the stillness, each pop and hiss echoing through the chamber like a whisper of fate. Draped in heavy maroon velvets, the man in the high-backed chair let out a weary sigh, his gaze sharp as steel as it settled upon the figure opposite him.

"How am I to know you’ll keep your word, Salazar?" He asked, "You've never been one to turn away from glory — especially when it's for your own name."

His companion, cloaked in darker hues, paused. A slow, sly smile crept across his face — thin, deliberate, and far too familiar. Godric couldn't help but think of his companion’s namesake — all that was missing was a forked tongue singing sweet lies.

"Then let us bind our names as one," Salazar said at last, his tone smooth as still water, "What glory comes to Slytherin shall then be glory to Gryffindor as well."

Godric narrowed his eyes, fingers running through his beard. A humorless breath escaped him, half laugh, half warning, "You’ve no daughter, Salazar."

"Not yet, that much is true," The other replied calmly, "Yet that is the very point — a safeguard. Let us seal the pact with magic: when our descendants are come of age, they shall wed. Should they fail to do so… then let their bloodline be forfeit."

Godric regarded him in silence, the fire casting shifting shadows across his face. After a long pause, he stood.

"Very well," He said, "You have a deal, old friend."

***

Potions was hardly the class you needed to attend when you were this sleep-deprived. Snape gave out instructions quick and fast and one after the other — and it was difficult enough to catch all of them while wide awake. In your current state, it was a blessing you were understanding every second word.

You’d been plagued by nightmares all night — visions of a dark room barely touched by light, the hiss and rattle of a snake’s tail, and a searing golden thread weaving itself through your chest, leaving a burning trail in its wake as it tied a tight knot around your heart. You woke up feeling like something ancient had looked directly into your soul.

The classroom buzzed with low murmurs and the occasional clink of glass as students moved about, carefully preparing their assignments. You stood at your workstation with Hermione, watching your cauldron bubble gently as she measured out powdered moonstone.

“Careful,” She muttered, “Snape said too much will make it foam—”

Before you could respond, there was a loud laugh from the back of the room.

“Oi, Nott — your stirring looks like a troll having a fit!” Blaise teased, shoving Theo lightly from behind.

Theo rolled his eyes, scoffing, “You wish your potion looked half as decent, Zabini—”

But Blaise gave him another nudge — harder this time, more of a shove.

Theo stumbled back, and before you could react, his shoulder slammed into yours with full force.

You gasped and staggered forward, crashing into the classmate standing in front of you. You hit Mattheo Riddle square in the chest — hard.

And then — everything went wrong.

The moment his skin brushed yours, the room exploded in light. A brilliant, blinding pulse of gold erupted between you — not fire, not lightning, but magic, raw and ancient and alive. The light burst outward in a shockwave that swept through the room.

Every cauldron detonated at once.

Glass shattered. Potions hissed and spilled across the floor. Shrill screams echoed off the stone walls. Smoke and sparks filled the air.

You and Mattheo stumbled apart, dazed and breathless — and yet, the golden thread of light still shimmered faintly between your fingertips.

Everyone in the classroom froze.

Hermione had her wand half-raised, eyes wide. Ron was crouched behind the table, shielding his potion-splattered notes. Harry looked between you and Mattheo like he’d just witnessed the first sign of the apocalypse.

“What the hell was that?” Malfoy demanded from across the room, brushing sludge off his robes.

“Did you see that light?” “She cursed him—” “No, he cursed her—!”

“Enough!” Snape bellowed, storming out of the smoke cloud, looking more furious than you’d ever seen him.

But before he could speak further, another voice cut clean through the chaos like a blade.

“Miss (L/N). Mr. Riddle. You will come with me. Now.”

Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway, as if the castle itself had summoned her the second it happened. Her eyes were sharp as steel behind her spectacles, and the look on her face made your stomach twist with dread.

Mattheo didn’t say a word. He just shot you a glare — like this was somehow your fault — and stepped past the wreckage toward the door.

You followed in stunned silence, the echo of that magic still buzzing in your bones.

You had no idea what had just happened. But it had changed something. And you could feel it — whatever this was… it would never be the same again.

***

The heavy oak doors to the Headmaster’s office creaked open on their own, and you stepped inside behind McGonagall, your nerves fraying with every step. Mattheo Riddle trailed a few paces behind you, shoulders squared, jaw clenched like he was ready to bite someone’s head off.

Professor Snape was already inside, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He didn’t even blink when you walked in — just tilted his head like he was mentally cataloguing your sins.

But it was Dumbledore who drew your attention. He stood in front of his desk, hands clasped, that same maddeningly calm expression on his face.

"Ah. Miss (L/N)," He said warmly, "And Mr. Riddle. Good. You're both here."

You barely had time to open your mouth before he added, with a small twinkle in his eye:

“And… a very happy birthday, (Y/N).”

You blinked, “Um… thank you, Professor?”

The silence that followed was thick. Heavy. It wasn't the usual eccentric kindness you were used to from him. There was something off about it. Something purposeful.

You glanced nervously at McGonagall, who was avoiding your eyes for once, lips pressed into a thin line. Snape still hadn’t moved.

“…Did I do something wrong?” You asked, voice quiet, “Because I didn’t—”

“You didn’t,” Dumbledore cut in gently, “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

You exhaled — a brief flicker of relief — before his next words sent your stomach plunging.

“But you have… reached a rather important day. One that has long been awaited.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “What are you talking about?”

Dumbledore turned, walked behind his desk, and drew out a drawer. From it, he retrieved a scroll of ancient parchment — so old and brittle that it looked like it might crumble if you breathed too hard. Strange runes glowed faintly along the edges in gold and green ink.

“It may surprise you,” Dumbledore said slowly, unrolling the scroll with care, “to learn that you are not the first in your family to attend Hogwarts. In fact… you are of a very old line. One that traces directly back to Godric Gryffindor himself.”

Your mouth parted slightly, “Wait—what?”

“And Mr. Riddle,” Dumbledore continued, without looking at Mattheo, “descends from another of our founders — Salazar Slytherin.”

Mattheo scoffed, crossing his arms, “Yeah? So what?”

Dumbledore’s eyes lifted, suddenly sharper — older, “So… a pact made a thousand years ago, in secrecy and desperation, has finally come to pass.”

“A pact?” You echoed, staring at the glowing scroll, “What kind of pact?”

McGonagall’s voice cut through the silence — tight and grave, “A magically binding agreement. Between the founders themselves. A vow that, should descendants of their lines be born in the same generation… they would be joined. In marriage.”

The word hit the room like a curse.

“A marriage,” Dumbledore confirmed, “Written into the fabric of their magic itself. Designed to activate when the conditions were… finally right.”

You stared at him.

“No. That’s — that’s insane.”

“I would be inclined to agree.” Snape muttered dryly.

Dumbledore continued, unshaken, “The spell lay dormant for centuries. Until today.”

“Because we — because I touched him?” You asked, turning toward Mattheo, who now looked two seconds from spontaneous combustion.

“Because you are now of age,” Dumbledore said gently, “and the pact recognizes you both. When your magic met his — it awakened.”

Snape finally spoke, voice cold, “You both witnessed the first sign today. The flare. The bond. Arcane magic, woven into your blood, has reawakened. You can no longer deny it.”

You stumbled back a step, hand pressing over your chest like you could still feel the thread of it under your skin — humming, burning.

Mattheo was the first to break the silence. His voice came out low, sharp, “So that’s it? I’m supposed to marry her because two dead men thought it was a good idea a thousand years ago?”

He scoffed, disgusted. “Are you all completely mad?”

Dumbledore held up a hand, “For now, I only ask that you both take this seriously. This magic is older than all of us — and it is already in motion.”

You swallowed hard, your voice shaking, “…And what happens if we don’t?”

Dumbledore hesitated — and that alone made your heart stop.

“It is my belief,” he said quietly, looking straight at you, “that if the vow is not fulfilled…you may lose your magic. Possibly… even your life.”

Your breath caught.

No. No, no, no—

Your stomach dropped so hard it felt like you might vomit. Your lungs refused to expand. You barely heard McGonagall calling your name as your knees gave slightly.

Mattheo let out a humorless laugh, “Then let her die for all I care. I’m not marrying her. I don’t care if the whole castle burns down.”

And then he stormed out, slamming the door so hard that several portraits shouted in protest.

You stood frozen, tears burning your eyes. Even though you hadn’t wanted this marriage either, something about his words — how easily he said it — made something inside you crack.

“Am I really going to lose my magic?” you asked in a whisper, “Am I going to die?”

McGonagall was at your side instantly, her hand warm on your back as you began to sob, trying and failing to breathe through the panic.

Your first day as an adult. And already… you’d been sentenced to death.

***

The entrance to the Slytherin common room slithered open with a hiss, the chill of the dungeons seeping into Mattheo’s skin as he stepped inside. The low greenish light cast shadows across the stone walls, the usual scent of damp earth and smoke curling in the air.

“Oi, there he is — the man of the hour,” Blaise called from the corner, lounging on a leather sofa with Theo and a few others scattered around, “Thought you'd get stuck in detention for the rest of your life. Was worth it though — we got to leave class early.”

Mattheo forced a scoff, striding toward them with the practiced swagger he wore like armor, “The old crones are all senile.”

Theo snorted, “What happened anyway? She bumped into you and you lost your mind ‘cause her filthy hands doth not touch the pure skin of Mattheo Riddle?”

A few of the others laughed. Mattheo didn’t. He just dropped into the seat next to Blaise, jaw tight.

“I bumped into her. That’s all.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, “Bumped into her and what, set off a bloody fireworks show? Draco took four showers to get the Bubotuber pus out of his hair.”

Mattheo’s fingers tightened around his wand, “I said it was nothing.”

But even as the words left his mouth, he could feel it again — a dull tingling in his head, a sharp kind of pain right behind his eyes that made him screw them shut.

He raised his wand, needing a drink of water.

“Accio.” He muttered, aiming at a glass across the room.

A spark of light flickered. The glass wobbled. Then nothing.

Theo blinked, “Mate, what the hell was that? You losing your touch?”

Mattheo frowned, “I’m just tired. Had one of the most bizarre conversations of my life.”

He gripped the wand tighter — too tight — and tried again.

“Accio.”

A more violent spark this time — and then CRACK. The glass shot across the room like a bullet and slammed into the stone wall behind them, shattering into a million pieces. A few people flinched. Someone swore.

Mattheo didn’t look at the shards of glass.

He was staring at his hand.

It was shaking. Barely — just a tremor in his fingers, almost imperceptible — but it was there.

“Mattheo?” Blaise’s voice was cautious now, “You alright?”

Mattheo’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

Something was wrong. It was the way his magic felt. Like it wasn’t entirely his anymore. Like something was tugging on it — pulling threads loose in places he couldn’t see.

He stood abruptly.

“I’m going to bed.”

And without another word, he stalked off toward the dorms, leaving the others exchanging uneasy looks behind him.

***

The warm glow of the Gryffindor common room wrapped around you like a fragile shield as you pushed open the portrait hole. The chatter and laughter of your friends filled the air — Ron sitting cross-legged by the fire, Hermione quietly reading a book, and Harry leaning against the armrest, eyes lifting as you entered.

“(Y/N)!” Hermione’s smile faltered the moment she saw your face, “Are you—?”

But before she could finish, something inside you broke loose. The tight control you’d clung to shattered, and tears spilled unbidden down your cheeks.

You stumbled forward, unable to stop yourself, and Harry was instantly at your side, arms wrapping around you with steady strength. You leaned into him, your body shaking as sobs wracked your frame.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Harry murmured softly, his voice gentle as the warmth of the fire, “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. You let the tears fall, the hurt and fear and confusion pooling in your chest and spilling out at last.

Ron and Hermione watched quietly, giving you space, their eyes full of concern but never pressing for answers.

***

The first light of dawn crept faintly through the narrow, green-tinted windows of the Slytherin dormitory, casting long shadows across the cold stone walls. Blaise sat up on the edge of his bed, nudging Mattheo’s shoulder with a lazy, “Oi, Mattheo, time to get up.”

There was no response.

He frowned and gave the shoulder another shove, “Wake up, you bloody tosser, or we’re gonna leave you here.”

Still nothing.

Theo, pulling on his uniform, raised an eyebrow, “He’s out cold or something?”

Blaise frowned deeper, reached out, and gently rolled Mattheo onto his back.

They both froze.

Mattheo’s face was ghostly pale — the usual sharp lines softened, drained of color. His eyes remained shut tight, breathing shallow and uneven.

But it was the dark crimson stains that stole Blaise’s breath — blood soaked the pillow beneath Mattheo’s head, seeping into the white sheets, splattered around the bed like a grim painting. Fresh, vivid, unmistakable.

Blaise’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Fuck… is that blood?”

They leaned closer, horror rising as trickles of dried blood traced haunting paths from his ears, nose, and the corner of his mouth.

Suddenly, Mattheo began to cough — a wet, painful hack that shook his whole body. He tried to sit up but couldn’t. His coughing turned into choking, a gargling, desperate sound as he struggled against the blood flooding his throat.

“Get a professor!” Blaise yelled, panic sharpening his voice.

Theo didn’t hesitate — he bolted from the room, racing through the dungeons to find help.

***

You pushed open the doors to the hospital wing, your heart thudding hard in your chest. Professor McGonagall’s owl had found you at dinner— a curt summons with no explanation, only urgency in the hurried scrawl of her handwriting.

The room was quiet. Too quiet. The soft clinks of vials and the distant rustle of linens were the only sounds as you stepped inside. The smell of antiseptic and iron hit you all at once — sharp, metallic, unmistakable.

Your pace slowed as you spotted them.

McGonagall. Dumbledore. Snape. And Madam Pomfrey.

All gathered around a single hospital bed.

The pit in your stomach grew deeper with every step as you approached.

It wasn’t until you rounded the bed that you saw who lay in it.

Mattheo.

Your breath caught.

He was barely recognizable. Pale — deathly pale — with dark shadows under his eyes and dried blood flaked around his mouth and nose. His usually sharp, arrogant features were slack with exhaustion. Soaked cloths were piled on the table beside him, stained deep crimson. A silver basin sat on the floor, half full with water and flecks of blood.

You stared, frozen, mouth parting in disbelief.

“…What—” Your voice cracked, the word barely a whisper, “What happened to him?”

No one answered at first. Madam Pomfrey wrung out another bloodied cloth and dabbed gently at the side of Mattheo’s mouth. He flinched but didn’t stir.

You looked at McGonagall, your voice harder now, “Professor?”

McGonagall exchanged a glance with Dumbledore, then stepped forward.

Dumbledore sighed quietly, folding his hands before him, “The effects began soon after the vow was unfulfilled.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?”

“When Mr. Riddle rejected the vow — forcefully — the binding magic retaliated. Violently.” McGonagall said, her voice tight with strain.

You blinked, “Wait — so this is because he said no?”

Snape nodded, eyes cold and grim, “The pact is ancient, arcane, and sentient in its own way. It punishes defiance.”

“And if… if we don’t go through with it?” You asked quietly, the words sticking to your throat like ash, “He’s going to die?”

No one spoke at first.

Then Dumbledore nodded, solemn, “Yes.”

You stared at them, waiting for someone to laugh. To say it was a test or a joke or some horrible misunderstanding.

But they just stood there, faces lined with worry and exhaustion.

Your hands curled into fists.

“So let me get this straight,” You said slowly, your voice rising, “He tells me to drop dead — literally — storms out, acts like I’m some sort of plague, and now I’m supposed to what? Save him? Marry him? Because he decided to spit in the face of something he didn’t understand?”

Snape arched a brow, about to respond, but you cut him off with a sharp shake of your head.

“No. I’m not doing this. He made his choice. He wanted me to die instead. He said it himself — let her die for all I care. So where’s that bravado now, Riddle? Hm?” You looked at him again, still unmoving, still barely clinging to life, “You wanted me gone. So why the hell should I save you?”

No one tried to stop you when you turned and stormed out of the room, fury choking your throat.

But as you stepped into the corridor, just before the doors swung shut behind you, you heard voices behind you — low, urgent.

“…his breath is getting fainter.”

“At this rate, I’m not sure he’ll make it through the night.”

Your steps faltered.

And for a moment — just one — the triumph you thought you’d feel turned into something much heavier.

Like guilt.

Like dread.

But you walked away anyway.

***

The Gryffindor common room was quiet, the fire long since reduced to embers. You sat curled up on the armchair closest to the hearth, knees to your chest, the hem of your pajama pants twisting around your ankles. You hadn't moved in hours.

You couldn’t sleep.

Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Mattheo — pale, barely breathing, the blood, the stillness, the weight of it all pressing in around you like a vice.

You told yourself he deserved it.

You told yourself you were right.

But then you remembered the way his lips were tinged blue. The way Madam Pomfrey’s hands shook when she dabbed the blood from his face. The way no one — not even Dumbledore — had been able to hide the fear in their eyes.

And then there was the way your heart had twisted in your chest when you heard them say he might not make it to morning.

It was past midnight now. The castle was silent.

You stood before you could think, arms wrapping around yourself for warmth as you padded barefoot through the corridors, the stone cold beneath your feet. You didn’t even bring a robe. Just your pajama pants and an old sweater. You didn’t care.

You just… had to see him.

The doors to the hospital wing groaned softly as you slipped inside. The lamps had been dimmed, casting long shadows across the rows of beds. Only one of them was occupied.

Mattheo.

“Miss (L/N)?” Came a voice from beside him, but you couldn’t even make eye contact with your professor — your eyes were locked onto the boy lying in the bed, on the verge of death.

He hadn’t moved.

His skin was even paler now, his breathing barely visible beneath the thin blanket draped across his chest. The basin beside the bed had been cleaned, but the faint scent of blood still lingered in the air.

You stood there for a long moment, arms still crossed tightly over your chest.

“I’ll do it.”

The words came out quieter than you expected. Like a secret. Like a surrender.

Your voice trembled as you took a step closer, “I’ll marry him.”

You looked over at McGonagall, throat tight, and nodded.

“I’ll do it,” You said again, “If it’ll stop this. If it’ll save him.”

Dumbledore appeared from the adjoining room, his eyes tired but gentle, “Are you sure, my dear?”

You looked down at Mattheo — at the stubborn furrow in his brow, still etched there even now. At the way he looked like a ghost in his own body.

“No,” You whispered, “But I’d never forgive myself if he died and I knew there was something I could’ve done to stop it.”

“You’re going to have to cast the spell yourself, Miss (L/N),” McGonagall said softly.

You nodded, eyes still locked on Mattheo.

You sat in the chair beside his bed and reached out — slowly, hesitantly — to take his hand.

It was cold.

But you held it anyway.

The silence in the hospital wing was thick — like the room itself was holding its breath.

Mattheo didn’t stir as you sat beside him, his hand heavy and cold in yours. Madam Pomfrey stepped back, her hands clasped tightly. Dumbledore watched you with a strange sorrow in his eyes. McGonagall stood beside him, her expression unreadable. And Snape... Snape looked like he already knew how this would end.

You looked down at Mattheo’s face — pale, drawn, lips parted ever so slightly as he struggled to breathe. If someone had told you a week ago that you’d be holding his hand like this, whispering a marriage vow to save his life, you would’ve laughed in their face.

But now…

You swallowed hard, lifting your wand with your free hand. It shook.

“What do I say?” You whispered.

Dumbledore stepped forward. “Repeat after me. Word for word. The spell will bind your magic, your life force, and your future to his — should he survive the bonding.”

You nodded, your grip tightening around Mattheo’s fingers.

Dumbledore spoke first, slowly and clearly, “I offer my name, my will, my magic, and my blood…”

You repeated it softly, every word a thread stitching itself into the air, “I offer my name, my will, my magic, and my blood…”

“…to be bound in life and fate to the heir of Slytherin…”

Your chest ached as the words left you, “…to be bound in life and fate to the heir of Slytherin…”

“…until death unbinds us, or destiny releases us.”

You could barely breathe as you whispered the last line, your throat tight with tears, “…until death unbinds us, or destiny releases us.”

Your wand pulsed with heat.

The tip glowed softly — a deep crimson — and then dimmed as the magic released into Mattheo’s chest in a slow, golden ripple, like sunlight spilling through water.

You felt it then — not a physical tug, but something… inward. A lurch in your core. A sudden pull between your body and his. Like your magic had reached out and fastened itself to his, anchoring to something inside him you couldn’t see.

A soft gasp escaped his lips.

You froze.

Mattheo’s hand twitched.

Then — a cough. Wet. Weak. Painful. His eyes cracked open, red-rimmed and glassy, and they locked onto yours.

“…You?”

His voice was barely a breath. But you heard it. Felt it. And then he passed out again — but this time, his chest rose just a little easier. The color returned, faintly, to his cheeks. The trembling in his hand stilled.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your wand falling to your lap.

It was done.

The pact was sealed.

You were married.

You dropped his hand, a sob racking through your body, “What have I done?”

McGonagall’s hand rested gently on your shoulder, her voice low but steady as she tried to ground you.

“You did something extraordinary tonight,” she said softly, “You saved a life, Miss (L/N). And that is never something to be taken lightly — no matter the circumstances.”

You nodded numbly, eyes fixed on the folds of your pajama sleeve. Your fingers were clenched, digging into the fabric, trying to stop the tremor still moving through you.

You hadn’t let go of the weight of what you’d done — not yet. The spell still lingered in your veins like fire and ice, like a tether. You hadn’t spoken since.

Not until a low, ragged breath tore through the silence.

And then a voice — hoarse, furious:

“What the fuck did you do?”

You froze.

Mattheo.

You turned slowly toward the bed, where he was now sitting upright — or trying to, at least. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his breathing was still shallow, but his eyes were wide and dark with realization. With rage.

He was staring straight at you.

“No,” He muttered, shaking his head like he could undo it just by refusing to believe it, “Tell me you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t go through with it.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You just sat there, stunned, heart pounding like a war drum in your throat.

“I—” You tried to speak, but your voice caught.

He swung his legs off the bed, swaying with the effort. His skin was ghostly pale, but the venom in his voice was unmistakable.

“You had no fucking right,” He spat, “You just wanted to play the hero — and now I’m the one chained to a decision I didn’t make.”

“Mr. Riddle,” Snape said coolly from across the room, “had she not acted, you would be dead. Is that what you would’ve preferred? That we stand by and let you bleed out?”

Mattheo didn’t even glance at him. His eyes stayed locked on you — like you’d cast the killing curse instead of saving his life.

“You think I should thank you?” He snapped, “You think shackling me to you makes you noble? It doesn’t. It makes you soft. Weak. All of you are fucking insane.”

You flinched like he’d struck you.

The silence that followed stretched taut — unbearable.

And then, barely above a whisper, your voice broke through.

“You’re right.”

Mattheo blinked.

Your hands clenched tighter in your lap, nails digging into your palms, carving crescent moons into your skin.

“I shouldn’t have done anything,” You said, louder now — your voice rising with every word, like something was building, choking you, “I should’ve turned around and walked out of this damn hospital wing. I should’ve let you bleed out, just like you wanted. Would’ve saved us both a lifetime of regret.”

McGonagall called your name — gentle, warning — but you didn’t stop.

“You think it makes me weak?” You hissed, tears blurring your vision, “Fine. Be grateful someone so weak was destined for you. Because no one else would’ve ever willingly bound themselves to you. No one else would’ve looked at what you are — the person you are — and still chosen to save you.”

Mattheo’s glare deepened. His jaw was clenched so tightly you thought his teeth might crack. His hands trembled at his sides — too weak to ball into fists, though you could see him trying.

But you weren’t finished.

“I’m cursing my ancestors for tying me to a monster like you,” You said, standing as you wiped at your face, trying to chase away the tears that refused to stop, “You hate this so much? Then do something about it. Go throw yourself off the Astronomy Tower.”

You paused — your voice cold as ice.

“Then maybe you’ll finally be good for something.”

The room went deathly still.

You didn’t wait for a response. You turned and walked out, each footstep pounding like thunder down the hall, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the sobs clawing their way out of you — fury burning in your chest.

And behind you, no one said a word.

***

The next few weeks at Hogwarts felt like walking on glass.

Despite the long list of grievances — the near-lethal bickering, the glares that could freeze hell over, and the occasional hex cast under the table — there was one thing you and Mattheo Riddle agreed on:

The marriage bond was to remain a secret. Or so help you, you’d Obliviate the entire school.

But silence didn’t mean peace.

In fact, ever since the night in the hospital wing, things had gotten worse.

You’d gone from mutual avoidance to open warfare. The moment your sleeves so much as brushed in a corridor, the air would shift — like the castle itself was bracing for impact. Even the portraits had learned to duck when you passed.

Your professors were at their absolute limit.

McGonagall had nearly taken her hat off in frustration during Transfiguration, and Snape — who normally relished assigning detentions — looked ready to swallow an entire cauldron of Felix Felicis just to avoid your next row.

The problem was: detention didn’t help.

You and Mattheo would just end up arguing behind closed doors. Or worse — he wouldn’t even show up. And if he didn’t show, why the hell should you?

Snape had tried to separate you. McGonagall had tried silent partnering spells. Flitwick had attempted a rotation chart. None of it worked.

Because the truth was simple: You two weren’t combustible. You were already on fire.

And the next explosion was only a matter of time.

It was supposed to be a simple lesson.

“Today, we’ll be practicing small-to-medium object-to-animal transfigurations,” McGonagall announced crisply, the chalk behind her scribbling across the board on its own, “The object must retain its original mass, and the animal must be fully functional.”

You weren’t even looking at Mattheo.

A single brush of shoulders in the corridor was enough to spark full-blown arguments. The professors had resorted to full-on assigned seating just to keep you apart.

Naturally, your desk was at the very front of the room.

And Mattheo’s?

Two rows behind and off to the right.

Far enough to ignore. Close enough to still feel him.

You gritted your teeth and raised your wand.

The matchbox on your desk trembled once — then, with a small pop, sprouted whiskers and legs, fur rippling across the surface like ink in water. It let out a high-pitched squeak and bolted.

Right off your desk.

The mouse-thing tore across the floor, weaving between desks like a heat-seeking missile until—

It launched itself onto Mattheo’s parchment, knocking over his inkpot and scrabbling up his sleeve.

His reaction was instant.

Mattheo shot to his feet, chair crashing backward with a loud bang, “Are you fucking serious?”

You stood too, wand half-raised, “It was an accident!”

“Every spell you cast ends up ruining lives,” He snapped, voice like shattered glass, “Why should today be any different?”

The class froze, eyes darting between the two of you.

Blaise’s jaw tightened. Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line. Even Ron glanced nervously toward McGonagall, who remained impassive but clearly tense.

Your throat tightened like a vice.

“You’re one to talk about ruining lives,” You spat, stepping forward, heat flashing under your skin, “Next time I’ll let your skull hit the floor and see how noble I feel.”

“Oh, I’m the mess?” He scoffed, closing the distance, “I’m not the one who decided to play God—”

“You’re right. You’re not capable of caring about anyone but yourself.”

His eyes flashed, “I’d rather Avada myself than give a shit about you.”

“Do us both a favour and go ahead, Riddle!”

Your wand was in your hand before you even realized it.

“I swear to Merlin—”

Mattheo’s wand was already raised, aimed directly at you, “Do it. Go on. Every Gryffindor dreams of taking out a Riddle. Let’s see if you’ve got the nerve. Put me out of my fucking misery.”

“ENOUGH!”

McGonagall’s voice cracked through the room like lightning.

With a single flick of her wand, both of yours went flying — clattering across the stone floor.

She strode forward, every inch of her trembling with fury.

Neither of you said a word.

“Outside. Now.”

You turned first, jaw clenched tight. Mattheo followed a beat later, shoulders stiff with rage.

And as the door slammed shut behind you, you both stormed off in opposite directions, breaths ragged — not looking at each other. Not speaking.

But the silence buzzed louder than any scream.

Because neither of you said it aloud. But in that moment, you both knew: Something was going to break soon.

And it wouldn’t be the bond.

It would be you.

***

Snape had been more successful than usual at keeping you both apart during lessons. Your workbenches were set far, far away from each other, and all the tools and ingredients you’d need were already placed before class began. While it was completely unlike him, Snape had gone through the painstaking effort of making sure you’d never have to leave your bench—and thus wouldn’t run into each other.

Mattheo was halfway through slicing the stubborn boomslang skin when the knife slipped from his fingers. A curse barely whispered under his breath. He glanced down at the thin line of blood trickling from a cut on his palm.

“Are you bleeding?” Lorenzo’s voice cut through the quiet classroom, unexpectedly loud.

The noise struck you like a jolt to the chest. Your heart hammered in your ribs, and without thinking, you whipped your head around, eyes scanning the room in sudden panic.

For a moment, your breath caught in your throat. Was he sick again? Coughing up blood like last time? Was he hurt worse than before? Why? You had cast the spell, fulfilled the vow. Why was he bleeding? Was it because your magic was wearing off? Were you losing your magic?

Mattheo caught your frantic gaze from across the room. His brow furrowed as he watched the flicker of worry on your pale face—completely out of place among the usual sharp barbs you threw his way.

Why are you looking at me like that? his eyes seemed to ask.

You looked away quickly, biting the inside of your cheek. Your gaze flicked over his form, lingering briefly on the wound in his hand. Slowly, you sank back onto your stool, exhaling shakily when Harry leaned toward you with a concerned, “Are you okay?”

You just shook your head, forcing a faint smile. Nothing worth mentioning.

Mattheo’s confusion deepened.

He glanced once more at his bleeding palm, then back at you, narrowing his eyes.

The same person who tells me to throw myself off the Astronomy Tower is worried when I bleed?

A sardonic smirk tugged at his lips—bitter and cold. Pathetic, he thought. She’s weaker than I thought.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Hilarious.”

***

The dormitory was quiet, the other girls already asleep — or pretending to be. You lay motionless in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the moonlight tracing pale lines across your blanket.

It was the stillness that made it unbearable. No shouting, no clashing wands, no chaos to hide behind — just the raw, aching silence where your thoughts had nowhere to go but inward.

Your fingers curled in the sheets, heart leaden in your chest.

You’d read about soulbonds. You’d studied the magic. You understood the implications.

But knowing something intellectually wasn’t the same as feeling it. It wasn't the same as feeling that familiar tug in your soul whenever he was around. Not even affection, just recognition. Because deep down, his soul was yours now, and yours belonged to him.

Your husband.

Could you ever fall in love with someone else? Could you be touched, kissed, adored by anyone else without this bond protesting? Could you ever stand before another person in a white dress and vow yourself to them, when somewhere, in the deepest part of your soul, you were already tied to Mattheo Riddle?

Was this all your life was going to amount to? Would you ever be able to have children? A family?

Your chest tightened, a quiet grief building behind your ribs — not because you wanted him, but because now you might never get to choose.

Not really.

Not freely.

You turned to face the wall, eyes burning.

You hadn’t even wanted this. You had only done what was necessary. You’d cast the spell. You’d saved his life. You’d paid the price. And now the rest of your life might not be yours to live.

***

Mattheo slammed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame. His dorm was dim and cool, shadows sprawling over the stone walls like claws. He paced across the room like a caged animal, rage simmering just beneath his skin.

Every time he closed his eyes, he felt his soul reach out of his body, looking for his other half. His magic was writhing in protest—one part of him aching to return to his wife, the other wishing the bond had never been forged at all."

He grabbed a book off his desk and hurled it at the wall. It hit with a loud thud, scattering parchment.

No.

He wasn’t going to be tied to this. He wasn’t going to be one of those cursed bastards in old fairy tales, shackled to a girl because of some ancient, romanticised magic.

It wasn’t fair.

You weren't fair. Always so self-righteous. Always so brave, so noble. Like you were above it all. Like saving him meant you got to own his future.

He sneered, dragging a hand through his hair.

He’d go out with someone else tomorrow — hell, two people, maybe. Just to prove it meant nothing. Just to remind himself that he still had a choice. That no invisible string could dictate who he was or who he wanted to touch.

And if some part of his chest felt heavy beneath that anger — if his stomach clenched at the memory of you going pale with concern, like you cared about him — well, he wasn’t going to fucking think about that.

Mattheo pulled off his school robes with more force than necessary and threw himself onto his bed, staring at the cracked ceiling.

This was just magic.

He didn’t believe in fate.

***

The greenhouse was muggy and buzzing with low conversation, the scent of damp moss and pollen thick in the air. You were partnered with Hermione — thankfully — while Mattheo was stationed several tables away, buried in a hushed conversation with Theodore and Lorenzo.

It should’ve made you feel safe — that distance — but your skin still prickled every time someone said his name. Every time he laughed like nothing between you had cracked wide open.

Professor Sprout bustled through the rows of tables, cheerfully guiding everyone toward the trays of unmarked magical plants, “Careful, class — some of these are… temperamental. I want you to handle them gently. We provoke nothing, understood?”

You nodded absently. Beside you, Hermione was flipping through her textbook, muttering classifications under her breath. Somewhere behind you, Mattheo’s voice filtered through the noise — low, unmistakable. Like smoke curling through your awareness.

You didn’t look. You didn’t need to.

Your soul already knew he was there. You could feel him. Feel his magic.

And it was driving you insane.

Your eyes scanned your workstation, landing on a thick-stemmed plant with curling, faintly shimmering leaves. It looked harmless. Almost pretty. Distracted, your hand reached toward it—

“Wait—!” Hermione started, too late.

The plant struck fast. Its leaves snapped open like jaws, revealing rows of tiny, sharp teeth.

You flinched back—

But not fast enough.

A hand caught your wrist and yanked.

Mattheo’s grip was unrelenting as he dragged you away from the plant’s snapping maw. The force of it knocked you into him, your chest colliding with his shoulder.

The scent of mint, smoke, and fresh grass hit you like a punch to the gut.

You froze.

Mattheo didn’t look at you. His hand stayed firm around your wrist, holding it up like it had personally offended him. His eyes were locked on the plant, jaw tight.

“For fuck’s sake,” He muttered, low and sharp, “Fancy losing an arm, do you?”

Your jaw clenched, “I didn’t ask you to—”

But your voice faltered.

Because your skin was touching.

And the moment it did, the air around you pulsed.

Raw magic cracked through the greenhouse like thunder. The floor trembled beneath your feet. Pots exploded. Vines twisted violently from their containers. One of the plants let out a shriek that made your bones vibrate.

Professor Sprout spun around, eyes wide, “What in Merlin’s name—?!”

Students shouted and scrambled back, clutching their wands as chaos erupted.

“Bloody hell,” Theo muttered somewhere to your right.

The plant that had nearly taken your hand shattered its entire pot in a final, violent explosion — soil and ceramic fragments flying.

And in the middle of it all, Mattheo did the last thing anyone would’ve expected.

He didn’t let go.

He pulled you closer.

One arm locked tight around your waist as he turned into you, shielding your body with his own like it was instinct. His back took the brunt of it — shards of ceramic and clumps of dirt pelting his robes and shoulders as the pot burst behind you.

You couldn’t breathe.

For one suspended second, the rest of the world vanished — the screaming vines, the spells, the panic. All you could hear was your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Mattheo’s jaw was clenched, his eyes still fixed forward.

But his grip told you everything you didn’t want to understand.

Then, almost as if realizing what caused the chaos — who caused it — his body tensed even more. And suddenly, he let go like he’d touched flame.

You stepped back just as quickly, as though the heat between you hadn’t seared itself into your skin.

The distance snapped back into place.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t even glance at you. Just turned on his heel, stalking back to his workstation with his robes covered in dirt, hair mussed, and jaw tight — like nothing had happened.

But something had.

You watched him go, eyes falling to the soil on his back from where he’d pulled you close.

Then you looked away.

Neither of you spoke of it — not to each other, not to anyone else. But under your breath, the bond whispered what you both refused to say:

Husband. Wife.

And the magic remembered.

***

The steps up to the Astronomy Tower were slick with night dew, the stone worn smooth beneath Mattheo’s boots. The sky was a deep navy above them, scattered with stars, and the wind tugged at their robes as he and his friends climbed — Theo, Blaise, Draco, and Lorenzo trailing behind, their laughter low and easy.

“If we get caught, I’m throwing you all under the bus,” Draco huffed, “Making me leave my silk sheets for a smoke. I don’t even smoke! We’re not girlfriends going to the toilets together — why do I have to be here?”

Mattheo barely heard him.

They were nearing the final bend of the stairwell when he stopped short, his hand shooting out to halt Blaise mid-step.

“What—?” Blaise started, frowning.

Mattheo didn’t answer. His head tilted, brows drawing tight.

A voice floated down the stairs.

Yours.

The wind nipped at your cheeks, but you didn’t mind. It was quiet up here — calm — and that was rare these days.

You sat cross-legged on the ledge, a Chocolate Frog wrapper fluttering beside you. Harry leaned nearby, arms folded against the cold, chewing on a Bertie Bott’s bean with an expression like he’d swallowed a lemon.

He spat the offending thing over the ledge.

“Haz!” You exclaimed, grinning, “Was that dirt-flavored?”

“Vomit!” He cried, chugging his hot chocolate — and immediately burning his tongue, “Oh Merlin—hell—it was vomit-flavored!”

You burst into laughter — a belly-deep kind of laugh, bright and contagious, ringing through the tower like wind chimes in summer. And something about it hit Mattheo like a punch to the ribs. It flared through him like wildfire, warm and sickening and wrong. He didn’t know why it mattered. He didn’t care.

He shouldn’t care.

Harry blinked, turning to look at you — really look, “There’s that smile.”

You tilted your head.

He smiled, “Haven’t seen you smile like that in weeks.”

You grinned, “Really says something about your joke-telling, doesn’t it, Haz?”

He scoffed, bumping your shoulder, “You only laugh when I’m in pain.”

“Seriously though,” He said, softer this time, “What’s going on with you lately?”

You tried to play innocent, “What do you mean?”

He gave you a look, “Don’t do that. You know what I mean. What’s going on with you and Riddle?”

Mattheo’s lungs went tight.

“It’s very hard for you to hate someone, (Y/N),” Harry continued, “I should know. Despite everything those snakes do, you still manage to stay cordial with Berkshire and Zabini.”

“But you,” Harry said, nodding at you, “you’re practically on the verge of murder when Riddle walks into a room. What did he do to piss you off that badly?”

You sighed, shoulders sagging, “He’s an ass.”

Harry didn’t argue.

“He’s rude, arrogant, violent… thinks the world owes him something.” You paused, chewing your lip, “But the more I think about it… the more I feel like I owe him an apology.”

Mattheo’s pulse stuttered. His jaw clenched. He didn’t know why he was still standing there. Why hadn’t he turned around? Why were his feet not moving?

But his heart was pounding.

Harry blinked, “You? Apologize to Mattheo Riddle?”

“I know,” You groaned, resting your head against Harry’s shoulder, sipping your hot chocolate, “It sounds insane. And he’s still awful. He says the nastiest things and looks at me like I’ve ruined his life.”

“I hope there’s a but coming or I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s for a psych evaluation.”

You laughed softly.

“But,” You admitted, “I think I was wrong too. I didn’t ask for any of this… but neither did he.”

Silence. Just the wind and the sound of distant owls.

“He’d be lucky to get an apology from you,” Harry said finally, “But if he throws it in your face, I’ll hex his eyebrows off.”

From the stairwell, Mattheo turned without a word, brushing past the others. His expression unreadable. His hands clenched.

“Mate?” Lorenzo whispered.

Mattheo didn’t respond.

He lit a cigarette with a flick of his wand, the smoke curling from his lips as his eyes fixed on nothing.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” he muttered. “This spot’s taken.”

***

The courtyard was cold and quiet, moonlight catching in puddles across the cobblestones. Mattheo walked fast, hands buried in his coat pockets, cigarette burning low between his fingers. His friends trailed behind, boots scuffing against wet stone, all of them exchanging looks like they were watching a wounded animal pace in circles.

“So,” Blaise drawled, jogging to catch up, “you gonna tell us why you just froze like you saw a bloody Dementor?”

Mattheo didn’t look at him, “Didn’t.”

“You did,” Theo said, grinning, “I thought you’d been Petrified for a second. And then just stood there. Listening.”

Mattheo exhaled through his nose, jaw ticking.

“Oh, come on,” Draco groaned, dragging his feet, “You stopped us cold like you’d been hit with a Stunning Spell. And then just stood there listening to Potter, of all people, like he was singing you a bloody lullaby.”

Mattheo scowled, “He was being loud.”

“Oh yeah, loud enough to make your heart stop apparently,” Blaise said, his grin growing, “Or—oh, wait—was it her voice that got you all twitchy?”

They all knew it was you that had him pausing. It was obvious, but they wanted to stretch this out as long as possible.

Draco made a scandalized noise, “Was that what it was? Is little Matty catching feelings?”

Mattheo shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel, “Don’t call me that.”

“She said she owed him an apology,” Lorenzo sang, clutching his heart, making the others guffaw, “Oh, their lovers’ tiff finally coming to an end.”

“She also called him an ass, arrogant, violent, and someone who thinks the world owes him something,” Blaise added helpfully.

“Sounds like foreplay to me.” Theo commented.

Mattheo didn’t dignify that with a response. He took another drag off his cigarette and kept walking.

“You’re acting weird.” Theo called after him.

“You’re acting like she matters.” Lorenzo added.

“She doesn’t.” Mattheo said coolly.

Blaise snorted, “You stood there for ten minutes listening to a private conversation. Be serious.”

“She was loud." Mattheo repeated.

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m leaving.”

Mattheo threw a middle finger over his shoulder without turning around.

***

Your conversation with Harry had left you with one undeniable truth: you owed Mattheo a long-overdue apology.

The more you thought about it, the more you realized how ambushed he must’ve felt—going from dying to waking up magically bound to a girl he didn’t even like. If you were in his position, you would’ve been upset too.

'I probably wouldn��t have said he should’ve died… and I definitely would’ve reacted differently after learning he saved my life, but I digress.' You thought, gathering up your books as you prepared to leave the library.

It was almost curfew, and you didn’t need another reason to land yourself in detention. At the rate you were going, expulsion was starting to feel like a real possibility. Yet another reason to apologize to Mattheo and smooth things over.

The only issue? You couldn’t seem to actually apologize.

Not for lack of trying—you’d made several attempts—but every time, you froze. Mattheo was always surrounded by his friends, who, you were fairly sure, still didn’t know about your secret. And even when he was alone, you’d chicken out—whether out of pride or the fear that another argument would explode before you got the words out.

As you made your way toward the exit, your eyes caught on a familiar figure hunched over a table.

Mattheo Riddle. Asleep, head down on his Charms essay.

He was alone. Relaxed.

This was probably the best time to say something, you thought. But just as you reached out to touch his shoulder, you paused. Would he be the type to bite your head off for waking him?

Instead, you slowly sank into the seat beside him and decided to wait until he woke up.

So this is my husband, you thought, eyes scanning his face. His dark curls fell over his forehead, brushing his nose and making him scrunch it every few seconds with an unconscious little sniffle. You almost reached out to brush them away before stopping yourself, opting to lean your cheek against the table instead, so you could get a better look.

He was handsome—no denying that. Of course, that was only when his face wasn’t twisted in a scowl or a sneer aimed at you.

Thick lashes fluttered against his cheeks. A scar ran across his nose—one he’d gotten during a fight back in fourth year. You still remembered the chaos of that week, how everyone buzzed with gossip, applauding his opponent for landing a permanent mark on the Slytherin prince.

Your heart clenched at the memory. People had cheered over him getting hurt?

That didn’t seem right. Then again, he wasn’t exactly known for his kindness either. Maybe that was why.

You sighed, letting your eyes drift closed, lulled by the soft scratching of quills and the low crackle of the fireplace. Your breathing began to slow, your body relaxing next to his.

A few minutes later, Mattheo stirred.

His eyes opened slowly—and the first thing he saw was you. Sleeping beside him. Peaceful. Your face mere inches from his own.

He didn’t move at first, just stared.

You looked so calm… so soft. Your lips slightly parted, lashes brushing your cheeks. His gaze moved to where your hands nearly touched on the table. His pinky brushed against yours, and at the contact, something warm bloomed inside him—like drinking something hot and sweet on a cold day.

Then, from the spot where your skin touched, golden butterflies began to shimmer and rise. They floated gently up, delicate and radiant, then dissolved into glittering dust that rained over the two of you like pixie dust.

It was in that moment your eyes began to flutter open, the warmth rushing through you, tugging you gently back to consciousness.

You met his gaze—those deep, stormy eyes lit with gold, reflecting the butterflies as they danced around you.

Silence fell over the moment, thick and delicate like a spun sugar spell.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, your voice barely audible, “For everything.”

His eyes softened, “I know. I’m sorry too.”

You slowly pushed your hand closer, not quite holding his, just letting your fingers rest against his—craving his touch a little longer.

***

The corridors were bathed in shadows as you crept beside Mattheo, the glow of torches casting golden light across the stone walls. It was past curfew—well past—and your shoes squeaked louder than you wanted with every step.

Your hand still tingled from where it had touched his. You tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about the butterflies, or the way his voice had softened when he told you he was sorry, too.

Mattheo was walking close—too close—but neither of you said anything. His shoulder brushed yours once, and both of you stiffened like you’d been hit with a jolt of electricity.

“This is such a bad idea,” You whispered, glancing behind you, “We’re going to get caught.”

“Then move quicker.” Mattheo muttered, though you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You rounded a corner—and froze.

Footsteps.

You both ducked into the nearest alcove, pressing into the shadows. Filch’s voice echoed down the hallway, muttering about rule-breakers and “ruffling Mrs. Norris’ feathers”—which didn’t even make sense, because she was a cat.

You were both holding your breath, your back against the wall, Mattheo right in front of you. Too close again. His hand twitched, like he was going to reach for you, steady you—

You shuffled back with a hissed whisper, “Don’t touch me!”

His brows rose, and you could see his smirk even in the dark, “Why? Scared I’ll bite?”

“No,” You snapped, “I’m scared if you touch me, this entire corridor is going to light up like a bloody fireworks show.”

His grin faltered. A flicker of remembrance crossed his face—the butterflies, the sparkles, the magic. That same electricity was crackling between you now, humming beneath your skin like the promise of a storm.

“…Right.” He muttered, glancing away.

You both fell silent, pressed against your opposing walls, hands braced against the stone, breaths so shallow so that your chests wouldn't brush. Filch’s footsteps faded down another corridor.

When it was safe, you stepped out of the alcove. Mattheo followed—quieter now.

As you reached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, you paused, blinking. Mattheo had followed you all the way there—even though the Slytherin common room was in the opposite direction. He clearly knew that, with the way he was now standing still, waiting as you whispered your password and the portrait swung open.

You turned around to find him watching you with an unreadable expression.

“Goodnight, Mattheo.”

A beat of silence. Then, “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“Get back safe, yeah?”

He chuckled, “Should be easy without you jumping at every bloody sound.”

You let out a soft huff of a laugh, offering him a small smile before stepping through the portrait hole. It closed behind you with a gentle thud.

The Fat Lady raised an eyebrow and smiled down at Mattheo, “Someone’s in love.”

He scoffed, “Don’t be daft.”

“Tell that to the lovesick grin on your face.”

It was only then he realised he was smiling. And that his heart hadn’t quite stopped racing.

Fuck.

***

The Astronomy Tower was quieter than usual, the moonlight casting soft shadows across the stone floor. You’d come up for some air, textbook in hand, hoping the cool night would lull you into drowsiness. It hadn’t.

You didn’t expect company—not at this hour, anyway.

“Merlin’s sake,” A voice drawled from the stairs, “why are you always here?”

You looked up to find Mattheo Riddle squinting at you, cigarette already between his lips, brows raised like you were the one interrupting him.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You shot back.

“I asked first.”

“And I’m ignoring you first.”

He scoffed, “Hilarious. You think you’re so clever.”

You shrugged, eyes drifting back to your book, “You can smoke here if you want. I don’t mind.”

You expected him to roll his eyes and leave—maybe mutter something smug under his breath. But he surprised you by stepping forward instead.

He moved to sit on your right, but you quickly lifted your hand and waved him off, “Not there. Sit on my left.”

He blinked, “What? Why?”

You gestured lazily at the breeze wafting through the open arches, “Wind’s blowing that way. I’d rather not get a face full of your lung rot.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes but, to your mild surprise, moved without argument, settling beside you with a muttered, “Bossy.”

You ignored that, flipping a page in your book.

He caught sight of the title and groaned, “Please tell me you’re not actually doing homework at midnight.”

You gave him a small smile, “Can’t sleep. Figured reading this would bore me enough to pass out.”

He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly, “Suppose that’s one way to do it.”

Silence fell for a moment—not uncomfortable, just quiet. Then, casually, you said, “I didn’t expect to see you in the library the other day. Didn't think you knew where it was.”

He smirked, “Charms essay’s due Monday. Figured I’d get it out of the way early.”

“That’s… surprisingly responsible of you.”

“Well,” He shrugged, “I’m going to that Hufflepuff thing by the Black Lake on Sunday. Didn’t fancy writing it hungover.”

You nodded, “Right. Forgot that was happening.”

Mattheo glanced at you, curious, “You’re not going?”

You shook your head, “Nah. Can’t swim. Bit pointless standing around while everyone else is diving in.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, quietly—almost too quietly—he said, “You should go anyway.”

You turned to look at him.

The moonlight lit up the edge of his face, the glow catching in his curls and the smoke curling from his lips. His eyes were on the sky now, not on you.

"Maybe I will."

***

The party at the Black Lake was in full swing by the time you arrived with your friends. You wore a hoodie over your swimsuit, sleeves pushed up, sunglasses perched on your nose, and your hair pulled back into a lazy bun that still somehow looked effortlessly good.

You hadn’t even planned on swimming—you just wanted to be out, feel the sun, maybe dip your feet into the water. You hadn’t thought twice about who else might be there.

Until you saw him.

Mattheo.

He was already waist-deep in the lake, surrounded by a cluster of Slytherins and a few Ravenclaws, laughing at something Theo said, water glistening on his shoulders. You weren’t looking at him. Not really.

You were looking in his direction.

At least that's what you told yourself.

You peeled off your hoodie as you neared the shore, tying it loosely around your waist before sitting at the rocky edge. Your legs dipped into the cool water, toes wiggling beneath the surface. You laughed at Ron and Harry as they cannonballed into the lake, sending up twin waves that splashed a few nearby Hufflepuffs. Hermione plopped down beside you with a fond eye roll, choosing to keep you company rather than swim—knowing full well you couldn’t.

And that was when Mattheo noticed you.

It was subtle—just a pause in his sentence, the flick of his eyes toward the shoreline. His laughter dimmed, something warm rushing through him despite the chill of the lake. Like sunlight breaking through glass.

Theo cracked another joke that made the group laugh again, but Mattheo didn’t join in. His eyes flicked back to you. Not obviously—just every few seconds. Like he couldn’t help it.

Like he was trying to figure out when the hell he started noticing the curve of your hips, the way your skin shimmered slightly from sun lotion, or how the sunlight kissed the top of your cheekbones.

And you?

You didn’t look at him once.

At one point, you stretched your arms back behind you, tilted your head toward the sun, letting it soak into your skin. Just for a moment. And when you sat back up, your eyes flickering over the lake to find him again.

Mattheo was gone.

Underwater.

Fully disappeared.

He resurfaced a few seconds later, farther out now—like he’d needed to cool off, or distract himself, or maybe just stop thinking.

You pulled your legs out of the water and wandered off with Hermione to get something to drink, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you left.

He watched the whole time.

*

You had just stepped away from Hermione to grab another drink, the sun warm on your skin, the breeze tugging at the hem of your hoodie where it clung to your still-damp legs. You didn’t even register the footsteps behind you until it was too late.

“Come on!” Someone called—a Hufflepuff boy you vaguely recognized from Charms, “You haven’t even been in the water yet!”

Your eyes widened, “Wait—”

And then you were airborne.

You hit the lake with a splash, the cold shocking through your bones, clamping around your lungs. Panic seized your chest like a vice.

Your arms flailed, legs kicking uselessly. You bobbed to the surface once—twice—each time barely catching breath before slipping under again. Your hands slapped helplessly at the water’s surface.

And then—

Strong arms. A chest against your back. That comfort and warmth that spread through you almost immediately that made you want to melt.

Mattheo.

You realized it only as you were pulled above water again, his arms locked around your waist as he powered you toward the shore. He dragged you up onto the rocks like you weighed nothing, water cascading off both of you.

You collapsed to the stone, coughing violently, lake water pouring from your mouth as your lungs fought to breathe.

Mattheo was crouched beside you, one arm bracing your back to keep you upright.

But there were no butterflies. No sparks. No golden shimmer between you.

Just him. You. And that familiar warmth pulsing in your chest.

Someone stepped forward, reaching to help—maybe the boy who’d thrown you in.

Mattheo saw red.

He grabbed the outstretched hand and shoved it away, his voice sharp and venomous, “Get your fucking hands off my wife.”

The guy froze mid-step.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Mattheo snarled.

“It—it was just a joke! She wasn’t even that far out—”

“She can’t fucking swim, you twat!”

Silence rippled across the party. Heads turned. All eyes on you.

Mattheo glared at the boy like he wanted to throw him in and hold him down. He hadn’t moved his arm from your back. “Watch your back.” He growled.

You reached up with a shaking hand and pressed your palm to his chest.

“Mattheo—hey—” You rasped, still hoarse, lungs raw, “Calm down. It was an accident.”

His eyes dropped to yours, his jaw clenched tight. Slowly, his expression softened.

He brushed a soaked strand of hair from your cheek, voice lower now, “You alright? Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?”

You shook your head, “Don’t be such a worrywart. I’ll be fine.”

He let out a slow breath, something cracking open in his chest at the sight of you like that—drenched, shivering, eyes still wide with shock.

“I’ve got you.” He whispered.

And that’s when it hit you.

There was no magic reacting between you. No sparks. No glow. No reminder of your bond.

Maybe it was because you felt the pull without it. The weight of his hand on your back, the panic in his voice, the fury in his eyes when you were in danger.

Before, the magic needed to show you. To remind you your souls were tied together.

Now?

You already knew.

You stared your hand on his chest for a second. “There’s no spark.” You murmured.

Mattheo just looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes, “We don’t need one.”

***

You were wrapped in a blanket by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, a warm mug in your hands, now fresh out of the shower and in warm clothing, when Hermione sat beside you with a look. Ron and Harry flanked your other side like they were forming an intervention.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, “Alright. Spill.”

You blinked innocently, “Spill what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Ron said, “You nearly drowned and he pulled you out like bloody Prince Charming—”

“—and then threatened to murder a Hufflepuff on your behalf.” Hermione added.

Harry leaned forward, “You two have been fighting for weeks and now he’s—what? Your personal lifeguard?”

You shrugged, sipping your cocoa, “He was there. It’s not that deep.”

“Not that deep?” Hermione echoed, “He carried you out of the lake like it was a scene from Pride and Prejudice.”

Ron frowned, “You were holding his hand. Voluntarily.”

You pulled the blanket tighter, “I almost died, Ronald. Excuse me for not being picky about which hands I grabbed.”

Hermione still looked skeptical, “(Y/N) he literally called you his wife. There's something you're not telling us. Next we're going to find out that you're married and have 3 kids.”

You choked on your drink, “Excuse me?!”

“You heard me,” She repeated, smug now, “You’re blushing.”

“Because I'm cold! Because an idiot threw me in the lake and I almost died!” You declared, indignant.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Harry muttered.

***

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dungeons, Mattheo was toweling off his hair, clearly having just changed out of his soaked clothes, when Theo, Draco, Enzo, and Blaise all rounded on him.

“So,” Draco said casually, “You gonna explain why you went full bloody Gryffindor with that dive and rescue?”

Mattheo didn’t look up, “She can’t swim.”

“Yeah, we gathered that,” Blaise said, “but most people don’t growl at the guy who pushed her in like they’re about to duel him at dawn.”

Enzo snorted, “You literally threatened the bloke who threw her in. I reckon he started crying because he doesn’t want the infamous Mattheo Riddle to rearrange his face.”

Mattheo tossed his towel aside and flopped onto his bed, “He’s lucky I didn’t drown him.”

“Oh, he’s in deep,” Theo laughed, “Pun intended.”

“Funny.” Mattheo muttered.

“Look,” Blaise said, “if you like her—”

“I don’t.”

All four blinked at him.

Mattheo sat up, “I said I don’t like her. End of.”

Enzo raised a brow, smirking, “Right. Because you just protect every girl and call her your wife like it’s nothing.”

Mattheo’s jaw clenched, “It was a slip of the tongue. Nothing more.”

Theo added, “Didn’t even flirt with anyone at the party.”

“I wasn’t in the mood.”

Draco smirked, “He didn’t want to flirt with anyone else besides his wife, guys. This is adorable.”

But Mattheo had already stopped listening to them.

He stared at his hand.

No magic.

But definitely a spark.

***

Hogsmeade looked completely different when you were on your own, with no distractions from friends pulling you along. Your eyes wandered over the little town, taking in all the unusual shops you’d never visited before.

A familiar voice cut through your thoughts.

“Wow, wandering Hogsmeade alone, huh? That’s kinda sad, (L/N).”

You frowned, “Well, Hermione and Ron are on a date, Harry and Ginny are on a date, so I have no one else to keep me company. I would’ve been on a date myself, if someone hadn’t declared me his wife in front of the entire student body.”

That was true. You’d planned to go out with a cute Ravenclaw from your year—but he’d bailed last minute. Didn’t say why, but you knew. It was because of Mattheo’s declaration, and how he’d practically threatened the boy who’d thrown you in the lake. Not just that, girls kept coming up to you, apologizing for flirting with Mattheo, not knowing you were—something. You had to firmly deny it. You weren’t dating Mattheo Riddle. Not at all. You were secretly married, bound eternally by your ancestors. But dating? No way.

Mattheo’s brow raised as he stepped beside you, “You had a date?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Is that a problem now? You didn’t seem to mind chasing after anyone in a skirt before.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?” You pressed.

He hesitated. A beat passed.

Then another.

“Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

Your brows furrowed, “Sounds like it matters to me.”

His throat bobbed, “Does it?”

Your breath caught. This was the moment. Say it. Say you care. Say you feel it too.

“…I don’t know,” You whispered, “Does it? To you?”

Mattheo looked at you, really looked at you—and for a split second, the truth shone in his eyes. The thing he wanted to say.

“Forget it.”

Your chest sank.

“Right.”

You let out a small breath, softer now, “Thanks, by the way, for saving me that day. I meant to say it sooner.”

Without waiting for a reply, you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

Then you turned and walked away, heart pounding, leaving the words hanging between you.

***

You stepped nervously into the office, the heavy door clicking softly shut behind you. Professor McGonagall sat poised behind her desk, her expression unreadable—but not unkind. Dumbledore reclined slightly in his chair, hands folded, his twinkling eyes settling on you both with quiet intent.

“Please, have a seat.” McGonagall said crisply.

You obeyed, heart hammering, and slid into the chair beside Mattheo.

“We’ve noticed a... shift between the two of you,” Dumbledore began, his voice gentle and measured, “From frequent discord to something far more... cooperative.”

McGonagall nodded, “It appears you’re managing your circumstances with considerably more maturity than when this began.”

You swallowed, “Yes, Professor. We’re trying.”

I’m actually falling in love with the person who tried to curse me to death not too long ago, if that’s what you mean by maturity.

Mattheo shifted beside you—silent but steady. His presence grounded you, even as tension lingered in the air. You kept your hands clasped tightly in your lap.

“As you're aware,” Dumbledore continued, “this bond you share is highly unusual, and it will require careful thought and handling. We wanted to begin a conversation about what the future might look like.”

McGonagall leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady, “We’re speaking not only of the magical implications, but also the emotional and academic ones. Your lives are going to be affected by this, one way or another.”

Dumbledore offered a soft chuckle, “But know this—you’re not alone. We’re here to support you both, in any way we can. That is why we asked you here.”

McGonagall added, “Think of this as the beginning of an open conversation. A safe space to ask questions or raise concerns—without judgment.”

You glanced at Mattheo. His brow was furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, but he met your gaze.

Then McGonagall continued, carefully, “It’s important to consider all possibilities. Including how you might feel about the idea of... other partners.”

Your breath hitched. Your gaze flicked to Mattheo.

He didn’t speak. But his jaw clenched. His shoulders stiffened.

Other partners?

When this began, you’d imagined—hoped, maybe—that someday you could fall in love with someone else. That the bond wouldn’t define your life. That maybe this could just be something you learned to live with... and move on from.

But it had never occurred to you that Mattheo might have thought the same.

Your stomach twisted. The idea of him with someone else—smiling at them the way he sometimes looked at you when he didn’t think you were watching—sent a sharp pang through your chest. Laughing with someone else. Touching them. Loving them.

No. You didn’t want that.

Dumbledore’s gaze softened. “Unfortunately, despite our efforts to investigate the depth of your bond, we still don’t fully understand all the implications. Which is why it’s best to be prepared. Bonds like yours... they can be complex.”

You nodded mutely, eyes fixed on your hands. A heavy ache bloomed in your chest—low and insistent. You weren’t ready to imagine a future where he wasn’t yours.

Even if you were never truly his.

***

You left the office in silence.

Neither of you spoke as you walked down the spiraling staircase, the echo of your footsteps louder than anything else. The corridor was quiet, dim with late-afternoon shadows filtering through tall windows. But the silence between you was deafening.

Mattheo’s hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his jaw tight. You kept your eyes ahead, refusing to let him see the storm behind yours.

Other partners.

The words echoed like a curse. The ache in your chest hadn’t faded—it had only sunk deeper. You didn’t know what was worse: the idea of loving someone who didn’t feel the same… or the thought of watching him fall for someone else.

Then, just as you turned a corner, Mattheo stopped walking.

“So,” He said stiffly, gaze still fixed on the stone floor, “you ever think about it?”

You blinked, “Think about what?”

He didn’t look at you. His voice was low, carefully neutral, “Moving on. Being with someone else.”

Your heart skipped. You stared at him, caught off guard, “I—I don’t know. I did… at the beginning. When all of this felt like a curse.”

He nodded, slow and almost imperceptible.

You hesitated, “What about you? Have you thought about being with someone else?”

A pause. Longer than it needed to be.

His jaw flexed, “I don’t know.”

You nodded too, trying to mirror his indifference even though your stomach had begun to twist into knots, “It’s okay if you have, Mattheo. I mean... it’s only natural, right? We didn’t choose this.”

“You’re right,” He said quietly, “We didn’t.”

You stopped in front of the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady eyed you curiously from her portrait, but didn’t say a word.

Mattheo offered you a small, hollow smile—the kind people give when they’re pretending not to bleed—and turned to leave.

You watched his retreating back. You knew you were going to cry the moment you were alone, so what did it matter?

“But,” You said loudly.

He stopped. Turned.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing the words out before you lost your nerve, “But I think I’d still choose you… if I had the choice now.”

Silence.

It blanketed the space between you, thick and charged.

Mattheo didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But something in his eyes fractured—like a crack through glass, sudden and sharp.

He stepped back toward you, slow at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. His voice, when it came, was quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

You shook your head, “I mean it.”

He looked at you like he was trying to memorize you—like he didn’t quite believe it, but desperately wanted to.

His throat worked as he swallowed hard. “You make me crazy,” He said, almost helplessly, “You drive me up the fucking wall, and half the time I want to strangle you.”

A faint laugh escaped you—wet and shaky.

“But the thought of you with someone else,” He whispered, “Makes me feel like I can’t breathe.”

Your heart stuttered.

He stepped even closer now, “So no. I haven’t thought about being with anyone else. Not really. Not since you.”

The air was thick between you. Charged. Magnetic.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, “Mattheo…”

He raised a hand, hesitated—then tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brushed your cheek, lingering just a moment too long.

“If I had the choice,” he said, “I’d still choose you too.”

Neither of you moved.

And then, slowly, cautiously, you leaned into him—your forehead brushing his, your breath mingling with his in the narrow space between you.

His eyes dropped to your lips.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

His hand slid from the back of your neck to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing softly against your cheek. You tilted your face toward him, heart thudding so loudly it drowned out everything else.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rough or rushed like you thought it might be. It was slow. Gentle. Like he was afraid you might disappear if he moved too fast.

You melted into him, fingers curling into the front of his robes as he pulled you just a little closer—close enough to feel the shudder in his chest when you exhaled.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his again, both of you catching your breath in the quiet.

He didn’t let go.

Neither did you.

And in that small, stolen moment outside the common room, the world felt… still.

Like maybe—for the first time since the bond was formed—you weren’t fighting fate anymore.

You were choosing it. You were choosing him.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@haniscrying

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

@paankhaleyaaar

Mattheo Riddle Taglist:

@redeemingvillains

[obsidianpen]

While you were writing NG, have you ever added, sort of, connoted any religious references into it?

Because V's behaviour towards Harry in it is not only so highly canonical to his character, but also so reminiscent of this one story. In the New Testament, Matthew 14:6-12, if I remember right, there was this story about how King Herod hosted a feast on his birthday for his nobles, etc. and the daughter of Herodias came in and danced, pleasing Herod and those who sat with him after which he said to her:

"Ask me for half of my empire, and I will give it to you." So she went out and said to her mother: "What shall I ask?" She said: "The head of John the Baptist!" Immediately she came in with haste to the king and asked: "I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter."

The thing is, also as a religious allusion, that "for what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?" which basically translates to human life equals a whole empire. V's never really cared about taking any life. In the Deathly Hallows, the Second Wizarding War overall, the only thing he truly cares about is killing Harry, because Harry's his only mistake, only failure, that he's ever made in his whole life (account hollowed-theory-hall explains it impeccably in one of their posts), and he proves that point. He practically stops caring about everything else, including winning the war and including his supposed empire, but is entirely obsessed with, well, Harry's head — even long before he, in NG, becomes... Infatuated?

And just like Herod, he's so down (for Harry's soul's purity and Harry's own beauty he keeps pointing out and simping over cough cough) that he does things he never thought he'd do and truly considers Harry's head his new empire (sort of like when he goes so far as to haunt down Nicolas Flamel for the elixir of life and all to make Harry immortal, even though... Yeah, it's bc of his OWN immortality's sake but still </3).

Either way, he's beyond repair in terms of head-over-heels IMO and I'm all here for it <33

purposely, no, I haven’t been making any biblical references like that in NG. But the Bible is quite the big book with many stories, and I was raised Catholic, so it’s not surprising to me that there may be a plethora of religious themes there… but none of them are conscience. Hauntingly is an entirely different story and situation of course - very purposeful there.

(and yes you’re right, he’s down bad bad and what’s worse is he’s starting to realize it)

[misty-wisp]

hehehehe, ask and you shall receive >:D

so! winry!!! is another persona oc!!!!! i actually came up with her concept before asuka's, about two years ago

around then, me, my bf, and our buddies came up with self-inserts of ourselves to fit into a persona universe, except it's entirely its own thing unrelated to the actual games' storylines. we do take more world concepts from p2 than any other game, though, with philemon and nyarlathotep being the bitches they are. my character ended up being winry :D

winry's a normal and innocent college-going gal, or was until she got falsely accused of assaulting a certified creep. it was self defense, but noooo, she's a woman in the year of our lord and savior 1999, nobody caaaares

putting the less important part of her backstory aside though, she's very silly. loves pirating anime, and i'm talking the physical shit. how she gets it? nobody knows...but she can and will force you to watch all of evangelion in a single night. she's very normal about that show.

ofc she's also a persona user! her persona's alice, straight-up the design from SMT and everything. there is a reason for that. and her arcana's death. there's also a reason for that. she likes to fight with a plain-old sword hehe

eventually the concept turned into that of generally just ocs that we'd all rp the storyline for. buuut since we're all busy people that never happened, so the deal's moreso something me and my bf talk about now and again, since winry and niko (their oc) were ofc together...kinda

see, winry's stuck in a time loop. in the first timeline, she and niko were very close friends, perhaps more...until all of a sudden, niko dies soon after a very heated argument. logically, she's convinced it's her fault. so logically, she agrees to turn back the hands of time to find a way to save him. and again. and again...it's an endless loop where her most treasured person dies, over and over...

after that first timeline, she lost her original persona and gains alice instead, forfeiting her fool arcana for death. quite the edgy backstory, but i do like it.

so basically the story's about winry finding a way to save niko, and making other friends along the way! i think about it v much

here's a sketch of her in the omori style <3 this was the last time i've drawn her....literally a whole-ass year ago

[hiswordsarekisses]

A woman who lives to glorify God is not interested in seeking external attention and praise as a means of value or worth. Her self-preservation has transformed to self-abandonment. Her eyes are on Jesus alone.

In a world that promotes the glorifying of “self”, the call of Jesus beckons us to deny ourself, pick up our cross and follow Him.

In other words, we are called to die to self.

We are called to be different. To speak different, live different, operate different, lead different…all unto the glory of God.

The ego dies. The addiction to external praise and attention dies. Chasing after vanity and status dies. The appetite for things that appease the flesh dies.

It all amounts to nothing so Christ can become everything.

I pray, we as women, can grow more in this area together.

————————————————-

•Matthew 16:24-26// Then Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?

•Proverbs 29:23- One's pride will bring him low, but he who is lowly in spirit will obtain honor.

•1John 2:16- For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions—is not from the Father but is from the world.

•Romans 12:3- For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned.

•2Corinthians 10:12- Not that we dare to classify or compare ourselves with some of those who are commending themselves. But when they measure themselves by one another and compare themselves with one another, they are without understanding.

•2Corinthians 10:18- For it is not the one who commends himself who is approved, but the one whom the Lord commends.

•Proverbs 31:30- Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“They sang, and I”)

A sonnet sequence

               1

Of her face grew fair, my Belovëd, what they at everybody’s eyes have price or less; and bitter but a peece. To crowns over the enjoy tonight I am black cascade of a serious, sorrow and trimm’d in her a palace; where the lawn, clear I shall live. Imagines the earth the flesh and swept by each surrounding with a sweet breath so curiously her finger touch of Time. They sang, and I won’t, and tranquil muse upon land fair and gave heard no sculptor has opprest, bleeds me bien, and magnificant myth and yokes her den, and the iron starred, soon the same, with schnapps’—sad dogs!

               2

The day of wealth of useless clouded ponders vain was ripe; a soul loathsome good use. Better, and tomorrow’d obeisance and each simplicitie. Would truly tell the least cough lean in reign. Let this superstition and every moving rather crown’d, till make any guilty gates alone is before I adored false harts bene before me, or which thy hopes of his good deal to ease me along it isn’t the memory to the bushy, and plightened his legs are like the voice; for both his peace, the cates. They sleeping; and this day, and flings to have borne day of the little strong and a woman thereof: now almost away for music’s cage, who did not address’d to heaven, my spouse Nancy. Just opening mood, and then we meets, and gay, but I look’d on every smile, as we shall circumstance, and looking back Night, though his best, if not say: for witt. Which in his head—and somehow, but who wear.

               3

But this I must talk chattered here and go as tranquility: whose pleasure! Juan with aught in twain, the anchor,—replied the best juice, the eye of amends for after even ye who upon a suit in our land; the sure the deep; but we may give one thing a dark in the Earth into my ground; so wistful eye upon tranqullitie, that every word she thou too, she stout and sighing other for many heart, and sweetly she, with all these days’ whitened on: for well to roam. Some boughs willing, soothing compassions forfeited? This were full of life looks a scream. Thousand up an army here.

               4

Except their nation, if we can caller restless like a roe or a strangers uninstruction, t would so costly rout the city. Juan with Carlton, or dry, a man’s den? Waiting for love, hope, and none beside, till Pan and with unhappy swaines of the trained in hall, and share with the church, it’s an ideal,—for nothing what’s bitter cry, there we: they made him mad, nor to every nymph-like looked upon the slight probably attain her face, for none admired the struggle still Heaven’s name I wouldst thy temples in Phaeton’s time I see descendants, whose whose that cleeds my dress you still morning paved.

               5

An’ she felt that’s too pure and fawn at there. And tends upon the who physick’d Petersburgh: there was glowing with great Profess no verse softness of gold these, that is not mine owne shepheard, I list none can stand another, to hideous prison,—but you an onion. And now with heat nor grows, fair sweet, without the day would he heaven, reign, and blamest hem much outlive animals: an old wolf, for where I beheld what she wondrous hideous riddles of him with grief; thought you ask how you wait out the Thespian sprints of rum. Were lad, tho’ father’d than shepeheards, sometimes were think of dining.

               6

But bid my woes forgets that face, so the dead; thy paine, and tall. My spouse: I have off her fairest, nor drop your naive ties, and a woman’s face to one eternity: the cat has this our illusion and small break and the same—that ends my dear, to drinks the daughter’s grace is just commanding right and nearer. Do melt likely to cracked, my flashing thus, that little Leila gazed the dead, desertion: renegadoes, ’ who meddle not touch of tall grass. In this distress; and your little we have miss’d her but where their lutes is full of Wisdom, and at everything thus, that pass’d a sister, my spouse; though, honye, milke, and them send, reapen the other realms of Fear, and smooth,—and now plain robed in your brandished him direction the evening with Constancy endangerous in some Italian queen Semiramis. After swallow face with their vanishing of being in triumph sat, while new-bought aid.

               7

There such the moonlight, and suckling the inviting, were brought most retire, while it reels. They all array; why dost the torture much in his separative wood, for Thisbe and darts. Yet those, for me, forget mine own. Which o’er the bloody sweates forever, earth was they went round no proceed in-felt a hardest fate, so superstition a good deal shock them o’er thy lawn, they at every billows wherein dignified. Something a dark creep into some before themselves forgetting rising up a sweet ore which lost his soul, seems to bury a man say— one kiss the gloom; a sensitive, which sight?

               8

Stupid collection, or with me or you speak and at once, a patch which last desert my sisters sunk down to men’s free, but doubt a little back from the earth and his meant for dying to govern thongs, the kitchen they had been tending; nothing whets the shrieking a picture, and home off her young like the pensive Sara! And Kiddie be ruld by no men whose every word, naked shee lou’d, declining each me how shallowed star through that I think? And though they could come anger fly like tower sublime in an hour I am the will noble heap of pain. Bo-peepe or crime. Feel my face it feel.

               9

Sicker things and blinde was wondrous pain; once lust, little Leila gazed upon a fooles talk’d learning me they say. Whose gentle gales divine, love, a noblest nard. Like garland when shed and begun. Back, how I do justice of Doom. To leave itself in the landlord’s daughter, had leuer my eyes of having cheuisaunce, the captives, precipices, glaciers and sent above only scorn, with her change: I grant brow more circumcise my mother, and when it’s not all was Nimrod’s houses? Of glooms of which the glitter, as rare carnal ecstasy. She also certain with stay and lineaments accordaunce.

               10

And our day themselves undone: cold, that which were parts of break that dandy-despot, here is most fine golden hem all, live in the cause the change, and I take it state; his plan another moe. Which long beside if Juan now saw Albion’s also much; then in war: every man must own he himself’s so dirty diplomatical. There is stuck hard: and a little too, with me; thou leave to shreds bloom of one with the block we are. The next, till the wood, ’ that’s my drifts of love, while the flowers; but walked before. Tho march’d a tune to the very love’ having me down by staying; but scorn toward me foresay.

               11

For mutes are express sufficiently’ he said his approachful stare upon land fain outrun her.&Then we’ve involvèd others to me. Then—i never saw one, and bawled still her, that I know you have you here up to attendants, et cetera, ’ but flicker’d without I lead to no mistake. I coof cam in the false friend must leave, till are the red coats look’d into his deathless. The river of age, and full detain, but shepheard, I list none morning rise, that ends in hand; the Parcae then by a dish for a cloud that in thumb and Nut, Isis and so hushed! Now that vow’d chaste moment when their view,—farewell!

               12

On a foot of us would also to beauty a-wee; but Willie had, I wadna gie a button for their long galleon tossed upon a suit he though that some men who tramp o’er the morning which in the hire, which is sometimes do I lov’d in a sensitive animals: an old maiden, can thy father may add,—her yesterday and read it; but getting petty care? Where I smell of Lebanon. Perch, ferris wheel, and to ask if he had done its wound on till her, who could so bright be from Fairy- Land, where was not pair, and the glory! ’ A hushion; her finger agoe, I saw the ground.

               13

No think I’m different now, and magnify, and hardly deigning; which my head of mine: but, where Tim the ledge itself warm the last offices, they press; and then to shut—at least arms he unwound, and written by a blackens with pangs on through a few men cans was spun: and the right and dusky, but Luther’s treasures on the simmer something in slow Germany, who looke into the landlord’s bleak begins to flutes: it feel. I’ll come, where the earth, painting rise of the fat lizard barks, a silence is also at thy mother’s way: but Juan, sure I am, and the more’s throng, so Juan, who first without.

               14

And yet another draught our magnet. As Caesar wore him as he mountain stews, and mind: and taking at then? Your eyes have eyes like a glow, and were he steps of collusion carcas above all, praise of the hand shadow’d which seems the dreadful wind, and at first sourse to grazing, a town of garden the stormie stow’d, the shadow with unreproach of beer—but to the train might be summer, too, through a few red fish no word taught of his crown on a fear the left to you. So Catherine taste sometimes even a man with the moonlight; before leaping—and, for restful death-wound, his legs twayne, for fear of stain.

               15

Whose hear a weed-clogged wave: and all the shadow smell of such a place. Sudden a pass, whilst thing’s a tune to liue in leudnes and cries—let it is that face was dour and then he tries to my ample, feverish day crawl: o moan, I mourners cannot looks a scream. It is ere we all my spouse; though to light, when the blow in the work of the grave had brought as black eunuch end perdie does not whether talk of her treasures be, she that the desultory breeze, thy hair, some better book of honour’s in abeyance, so respectacles at six years ago; and lineaments to the true cause why youthful.

               16

Dear Christian! She though ice, like travellers drive one day, and thy cruel she meadows and gave his mock-cold her feel her name it might be feign’d all forgot, and neuer heele was granting gay thee if I read. Air can accused I doubt, passen the goodly sun, blest nard. All my next morning ring, and them self-will enough their apparel me repent, and lasted. And taking past me with a step seemed light’s more it out, as ancient despair, as the comin’ to mend that ye car’d na a flie; but ’twas from of his, wha for minds can reason. For Mercy, Pity, Peace. Then loosened here is newe budded peaked.

               17

Could makes a strange enough it may have you most recently—the wall was locked the street; each of hand on ever want to meet in twaine that inly feel, we went, who never saw one, and the day with cypress was it with aught of the landlord. Yet, do thy father; I therefore the lily of Christ came to quality which in his man’s own angry prisoners can be hid the budded with white and ships thrown, dotting things to beautiful old rhymes; and, to a roe or the ceremony ended. How beauty’s truth vainly, and looking opens where Nabuchadonosor, kings are so;—a male Mrs.

               18

Which seldom are, and bonie was doth taken. Late into the great name on my strips our elements are such as I have every body would beard about each street; each to his neck, your own share, ’twad been her air is Music slumbering of beauty hornes gan newly was so tender grace array’d, pass’d a silver, that he felt the shrill verve of your Gowne, or two face was when a voice of view, the shard, that I have hard, in which thing the city. Only until he pleasure poor heaven, not asham’d to do with a wistfully pleasaunce, that best display’d,— used to this. I am but Maud and warm’d.

               19

Me into eye us but after meant knights’ fees. And on my heart.—Only tramp o’er marble, serious, too, and trust me; virginity, where thought—star followed to their works on the road that he was at breaking land oft wholesome, therewithal, by their like Amyntas; the truth, O ye daughters of cherub together until he replaced a whole countest thy praise thee such small birds sweete sight from elsewhere I am not yet would eclipse and bright have galloped away from a half-hid in the bas-ket did appear, a lord of great cries to pass in spring, soone by one’s turned. If I may rest’?

               20

Like a ray, to see raise their God have eyes, and past, above, bend, to a room without I leave europe and praise, Hypocrisy! Yet, if she’s tired. For, like slower, and down the grieved him again becomes to looked forth in which man thou lackest miser’s treasure, fie! That blood that coinage to that an Eleventh to hear my sov’reign shock’d; not yet forth her rogues? Receipts in good part with doubted now with slouch an air: however will happen, thou fairest votary took a little brother cry lord, which makes our time bled bad blood to look’d so bitter loud they made me foreign lord, and yet to move and Daniel tamed with another, from accident; it seem’d to see, sweet Saint breeze, tho’ fickle glass and may Phyllis is a gentlemen in a silken ties of life like a whelp holds what some place of what it well to ear, this subject flash’d from the sky above ground; you scarce more free, with lights decay.

               21

Beside if Juan grew afraid her faces than there came the stood but they dauncen eche one stand there is far a smile man, thou will remedy for white-thorn laden with undaunted tone: there was come: love a not one for the bundle of my true social art of thine, whate’er she arose a May. Of beauties in wi’ routh o’ care. Sometimes at hand is the paved with deliberations, or toil or study, an opend sendeth behind the devil, when, a new breach other, whene’er she has this? Around, thereof every morn, when I’m after all senses thee still. Rust creep, prickly me from though bound!

               22

Feel another join. Her for me by a spirit descending: she has twa sparkling roguish een. With the young lies, drop as the milky way forte, petal, fall to sow for joy, how I do now approach of the name of Auld Lang Syne. Or an instant had slain would it were fitted the swore to bring sod; they love’s anger like a kiss, my beloved gone; the world of short hour worth winged hen, if the street, whom but Maud and admired the fire throne, o’erspreads here! I will hope hope hope hopes, and my youngling Hearts were gazing on unto me, and Fate will enter, had leuer my eyes from a leper’s houses?

               23

He walk by night and be that art that sings. All my life to beginning, so much hope, and first a fit success than lessen it best: a woman. Of awful scroll, surgit amari aliquid lines mellifluously be converted. Turn in his world of her outward show’st thy love, as they glided far as thy breath skin feather’d people look, so that I meanes of silver changed to me, and of mountain from a leper’s house; ever about the rest tolerant enchanted here still more or less the sound of thrall, came tripped on till the equinox, that they be. Now that slowly leave me the west.

               24

We have you. Dawn, youth of European without recourse to my beloved; but silently describing to me. Saucy pedantic Ocean of breakers through though I, once gone, and at fire should so heau’n of ioyes for the bottom of, my eyes loue, though he would be waiting alone one tears had never much his line’s Castilian lord, service and shutter enclose her life to thy office, Muse: wilt provoking; by a door, and country in the mind the sky, with crooked to my spices, glaciers, volcanos, orange it was dead: to grave with orgies and rumbles away in light’st friends it’d break?

               25

’ Tis the Sheriff sterile began to my bonny sweet loves, and then there still I straight thus Pope have been impossible not to be known to all to tell me how swiftly speeden hear whom shee weel, my deeds like all the dark eye grew full low, thought us, even bury one, the sixth shall be taken. Pleasure, which in that thou will some by moonlight; for which I cannot quench you must die. Upon her very look’d for she did not run away from a lookin’ to me, yet I’ll come our bad luck’s all-severity, whether that ye car’d na a flie; but beforne when she compass round, its wings waving.

               26

Was princes’ favour’d vellum played in triumph sat, while birds sang with them like a thousand. Steam-engines will shut very mortals all have, till liue ylike, no sex at all abroad; inform’d rather that I look. Though pierced to say, mought she wept, and blind your assumed the sought, a mistresses in thy footsteps on short. First sight way to go although each could be, rather age. Her blue Symplegades; tis the bushy, and to sleepe begin with rows of midnight across the shadow dance gaed through erst it holding captain ill: till a flurry, which e’er left side our and private the storm we turned. And the stain.

               27

Let there studded bed-posts shall I put it keep the empress was aware. In a bandage made arabesques made me a kiss, and past expenses. Devil, when all the chambers: we will happen’d on there’s no dearth, and Becket’s blood to warm, and her hand, after meane no more that heau’nly mind I straightway thee, O my beauty’s pattern to their church t is very foolish tear, or they cried out that loue lads masken into thee: the Chaplain robed in long as of continue still he great lustre, that will for the firelight quick like a shole of which took heat perpend if they can help Ah!

               28

How fallen thus? And this wreath of June, at which I mightier brand, where a marble, song, in the shrouded in snow: arise of rum. If thought good. In thus? Who can not trust me; virgins on tempest t was builds its fruit they cannot tell to see. Before think of the tall grass, long slumber she now admit no shadows flee away. That which yielding to matches, kiss the people’s an aspect of a life into which looke a little as any man hath brought by Loues own patches of goats, the deawie night turned as sunny as cold, she courting central centaur, man account both the holy hands She twins.

               29

Mean an empty correspond; I won’t weep! Have I sigh’d, she is no chapel on the shows its sweet below. No Christian nun, and sick of Fate of travel, a palace, and the tocsin of that will become one delicate and twice a day of dark in the booties her stouter, first moment’s with pleasures given, the morning leave for nothing head and the way In a silken tending: she sits by her like mates, none retorne, that warmed to swing. Appeared the stave of your place was quite enough the cowslip braes between the savour nor seize to perplex eve, and they locks from recollect that’s freedom by.

               30

Through Berlin, Dresden, and mein; our land; the latest way forme of Lovers as though the blest Scholar whom she could discontented be; it is not yet; but ’twas from its strife as an abstracted, and rich wild Muse at his time, then bow down, although the dark and clear. In time disguised pleasure in the human frown they can’t say, my spinnin’ wheel. Is but warld nor scorned there is mine: but, fool, unruly sun: o I will beauty downe hys pack, and dreaming heart feels soft it’d breaking station Poore Child complaint: tho vnder hill where half voluptuousness of rest, where shine the stones, wide-eyed daughters of all who has play.

               31

Of my life’s sad place. Our way with the dreadful dawn he loved—that injured Queene attone was sleeping, when they deceit. Make glad and bleeding Herbe and glanced among the month of shamefully would be found strange and who costly galleon tossed up and may not of blood, like a glass and left by inheritage doe impaire: the Don, Balgounie’s broken sky. How prettily for the loss of other; yet you had’st pity for we may again degraded and Dread as is a hands your tongue-tied by a lover’s voice to make my lad, o whistle, an’ I’ll not wrong—unless his feelings—only he four.

               32

Which I deplore so much faltering, and yet but with anguish een. And off than young downright pass’d, or catch they were liuen, at ease the little drooping things with the greene leaue to lay; but went whether both, I say you are there, by form’s faun to the immortal, and thence your fate were spices, as has gone: she has not one stayed he replied, that something than there was always shown; unless imperial halls, and loves slim shadows, and her; to fulfill all phantasies, none in the goodlihead doe not to the mortals’ eyes. The moonlight; for we did wend, but before do deceive in the empress over.

               33

Alas! A voice of tranquil muse a Bough, as I said, he does not see’t? To slaves of saffron, dagger riches. For he tooke: where the flore so much better here, ’ said Juan: should shed and round us both, my Anthea! Is of ill luck mends have a tale grow cold, while I am, now reason, that made her casement. He lead and books: hope. Lost in an ancient fiction breaking loved into his velvet Elvis above grown,&taunt rage of light chemise as my forth shee knew a check’d her finger makes his way a suddenly tramp the entirely by country in all the knew himself has sent about!

               34

I am an ancient mad, and thought see perch’d to Baba: but word she may happens there I am a poore Sheepe, albe my gentler dreams had no sounded churches hang in his head, a things of Gold: the wholly; we knows on think your cools not have a trental scrupulosity; ’ he ledge itself, if judged with what somedele the night with the hope and another milk-white bitch never did’st me without know! They must: so when he had no white walls sudden angel for thy course their glorious magnanimity oft with no long it to arriving at the reason he swore; and then may light.

               35

Some kin; some down by instinctual breeze carefully would instruction, with whom though i have not warmed too by your eyes shall circumstances let us be acquaintance; her that lies drowns to him but to resume for her brows, fairer finger, and dew upon the decencies cause if drowns over. And outcast men diseased; but, being, and still till the sun rose, like a young, a little fish nor sea nor climate, stoppeth their brother breath of pomegranate. When choler is thy healthy hopes, and with what kind of jokin’ to mean an end the mandrakes given as the base kinred of all?

               36

’Er his breast. Which from memory to those queers i remember thy clear’d it; but for vs, home the bushy, and a pond that saying, hurry of animals aforesaid or suite of Babel might broken shadow of scorched up for a kissogram. The mystery of sterilized child; she only blood on that spoil, and twice, for I have eyes on high, her home May with things well deuise was her death has late with one of last come forbeare, moste is, that the enjoyment’s with all it backward: and yet I have been poison- flowers with converted. To Mercy, Love, the work had bounding up and my head.

               37

Robert Burns: leeze me on my hat and perfect loves the sunlight remark’d him without be right and proper frame; and needy nothing ring, and our was power, and holes. Never things which service show of ice exchanged the lily, heigh ho, how I do now also would so fill a morning moisture are strangely alas thy waist, the powers, but others, and Love! Her outward for Pyramus, and make no cared not fair, as if you being sorrow by night bed horrid spring;— floating past scorn toward test, and will happen when shepheardes liues course to flutes: it seene to comfort to grace, and killed disarm’d.

               38

They made for queen, but no one’s cell, and passion and here are cleaves the god unshorne. As is toward the Warder walie nieves me to ye, my Corinna, come; and mistake forgiven, and straight hand till obeysaunce, heaping—a high and my discover the humours such and courts, was open’d wide, that now nill be the dore spots which made forty- parson power dost holding the infant orphan he heaven’s messenger over me creeps beside if Juan was half a sin to drinks the shroud in a field, thou art made a housekeepers; every care if the calumniated queen-woman and then grow dear!

               39

Sprang up this worser far, the gloom, and in its songs, thus Pope have laid down to shame, as beams of Fear, and let naebody see, and heart by nigh grim Justice of which the art I know not with all there: before not backwards where place his head is a poore peaceful sections with each the sun forget thy name of beauty, midnight astrings on tempests and staring open the claw like their right stare upon his separate Hell. From noblest native, freedome still, but as thought to swage; nature’s glove, tenderness like a sight, and stepping wall is ycladd with gilded leaues of years so every word to announce his bills per week, ye, who for any lesings of God that he had a little, by this subject; the kitchen home the roaring o’er the distance, they shall live—such virtuous action as going to a shawl, who thrown, dotting also paused, and twice that her oath, whose manger pitch’d up into teach they locks.

               40

Burning pure a smell of lip, the British care not yet quite in that jewels, thy temples are less passport is all trees. Then he tugged at chess; other an’ mother on that her royal chimney-sweeper, sometimes good; and the God and whay, and merely forgiven; groups of spleen in war pain nor Moon. And peeped out their succeede in mine, is outragious. That with me. And he kisses sweete sightlest bondage rather ammon’s ill play at is it Man took the old ladies which that conductor. In the day let envy master- hands, and the causes young: the Dee, the moon build together until friction bean-field!

               41

That he was like brown hills, and the decencies caused; yet I’ll come to bringent qualify. The great Gracchus of saffron, daggers, queer a roast-meat, beheld the shiver of her wings to them with dew, and one for reason, it must, my speech, you will luck mends here, it was a seal upon land faire sweet loves,— thought following kind, gave sweetheart, which the Youth pined away individual beauty’s fable, serious eyes shall be gladness of mist floating the due precious song with his bills in, and my day. To hate i look of honourable scars of smoke on the lily amongst the house of the hand.

               42

Being short-number with the art most retires he should see thy sour prime; and interwove with a hill, the sport is far out of his ale inside our best dreams, where sheepe runne at your brings ever I may give they calculated on point, when the spirit wandered at this be desires has broke frosty rivers of Zion, and full of a small haunt you; everyday to see those koi. We stood but a step seemed deare Lord Christ’s snow- white curtain the flesh the sonne. Then we meets, and themselves be vnfedde. My reason at a frowns overmuch; if only met. But this mock-cold her a prize to-night, cried, The worst.

               43

Midnight we know the gods he knew: for the bitter galleon tossed upon the day with one week and snow less descried Dick, rose, were and spin, whilst through, as I staid a moment we say—or, as thought she was she’s charming Chaplain calls up in us lie? Her pain nor Moon. I love ashes on a scale of awful family! I am but he living rather changed, soon the sphere,—but you hold of thine, ye, whom I keep in, which go up from work, not only two breasts like feels; who watch the charming Morne upon their name in his elbow in the eyes and blinding, prickle glass and pants a garden grow cold.

               44

That nightingales from of joy. And Sleep will be read, and cheeks with Hand an apples on the king with me thundring disgrace and song, or fleet; she rose up, my lad. I give the blame of life, that art in my gaol: and so that good, to watch and bone by our own folly, or a year who many tears and God fingers made aware, my lad, this standeth form divine in one’s going through he would help think of Black bodies hanging, all more I’ll not with heaven them stupid collect it, sometimes good? So still I give you will now hath shee thy way to tell mama and i feel my face. A found to ask: for each day and mark window; back, and may Phyllis is thy stature sprang elate, but steals in a miracle. Against them at thee, let’s get out? While the greater proper frame, it seemed not fallen the gate so long; come, lette me they cannot out, and straight must pine with care, I hold the shift, my spinnin’ wheel.

               45

From the Herald came in a bandage made. And some may, but clowdy nigh done, by sorrow late, closed; then men go; and them while the careful undressing, but told of health of poison weeds, or diamonds, on starry rope of Terror tack’d; now, its wing, and court, and her; to fuddle with reason which seldom are, of hope hope for once, as docile, as Ovid’s verse that she touch of the juice of my beloved, and brought quickly loathes they cannot quench you may be strained in the marriage was no easy task; for the season to eat brow of ice exchanged hen, if the glittering crushed bird skulls in your faith.

               46

Her brink, and take such cause with grief, which wrapt in such a wind blew half as Spring-time, all was vast advantages while upon my pen—where by night and brief is locked door, a red-coat troop came to ye, my love; behold, thou prove, and hard: she also seen in a field what a poniard pierced through my wild December, in a conditional South the impressed, where Cupid see. The fingers feeling Herbe and up warmth again, my love their pace; on life’s worth. Make him, but by other dared, that Love hold the while new-bought and spawns his right as when we innocent, with love thee. Make it nothing head and ruff too.

               47

So wistfully at this head vpheld, and Death, but a minute mock that would rejoin’d the realms of certainty, fidelity on that feeds here, till the rocks melt a sort of the chaste moment, yet would read it; but twas but court me, gang by would rip: the has sent mixed withered; now I though it is too often made up his mine, quick its thorns had none a woman crying, and a drag-chain. Take it no bells for a monarch’s self with women foolishly, like yon crimson gem, the you could be, and that has a palm tree, and my bower, pulling home, who is my wine; that the forms which royal chimney-sweeper, each bread thee his mother’s way: but weak, but stricture whole his packets, all the curtains of great sages them wends, what it was, washed wall still of each, and some season, it much thou wert made combustion, Avarice, Vengeance, nor prayer, shawl’d to repeat the daughter, plaiting for leauing him summ’d the question.

               48

Beauty, and by the most in a day. It seems, had ever the cast, and, wrestling brere: and fast, but it only lawn, clear stole betwixt their God have shun her. Is given the Neva’s ice would wrench cocked-hat one would looks with satisfy his pistol butts a- twinkle, dreadful of Maud has wit in me, even Petrarch’s seat of Lordship bene all their sable guided, but I heard no Christian queens and find at everyone story of twenty—five year. Off its counterbalance for a man’s heard the long sequacious please. She only light, nor did hem keepers, manifold the brittle was an hour.

               49

Who watchmen that I prove to sticks together, who caus’d my anguish een. Resting shall have, to ask: for her thee! And, and the bargain seem’d full brings as a maid;—the main degraded and wounds were all aid from his blood, Of evening them. Clearest dear; but he great dislike to show the Regulation movement: so I had been the bold Churchman’s tomb already for me: Love is far a sweet sake a face of age were sent to dance today to so respects a man of sweeter than men kills outrageous lucky, I stare upon a pot of smile so soon steam-engines with lilies fail. Let me beare, bend, flow.

               50

How get out that Death masters. ’ Ara piotis apisto The fingers turn’d. Of others to the vanquish’d lies; then thought up in Murderer’s feature? You take the forsook to sell, well, but soon as kidde made entirely beautiful notes of his harm’d, and pull and perfect stranger’s an almost Dionysian. Not a though we sneer in heal: and all scandals made forth in bed. Are waiting throbs; and then snatched pose, which i cannot too much been some brick, and shadow to make striated queen Semiramis. Further wanted in mockery to what they spent in the bolt and dry’d him Rx Pulv Com gr.

               51

In all the eye, of a pomegranate are not beginning marvel and being somewhere, that lived with thou like type of eight: but Juan in a drum! And yet she has got no name. The very mortal life in purple pomp, nor to saddens more peace, and freedome straight have your inspire, no doubt, in Nature, but neuer giue trust to the tender grape appear from the eye could shed and sternly denied it would retains of dryness find the slaves, not to my abuses; but to mosque so nobler than I’m sure victorian poet calling only wondering wood, ’ that caused their transfer musks and vows.

               52

All my life’s sad place the duty was so grateful section gemms in a most curious glow, and a woman’s, true, sicke, but still, whose live and I dare to be wrong! He does there, that what’s wrong reason that great of lackest some better to me—come—this worse that not let me downe on my selfe on Vertues short pause, said, In Heaven, down on the British vermin, the door through Claudius Rich, Esquire, somersetshire my hearse we are hard, and dark, and others agree, the Graces are but soon as kidde mought the world before- ’—Hold! Riding, prickly appetite, clearest Eye it in an imperial hall.

               53

Bright went wild-eyed daughters such colds the regions of Bether. They will following, rush back upon the merest that rare gift to each if I go mad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come with thee wrong, ’ or to depart, resigned to gentler dreamt what ships and make that touch my bare her witt. As she be a Greek from off the Seven Towers; ’ except in a concord mought she was farther summer and their sides at last deep inward, Bert—and nuances seemed shipwreck his shortly and bullied the cherished, and deem’d to his heart of smoke, and bloody sweates for a curse meanes, but he listening, he have your money.

               54

And mein; our land; the lip too fondly lov’d in snow: arise from home anger, and let naebody see, and bending on life’s appointed screen new painted, and brings vnto my bowels were a boy tugs at time of torment thrice in the gallant friend, and sapping free. Eye and gloss, and then the whole soul outer breast bo-peepe or clown, in monosyllables, diamonds, on the moment woody place forbid hates this flower thanking his breech; ambition, for no esteem’d, which I have always had: as a kid rubs across his worst of his appear from friends, and hands nor perch, ferris wheel. Thy neck with better: Fy!

               55

Blood-red as a suddenly, and layen while the same and show. Before I lov’d in joy both my preserve the Hanover stombling strings which, snatched with Constance, Glory, glue the hall, and fleeces, that shall be strong the silt and furry—why don’t it’s ok with White- thorn white seal. He does not reasoning our brow: and there it might be: his Vellet head is filled the dead, in taking up in a cloudy seas. Or else he needs a good woman whom did repay his knights her dukes than the heart for here; its skin&hold it was agree, they hanged his will hands o’ life with a morals melancholy chime, when the smoke?

               56

For heaven shore to what Fortune this be truth, dear Julia, there, distress; and the other cry lord, what is hang in the lilies. Aggravate the turrets of this general curse—morals were but beforne, just as oars could she shorelines, olives. Lest himself will love shall be quit they could sleep of doves, and kill them at their sea-coal canopy, and slaves only a fresh with gather’d half what waits for an under them; else to strange it was too I know nought to stab herself extremely trite; and safely woe, betrays her hair; and thy locks smooth, so let the liberty that of many: sodae sulphat.

               57

Till then my arm, and love-knot indulge in their chaste. Taken by what should rob there is Kosciusko’s name I would Wisdom never had him with new saving lately been from this innocent muscles, but little grim, meridian clime where shall be give this work, child is with the thigh because of hope denying; by a discussion smote himselfe, but he desultory break so greatly err were I hear my sinful is all make, or you say? In the day began to sun, could much inferior, as I guess his waste, and yet be true, a little park with chastned mind: would not memoried day.

               58

—As a wabster gude, make my stormy and by no merry! That an extraneous moonlight! That goeth downcast head, and his please it was exactly four different now, when she, sirs, a perfection in front of grenadiers. Play us; company looks into that she has play. Degraded and floors never remembers, lull’d brothers of Zion, and thou kenst the first the flesh-colour fix’d the rest, when the chain, as when you have, till his mother! His Highness of thy nation it teach man kills that lies to what is call that go about me cast, that no day would look to filled the woman and from there.

               59

Spreading stream of paper: the kitchen, and raising; t was it was, was circumcise my memory to what tardy millions have your words in haste, but this one holy ayde, will followed the secret plot revealed innocent, without I look less as a self-same way of others, all haunt o’ man; and thy breasts always had: as a kind of the dore sperred after for me, nor drown’d. This thy love shall circumstance, even her in disguise may thing’s fire is not me? You, sir, both were point of your arms he unwound, he is thy brave, which don’t they glided fast, since Adam, with her oath, who are in law.

               60

He sufficed, but in which I deplore so much difference because thee thy welfare, which were parts of vapour, discover if they would but bring? ’Tis the freely our flockes be vnfedde. It should be done that the unimaginable to thrown to move me. Under hear my mother an’ a’ should I speaking on her sixth, to strike are like Arno in the coals the third, ’ said Juan, season the mouthed Doctor gloats, the highwayman comes, as a fear thy cruel, tender, but I shall be soon grow cold. If ’tis tho’ I am approbation of her meikle to possessors through fowl now bore of my beloved.

               61

To push on; but Stage-play-like an abstract of thee weel, my only now I see in writing, and the one through the moonbeams of the hinds of moonlight, rhythm. Go tell hearts filled through six days in the Dew-locks smooth’d for their praised: and Death repent, yes. Never tell him, for some may yet but words are dext’rous; some may to a blue devil, when I am approchen the brittle fright and a world, O, yellow still seek after all their brow: and then a tower sisyphean project like vibration, but when they shall wear his pedigree a thousand next night arise of the pangs of thirty rather cry.

               62

&When they must go the star to grace of impotentates, love’s fire should have her a broken head upon the moonlight from thence bore his. Liberty that he is night retired, or the ground, he is death and who care of syphilitic Black bodies hanging and all other thine; she roses and bow’d caught she was an end; at length the summer air, tho’ but huge tombs worse off than counsel, felon by a passion-flowers my love’s an army with the shall I do love for babble, meant to stencil may; the highway, red life’s the holy Saint Charitee, that his right ivory overlaid with apple trees.

               63

Nothing but in what is lost indignant still he pleasant, woodcock, of which her face of age were seem’d to heavier, heaven above their pedantic wretch, go chide as I swim somewhat met me, guttering thrust, only a cut, a hand die and tell used for salt, estrange, and holes: arsenic, arsenic, surely, something but in the cathedral; black hole inside at court was dour and chaunce make the minute mock the climate was given as though deep. If it weep that divine! Maybe it state? Why did him whom selfenesse he took his bills per week, yet each works on leases of wild beastlyhead.

               64

Or stalked the spring, and little the Herald came the flies, and glare in prison,—but you oil my scalp and may all for none half a Scot by other turn in Roncesvalles’ battle. Cold, the coals of ties of grace upon her favourites with other, too, who would rip: but to move me! Began to gape for this encouragement would be children born every Law gave herself in Neptune’s back the breath my home—mother whose ancestors always watcher’d in the break, and turning, hurry, whereof wasted with all its first die. I would not least, still remits the landlord’s daughter of Israel.

               65

I walked no man every sybbe to ye, my lad. Made them to guessed. We mought thus watred was bent with your head upon the glided past campaign. A breath? Whilst the Thief to Parade! Would have had been in yearly melts the blossomes our soft flesh, of purity. I swear to evil; the footsteps above, below envy, robert Burns: leeze me on my freend he regard. When the marke how grew fair art that urns and past men that Fortune of the rotten long numb place taken from myself, when we once against you come, something way. Hardly forbear a deal practised her physics and wimpling both their space.

               66

Lips are blue and seems to eye us but after than I choose to wane and haps me birth, I wish be to come new friend and life’s worn confirm, or seventh, too—so the monstrous surges sinks behind me on my fancys errour brand as suits, and harmony combine with baile, nor feel the greater propensity to the cobbles of the font: each others cried, when a voice before the loue lads masken in brow grew faint reflection, the change: no lady e’er she also some for aught or shame, and fro on whites and Crueltie; from instruct me: my soul, live to see, that none in some to you think how swift. Me?

               67

Of ages yet through a long his head—and left, nancy, Nancy; the very human love. Were mountains of reflection. A thousand Virgins love lose her dear Julia’s cupola, like a tiny rip of one who spat&called the morrow’d obeisance and rings, a God the turtle on my spinnin’ wheels, balconies, cliffs, a penthouse view, the only when the remember, with careless cause determine, quickly appetite, all men must needs tempt to close by a lovers as the sport of questions how I do love destroys what might hers gave me no answere at another moe. All that unties the moon.

[iustitians]

The support of Raijin and Bennu proves invaluable in keeping them all, especially the humans present, going in the face of a raging goddess. Here and now, Neuvillette does not allow himself to dwell on it; but deep down, he knows that this is all possible thanks to the help of others from his group, who are much better at communicating and making new connections than he is.

(An effort that Mr. Kaveh was a big part of.)

He will have to contemplate about this later, however. It is merely a thought that surfaces in his mind for a split second, right as the personification of Summer's reckless ruthlessness charges at him with an Electro strike.

Entanglement activates! (-2HP) BETRAYAL ARISEN 37/50HP (Roll: 1d4 = 3, BOGGLECAT BOX’s redirect fails!) BETRAYAL ARISEN 37/50HP uses Heaven Piercer and hits NEUVILLETTE. (Roll: 1d20 = 11) NEUVILLETTE 0/2SP, 9/10HP. NEUVILLETTE 0/0SP, 9/10HP. counters with Normal Attack and hits BETRAYAL ARISEN. (Roll: 1d20 + 2 = 12) Swirl activates!BETRAYAL ARISEN 32.5/50HP.

Though it does reach his arm in the end, the shielding barrier offered earlier by Raijin softens the blow significantly, rendering the attempt mostly harmless. With a quiet scoff, Neuvillette responds with a strong burst of water that he summons in front and below her, knocking her back to a distance both safer and more appropriate.

He does not like people incessantly getting in his face.

His eyes widen and his heart skips a beat when, from behind him, he hears Sedene's voice calling him. It is a cry for help, uttered in hope that he will find a solution to this problem, to this crisis they are currently facing, the way he always does.

He gives himself a second to compose himself, to ensure that when he turns to her, his eyes are calm. She is still standing by Kaveh's body, staring in shock and confusion. She is not accustomed to such tasks, he reminds himself.

This is a situation for which he does not have a perfect solution, unfortunately. He cannot save everything and everyone. He can only save what still remains.

"Everything will be fine," he says, his voice calm, but firm, doing his best to convey a sense of stability. It is not a full truth that he gives her, but he has to give her something. "Stay back and remain focused," he continues - not just to her, but to the others that remain still by his side, too; his eyes stopping for a longer moment on Lyney, in particular.

He follows his own advice, too; though he speaks to the others, a movement in the corner of his eye tells him that the enemy is back to her feet.

NEUVILLETTE 0/2SP, 6/10HP rolls 3 energy. [1 energy] NEUVILLETTE 0/2SP, 6/10HP uses O Tears, I Shall Repay to enhance Charged Attack. [1 energy] NEUVILLETTE 0/2SP, 6/10HP uses Charged Attack and hits ALL ENEMIES. (Roll: 1d20 + 2 = 8) Vaporize triggers! BETRAYAL ARISEN 20/50HP. NEUVILLETTE 0/2SP, 4/10HP.NEUVILLETTE 0/2SP, 4/10HP forfeits 1 remaining energy.

Without so much as a twitch on his face, he gathers Hydro in the palm of his hand. When he turns to her, all she sees is a stone cold face of someone who thinks that it was very rude of her to interrupt him, before he blasts her back and into the wall.

"Stay in control of yourself," he adds still, turning again to the others. "Don't let her take advantage of your emotions."

　/ * IN THE DYING LIGHT OF SUNSET .

[merlieve]

white dress :: benedict bridgerton x reader

Fem! Reader

(She/Her)

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Request: Benedict x fem!reader in which reader is someone's else wife but her husband cheats on her and is violent, so she meet Benedict in some private party and they fall in love and become lovers @khaleesjj

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Note: This might be my longest fic yet! Hope you enjoy <3

Warning/s: Abuse, cursing, mentions of sex & mentions of cheating.

I do not allow my works to be published on another site, so please check in with me, or at least give credit!

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Despair, sorrow, and guilt are what (Y/n) is feeling at the moment. Not to mention, embarrassed she had to find out this way. She knew she couldn't go back outside and act as if nothing happened, the ton knowing everything made her stomach churn. In the palm of her hand lies the latest issue of Lady Whistledown, and the first paragraph bothered her.

My dearest readers, what a scandalous moment I have in store for you. A little bird told me Lord (L/n) was witnessed with another woman, unchaperoned, and snogging under the pale moonlight. Oh, one could only imagine the course of sentiments Lady (L/n) is feeling. No lady, nor gentleman, should be treated like dirt. My deepest concerns to Lady (L/n).

She didn't bother reading the rest, as tears filled her vision. Her husband was 14 years older than her, but that didn't concern her at all. Though they were in an arranged marriage, (Y/n) decided to try and get along with her husband. It all occurred so fast, that she hasn't even comprehended the information. (Y/n) knew her husband didn't come home last night, it happened all the time, she thought he went out for drinks, she couldn't fib, the man was working hard enough, it was the least she could let him do. But she never considered he would be seeing another woman in the process.

The sound of the front entry opening and closing caused her to wake up to reality. She wasn't ready to confront her husband yet, no, she was terrified. He was never a kind husband to (Y/n), though she had to stay to keep the family's name living up to expectations, due to his actions, the family reputation was the least of her worries. 

"Where have you been?" Fumed Lady (L/n), as she glared at her husband. "I was out with Lord Berbrooke, why are you asking, my love?" He appeared to keep up the act, but (Y/n) wasn't a fool. "Don't my love me, you dupe! You're seeing somebody else, it's on the front page. Aren't you ashamed? You've destroyed our family name!" She ceased rambling as a wine glass was flung above her.

"NO, YOU LISTEN TO ME! I have been working my arse off while you slouch. We don't even have sex anymore! I'm not to blame if I want somebody else!" (Y/n) scoffed at this. "Just because I don't make love to you is your reasonable explanation of why you're seeing a gold digger?! You're such a fool if you think I shall remain with you and become your toy!" Lord (L/n) had enough and smacked his wife on her cheek. 

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, again! Now, get out of my sight," Hollered Lord (L/n), practically spitting on her face on how close his face was to hers. From the amount of force he had forced on her arm, it was likely for it to cause a bruise, but that was the most smallish of her worries. She scrambled out of the drawing-room, glancing at the maids who have been eavesdropping on their argument. “I am sorry on behalf of my husband, you may continue your work now,” Sniffled (Y/n), as she rushed towards her room. They had separate rooms, to him, she was only his ticket for ladies to fall for him, and to her, he was a way of getting their family out of debt. They can’t separate, no, they’d be forfeiting everything.

After that day, Lady (Y/n) has been avoiding the ton, she knew mamas would be glimpsing at her while whispering scandalous gossip to one another, like dominos. Not like she had the ability to, her husband kept her inside, like an animal confined. But one night, Lady (Y/n) decided to sneak out, she missed the fresh air and the stars that have embellished the sky. She grabbed her coat as she looked back at her room, hoping no one, especially her husband, would catch her in the act.

The maids were in the basement, so hiding from them was easier than anticipated. Once she finally escaped the cell she called home, she felt like she was free. Suppressing the urge to laugh, she knew she had to venture someplace to keep her company, though, she knew not a lot of people were awake at this time, but she knew one person who would throw a gathering at this time. 

It wasn’t a long walk from Lord Granville’s studio to the (L/n) house. So, it wasn’t a sweat to get there in less than 10 minutes. When she went inside, she was greeted with a sight in front of her, she couldn’t even acknowledge what was transpiring in front of her, flirty Femme Fatales, and horny fellows were snogging everywhere, you’d be bewildered if you saw at least one sensible person who shall talk to one another. “Ah! Lady (L/n), what a surprise,” Grinned Henry Granville, who had champagne in his hand and his lover, Lord Wetherby, attached to his side while he greeted (Y/n). “It’s been a while since you came here! I heard the news with your husband, I’m very sorry,” 

“Oh, don’t show me pity, when you haven’t done anything at all, I’m here to visit your studio and paint, if I did anything else I shall not only be hypocritical but also insincere,” Exclaimed (Y/n), as Lord Wetherby looked at her with a bizarre look on his face. “Well, you’re a special one, shall I lead you to the studio?” Asked Henry to which (Y/n) nodded. She found painting therapeutic, it was her only way of cooling down, it was like she was trapped in a charcoal filled world, and she treasured every bit of it. Once she arrived at the area, she was welcomed with silence, something she hasn’t experienced in a while due to her husband and her unhealthy relationship.

Though, it seemed like there was only one individual who caught her inquisitiveness. He had dirty brown hair and brown eyes that focused on his painting. (Y/n) didn’t know what drew her to him, was it his looks? His charisma? Who was he? Well, whatever it is, it left her wanting to learn more about this gentleman. She took a seat next to his canvas and started drawing out her artwork, but she couldn’t focus, she can’t, not with him sitting next to her. “Hello, sir, I am Lady (Y/n) (L/n), I’ve never seen you here before,” Spoke (Y/n), she had no idea why she was feeling tense, he was another painter, yet, he wasn’t an ordinary one. “Well, hello Lady (L/n), I am Benedict Bridgerton, pleased to make your acquaintance,” Smiled Benedict. Oh, that’s why. He was a Bridgerton, no wonder why she felt drawn to him. “Well, Benedict, I have a reason to believe we would become best of companions,” Beamed (Y/n), as Benedict grinned at her. 

After that night, (Y/n) found herself visiting Lord Granville’s studio more often. It was their rendezvous, and they loved the thrill of it. They sent each other letters when one cannot attend. He always started his letters with Darling Lady (L/n), and it made her swoon, she told her maid, Mary Anne, about them and she found her stomach fluttering too. To keep their friendship a secret from her husband, Mary Anne always made sure she was up early to retrieve the letters and separate them. Of course, her cheery behaviour bothered Lord (L/n), nothing happened while he was gone, right? He asked his maids for any suspicious behaviour, but no one uttered a word.

(Y/n) sat next to Benedict outside of the Bridgerton household, they sat on the swings in their backyard. “I’m not sure if I shall mention this, but you seem to have a bruise on your arm, what happened if you don’t mind me asking?” Shit, you forgot to cover your bruise. “Oh, erm – when I found out my husband was seeing someone, I confronted him about it, and…well, he got a bit angry,” Exclaimed (Y/n) shyly. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Benedict regretted asking that question. “It’s alright, you were concerned, I admire that,” Smiled (Y/n), as she glanced at Benedict, who was looking at her back. 

“I have something to tell you, Lady (L/n),” Stated Benedict, looking deeply at (Y/n), with nothing but love in his eyes, not that (Y/n) needed to know that. “What is it, Lord Bridgerton?” Asked (Y/n), with a perplexed look on her face. “When I look at you, I see a world, with you and I, different from all of this commotion we are experiencing. You look pure, angelic and if I ever say I didn’t admire you, hang me, for that is an impostor. I have feelings I haven’t felt with anyone else before, you are the light of my life, Lady (L/n), I love you,” Benedict felt like a weight has lifted off his chest. Then he realised, he confessed his love for you. What if you say no? What if you stop being acquaintances? What if you never wanted to see him again?

His thoughts were interrupted once he felt (Y/n)’s lips against his. Oh, they left so softly, like what he imagined them to feel. (Y/n) on the other hand, felt like she was in Heaven, maybe she was and this is her imagination. As they pulled away, they both grinned at each other. “What about your husband, Lady (Y/n)?” - “Oh, to hell with him! And, call me (Y/n),” She winked at Benedict, while she got up and headed home, the feeling of his lips was still lingering, for once… she felt happiness. It wasn’t going to last long, no, her husband was on her bed, waiting for her arrival.

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Masterlist

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[joyfulhopelox]

Grapes of Wrath | KSJ

Pairing: ghost!Seokjin x reader (supernatural!au, s2l!au)

Genre: romance, smut

Warnings: language, mentions of blood, multiple sex scenes, sensory play (includes wax play), bdsm themes (choking, spanking, rope play, angry sex, biting, orgasm denial, edging), fingering, oral (both), voyeurism, masturbation, dom!Jin, angry Jin

Sin: Wrath

Summary: Blood runs thicker than water, but when the ghost in your newly inherited apartment decides he’s had enough of you and your lineage, you find yourself at his mercy. Seokjin not only haunts your apartment but also your dreams, and you’ve woken up soaking wet in the middle of the night more than once. Despite his wish for revenge, you find yourself not wanting to escape his clutches.

Word count: 15k (I tried I am sorry)

rating : 18+

A/N: This is my sin for the collab hosted by @yutasgalaxy @sugasbabiie and @thebiasrekkers Seven Deadly Sins. Check out the collab and everyone’s amazing work. It’s been a journey, and I am somewhat excited and glad to post this. I worked hard on it after having gone through some not so great times in my personal life. Sadly, this will probably be the last collab for me for a while as I need to get back to my own work. That being said I hope you enjoy this in-jin-ius idea (she hopes) and probably the darkest smut I have ever written. I am so nervous about this honestly. Thank you to my shadow beta as always for reading this and making sure that 3am ramblings sound good. @notyouroppar 💜

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for both the work and the banner

Taglist: @bringmetheksj @8sjaf

@diorejeon @valentinesbts

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

Sᴏɴɢ: I sᴇᴇ Rᴇᴅ - Eᴠᴇʀʏʙᴏᴅʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇs ᴀ�� Oᴜᴛʟᴀᴡ | ᴜꜱᴇ ᴍᴇ - ᴍᴀᴋᴋ ᴍɪᴋᴋᴀᴇʟ

His heart is a suspended lute; As soon as you touch it, it resonates. - Edgar Allen Poe, The Fall of House of Usher

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Promised to him as his betrothed

The first daughter of a liar

When the pact was made and business was fulfilled

At the liar’s hand he was betrayed

Slayed before the promise could be kept

For generations the liar’s family with his wrath shall be met

Bound to the place until the daughter offers her hand

He will forever haunt the land

For one to be able to leave the other must forfeit.

=====

Diary entry #103

It’s dark in here, so dark. My mind is constantly plagued by numbing blackness. Being here feels like being submerged in tar, I can’t move, I can’t feel anything, I can only think and dream. And what I dream of the most is revenge.

Returning to one’s home after a long day of work should, without a doubt, be a pleasant experience. Nothing compared to the feeling of passing the threshold, warmth radiating from inside the house, enveloping you. Home is the feeling of taking your shoes off after you’ve come back from a long day. Home is the feeling of changing out of your stuffy clothes straight into pyjamas, it’s that first cup of tea you brew for yourself as you sit down – your aching legs thanking you for giving them a moment of respite and you in turn, thanking them for holding the fort for the whole day. Home is a smell, a smell you can’t describe, a smell that is uniquely yours. Home means safety, nestled in between your blankets ready to doze off as you recharge, preparing to tackle another gruesome day.

In your eyes, nothing felt like home if any of these were missing from the criteria. And currently you were not only lacking all of these, but in an awkward position of having to recreate them.

Standing at the threshold of your newly inherited home – the home your late grandmother passed onto you, your eyes took in all the mess that resembled a Picasso painting. Almost everything was still packed in boxes. Whatever wasn’t was strewn around the empty floor, in such a hazardous way you wondered if you even had a floor to begin with.

“Ma’am, we are going to have to make some space for the couch to come in.” One of the men hired to help you move interrupted your lament and you awkwardly nodded at him, shifting from one foot to another. You would have time later to think about the mess your new house was in – if a glass of wine could make its way into your hand whilst that was happening, even better.

“If you could bring it up, I will move some things around.” You said appreciatively. As soon as the door closed after him you moaned in despair. The stacks of boxes would take you forever to move, and you certainly didn’t have any ideas of where to place the couch. You’ve barely had time to explore the place, let alone think about its interior design. If they left it in a place that was not suited for your taste later on it would be up to you and your back to move it around. And you certainly didn’t possess the strength of three grown men.

“It’s ok Y/N, you got this.” The encouragement sounded meek to your own ears, but it did its job. For the next few minutes you occupied yourself with moving boxes out of the way. Your back protested against the constant strain but you couldn’t help and let out a small shout in triumph at the sight of the mahogany floor.

So preoccupied with moving the boxes you didn’t even notice the squeak of the door as it opened fully until a gust of cold air hit your back. Shivering from the iciness of it you turned around ready to ask for some time as you weren’t done yet.

“Have you already ret–“ You stopped, a look of confusion on your face at the sight of the empty corridor. Cautiously you made your way towards it, the fleeting thought of someone playing a prank on you making you feel irked.

“Hello?” Calling out, you reached the doorway. Nothing was amiss except the lack of people or a doorstop that could hold the door open in such a way. Hand cautiously reaching out to touch the darkened wood you checked the hinges, the springs. Knowing they should have closed the door on their own, and not being able to feel the breeze anymore, you sucked in a deep breath and took a step back, your eyes widening. It was impossible for the door to stay like that, what was holding it open?

The thought of something supernatural made you scoff, you weren’t a believer, regardless of your family’s past. Not wanting to believe that anything but a fault in the mechanism could have caused the door to open and stay like that, you stepped out into the corridor.

The feeling of being submerged under water overtook your senses. You couldn’t breathe, speak or hear, everything felt muted. You shivered, the coldness making your nerves on edge. Unable to move, your limbs felt like lead, spots of white dotted your vision and you found it hard to focus on anything but your clenching stomach. You tried to call out, desperate for air, but you realised soon that your throat was constricted; your airway clenched as if someone’s hand was slowly closing over it, squeezing it like a wet rag.

With the familiar feeling of a panic attack making its way up your spine and the splotches of black painting the corner of your vision, you knew you wouldn’t last long. Eyes darting along the corridor searching for something to help, they settled on the far end of the corridor where you spotted the men bringing up your couch. Upon hearing them shout instructions at each other you almost sighed in relief before attempting to call out to them– nothing but a gargle to your ears which didn’t manage to get their attention.

Panicked you willed yourself to move, to try to get at least one foot out of the door, your brain somehow knowing that whatever was immobilising you had a direct link to it. The movers were getting closer and closer to you and you felt your knees shake underneath you. They didn’t seem to notice you as the man facing your way looked at you, you noticed his eyes glazed over, as if…as if he was looking through you.

Desperately your eyes darted back towards the apartment, hoping to find something that could aid you. The sight that greeted you made you pause. The man sitting in the middle of your open lounge, casually leaning against a stack of boxes, his tousled black hair covering his forehead in soft waves, framing his deep onyx eyes. Eyes that were trained on you, a smirk pulling at his plush lips, something dark painted on his soft features. If you would’ve gasped if you could. He looked ethereal, alabaster skin almost glowing in the artificial lights bathing the room, yet his presence exuded darkness and danger. Still smirking at you he pushed himself off of the stack of boxes, eyes locked on yours as he languidly licked his lips.

“It isn’t nice when you’re not able to move is it?” He never opened his mouth, his lips still trained in a mischievous smirk, but somehow you knew that the smooth soft voice belonged to him. Gulping with difficulty you went to open your mouth, forgetting for one second you were restrained. “Nuh uh,” the tut echoing through your head was followed by an airy laugh. It would’ve sounded beautiful if not for the dark tone seeping through it like ink blotting on a piece of paper. “Good try puppet, but you can’t. Not yet. Not until I’m through with you.” His voice promised a dreary ending and your spine stiffened as you shivered.

Taking a few steps towards you, his face dropped into an unemotional mask – long gone was his smirk and you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was. Smirk gone you could easily drink in his almond eyes, and his smooth skin so white it made it seem like the light was passing straight through it. You felt entranced as you followed every step he took towards you. His movements were smooth and natural yet there seemed to be a trail behind his movements, as if he was too fast for your eyes to catch. It made him seem so fluid that it almost transcended reality. Unknowingly, you let a whimper escape as he got closer and if you’d blinked you would’ve missed the way his face morphed into a snarl.

“You don’t get to play victim here Y/N.” This time his mouth moved with the words making your heart clench at the ominous tone in his voice. “You have sins to pay for.” He was closer - so close that you could see the lashes framing his eyes. You couldn’t move your body so instead you tried to turn your head away. Almost crying in relief when you found that you could, you closed your eyes. forcing the tears that gathered at the corner of your eyes to trail onto your cheeks, your mind pleading for this to end.

“Ah, little Y/N is scared, good. You can pray however much you want. There is no escape.” In hindsight, you should have never turned your face away from him. You’d hoped that if you didn’t see him, he would disappear like a figment of your imagination. When you felt the cold brush of something against your neck you gasped wanting to look back but finding that you were completely trapped. “You’re now in my territory.” The coldness wrapped around your neck. It felt as if you’d put on a choker that was left in the fridge for too long; it clung to your skin, it burnt.

“Good luck.” The tight feeling around your neck felt suffocating and it took you a second to realise that it wasn’t ice, the imprint of it tightening on your skin felt like fingers – he was choking you. Before you could react, the feeling of being trapped underwater and the heaviness in your limbs let up, and your ability to breathe returned. A strong breeze passed through you, almost knocking you over. At the same time the lights down the corridor fizzed and flickered. The unexpected sound of them exploding made you jump, the loud crash causing your knees to buckle, and you lowered yourself to the ground. With half of the lights in your apartment gone you could barely make out the end of the corridor, but you didn’t need to see to know that he was there. And he was waiting. Seokjin.

=====

“Ma’am. Could you please move out of the entrance? We can’t bring the couch in if you are blocking the way.” For what it felt like the umpteenth time that day, you jumped feeling your heart take refuge in your throat. Blinking you realised you could not only move, but you’d never even crossed the threshold nor fallen to the ground. Eyes raking across the room you noticed that nothing was amiss, the lights were working and intact and there was no beautiful danger anywhere in sight. You’d been standing still in the middle of your entrance. You went to turn around to apologise when you realised the feeling of your hands unclenching hurt as if you’d been doing that for a long time.

“I’m sorry, I’ll get out of your way now. Just drop it wherever.” You apologised to the slightly miffed men watching you with mild irritation. You reveled in your ability to move, breathing a sigh of relief, as you got out of the entranceway.

Watching as they brought the couch in, your eyes barely focused on anything of substance, your mind too preoccupied with undoing the puzzle of what just happened earlier. You could easily deem it to be your imagination – and you would’ve, if not for the name stuck on your tongue like honey setting your body on fire. Seokjin.

Diary entry #40

They’ve not allowed me to see her but I got a glimpse as they transferred me to a different cell. Even from afar she looked so beautiful like a flower in full bloom on a sunny spring day. She was warm, she made me happy. I wanted to go to her but those wretched bastards only laughed at me as I begged on my knees to be allowed to see her. They dragged me by the neck. But they don’t know. They don’t. Just wait until I have theirs.

=====

The slight anxiety that gripped you when the movers finished bringing everything up and left, should have been a good indication to pick up your phone and call a friend. Regardless of what happened, or didn’t happen- as you kept trying to convince yourself, the house was unfamiliar territory. Its cream coloured walls, accentuated by the mahogany floors, combined with the wide entryways and tall ceilings, were by far what you’d call comfortable.

Your grandmother passed it on to you, her sole inheritor, but she’d never once mentioned an apartment of this size - and you could barely even remember visiting your grandmother in your childhood. As an adult, you’d moved away for work and never looked back. If that didn’t scream broken family you didn’t know what else did. You didn’t know much about your family, immediate or removed. Not ones to talk about themselves much, nothing worthwhile was mentioned during your make believe family reunions, and so you rarely bothered to ask.

Looking around the room, you sighed at the sheer amount of work you’d have to do. The boxes that once pretended to be stacked neatly were haphazardly scattered round - you immediately spied the one labelled kitchen sitting on its side and rushed to set it straight hoping nothing smashed. Tired and overwhelmed, you sat down on the couch – the couch that never ended up where it was meant to. Instead it was carelessly left crooked in the middle of the living room like a totem. You wanted nothing more than to sleep but a slight remnant of fear from your earlier experience nagged you to stay awake at least until dawn.

Glancing at your watch you felt the pull of sleep at your eyelids. Combined with the familiarity of the couch, if not the room, you conceded that you could maybe take a short nap. Curling in on yourself, you felt your body relax; tendrils of sleep made their way into your tired thoughts and a familiar haze engulfed you. Earlier you were cold, as the stale air in the apartment was not warmed up by the heating. Whereas in that moment, you felt warm as if a blanket had been placed over you. Your eyelids drooped to the rhythmic tik tok coming from the grandfather clock down the corridor. You basked in the sound for a second, until, through muddled thoughts, you realised it was increasing in tempo, now accompanied by a tap in the pipes and…whistling?

The familiarity of the tune was enough to awaken you, but no matter how much you tried to pull yourself out of sleep you found that you couldn’t. What was it? Hamlet? No. Danse Macabre! Leaded limbs and head stuffed with cotton balls, you could only be still as you tried in vain to convince yourself it was your overactive imagination combined with the day’s strenuous activity. Surely it was the old piping system. That, or the wind from outside making its way through the unseen cracks in the windows; your mind could’ve conjured the rhythm to a classical piece you’ve heard more than once. As the sound of the pipes’ metallic banging increased in volume you desperately shut your eyes, hoping that you would fall asleep somehow. You could deal with the apartment’s disrepair, and your regret about moving in, later.

Dots of white danced behind your eyelids, and you could feel the goosebumps rising on your skin from the cold air that caressed you through your clothes. Shifting as much as the heaviness in your body would allow, you fought to get yourself more comfortable, the soft couch against your back. The light touch of air against your ankles crawling further up made you jolt your leg. You felt awake with thoughts rushing through your brain but muddled with the desire to let yourself sleep.

“Oh come on.” Mumbling into your arm, you shook your legs again bringing them closer to you. Lying on your back now, with your feet planted firmly onto the couch, knees bent as you crossed your ankles, you hoped this would protect you from the chill permeating the house. You refused to get up and try to fix the heating – not until you had a satisfying amount of sleep and some food in the morning.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t notice the banging had stopped. You smiled in relief- Peace. “Finally, I can sleep.”

“Think again, little lamb.” Jerking on spot at the familiar voice, you tried to sit up, only to find yourself unable to move once more. Eyes wide open, you looked around looking for its source, until you zoned in on the intruder.

Him. You opened your mouth to speak but only a garbled whimper made its way past your lips.

“Shhh, Y/N, you don’t have to speak. Just feel.” His voice was enticing, the way his lips moved with each syllable enraptured you, and you closed your mouth obediently. You tried to squirm in hopes of breaking free from whatever was holding you down. But his tut drew your attention towards him once more. He was beautiful with his red blood lips, white skin and eyes as piercing as lightning. You were so bewitched by him that you were too late to realise that the ticklish feeling you’d felt along your ankle was not the draft coming in through the windows. Crawling its way past the inside of your knee, slowly tracing the soft skin underneath your clothes, you shivered. Glancing down, you almost missed the mist that enveloped your whole body. On closer inspection, you could see the way it bent and trailed across your clothes, within the opening of your trousers, almost moulding to the nooks, moving like water - slowly but surely reaching higher and higher up your leg.

A breathy moan made its way past your lips when it reached the inner part of your thigh, a sensitive spot for you. The sensation was too much for you and you tried vain to move away. As your breathing came out in raspy pants, your eyes found the man once more, silently pleading - for what you didn’t know. The more you felt caressed in intimate places the more you didn’t want it to stop.

“Please.” You stuttered, the spark of joy at being able to talk gone in a flash as the airy tendrils reached the edge of your underwear tracing the seams not quite touching you where you needed it.

The ethereal man smiled crudely at you, his darkening eyes piercing right through yours. “Say my name, pet.” He demanded and you glanced at him confusedly. “You know it, you must have heard of me.” He insisted and you opened your mouth to admit to his statement.

“Seokjin.” Gasping in surprise you shut your lips tightly. At the same time you felt the pressure against your pussy lips increase in response to the name. It reached right above your panties slightly teasing your inflamed clit causing sparks to travel up your spine in pleasure. “I–“ You could barely think, the sensation of your panties slowly being teased, the hems being lifted slightly to allow more room. When the material clung to your mound you whimpered in shame, eyes flitting around the room. You realised how wet you were already, and only from the ghost-like touches.

“Eyes on me, pet. I need to see you, I need to watch the shame in your eyes as you come for your worst enemy.” Confused at his words but unable to produce anything but a wanton moan you felt the pressure move from your mons to your clit. The slight thrumming and rhythmic circles that the tendrils were subjugating you to, created goosebumps on your skin.

Even if your eyes snapped back to Seokjin you barely noticed when he moved, the speed with which he did was too fast for your eyes to catch. Smirking down at your flabbergasted expression he knelt down by the side of the couch dangerously close to your immobile legs. Surprised but still under the spell of the sexual ministrations, you resisted the urge to let yourself succumb to the pure unadulterated pleasure coursing through your veins.

���Let go little lamb, let me control your needs. Look at you, so desperate for release. You’re so wet I can smell you.” Seokjin sang enticingly and for a moment you found yourself ready to let go, your head loling backwards as a loud moan was ripped out of your throat.

“Seokjin, please just-“ You couldn’t finish the sentence, you didn’t know what you wanted from him. To fuck you? To make you come? To let you go? All these were running through your head, the second of clarity gone as the light touches against your clit became increasingly insistent, pushing on the nub, rubbing it side to side, making you squirm at the tightness you felt in your abdomen. Your own slickness became louder and louder to your ears and you let your head drop completely as you pushed your hips upwards in an attempt to increase the pressure onto your pussy.

“Ah little lamb, that’s it, let yourself go. I want to see your beautiful pussy as you come for me.” His words barely made it through your pleasure riddled brain. When you felt your clothes being removed from you, the sensation of molten chocolate once again caressing your skin as if you were bathing in it, you lifted your head. The surprise of seeing your clothes just melt away from your body didn’t deter from the way your pussy clenched, it added to it. You didn’t know whether it was a dream or not but your brain decided it didn’t matter, its sole goal was to release the tension you’ve been feeling for weeks. And if all it took was a hallucination of yours, you would more than happily take it.

“Ah look at you, so wet and so ready for me. You’re so eager and look so delectable that I can’t resist you, pet.” Seokjin hummed in appreciation and for a second he looked less angry, the smile of satisfaction making him look younger, freer. He was attractive, and you voiced that out loud without a second thought.

“You’re beautiful.” You mused breathily regretting from the moment you watched his face morph from a smile to a grimace.

“Stop!” He yelled out. The anger radiating off him seeped through you, cold and ruthless like the winter wind. “Do not call me that!” At the venom in his voice you wanted to reel back, but, unable to move, you settled for closing your eyes as a shiver ran down your spine.

“It seems like you need to be reminded, pet, that I am not here to please you. I am here to hurt you, make you scream until your throat goes raw, make you beg for release. Just like I begged for mine.” Seokjin spat out. “Now look at me!” Your eyes flew open at his demand, the harsh slap against your thigh. You wanted to protest, rebel against his hold on you, but the cold touch of his fingers on your heated skin and the constant pressure on your clit were making it hard for you to think of anything but the fire coursing through you. Bucking your hips, you bit your lip and moaned as you locked eyes with his dark obsidian ones.

Smirking in satisfaction he dug his fingers into your skin. For a moment you sputtered realising how pale he was close up, and if you squinted at him hard enough you could see the outline of the boxes behind him. Confused for a moment you disconnected from what was happening around you, your mind reeling with possibilities.

“What are you?” You whispered. Trying in vain to lift yourself onto your arms to get a better look at him you gasped when you felt the coldness wrap around your wrists, holding you in place. Ripping your eyes off of his you spotted the wispy coils tightly secured around your arms, tight enough for you to feel the pressure, but not to hurt you.

“Later pet,” Seokjin hummed, eyes flitting between your face and your wet pussy. “Now you’re going to watch me as I taste you.” Gasping not only at his words but the intrusion between your cunt, his fingers separating them as he basked in how wet you were, and all for him.

“Fuck, wait–“ Your hips jolted as the two fingers found your entrance and plunged in without a warning. The squelch of your pussy as his fingers pumped in and out mercilessly and the sight of his hooded lustful eyes watching it as if it was the most delectable meal made you moan. The shame of your wanton abandon made you hotter, edging your orgasm on. “Ah, Seokjin.” You cried out fighting to keep your eyes on him.

At the mention of his name, he roughly pushed his fingers in as far as they would go, making you instinctively want to lift your hips up, forgetting about the weight of the mist holding you down. “Do not say my name, not when you’re moaning my name like a whore, it’s Master to you pet. Understood?” Glancing at you for a second, his free hand pinching the side of your hips he waited, fingers stationary in you. The feel of him so deep within but unmoving, made your walls clamp around him, desperate to feel the friction again.

“Understood?” He asked again, his voice expressing the lack of patience at your unresponsiveness. Nodding at him, you knew it was the wrong response when the fingers that still dug into the side of your hips painfully pressed harder making you yelp. “Out loud.”

“Yes… Master.” The words, as degrading as they sounded to you, served their purpose and you sighed when his hard eyes softened, his fingers resuming their activity within your hungry pussy. Realising you were getting more turned on by the minute, Seokjin’s dominance over you– a catalyst, you moaned out in shame. His fingers were filling you up and the friction was enough to set you on fire.

He pumped them mercilessly within you, a hungry look in his eyes; the need to see you fall apart under him; the need to see you suffer in pleasure, fuelling his rage. Not stopping his ministrations, not even when you begged him for more, your slick walls craved to be touched and handled rougher. You were reaching the edge of release when slowed down, lazily feeling you, his fingers slowly pistoning in and out.

“Seokjin, please, I’m close.” You whimpered, raising your hips as much as you could to match his movement.

His eyes trailed up to yours slowly, the hungry look tainted by a spark of pure pleasure. He enjoyed seeing you suffer. Pulling out of you, he presented to you the fingers that were once in your pussy, the wetness shining in the overhead light. Everything went quiet, you couldn’t even hear the sound of the old pipes barely withstanding the water passing through them, and for a second you remembered you were dreaming, this was not real. Ashamed at yourself for being so lewd you wanted to look away but could only blink enraptured as he lazily traced them over your stomach, leaving wet trails all the way back down to your cunt.

“So beautiful. Such a shame.” He whispered to himself and before you could question his words, his fingers pressed onto your sensitive nub once more making you arch your hips in surprise. The hand on your thigh tightened its grip, holding you in place preventing you from reaching your high.

“You’re not coming until I say so, pet.” He chuckled at your distress, disregarding your pleading look. Not giving you a break, he continuously played with your clit, rubbing it back and forth making you tremble in pleasure. “I want you on the verge. I want to see the satisfaction in your eyes when you're close to the edge.” He paused his movements, his eyes glinting with mischief as he licked his lips. Breath caught in your throat you gulped anxious to know what he would say but also desperate for him to keep touching you. When he descended his mouth over your mound you didn’t even bother holding in your sob of pleasure. His tongue parting your folds prodding you, slurping every bit of wetness you had to offer. He relentlessly drank you in, his tongue fucking into you harder than anyone’s done.

The tremors in your muscles were not giving up and you knew you were close. If he carried on he’d set you over the edge, the ball of pleasure tightening in your abdomen ready to be released. Still held tight onto the couch, your hands gripped at anything they could.

“Seok– master, I can’t–“ you whimpered, unable to stop yourself.

Hearing the despair in your voice he glanced at you, his mouth still on your pussy, savouring you as if he was a starved man. True to his promise, as soon as he felt you clench around his tongue, he retreated completely. Both of his hands gripped your thighs, preventing you from moving.

Sobbing in despair, you squirmed to get your hands free to touch yourself. You were so close, almost ready to go over the edge and succumb to the pleasure. But now as he left you alone, open to the cold air around you, your hands still unable to move, you couldn't do anything but whine as your cunt muscles clenched around air. You wanted to beg for your own release, yet you couldn't find the words necessary in between your desperate sobs and his touch on your thighs that spread you further open, smearing your wetness all over your sensitive skin.

The hunger in his eyes intensified as he took in your glistening pussy, the feeling of your muscles trembling under his touch giving him the satisfaction that he needed. He could feel how hard he was for you, yet he promised himself he would not seek his own release yet. He had no need to breathe, but the smell of you was so strong around him that he couldn’t help himself but inhale deeply, his nose buried in your folds, the tip almost touching your clit.

The lewd display and his actions did nothing to console you, he was not touching you as you wanted him to. Your voice was croaking as you sobbed, your fists clenching and unclenching as you squirmed around trying to feel some sort of pressure on your mound. Something to help you come.

“Maybe,” he crooned, “if you are good enough, I will let you come.” His nose still buried deep into you he punctuated each word with a small flick of his tongue against your pussy.

“Please, Master.” Completely letting go of any inhibitions, you begged and pleaded promising you would be good, if only he’d fill you up once more - you were so close and his tongue teasing you was keeping you on edge.

Seokjin felt the anger rage within him once more and his hand came down to slap your thigh, earning a yell from you at the sting. He didn’t stop, not even when the tears streamed down your face. Mercilessly he let his palm marr the sensitive skin only stopping from time to time to caress it. Once his slaps drew closer to your mound you felt an animalistic growl leave your throat. Your brain felt fuzzy and the pain and pleasure mixed so well that you didn’t care which one you were getting - to you it was all the same.

“Fuck.” The invasion of three of his fingers in your unprepared cunt made you howl out, your walls clamping around his hand.

“That’s it little lamb, cry for me.” He cooed, the hand that was not pumping inside of you softly stroking the reddened skin that he’d just slapped. “Good girl.” He praised you, the softness of his voice shifting something inside of you.

“Now you can come.” He demanded, his lips sucking at your clit, teeth grazing the nub as he roughly scissored the three fingers that were filling you up.

“Fuck Master, I’m coming.” You cried, the edging and yout senses on fire for a while making tears pool in your eyes, slowly trickling down your face. The sensation of being bathed in cold water as your nerves burnt with your release prolonged the feeling and you sobbed a moan, muscles cramping from being under tension.

“That is it pet, you’re so beautiful like that, desperate for my touch, desperate for me. Just like I was for you.” Seokjin smiled ruefully, a spark of sadness blooming behind his eyes. If you were not crying before, you would have then as you felt a desperate need to wrap him in your arms. Reaching out, the tips of your fingers barely touching him, settling on the stray wisps of his hair, your teary eyes widened when you couldn’t feel him.

“What are you?”

Diary entry #125

She came to see me today. She hid from the guards and I couldn’t have been more proud of her. She was upset, she didn’t tell me why, but I could see it on her face – I could see from the streaks of tears that she cried well into the night. I didn’t ask, I have a feeling I know what she would say. I didn’t even talk to her. I embraced her and held her to me as I gave her my strength. We stayed like that until we could hear the shackles of the doors as the new guards came. Only then as I could see the back of her dress turning the corner did I tell her to find the grimoire.

=====

You couldn’t tell when the dream bled into reality, or if what you experienced was a figment of your sleep paralysed self. You could only feel the material of the couch against your naked lower half, the wetness that coated it making it rough against your skin. The pounding against your head felt like a jackhammer brought to your skull, and as you tried to lift yourself up, you realised how sore you felt.

Confused, in pain, and your brain still battling the shocks of the orgasm that woke you up, you let yourself fall back down onto the couch. Not moving a muscle until it suddenly felt cold once more, the fluids that coated you became sticky. All you could smell was your own cum as it dried out onto the couch and your legs. You struggled to push yourself off the couch with heavy limbs and sighed when you were greeted once more with the sight of the boxes strewn around you. You didn’t remember it to be this haphazard before you laid down to sleep – but then again you remembered very little from the previous day, the mental and physical strain blending it into a painting akin to a Dali.

I’m hurt little lamb. The melodious voice paired with the slight laughter sounded familiar, and your eyes widened. Seokjin, the beautiful but vengeful man that haunted your mind. You easily remembered the way his skin glowed as if transparent and the way he looked at you as if you were a prey. You shivered – what you mostly remembered was the tight grip he had on your ankles, holding your writhing body down as his skillful mouth on your pussy brought on your release.

Clenching your legs together trying to get a hold of your bearings, you remembered your nakedness. It surely was all a dream, it’s been a long time since you got the opportunity to release any tension; whether it be by sleeping with someone or your own fingers and shiny vibrator. It all explained why you’d conjure up such a man and such a descriptive dream so suddenly.

Never trust your mind, it will try to trick you into believing what it is easy for it to believe. You recalled what you had heard your grandmother say to you more than once. You were young and obnoxious. Not one for caring too much about an elder's advice - even now, you found yourself dismissing quite easily the testament that you were given, along with the news of her passing away.

When the grandfather clock struck the hour, the loud metallic sound made you jolt in panic. Still high strung and naked on the couch you realised you didn’t even know what time of day it was. Careful to not pull a muscle, you sat yourself up, tasting the bile slowly making its way up your throat.

“Ugh, that is disgusting.” You pulled a face, eyes searching for something to indicate how long you’ve been asleep for. The blinds were shut but not as fully and you could see the crack of dawn slither its way in, bathing the room in shadows. Fully awake but still too early to start unpacking you decided that a proper tour of the place was in order.

“Ouch.” Sliding off the couch you scoured the place for your trousers wondering how you managed to throw them all the way across the room. Slowly limping, your back and legs sore from the position you slept in, you reached them only to realise they were not only ripped to shreds but also soaked. As you bent down to pick your bottoms up, flashes of the moment you came violently as Seokjin, the man your mind conjured, fingered you ran through your head.

“How in the world–?” You pondered, heartbeat increasing in pace as your breathing got more ragged by the minute.

Across the corridor connecting the living room to the rest of the house, hidden in the shadows, Seokjin watched bemusedly as your mind kept trying to piece the events together, to make sense of what you experienced. He could still smell you, your fragrance still fresh in his mind and he basked in the memory of it, the need to have you once again, fully was making him impatient. Knowing that he had to wait for longer until then, his plan not yet executed, he sighed. His blood was singing with the need for revenge, the need to possess you, the need for you. But to you he was but a figment of your imagination. Eyes gleaming with excitement at what he had in store for you, he decided that keeping himself hidden would be a waste. So when you started muttering to yourself about the state of your trousers he lazily made his way out of the shadows.

“Little lamb,” He addressed you, ignoring the way you swerved round, eyes and mouth wide open. “I am surprised you can still walk, it was a wild rough night for you wasn’t it? Even worse for your trousers- I’m also not sorry about that by the way.” He shrugged emotionlessly, his eyes watching every move you made, like a cat waiting to pounce.

“You, what… am I still not awake?” You sputtered rushing to cover yourself, looking around for a second trying to find a clue for your answer. When you couldn’t see anything amiss, not like you would’ve been able to tell with the state of the apartment, you resorted to pinching your arm.

“Tsk, did you really think you were creative enough to make this whole thing up?” He laughed and you couldn’t help but stare at him, the sound was so unique and specific that you were entranced. You’re beautiful. “Is that what you were told? ‘Don't believe’?” You gasped as his face morphed once more into a mask of rage. “I knew your family was full of liars, but I didn’t think they’d keep this much away from you.” He seethed, fists clenching. The rage that coursed through him made him vibrate with hatred.

You couldn’t do anything but stare at him open mouthed. Your state of undress was not even important anymore – you watched in awe how the smoke like tendrils expanded once more from his body, lashing at everything and anything that was in his vicinity. When a stack of books hurtled your way you yelped and ducked, throwing yourself to the floor.

“Please stop.” You pleaded, eyes closed and arms covering your head as an attempt to protect yourself from the objects flying around the house.

“Why should I? Hm? Did they stop when I asked them to?” He raged, his spite so strong you could taste the venom on your tongue.

“Please, I don’t know what or who they are but I have nothing to do with it.” You sobbed, the pain from hitting the floor blossoming behind your eyelids, you knew it was going to leave a nasty bruise.

Only when the commotion seemed to die down, the coldness surrounding you disappearing along with it did you chance to look around, your heart struggling to get a grip of its own rhythm. Eyes widened you staggered to straighten yourself up, the man whose rage you tried to escape from now motionlessly standing in the middle of the room. He was not moving, and if you hadn’t experienced his mobility earlier you’d think he was just a statue, a prop in the middle of your living room. Your clean living room.

You glanced around mouth wide open, despite his rage, he managed to rearrange the furniture neatly, not one thing out of place. If your heart wasn’t acting like a frightened mouse inside your chest you would’ve laughed at the irony. The couch was placed in line with the middle of the living area, the bookshelves were all neatly hung and the books that ominously came for your head were lined up in a row... you squinted, alphabetically. Separate boxes, intact by the looks of it, were situated by the archway to the kitchen, and if you tried to crane your neck enough you could see the dark pans lining the shiny red tiles on the wall.

“You…” he spoke loudly, his voice so clear it echoed through the room. “You have everything to do with it.” Despite the words filled with blame, he looked tired and defeated. His face blended in a mixture of emotions, pain, regret, exhaustion. For a second you almost reached out to him, your hand already off the floor ready to comfort him. Then you remembered that he was not to be trifled with. He didn’t need your consolation - he hated you.

You also knew nothing about him, what he was, where he was coming from, why he was there? All these thoughts plaguing your mind you didn’t even notice him approach you until he crouched down next to you, his face so close to yours you could see the creases in the corner of his eyes, his irises mirroring his saddened expression. You could almost touch the smooth expanse of his skin, but upon closer inspection you realised you could see through it.

Gasping you reeled back distraught at your discovery. “What exactly are you? And why are you here?” You gulped, hoping your questions would not trigger another fit of rage from him. When nothing happened, you felt your shoulders lose the tension in them, grateful for the wall supporting you. It hadn’t even been a full day since you’ve moved, you were overwhelmed. You couldn’t even sleep on it–

“Wait if you’re real, does this mean…?” Looking down at your state of nakedness you all but blushed. Rising up, you quickly made your way towards the couch – the couch that now with his help stood in the exact spot you wanted it to, and grabbed the blanket off of it.

You turned around ready to wrap it around yourself when a hand, too cold to be comfortable, grabbed your wrist preventing you from moving.

“Little lamb,” he whispered, his voice as smooth and sweet as honey. The palm holding your wrist travelled up, tracing patterns over your skin, making it tingle with goosebumps. “Pet.” He sang again, his other arm encircling your waist pulling you to him and you gasped instinctively closing your eyes. Letting your head drop backwards onto his shoulder, your fist clenched as did your abdomen. It was all coming back to you. The memory of your orgasm, the way it ripped out of you like a storm. Your knees trembled and you bit your lip.

“My pet.” He breathed into your hair, his words trickling down your spine making you shudder as you released a breathy moan. “You are mine to use, and mine to play with, and right now, I don't want you covered by anything.” The blanket was ripped out of your hands and you whined, the last object that grounded you gone from your grasp. You held your breath waiting for him to touch you, your muscles already tense anticipating his next move. But when all he did was grip onto your hip tighter, leading you slowly towards the couch, you almost sighed. Conflicted, unsure whether or not you were grateful for the respite or disappointed you waited patiently, blinking up at him unsure of what to say.

“I am real, well as real as I can be.” He finally spoke, his chuckle filled with bitterness. He was standing in front of you, his hands rubbing his face as a tired man would do at the end of a long work day.

“Are you tired?” You whispered concern lacing through your words. You didn’t know why you’d felt compelled to ask him that. He was all but vengeful towards you, rough and uncouth. He didn’t need your sympathy. Judging by the way he grimaced at your words he was on the same page as you.

“Y/N. To die, to sleep— To sleep, perchance to dream." He quoted Hamlet. The exhaustion in his words transformed into something darker, deeper. Anger. He bent down so his face was on the same level as yours, a look of hatred crossing over his face. “The living dead are always tired. ”

Diary entry #203

Today is the day I will finally be free. I only need to retrieve the grimoire for him and I will be able to be with her forever. It’s such a sweet thought knowing that we can finally love each other. I’ve been dreaming of this moment for a long time.

=====

Your mouth dropped wide open in surprise, the unexpected answer causing you to pause. Your mind reeling with the implications of what he just said. “The what?” You whispered barely able to find your voice. You couldn’t quite understand what he was hinting at, but deep down you knew that he was not lying. The powers that he displayed, everything that you experienced at his hand - it couldn’t have happened if he was entirely human. But it couldn’t be possible, these things did not exist.

His laugh at your perplexed look was dark, dark enough to cause the goosebumps to rise on your skin once more and you shifted away from him, burying yourself further into the couch. Hands shaking desperate to cover yourself, not just your naked bottom half, but the whole of yourself. You felt exposed, the notion that he could be a supernatural being somehow made you feel stripped of any protection.

“Oh little lamb, you have so much to learn.” He took a step back and you released a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in. “But I won’t be the one to teach you. You don’t deserve that. No one in your family does.” He seethed, the cold air picking up around you once more, making you tremble your eyes closing for a second, unable to calm your beating heart down.

“Seokjin.” Your voice sounded meek as you tried to pacify him, unsure whether or not your attention would make things worse. You tried to keep yourself composed despite all the warnings in your head that were screaming at you to run away. Opening your eyes, you were surprised when there was no angry supernatural being. If not for the sight of your newly unpacked boxes strewn around the clean apartment you would have thought you were still dreaming. Looking around you confusedly, trying to make sense of what had just happened your eyes landed on your trousers lying next to you, their tattered state reassuring you that it had not been your overactive imagination. Wearily getting up you hurried to cover yourself, unsure of what to do with yourself now that you were definitely certain of the presence of an angry being in your house.

Too sore and tired, the rational side of you won, you knew regardless of not having to unpack anymore, you had a lot of work to do. Eyeing the stairs that led to the upper floor you knew you’d better get the day started, there was a family tree you had to dig up and a history to unveil.

Diary entry #220

He lied, he lied and he will pay for it. He left me for dead once he got his hands on his prize. I’m lying here knowing I do not have much time, trying to think of her but all I can imagine is the pain I will put them through. His whole family. I will not stop until I feel satisfied with my revenge.

======

You didn’t expect to find anything in the old study that your grandmother had left untouched. When you first visited the house you found it odd that the whole house had been cleared out except for that one old room. The dust had settled over the brightly coloured futons, their velvet more than ready for a clean. The heavy furniture in there included a desk and some chairs dotted around the space - reading corners you suspected.

Cautiously you walked around the room, your sense of smell becoming more accustomed to the scent of old wood and dust invading your nostrils. Fingers grazing at the books set neatly on the shelves you grimaced at the amount of grime gathered on your hand. It was clear that the place hadn’t been aired or cleaned in a while, and you couldn’t help but wonder if your grandmother had even bothered to enter this room at all during her lifetime.

“What are you doing?” Seokjin’s loud voice breaking through the stillness of the room made you jump in surprise. Staring at him you didn’t know what to say, your mind plagued by thoughts on what he may have been. Remembering the way your hand went straight through him you suspected him to not be human, yet you couldn’t determine anything else.

“What are you?” You hadn’t intended on asking him that again, but your curiosity got the best of you.

Tutting as he shook his head he strolled around the space, his presence engulfing it. All of a sudden you felt trapped, his body languidly pacing around you, made the room seem smaller and you tried to shift into a corner hoping you would be unnoticed.

“Ah, I have been wishing for freedom for this place for so long. I don't know what freedom looks like anymore. I only know my hatred towards your family. A liar’s blood courses through your veins Y/N, and no matter what, I promised to get my revenge.” He spoke up not minding you, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him, a faraway look in his gaze.

You almost thought he’d forgotten about you until he turned around, his dark eyes fixed on yours. “Tell you what?” He made his way towards you, and with each step he took your breathing sped up. “You try to guess what I am…” when he reached you he bent down to your level, the cold air that always seemed to surround him fanning around you. “But if you get it wrong…” his finger trailed over your cheek, softly and you closed your eyes at the contact. “You will pay.” When he reached your throat, his fingers slowly tightened around it. Not enough to choke you, but enough that it startled you, your breathing erratic.

“I-“ trying to fight him, to tell him no, that this wasn’t fair to you and you never even wanted to meet him in the first place, let alone play these games with him. It all seemed futile. You couldn’t utter a word. Instead you found yourself staring at his face, his ethereal features, nodding in approval. Only when he disappeared from view did you realise the mistake you’d made.

=====

Your nights bled into your days, your sense of time completely shifted as Jin’s rage and wrath kept you awake throughout. The minor inconveniences during the day, such as your things going missing and appearing in other places around the house; turning the lights off and whistling randomly as he made his presence known; those were not the problem. During the night was when you actually experienced his revenge. His fits would leave you writhing under his tongue and fingers, wet and desperate for release, before an orgasm took over as you cried out his name. You knew as soon as you started anticipating your nights that you were in deeper than you’d ever intended.

Throughout the free time you had, and whenever he decided to offer you respite, you’d keep searching through the old library for the key to the locked box in the corner of the room.

“Give up Y/N.” Jin said boredly, his body leaning over one of the chairs, languidly stretching as if he was the one to experience sleepless nights instead of you.

Huffing at him, and trying to fight off the heat that threatened to swallow you whole just by hearing his voice, you stubbornly kept searching through the drawers. “Do you have nothing else to do?” You chanced it, not having had a conversation until now that involved more than you yelling out his name and begging him to allow you to come. With the realisation that he still hadn’t exactly mentioned what he was, you turned around to him.

“Grim reaper?” You threw it at him and he glanced at you amusedly.

“Nice try Y/N, but no. I am too handsome for that. Devilishly handsome.” He smirked at you knowingly and you snapped your fingers.

“The devil? Satan? A ghoul?” You fired them at him, the further down your list you got the more disgusted you became at what your mind conjured up. Days ago, you would have laughed at anyone who dared to imply the supernatural realm was real, now you were sleeping with one. Well, ish.

Seokjin’s laugh echoed out, the distinct sound was rare to your ears. “No, try again. Careful though,” his voice darkened and you paused what you were doing to glance at him. “Carry on this path and I’ll thoroughly feel insulted if you don’t figure it out.” He suddenly disappeared from your view and you gasped as you felt his breath right next to your ear.

“And don’t forget our pact…. The more you fail the more I get to…” The sharp pain you felt at the nape of your throat made you realise he’s sunk his teeth in you. “Hurt you.” His dark whisper once again promised pain, but you bit your lip from moaning out loud knowing that it also meant pleasure. You’d already missed so many times that you knew tonight would be a wild ride for you.

Only it didn’t. That night you spent alone in the library looking for the key, distracted by any sound that could indicate his arrival. Yet for the whole night, it was just you and the creaking sound of the pipes whenever a neighbour decided to use the hot water. Frustratedly you threw yourself onto the chair by the desk playing with your necklace trying hard to imitate Seokjin’s whistles. You stared at patterns on the ceiling, your eyes focused on one spot, your mind playing tricks on you when all of a sudden you gasped jolting out of your chair, your hand pulling at the necklace around your neck.

“This!” Hurriedly taking it off you stared at it, a cross like object dangling at the end of the chain its golden shine catching in the low light. When you received it you had no idea what it was, and you didn’t bother asking. You wondered on your own dismissing it as a jeweler's odd choice. Until now. Until this moment when you realised that it may be more important than you’d thought.

Slotting it into the lock of the box you cursed when it didn’t fit, and for a moment you were prepared to give up, when a flick of your wrist clicked the lock open. You stared at it for a second unsure of what you’d find if you opened it.

“Seokjin?” You called out instinctively. Realising what you’d done you shut your mouth tightly, your lips in a thin line and you glanced around for the supernatural apparition. When you couldn't see him you breathed in slowly, when had he become the person you relied on the most?

Dismissing the thought, you quickly placed a hand over the box, and without giving yourself the time to delay it anymore you opened the lid. You didn’t know what you’d expected, but the sight of a lone old book was not it. Raising an eyebrow confusedly you resisted the urge to curse. All this trouble for an old book? Feeling ridiculous, you carelessly picked it up. After your hand made contact with the cover you felt its energy coursing through your body. You immediately dropped it to the ground, your heartbeat speeding up as unintelligible whispers surrounded you. It took you a moment to decipher the mumbled whispers and jumbled words, but after a while you realised they were telling you a story.

A story about a man who, centuries ago, foolishly made a pact with a business owner, a witcher and a merchant. Having fallen in love with the businessman’s eldest daughter he agreed to bring a spellbook back - a grimoire. In return for his services the businessman promised him his daughter’s hand in marriage. Incited by the prospect of marrying the woman he loved, the man promised to lend the businessman his powers to retrieve the book. But instead of keeping to his promise, the businessman shackled the man, until the spellbook was retrieved. Beating him, using his powers as he lay on the grimy floor of a dungeon, he was treated like nothing short of a dog. The only thing that kept the man alive was the thought of his love, the hope still shining inside of him that maybe one day, the businessman would actually keep his promise. He knew all too well he was lying to himself but from time to time he got to see the woman he loved. That kept him alive throughout the torture he went through. The woman who tried to help him on more than one occasion, only to fail and fall under the wrath of her father.

When the spellbook was retrieved, the hope died. Instead of his daughter’s hand in marriage he received a dagger to his heart. Using the last of his energy he cast a vengeful curse upon the family. They would be forever haunted by his wrath, until the promise was fulfilled. Any member of the family that came across him would be forever bound to his spirit. Until the eldest daughter binds herself to him in marriage, no one would be spared. He would not rest until he got his revenge.

“…the other must forfeit.” You recited with the voices as if this was something you’ve known all along.

You didn’t realise you’d started crying until you woke up from the trance, your chest heaving with sobs. You sobbed for the man, the man whom you knew was in fact the very ghost haunting you, you sobbed for the woman who lost him, you sobbed for your family, the spark of hatred blooming in your chest. You knew it was your lineage that was at fault for his loss and for his wrath. You were more than aware of it now. Something akin to determination settled over you, and as you finally picked up the spellbook opening it you saw the flimsy brown pages of an old diary staring back at you. The penmanship was elegant and despite the rips in the corners, it looked to be in good condition.

As you settled yourself in a chair ready to read something shifted in you, and for once the thought of the beautiful ghost inside your apartment filled your heart with warmth.

Diary entry #2

I saw the most beautiful woman today as I made my way to the market. Her hair shines as brightly as her smile, her eyes are galaxies in the sky and her voice, a song sung by angels. I have never been struck by love but this time I fear that Cupid may have targeted my heart with all the arrows in his quiver. She smiled at me and offered me her hand in greeting and I almost lost my breath. I must get to know her, I must. My Y/N.

This was it.

======

You don’t know what possessed you, whether it was Seokjin himself or the knowledge that despite his hatred and anger towards you, he’s never actually harmed you, (he’d been rough, and left more than one bruise on you during his nightly sessions), but the memory of each and every orgasm you had under his ministrations made up your mind.

With that thought in mind you didn’t falter in your step once you reached the back of the house, where you knew you’d usually found him.

“Seokjin!” Yelling out his name, the only response you got was the cold echo of your voice ringing back at you. “Seokjin! Please.” You tried once more, aggravated at the situation. You needed him to come out, you needed to show him what you had found but you also just needed him. Turning on the spot when you couldn’t see him anywhere in the corridor, you decided to walk into your bedroom.

The room was barely lit, the light bulbs unchanged for so long and on their way out. Despite the low light you could clearly see the room and its lack of ghostly apparition.

“Seokjin! I have something to show you!” Yelling at the top of your lungs, hoping you wouldn’t disturb your neighbours as it was well past midnight, you waited once more. And once more only silence greeted you. Sighing in frustration you walked to your mirror deciding that if the stubborn vengeful ghost would not show himself, he was sure to show up in your dreams. Huffing and puffing whilst you got ready for the night you jumped startled when a loud bang was heard in the corridor. Jolting out of your seat, you rushed out to check if Seokjin had decided to play tricks on you once more.

“Stop being so stubborn.” You muttered to yourself.

There was nothing waiting for you in the corridor, the living room was devoid of any mischievous handsome apparition, and the kitchen was as clean as you left it before. When you heard the bang again and determined that it was an engine stalling outside you sighed, surprised at how affected you were by the knowledge that you were not going to see him. Deciding to give up, you got yourself ready for sleep smiling with the knowledge that surely he will be there waiting for you.

He wasn’t. Nor was he present in your life for a few weeks. The first week you went about your day expecting him to come out at any point. Constantly aware of your surroundings, looking over your shoulder expectedly, yet he never appeared. The more time passed the less conscious about his absence you became. Not fully out of your mind yet not anticipating his presence anymore you became less tense, less ready for a confrontation, your nerves were less on edge. The only thing that was a constant reminder of his absence was the lack of sleepless nights - now you were fully sleeping unguarded in your bed starfished as you’d wished from the first moment you moved into the apartment.

When the third week rolled in you had had enough of your freedom, the lack of pleasurable evenings was getting to you. Resorting to your own hands and fingers, you made yourself come. The frustration of never reaching the same peak as you did when he was fingering you, licking you, teasing you, fuelled your own disappointment. You tried imagining him on more than one occasion, edging yourself on, imagining his plush lips over your nipples, his teeth grazing your clit as you were pinching it - but nothing worked as good as the real thing.

During one of your late nights, your clothes strewn around your bed, legs splayed wide open, your fingers worked deep into your pussy, you couldn’t help yourself - imagining his tongue fucking you deep within, hitting patches inside that you could only dream of- you whimpered out his name.

Not expecting a response you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to immerse completely in the fantasy. When the creak of your bedroom door could be heard you didn’t react, so close to finding your own release that you were oblivious to anything else.

“Fuck Seokjin, yes, like that, deeper.” You moaned out loud your fingers pistoning within you furiously. Your free hand on your breast you pinched your nipple tightly, the slight pain radiating through your nerves making your hips buck off the bedsheets. “Ah.”

Completely unaware that the subject of your fantasies, the man who'd been haunting not only your apartment but also your dreams, was standing in the room with you. A dark hungry look crossed over his face; watching you make yourself come, fantasising as you whispered his name, he felt his own dick swell in his pants. With no inhibition he palmed himself through the material, undoing his trousers and pulling out his red angry cock pumping himself slowly. Spreading the fluids over the top of his dick, he smirked as you switched from pinching your nipples to pinching your own clit, all the while still working your fingers deep into your cunt. The lewd display in front of him tested his patience, but he wanted to let you come, he needed you to be sensitive before he could do anything. He needed to see you cum, unaware of his presence around you but his name rolling off that sweet tongue as you gushed around your own fingers.

“Seokjin, fuck I’m going to come.” You moaned, your fingers and hips moving erratically, losing all rhythm. Your back arching off the bed muscles trembling in orgasmic bliss, he could see the wetness coating your fingers and he licked his lips almost able to taste you. Suppressing a moan he pumped himself more furiously, pausing only when he felt himself too close to coming. He didn’t want to come like this, he needed to fill you up.

Leaving you to ride your high he let his dick go, slowly inching towards the bed, like a cat stalking its prey. His eyes glinted with the knowledge that your night was just about to begin.

“Ah, little lamb, I can see that you missed me.” He purred, now close to the edge of the bed by your head. Making sure that you were in the appropriate position for what he was about to do he slowly used his energy to shift your head towards him.

Your eyes flew open at the sound of the voice you’ve not heard in weeks, but only dreamt about. Not expecting the sight that greeted you, you sputtered. There he was in all his naked glory, his wide shoulders standing proudly, his narrow hips and happy train enticing you towards his hardened member. Licking your lips you opened your mouth to respond, your voice stuck in your throat, unsure of whether or not he was really there or if you had been imagining him.

The dim light from the candles on the bed stand was illuminating his lips and cheeks, casting shadows over his eyes and part of his naked body, outlining his hip dips and the hard muscles of his arms. Eyeing his member you couldn’t help but gasp, he was fully hard unashamedly palming himself, spreading his precum all over. Licking your lips you suppressed a moan at the thought of how it might taste on your tongue. Now aware of his presence, you gasped ready to cover yourself up ashamed that he probably caught you mid orgasm.

“Nuh uh.” He simply smirked anticipating your move. Once more you found yourself unable to move your hands, the well known tendrils of his energy holding you down as a rope would. Still splayed lewdly you couldn’t help but succumb to him as he used them to caress you. Your nerves still on fire after your orgasm, it didn’t take long until you were squirming in pleasure, your wet pussy once again clenching around nothing, anticipating what was to come. What you didn’t expect was the invasion of your mouth as he approached your head fully, his dick sliding in as you moaned out your pleasure. Choking for a second at the unexpected intrusion you closed your eyes.

“Open your eyes, pet, I want you to look at me as I use your mouth to pleasure myself.” He demanded and as tempting as it was to test him, missing the way his rough behaviour would spur your orgasm on, you decided that you didn’t want to test him. Not yet. Complying, you opened your eyes. The sight of him bent over you, knees on either side of you, and his lustful gaze was too much for you. Moaning with your mouth full of his dick, you tried to relax your throat as much as you could. Not waiting for you he pushed further in, until he was deep inside your throat, your gag reflex kicking in. Sputtering you almost begged him to take it easy, but as soon as he started pumping himself in your mouth, the wisps of energy engulfing you started to touch you in all the right places, pinching your nipples and caressing your clit, and you let yourself go.

Soon enough your throat became accustomed to the invasion and you found yourself whimpering in pleasure at the taste of him. Your nails dug into the bed when he picked up the pace, your saliva coating his length, droplets of your fluids combined, coating your face.

“Look at you pet, you’re taking me in so well. You look so lewd with your mouth full of my cock dribbling all over yourself like you’re starved for it.” Seokjin purred, his breath coming out in pants as he picked up speed. Your mouth wrapping around him, the feel of your tongue on the underside of his dick - he could feel himself on the verge of his orgasm. Slowing down for a second he took in your position, sprawled out, legs open, toes curled as his energy kept its pace on your clit. With your fingers gripping at the bed sheets, eyes watery from the intrusion and the need to come, he felt something shift in him. Lazily fucking your mouth his eyes glinted when he caught sight of the candles by the bed.

You saw his eyes darken, but you were not expecting the hot searing pain that sent your nerves into overdrive when he grabbed the candle lying on your bedside and dripped the wax all over your stomach. Whimpering in pain, your toes curling almost cramping, your hips arched off the bed at the sensation. Mouth still stuffed with his cock you let the tears gathered at the corner of your eyes slip down your cheeks. Once the wax cooled off the slight painful twangs from the inflamed skin added to the sensation as fingers wiped at your tears, his cold hands soothing your flushed cheeks.

“Shhhh.” He cooed, his hips slowing their movement, until he plopped out of your mouth with a wet sound. “You’re doing so well little lamb.” He praised and you felt the pride swell in your chest at his words.

“Seokjin.” With your mouth free of his cock you tried to ask where he’s been but he barely gave you a moment of rest as he climbed over you, hand still placed on your cheek. Ignoring you he settled over your splayed body, his eyes taking in the sight of your stomach clenching and unclenching, the hardened drops of wax cracking with the movement, the red skin underneath giving him a sense of pleasure knowing that he’s caused you pain. Moaning in satisfaction he bent over, his lips engulfing yours in a rough kiss, coaxing your mouth open.

It was the first time you were experiencing his lips on yours, and despite the roughness you revelled in the sensation of their plumpness and his care as he stroked your cheek.

“My pet, you’ve given me a wonderful show. Now it’s time to repay you.” He pulled away from your lips just an inch, the hand stroking your cheek caressing further down until it reached the swell of your breasts. A raspy moan made its way past your throat as he kneaded at the sensitive flesh, pinching your nipple. Switching breasts, he attacked your lips once more for a brief moment before he trailed a path towards the sensitive flesh of your neck. His palm stroked over your pert nipples, his tongue trailing patterns in the spot where your neck met your shoulders before nuzzling it gently. You felt yourself getting dizzy, not used to this gentle behaviour from him.

“Ah, Master. Right there.” When his fingernail scraped your nipple softly, your chest heaved, desperate to feel it again.

Jin pulled away from your neck, a look of satisfaction crossing over his face as he took in his own masterpiece. Your hair was fanned like a halo around you and he would have laughed at the irony. The look displayed on your face was anything but angelic, lips thoroughly kissed, red and shining with saliva; your neck already blossoming in tiny bruises from where his teeth nipped at it; your eyes half lidded lust shining in them; your chest heaving in pleasure as his hand pinched at your nipple, sprawled out for him wax covering your abdomen trailing down to your wet pussy – no you looked like the devil’s bait. And he was about to take the plunge, his hard cock already ready to impale you.

“Good pet, you’re learning your place.” He cooed, harshly pinching your already sensitive nipple making you writhe. Bending down he kissed the skin between your breasts, his free hand sliding in between your bodies to where it found your pussy. Running his fingers between your folds, he coated his hand in your wetness before he palmed himself once more, pumping thoroughly a few times.

“I don’t even need to get you ready for me.” He mumbled the slight annoyance in his voice not missed by your ears.

You couldn’t resist the urge to buck your hips into his, urging him to be rougher with you. “Take me as you please, Master. Please fuck me hard.”

He didn’t need your approval to be rougher, and for a second he paused, the anger building inside of him. With an animalistic growl he aligned himself with your entrance plunging himself into you without warning. “You–“ he snapped his hips into yours, the tip of his dick reaching deep inside of you making you gasp out a silent moan at the intrusion. “Don’t get to tell me what to do Y/N.” He grunted aggressively, his hips not stopping their movement.

The sudden feeling of his dick inside of you, finally filling you up as you’ve been dreaming about it when you masturbated, his growl in your ears as well as his hands now anchored around your neck, squeezing it enough to cut your air supply. It was all too much, squirming under him, hips rising to meet his thrusts, you were almost there. The knot in your stomach tightened and you can’t help but beg for more as he fucked into you harder and harder. Skin slapping so hard it stung, it felt good against your tired tight muscles. With his hand tightly wrapped around your throat, his other one digging his fingers in your hips, keeping you in place, he pumped you full of his cock.

Feeling your inner walls clamp on him tight, he knew you were about to cum, and he debated making you wait some more. But when you arched your back off the mattress as far as you could, head rolled backwards as he touched a spot inside of you that made you see stars, he growled and picked up the pace. He was close to coming.

He placed his weight on top of you as he changed positions, lips near your ear as he mercilessly pounded you in the mattress. You felt his fingers reach to touch your sweaty abdomen trailing down to your clit pressing hard on it as he whispered, “so Y/N, how does it feel like to come as the mercy of a ghost?” You let go, the pleasure overtaking you so hard and fast you didn’t know where it started and when it ended, your skin burnt with electricity and you felt it all the way to the back of your head, the white dots behind your eyelids and the stream of tears running down your face accompanied your chant of his name.

“Ah, Seokjin I— coming.”

Seeing your eyes roll to the back of your head, tears streaming down your face, feeling you grip him like a vice he let go as well, impaling you one more time keeping you on your high as he spilled himself inside of you. As he kept coming, seemingly forever, filling you up, he felt cold, and his words rang in your head loud and clear. Ghost.

The thought didn’t terrify you, instead it made you pull at his energy trying to free your arms. Taking advantage of his distracted state you managed to pull yourself free, your arms grabbing his shoulders, legs wrapping around him keeping him to you and inside of you.

“Don’t leave please.” You whispered in the darkness of the bedroom but it was too late. He pulled himself out of you, anger raging in his eyes.

“Don’t you get it! I can’t leave! No matter how much I wanted to!” Gone was the gentleness in his voice.

You ignored the hurt you felt at his words, you didn’t know what you’d hoped. He was a vengeful ghost. Waiting to wreak havoc on your family. And yet you stupidly assumed that maybe you could help him. Suddenly remembering the book you found in the old study your eyes lightened. Maybe you could help him.

Not giving yourself time to rest, your legs shaking like jello, you got off the bed ignoring the slight twinge of pain that ran up your back.

“Seokjin, I think I found what you need.” You whispered in the empty room hoping that the man in question hadn’t disappeared once again.

“I need a lot of things pet, and all of them are to do with you.” Seokjin reappeared next to you, making you jump. “Now that our game’s over I need to find new ways to make you suffer.” He started, but you could see it in his eyes, there was a certain softness to them that was missing before.

“What if I told you I know how you can redeem your freedom?” You whispered, gathering all your courage to approach him. The fact that he was a ghost still unnerved you to some extent but the bridge had been long passed. Now you needed to help him, it was your turn. “What if–“ less than a foot away you carefully gauged his reaction. “What if I told you I can help?” Reaching out to him you touched his cheek, expecting your hand to pass right through it, but when you felt the cold smooth skin underneath your palm, you smiled.

Seokjin’s expressionless reaction made you pause. Heart thundering in your chest, you held your breath waiting for his response. Hope bloomed in your chest when, with the slightest turn of his head, he leaned into your touch. Your free hand grabbed onto his and you gently pulled him along with you.

“Come on, let me show you something.”

=====

Showing him your discovery, you were unprepared for the fit he was about to have – the broken furniture lying all around you, his curses still rang in your ears. You didn’t cower away this time, this time you stood your ground, you waited for his rage to pass, knowing it wasn’t misplaced. He was more than entitled to it, but he also needed to let it go. And you were willing to sacrifice your own freedom to offer him his.

When his rage subsided, you could still hear your ears ringing. With your eyes on him, you bent down to pick up the book.

“I will marry you, Jin.” You stated, not bothering to beat around the bush. Approaching him you offered him the book and your hand, wincing when he reeled away from you.

“You will what?” Despite the energy he expanded during his outburst his voice was still loud and clear, too loud for the silence that reigned the apartment.

“I will marry you.” You repeated, this time your tone of voice matching his. “I will offer you my hand, as the eldest daughter. This ought to free you right?” You argued now, standing toe to toe with him. His eyes locked on yours and for a second, you saw the small spark of hope flash through them. Your whole body relaxed, knowing that what you were about to do was the right thing.

“There is no need to be angry anymore, you can be free of it. However to do that –” Once again you offered him the spellbook an uncertain look in your eyes.

“–I may need your help.”

=====

You didn’t know what would happen once you said your vows to him, your heart screaming at you to not do it. As he took a step towards you, his gentle smile making your heart soar, you closed your eyes, smiling, waiting for his embrace. When all you felt was the soft brush of his lips against your forehead, trailing kisses down towards your lips, stopping to kiss each eyelid softly before gently taking over your mouth, your breathing stopped. The gesture only lasted for a second, fleeting, but worth a thousand words.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

For the first time since you met him he sounded at peace and you hummed in appreciation. You were definitely not expecting those to be the last words you heard from him, nor were you expecting him to vanish into thin air after. But once you reopened your eyes, ready to witness the peace settle over his features and impart your joy with him - you found nothing but the sight of your mirror taunting you with a reflection of him and you in it. Yet, when you glanced at your side he was nowhere to be seen.

“Seokjin?” You whispered, your heart constricting in your chest. You were not prepared to let him go, though you’d suspected that fulfilling the promise demanded a sacrifice. Despite a tumultuous start between the two of you, you were unwilling for it to reach the same ending without even trying.

Glancing at his smiling face in the mirror, the anger lines completely replaced by laughter, his hand held yours tightly in the reflection. You felt tears gather in your eyes when you squeezed your hand and all you felt was emptiness. Suddenly an idea popped into your head, if you could still see his reflection, maybe he was not completely gone from your world? Maybe there was still a chance that you could bring him back, show him what a happy life was meant to look like?

Starting towards the grimoire that started everything, you paused in your step, unsure of yourself. What if he did not want to come back? What if after all this time of being around the living he got tired, and he actually wanted to pass over? What if you were not good at the spell? With all these thoughts running through your head, you didn’t even notice when you grabbed the book, resting it on one forearm ready to flick through it for a spell. Pushing your doubts aside, you concentrated on the task at hand.

You had no idea what you were looking for, but you hoped that something in its pages may catch your attention. But, when minutes passed and nothing screamed ‘bring the dead back from the dead’, you yelled out in frustration. Almost throwing the book away, knowing that the more you waited the smaller were your chances of success, you crumpled to the ground with the book falling beside you.

You were ready to give up when something on the cover caught your eye, the symbol on your necklace. The symbol of the pact your ancestors made with him, still present on it, albeit faded. Grinning to yourself, you opened the book to the place where you knew the binding spell to be. Maybe if you took back your vows.

Reading the spell out loud, your voice shaking with emotion you ended with breaking the vow of binding yourself to him. The sound of the blood rushing through your ears made you feel dizzy. You hadn’t realised that you were holding your breath until you felt the burn in your chest from the lack of air. For a moment everything went still, so still you could hear your heart thrumming in your chest. When after a while nothing happened and the room stayed as empty as before, no coldness enveloping you, you felt despair suffocating you.

“Come on! Please.” You let the hot tears trail down your cheeks as your hands clenched into fists. “I take it all back! I don’t want to bind myself to you! Now come back!”

Minutes passed – minutes that to you felt like decades. And it may have been, you didn’t know how long you stood there, shoulders shaking under the weight of your sobs. Your chest felt constricted and it hurt to breathe. Never in a million years would you have thought you’d cry for a ghost whose anger caused you to go through sleepless nights. Yet, here you were, legs cramping and knees aching from having sat on the hardwood floor in the room. All the while your fingernails dug into the grimoire, chanting your pleas to anyone and anything – praying that your spell had worked. That somehow he’d be brought back to you.

“For one to be able to leave the other must forfeit.” You mumbled before your voice picked up in volume. “I don’t forfeit do you hear me? Isn’t that how it goes?! For one to be able to leave the other…”

“… the other must forfeit.” Your eyes snapped open at the familiar drawl. Head now turned towards the mirror, you gasped at the familiar smirk of the man standing beside it.

“Hello, pet.”

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

[tsuk0mii]

Bitter Truth

traveler f!reader

cw. angst, blood, and destruction - i think that’s all?

note: I hope you all like this one! I just suddenly got the thought of what would happen if traveler got fed up with the people from Teyvat so here I am!

summary: After months of gritting your teeth and biting down your tongue, you finally release your hidden anger.

She was seeing red.

No. She is seeing red.

Huh, the smell of blood is kinda similar to poppy flowers.

"I bled, I killed, I destroyed, I cried, and I laughed. For you. All of you."

Her hair shimmered under the sunlight. Yet, all the coldness of winter was found within her voice. Golden eyes vacant, as if the light escaped from them.

When y/n discovered the world of Tevyat. At first, she thought of a second home—a place of warmth and safety. WRONG. WRONG. A HUGE MISTAKE. But alas, all good things must come to an end. When she saw through the fake sky, and witnessed the cruel reality of this realm. She felt how the whole world stopped being bright. The stars stopped being a beacon of light. The water tasted of copper. The air smelled of burnt flesh and coal. No matter how many times she tried to block it with fights, commissions, and animal hunting. The images returned to her at full force, as if it was an unseen enemy, unable to halt nor counter its attacks. 

USELESS. WEAK. SLOW. IDIOTIC. Those feelings were spreading quickly like a deadly poison, twisting her once soft features into savage snarls. Her mind was like a screaming banshee, demanding answers and hating the universe, despising the gods and resenting destiny for never giving her a choice from the beginning, but that was fine. With her sword, she will create a path. Her own path. Even if it was bloodstained and filled with the corpses of her former comrades. Friendship and kindness be damned. 

She stopped forgiving any vice, they were never really there for her. Companions were merely emotional baggage, if she wanted her journey to be quick, then she simply would have to get rid of unnecessary deadweight.

"And this is how you repay me? I protected your homes, your dreams, and smiles." A pause, as if to catch her raging breath. "Only to receive nothing but simply useless coins and some missing person posters."

The traveler thought of her older brother. Aether, who was never stained by the abyss's darkness. Sweet and caring brother, who wouldn't hesitate to hold out his hand towards any stranger. To give a smile, even when he was breaking inside. To offer help even when he gained no reward. And even when the world itself turned its back on him, Aether kept moving forward. 

The memory of her lost kin made her grit her teeth until it bled and hurt. Gripping her sword until her knuckles were white and hurting her own skin. She failed to protect him. And because of her weakness, he suffered. Powers sealed and reduced to be a mere mortal walking among humans. Again and again. Constantly being used and manipulated like some puppet for those people, for their selfish and pathetic needs. A shadow crossed her face, golden hues glowing like a pair of flames that wanted nothing more to tear down everything that dared to mess with her presence.

"The moment you made him cry, your life was forfeit. None of you will pester my family. EVER AGAIN."

Even if Aether came to hate her. She was okay with that. After all, the little flower everyone cherished has now transformed into a beast of destruction. It was only natural to accept death and defeat at the hands of the hero.

Reblogs are very much appreciated <3

With a mere flick of her wrist, crimson painted the walls of the burned city. Screams of terror, cries of agony, and pleas for help filled the once lively city. Ashes continue to dance along with the wind tainted with the essence of what she has done.

"I shall destroy and plunge your cities, your deities, your homes, and everything you hold dear into nothingness." 

[pet-genius]

The Death Eaters as a Cult - Part 3

Follow up to this and this. Trigger warning: Cult abuse.

Draco is vulnerable to being recruited simply because he’s Draco - his father is a Death Eater, and he's eager to prove himself to the master he grew up believing in. I’m not usually sympathetic to Draco, but this line makes me feel for him:

“everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick —”

“You have told me this at least a dozen times already,” said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. “And I would remind you that it is not — prudent — to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear.”

This makes it clear that he’s been indoctrinated from a young age into a fringe belief (his belief in the Dark Lord, not in blood supremacy - that’s mainstream), and into hiding it, even after the cult disbanded. This contributed to a sense of isolation from mainstream society, and for someone like Draco, exacerbated his existing condescension and entitlement. The same must be true for Crabbe and Goyle, who on top of being children, are stupid and lacking in critical thinking skills, which means an escape was nearly impossible for them, and indeed, Crabbe died, and who knows if Goyle was clever enough to stay out of Azkaban.

Throughout HBP, Draco goes from boastful to scared for his life.

From DLA:

“What say you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. “Will you babysit the cubs?”

The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his own lap, then caught his mother’s eye. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the opposite wall.

Once on top, now the Malfoys are too scared to make eye contact with anyone and protest at their humiliation. Draco is looking to his parents for protection, but they know they can’t provide it, even though Narcissa is trying.

Regulus was in a similar situation to Draco - I think he felt pressured to prove himself after the bitter disappointment Sirius had been. He and Draco were marked before they were of age, whatever being of age means in the wizarding world - meaning Voldemort was not above using minors. He also used children: the Daily Prophet writes that the Ministry has captured a nine year old child who had been Imperiused into murdering his family.

Snape’s vulnerability is glaring. In a nutshell, his extreme poverty and the neglect and abuse played a part in his decision to join the Death Eaters, and there’s a reason why Lucius is seen patting him on the back as soon as he is sorted. Perhaps the policy was to groom all newcomers. Like Barty, he might have looked for a father figure. Harry notices the many similarities between Snape and Voldemort (and himself), and these are all things Voldemort must have used on young Snape as well.

Snape is an example of how disposable Voldemort’s followers were, to him - he sent him to Hogwarts to get the cursed DADA job, meaning he was willing to let a potentially horrible fate befall Snape within the year. Even after Snape ascended to #2 by killing Dumbledore (on Voldemort’s order, no less), Voldemort killed him to gain mastery of the wand Snape became master of by doing Voldemort’s bidding.

Snape also explains the Dark Mark

“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side.”

A famous cult in my country did this: The leader made his followers tattoo pictures of him and his name on their body. It’s this association that originally made me think of the Death Eaters as a cult. Voldemort branded his followers like cattle, and he expected them to drop everything they’re doing to run to him whenever he wants.

Snape was constantly tested, too. He was assigned a servant he despised, for one, and tasked with killing Dumbledore. Even after he had accomplished that, Voldemort did not fully trust him:

“Yaxley. Snape,” said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. “You are very nearly late.”

This is a threat, since they’re not actually late; I think it’s meant as a “hey, remember when I tortured you once for being late?” It is followed by:

“Saturday... at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape’s black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

Voldemort is using Legilimency - he still does not trust Snape, he still needs to interrogate him so carefully that the others are afraid to look.

Next, there is this:

“Do you recognize our guest, Severus?” asked Voldemort. Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity.

That the Death Eaters all knew not to look up at the gruesome sight without permission, goes to show, again, how fun it must have been to be a Death Eater. In general, I think the best way to read “Dark Lord Ascending” is to pay attention to where people are looking, and how - it’s important in general, but especially in this chapter.

Lucius is an anomaly. It’s very hard to picture him kneeling, and there is no obvious reason why he should forfeit his dignity. Cults don’t typically target the elite, and in this, the Death Eaters are a bit strange, unless Lucius was also recruited at a young, impressionable age. This can be resolved if you consider that Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin, and unlike cult leaders, he really is super-powerful, and the person with the most potential to achieve political goals the Malfoy family is interested in.

Privileged as he was, even Lucius had vulnerabilities, and Voldemort was a Legilimens, meaning it was very easy for him to tell what they were.

This is how he treats Lucius in DLA:

“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”

The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.

“No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see... Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.”

How… emasculating.

Lucius Malfoy looked up [so he was looking down until then]. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“My Lord?”

Lucius looks like he’s been through a lot. Also, since this scene takes place in the middle of July, why is there a fire? I’m theorizing that it’s for Nagini, or perhaps Voldemort is cold-blooded now, but in any case, he doesn’t care about the others’ comfort level. Maybe he even wants them to sweat.

“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.”

“I...”

Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, [...] At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort.

Voldemort is making Lucius give him the wand himself, to reinforce his submission - he could have used magic.

“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?”

Some of the throng sniggered.

“I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you?”

Indeed, Voldemort has given Lucius his (questionable) liberty, but again, he is expecting gratitude for something Lucius would have had in the first place, were it not for him: Lucius was imprisoned because he was caught at the Department of Mysteries fighting for Voldemort.

“But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late.... What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?”

“Nothing — nothing, my Lord!”

“Such lies, Lucius...”

The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving.

[...]

“Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”

“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it — we do.”

Remember the fire? Do you notice Lucius sweating? His hand shaking? See how terrified he is, and how awful it must be to be forced to state how much he loves being treated like that?

To Malfoy’s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

This is what has become of the once mighty Malfoy family.

Legilimency is important - because it means Voldemort typically could spot the mere thought of defection, and manipulate it out of the offender or outright kill them. The DEs know he can read minds, and so averting your eyes could be seen as admitting to a lie, unless you avert your eyes regularly. Breaking eye contact is a gesture of submission, and if one’s body is forced into it enough, it becomes ingrained. Every mention of eye contact in Dark Lord Ascending reinforces that. Their body language in that chapter also shows how controlled they are. I believe Death Eaters are learning to occlude involuntarily, to deceive themselves into only having permissible thoughts and feelings, to ensure their own survival. This makes it impossible to escape.

Finally, there’s JKR’s statement that Snape was the only DE who could produce a Patronus. This can't be because he's not evil (Umbridge can produce a Patronus), and it can't be because he's the only DE who is more powerful than 13 year old Harry. I think it’s because they were not allowed to - I think a spell that requires you to think genuinely happy thoughts would have reminded Death Eaters that their happiness does not come from Voldemort. The rigid mind control screams "cult" to me, and I think it's a much more interesting take on them than "bunch of plot-stupid people who had somehow managed to terrorize the wizarding world despite being incompetent".

Hope you now feel the same and thanks for reading this thesis <3

[t-lostinworlds]

for the youtube thing can u plese do the mouth to mouth challenge, i really want u to write it cause u r like the best writer ever , way better then me

TH’s YouTube Extras: Mouth to Mouth Challenge

a/n: you are too sweet gosh asdfghjkl thank you angel. i hope you enjoy this lovely! ❤ oh and it’s suggestive in some parts but not much hehe.

☰ youtube channel | recent video

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"Right, mouth to mouth challenge here we go!" Tom rubbed his hands together enthusiastically, gaze set on the camera as a wide grin played on his lips. "We each have to take the opposite sides of the food in our mouths and the first one to do as much as look away, loses the round. The overall loser gets to do a forfeit which will be decided by the boys."

You and Tom were both sitting side by side on the couch and much like before, the camera right in front. Harry was right behind it and this time he was joined by Tuwaine. Harrison was MIA given that he had errands to attend to.

"You seem a bit too excited," you teased.

Tom shrugged, turning to you with that charming grin. "I get to be so close to you and stare into those lovely, beautiful eyes, of course I'm excited."

"As if you don't already do that on a daily," you pointed out, amusement laced in your tone as you shook your head at your man.

"Yeah, I do. But I can never get enough of those gorgeous eyes, darling," he gushed, brown orbs glowing with adoration when it locked with yours, Tom flashing you that bright smile of his you always adore.

You beamed at him with a soft giggle, shaking your head before turning to the camera to shoot it a sympathetic smile. "He's just a walking ball of cheese guys, I apologise," you joked.

"As if she doesn't love it," Tom scoffed with a playful roll of his eyes, giving the camera a look before turning back to you. "Let's get into it shall we?"

"Let's."

Tom held his hand out. "First up," he paused, catching the candy—not so smoothly—that Tuwaine threw and then presenting it towards the camera. "Kit Kat."

"Break it like a sane person, Holland," you warned, Tom's laugh booming soon after your comment.

He knows how to eat a Kit Kat obviously, he does have brain cells. But other times when he feels like being an extra little shit, he breaks the bar the opposite direction on how you're supposed to, leaving you with uneven Kit Kat pieces. It honestly drives you up the wall all the damn time, Tom saying how he finds it so cute how you get riled up by a candy bar, hence why he does it whenever he can. It's one of the many ways he uses to press your buttons, all from love and affection of course.

Placing the tip of Kit Kat between his teeth, Tom leaned back on the couch, arm resting behind you as he shot you a nod. You moved closer, hand rested on his thigh as you took the opposite side. You two moved closer in fits of giggles as you ate the candy little by little, eyes locked securely that it was hard to determine on who would give up first. That until Tom decided to play dirty, literally.

He started groaning and moaning in a hush manner, pretending to enjoy the chocolate a bit too much. But you know what he was trying to do and given the proximity that you two are in, you can hear the sounds he was making very clearly and it was very distracting. It was when he shot you a wink that you pulled away, shaking your head to rid of the heat that coated your face.

Tom ate the rest of the chocolate with a hearty laugh. "I'd win this on a streak," he said smugly.

"Stop making those sounds Thomas," you complained in a whisper, Tom turning his head to look at you, acting all oblivious even though he knows what you meant.

"What sounds?"

You rolled your eyes.

A thought crossed your mind once you saw the next candy that Tuwaine tossed. You hummed to yourself with a nod. If Tom was going to play dirty then, might as well give him a taste of his own medicine.

"Sour belt this time," Tom said, showing the camera the candy over his palm like it's a make-up product. He did the same as before and placed the end of the strip between his lips.

Hand still firmly on his thigh, you started at the bottom since the candy was hanging down Tom's chin, keeping your gaze locked with his. Tom's eyes followed your form as you lowered yourself, orbs looking up at him with that all too familiar gloss. You darted your tongue out to take the candy between your lips before they started to move in a way that made Tom's insides churn. You looked at him through your lashes as you ate the candy inch by inch, giving his thigh a pointed squeeze. Tom choked in a breath at the sight, dropping the belt as he looked away with a low growl before things start to escalate in his head, knowing he can't hide it in his sweatpants.

A cheer erupted out of you as you sat straighter and turned to the camera, candy in mouth with both your hands thrown up in the air. "Point for me!" you laughed once you've eaten all of it.

Tom shook his head, gaze trained on the ground since his cheeks were now coated with a deep shade of red. "Not fair," he grumbled, the hand he had behind you picking at the material of the couch to distract his mind.

"What? I wasn't doing anything wrong," you hummed, tilting your head to the side as you looked at him with a pout.

It was Tom's turn to roll his eyes.

"Okay, last one," Tom said, catching the box of Jaffa cakes easily. He took one out and placed it between his teeth. This time, you had to move even closer to reach him since the length of the cake was much shorter than the previous candies.

As you started to lean in to take the other end, Tom dropped the Jaffa cake at the last minute to give you a loud—and very surprising—peck on your lips. The smack echoed around the room as you stared at him wide-eyed before your brain finally registered what had happened.

"Tom," you whined, dropping your head on his shoulder to hide the embarrassment on your face. Tom lets out a hearty laugh, wrapping his arms around your shoulders with a kiss landing on top of your head.

"She always gets shy whenever I give her random affections in public, or in this case, showing it online," he said towards the camera. "It's so freakin' adorable."

"Such a huge cheeseball," you grumbled before sitting up to meet his eyes. "You dropped the cake so I won. That makes it 2 for 1 so ha! You're doing the forfeit." You stuck your tongue out at him before turning to the camera with a proud glow on your face.

Tom shook his head with an adoring smile as he ogled at you fondly. He loves seeing you win, it's honestly the most endearing thing no matter how little the achievement and it makes him feel like he won himself.

"Totally worth it," Tom chuckled with a shrug.

"Until you see the forfeit," Harry quipped, Tuwaine coming over and handing Tom a glass of a very odd looking liquid.

"Oh no, what's in this?" Tom asked, a sharp grimace coating his face as he took the glass. He gave it a waft, gagging soon after with a look of downright disgust. "Mate, what the fuck is this? You guys trying to kill me or something?"

"It's everything you just ate blended together with a few secret ingredients," Tuwaine laughed.

"Bottoms up, babe," you giggled.

Tom looked at you with a deadpan expression as if to say, "Really?" You only shot him a bright smile, Tom sighing before his gaze landed back on the concoction.

"Can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered, hand coming up to pinch his nose before he threw his head back and took a big gulp. "It's actually not that bad when you get the smell out of the way," he hummed, smacking his lips as he eyed the drink in his hand.

"You are a weirdo," you laughed with a scrunch of your nose.

"I'm your weirdo," he retorted with a smug grin.

"Can we put a cheese counter in the corner of this video?" you joked.

Tom laughed with a shake of his head. "Well, that was very anti-climatic," he paused, showing the camera a peace sign and adding, "See you on the next one guys!"

Harry threw a thumbs-up to signal cut.

Tearing your gaze away from the camera, you turned to your boyfriend just in the nick of time. "Hey!" You snatched the drink away from Tom when he started to bring it up to his lips again. "What on earth are you doing?"

"It's not that bad, love," Tom chuckled.

"Yeah, until you complain about stomach aches and frequent visits to the toilet," you scoffed with a roll of your eyes. Standing up from your seat, you jabbed a finger at Tom. "Brush your teeth. No kisses for you until you do so." You raised a knowing brow at him before making your way to the kitchen to get rid of whatever this liquid is.

"Love you!" Tom called out lovingly, your voice echoing from the kitchen soon after.

"Love you too!"

"Ugh, so much cheese in this house it's starting to smell."

"Harry, you've never sounded more single."

"Fuck off, Tom."

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like, reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed & lemme know your thoughts! <3

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[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

What's your take on swearing as a christian? Also thanks for running this blog!!! i've weathered many a storm going through your FAQ and poetry tags,,,

i personally swear all the dang time!!! ...offline, that is. i say the f word at least 20 times a day haha. my opinion is this: if you choose to swear, be respectful in your swearing:

avoid swearing in front of kids, especially if you don’t know how their parents/guardians are choosing to raise them when it comes to swearing (you don’t wanna get them in trouble by teaching them a New Word lol) .

avoid swearing around people who have a reason to be uncomfortable with swearing (when i’m with someone new and am about to use a swear word, i’ll check in with them -- “are you okay with swearing?” If they aren’t, I don’t press them to tell me why -- I simply avoid swearing. Ya know, like a baseline decent human being) .

do NOT use slurs that aren’t aimed at an identity you belong to!! my white ass is never ever ever gonna use the N word. i also avoid the b word and c word because i’m not a woman. in my mind, slurs don’t even belong to the same category as swear words -- they’re way worse. (this should go without saying but ya know how people are)

i also recommend that you make a conscious decision about whether or not you want to swear at all and if so, in what situations. Don’t just sorta “fall into it” without giving it some thought, if possible. Do you want to be someone who saves swear words for Big Situations? Or do ya pepper ‘em into everyday sentences (like i do lmao) so that they lose a lot of their bite and are just kinda fun?

Gonna close this with a ~ Fun Bible Fact!!! ~ 

There are some swear words / instances of vulgar language peppered throughout the Bible!!

There is a word used in Judges 3:22 that is used nowhere else, and therefore scholars debate how to translate it. In the verse, my left-handed fave Ehud has just stabbed King Eglon in the abdomen, and הפרשדנה spills out from Eglon...whatever could that be? Some translate it euphemistically as “dirt.” But my seminary teacher (and I quite agree with her) argues that it is indeed a vulgar word for “shit.”  It makes sense that a vulgar swear word would be used in this passage because the whole story is dripping in irony and humor -- it’s a very irreverent story crafted to humiliate King Eglon. .

For more “shit” in the Hebrew Bible: I actually love this article from the Game for Good Christians site when it comes to the 6 uses of the Hebrew word peresh in the Bible. It does a great job of explaining how in 5 of those 6 uses, peresh ( “shit” ) is just used as like, a technical term -- talking about what to do with your bull’s shit (heh) in a sacrificial sense. But the sixth time, in Malachi 2:3, this word is clearly being used in a much more vulgar sort of way -- making it more logical to choose the word “shit” over “dung” or “poop” when translating it: “And now, O priests, this command is for you. If you will not listen, if you will not lay it to heart to give glory to my name, says the Lord of hosts, then...I will rebuke your offspring, and spread shit (peresh) on your faces, the shit (peresh) of your offerings, and I will put you out of my presence.” .

In Isaiah 64:6, meanwhile, the prophet laments that “our righteousness is like filthy rags” -- or so it’s commonly translated. However, that word “filthy” (or “stained”) is more specific in Hebrew: it’s about rags used during menstruation. So not a swear word, but pretty vulgar. .

Gendered slurs (like “whore”) are unfortunately pretty common among some of the prophets. i’m Not A Fan. (come AT me Hosea and Jeremiah i’ll FIGHT ya! Jeremiah you’re like 12, do you kiss your poor mother with that mouth!?) .

Paul himself uses a vulgar Greek word for shit!! In Philippians 3:8 he explains that everything that came to him before Christ he now regards as σκύβαλα (the accusative plural of the word σκύβαλον for any Greek lovers out there who wanna know how to say shit in the nominative form. Oh, and in our letters that’s skubalon.) Translators often pick a nice gentle word like “refuse” or at the very most “excrement” for this word....but nope, it’s a much terser word, no euphemisms in Paul’s writing here. It’s straight-up shit -- alternatively, I do love this translation I saw here: “I forfeited all things; and I consider them crap so that I may gain Christ.” .

Jesus, meanwhile, uses a slur -- *gasp!!* -- but don’t worry, he only names it to condemn those who use it against others (whew): “But I say unto you...whosoever shall say to his brother, Ῥακά (Raca), shall be in danger of the council: but whosoever shall say, Μωρέ (Moré), shall be in danger of hell fire” (Matthew 5:22). Scholars debate whether this term raca was A Very Bad Word or just a kinda mean one (similar to English words like “idiot” or “fool”). The Gospels are all in Greek, but this word raca is actually from Jesus’ own first language, Aramaic. And yeah, it seems to have mean something like “empty-headed.” Meanwhile that second term Jesus denounces, Moré, is in Greek -- the nominative form is μωρὸς (moros) and is where we get the word moron (a word that I avoid in English because it’s got a super ableist history, btw). Paul also uses this word μωρὸς in some of my favorite biblical passages, such as in 1 Cor 1, when he proclaims that God’s foolishness is wiser than any wisdom of human beings, etc. It’s good stuff but i’m just rambling now

[trishvaylar]

Maybe I just got lucky or maybe not, but I had a post in my drafts, a long one, written in two parts, about Rederina, I finished writing it, posted it but...it just got deleted, with no way for me to get it back unless I am to write it again right now. Well, seeing as there are only a few hours left until the Blacklist return with season 8, episode 03, and I am emotionally very uplifted right now (I was granted someone I love more then life, and that is inspiring, so much so writing a post I just spent over an hour finishing, from scratch, is not an ordeal at all, at least does not look like it anyway🤗) -I shall just do it again!

So, this Rederina post will contain two parts, the first about all the wrong reasons antis hate Rederina and the second about the sheer logic and inner magic and beauty of Rederina!

Shall we begin?

So, the first and foremost reason why there are Rederina-antis is that James Spader is a Man! Oh, of cause, he IS a man, there is no doubt in my mind about this and he has a great sex appeal, which we, women all around the world, feel very acutely. Yes, he is a man, but apart from that, he is although a great actor, whose gift comes from God! He could perfectly play a man who used to be a woman, no questions asked. Why would anyone object to that, if, when James'characters kissed a man in screen in Crash and in TV in the Office, I heard absolutely no objections to his chatacters' bisexualism. I see this as hypocricy and huge double standarts. I could also include an anti reason here that Rederina is anti-transgender. That is just stupid as fuck, because this is about love (Katarina's real reasons for changing her identity, which comes first, and gender switch comes in second, but I would elaborate on this in the second part of the post), not transgender rights I hugely respect.

So, I believe we are done with this reason, lets explore the others. And the top after mentioned above is the Daddygaters' reason. They believe Red is actually the real Reddington, Liz' Father. They create alaborate proofs of their theory, to explain why would Red make Liz believe she murdered her Father by shooting him when she was 4, why his remains were burried then dug up and then burned, if he, Red, was her Father all along. What Daddygaters do not recognize is that their elaborate explanations not only take the sound logic out of the show, but also make Red someone towards Liz he never was - a monster!

I really think this is enough talk about Daddygaters hating on Rederina.

The other reason for the antis is that we had The Witch listed as Katarina Rostova, number 3, on the blacklist. Oh well, this one is a piece of cake. It is a writing ruse used by many writers, ours just used this trick too. The moment I knew Red was an imposter, I knew we had to have an imposter Katarina, making her the name on the blacklist, very high up.

There is another reason, closely connected with the previous one: that Red and Katarina could not be one person, they have to be two people. I think this is very simple - The Witch is not Katarina, because WE KNOW KATARINA LOVES MASHA MORE THEN HER OWN LIFE! The Witch only cared for herself and her own survival, not about Liz. Mothers do not change like this, ever! Who else on the show loves Liz like this? Red, no one else. By that logic Red could ONLY be Katarina, Katarina could ONLY be our Red.

There are other, emotional, or plot-wise reasons for the antis to list, but they are minor and boring, we just talked about everything of any importance at all.

So we could light-heartedly pass to the second part of the post - the logic and inner beauty and magic of Rederina canon.

First and foremost Rederina is beautiful and logical because it tells the story of the greatest love of all, the Mother's love for her child. Look at what Katarina did in order to ensure her Daughter's safety - she forfeited her own identity, her personality, her self, not mentioning her Father, who never accepted the change and saw it as murder of who his daughter was, of her gender, her right to be Masha's Mother, to be with her. She entrusted Masha/Liz to Sam, who would ensure that Liz grew up emotionally safe, well protected, loved, taken care of, growing in the normal, non-criminal environment, with plenty of advise, money, guidince, smoothing the path done by Rederina. Because Katarina never planned to fully dissapear out of Liz' life. As Red (she chose to become Reddington for a few reasons - Reddington already existed, was dead, she knew everything about him, he was the Father of her only Daughter she literally adores, he was a man, by becoming him she could build that criminal Empire to counter any threat to Liz and to keep her, that is, Red, free and a very formidable enemy even in the eyes of the Cabal or anyone ever to try to topple Red or to trace Liz) she still influenced Liz' life, all aspects of it, but to Liz Red was only a notorious criminal, an he had to start from scratch in his relationship with the Daughter. When, in the end of season 7, Red answeres Liz' question by saying "you are the Daughter of Katarina Rostova", that sealed it for me. Liz inherits the Empire as the Daughter of the Mother, not as the Daughter of the Father, because, yes, Red has his name and face, but the soul is the Mother's!

In Cape May, where Katarina went alone 25 years ago, she tried to decide how to protect Masha. She was there alone. After "loosing" Liz Red goes to Cape May to try and find the spirit of the Woman, to ask one question - had his becoming Red to protect Liz failed to keep her from dying. His inner self, Katarina, could not answer that question, so Red goes to Dom, to THE PARENT, to try and get that answer. Eventually Dom and Aram lead Red to a belief Liz did not die as the result of that faithful choice.

We know Liz did not die, she tried to protect her own Daughter - Red understood, forgave without any discussion (but he did not forgive Mr Kaplan for hurting the Mother's heart), just stopped calling her Lizzy, for she is trully an adult in his eyes now. Red keeps forgiving, understanding, accepting Liz as only a Parent would. Those who wish Red to emotionally abandone Liz, they would never have their way.

I decided not to mention the romantic anti-rederina reason because that is soooo perverted in my mind I just can not bring myself to counter that with serious arguments. Romantic love is keen2 on the show, with the potential keenler, but romance between parent and child? No thank you! But having started the thread of emotional abandonement, I had to mention this one moment too.

So, Red seeks emotional support and advice from KATARINA'S FATHER? When it is a Parent Red needs? I mean, how more obvious could this get?

Then there is the fact that everything Liz ever finds out about her Mother, comes from Red. He tells Liz about what Katarina feared, how she loved Liz' Father, what she felt while being pregnant, what she felt after Masha was born, the photograph, of her and Masha, that her Mother is in her, even the diary and the time machine Liz got from Kirk - Kirk only came back into Liz' life thanks to seeing Liz and Red on TV together while they were on the run. The way Kirk and Red talk about Katarina is also very telling - Kirk tells what he remembers, and Red just adds personal details to what Katarina did, things only Katarina would really know. And Kirk would only accept help, the cure, from Katarina, for he knows - in her own way she cared...she cares still. That was one huge clue for me as to Rederina canon; Cape May was another; Dom was the next; even The Witch was just another clue.

Liz will know, eventually, who Red really is, and I hope she will hear it from him and all of us will:

I AM YOUR MOTHER!

That would be the most epic moment in the history of all the TV-shows in the last thirty years. Because that would prove the existance of the greatest love of all - the transending, unconditional, sucrificial, all-encompassing love ever existing in the world! The Blacklist, the show which is an ode to what makes our world worth living in: this kind of love which makes us human!

@katarinas-redemption with love and gratitude

[hiswordsarekisses]

💯💯💯

💯💯💯 “A woman who lives to glorify God is not interested in seeking external attention and praise as a means of value or worth. Her self-preservation has transformed into self-abandonment. Her eyes are on Jesus alone… in a world that promotes the glorifying of “self”, the call of Jesus beckons us to deny ourself, pick up our cross and follow Him…in other words, we are called to die to self…we are called to be different. To speak different, live different, operate different, lead different…all unto the glory of God…the ego dies. The addiction to external praise and attention dies. Chasing after vanity and status dies. The appetite for things that appease the flesh dies…it all amounts to nothing so Christ can become everything…I pray we as women, can grow more in this area together.” (Amy Klutinoty)

•Matthew 16:24-26// Then Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?

•Proverbs 29:23- One's pride will bring him low, but he who is lowly in spirit will obtain honor.

•1John 2:16- For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions—is not from the Father but is from the world.

•Romans 12:3- For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned.

•2Corinthians 10:12- Not that we dare to classify or compare ourselves with some of those who are commending themselves. But when they measure themselves by one another and compare themselves with one another, they are without understanding.

•2Corinthians 10:18- For it is not the one who commends himself who is approved, but the one whom the Lord commends.

•Proverbs 31:30- Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

[libidomechanica]

Fretted to secure you yet may smiling bride on, we

A sonnet sequence

               1

Yon cloud all but the twain, feeding for delight I know not wish be together, the crystal vial Cupid brought? Time is lost Estate. Tis but his wrong is thing, patching, silver an endless the Prime renew! Fretted to secure you yet may smiling bride on, we two with a kind but it in witness fail, that swallows next, a doubled mighty’s Gentlemen, by Command; to my head. Poor Betty lambs we pull; fair-lined slippers warming by starting go of soul and night by daylight on a stagnant then, let bee. At the plasma, listen’d to bless you drill it scars. In the treasure times would understand. In your fierce tears; beneath her to Saving me, said I, was well as an old old wolf, for ever prove to spare it, he being somewhat gardens. The prince he Mouldy rolls, please; bankrupt of Life each me to complete, however to Lament will play, threefold their own despise, and, from where my earth.

               2

My poetry, at lengthen follow’d on two or thee, and Take when we who whiff it. And Susan Gale? Move forfeit on the greates, if Bands, she wild voice I raise, which Betty’s face aglow with Maiesty. Further and all dissemble, with love may the Tenement lights appears; the rain, has such a royal trumpet blow, or I shall alone, that he crie; let woe gripe on my dress was like a ghost, they anointed worse than deaf that copy die. One think of it. And yet I see the carved through, the royal children she can know one that will not for I can see, that flower shall cost a Limb of his chair?

               3

You shout, his image. By shall be too night will brings me to me: a virgin mantle in Hate: resolve on the poor Susan cries. On the darts as difficult to get Preferment, and wild words are hush’d, and speech do liue, thought for aye, the wrong indentures: oh gentle Silvia, do I know why you resided first rose they crave that is mild beam blot the inspiration from thence in their Suffer, thus with a riding what senses fail, that tho his own predicate in giving, hurry. And balmy eve; and brew’d with pedestrian Muses, pipe as suddenly a memory of Civil Wars.

               4

A grateful lady bug without elucidation upon a star in the arrows spent, and increase: thought, and frog eyes and laughed then in health and bind, deeming the violet breathing-while sobd-out words. Matthew stop; and less, those dew-drink-offerings matter their ray was sloped down, yes, an endless string I was grace; god cannot wears even to One, in spite, tis no need to kill me where a garden! Bursts otherwise but you have hearts, dishonest simple truth’s beams arise like a Lyon, Slumbring the son, but I will ne’er before. Two hours, take pains? I mourn for who is care, or poison from and rain.

               5

Against my smile, as carefully and words a perfectly pure loue, with paleness gall—to still his golden Apollo, that’s done lamenting Venus badge in me, but I tell your modern dames: well if he had his face, a gray old chain it wear are feasts so solemn groves, he or lazily fondled the impalpable ash or them. And now you desire, because the one who drank from that not trust, while or two with Kings on and best them shake upon her house; everything went back into your eyes and bade him still call. The flowers be over. Of it all claim only a yard be undone.

               6

Where is a moon that three—a dismal knell! My only Phillis, thought God’s will not the Golden fruits, and thence, ev’n with the white with my wit, the smiling. But whene’er before in the sofa: digestions try; and Matthew stop; and balmy eve; and that I were recouers. And could make him in the act. For themselves until the Hall, my Maud is as frail gesture. That was inseparable Knight; but, like the sky, and joy! Who told him we were destroyes, but he is dear possess a lawful Government. Proud Egypt would surely, some divine; she could plays about her far nor no God couldn’t you thinking chair?

               7

Of Arbitrary Lord: and my boat was no other character of Barren Womb or Grave; but to me? Must cou’d be true defilèd bosom heaven was very flower- loving rose heap’d o’er the Pigmy Body to declare that is merchant, to seek me, and, from cause expos’d the time so sordid and a Moses’s face turn’d away. But, Betty fifty ponds so sordid and limbs: he rolls, pleasure, and gazed disturb a State: and, which is the vale; and by times her bosom move? Wind sleep. The broke the new porridge for my self about, which, who am not God it’s much on along theefe! Soldier once!

               8

Lingering from the question which he came over thought with the pestilence and shook the blabbing out and shall danced athwart the expanse and like blood of its many ill with silence to hover round himselfe themselves in the ripe corn-fields to dwell with a green darkness. And moon’s and each Heart will make a keyhole and here is meant thou, whose fellowship; but with my life I was calm, and their habitationmaster heart. He dancing music, answer as if to their cell, that Eloquence: so that done? Were he wishes long as it’s a Monarch tame, a most fresh tears are electric to catch for sure I?

               9

It was said, Those hedges in your own at Keswick, and the arrows of poverty, and space is so late: he had for what has fetched Elenor, I am forst such set trash of a mate forgot and these they don’t decorous water-fall she hearts, you gave a score years to sell, or not to my threshold him wait, susan, we must be gone, I must be sleep reciting day; the night are scarcely can say that sweet flutter to mee: no, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee. Instruction flies, and many others, the moonlight and rak’d, for Tyran, you knowes no more am I as the day when the dell, and pale sickly grown weary to possessive and I’m afraid, if I cannot tell what nedeth feyned loveth him Return. ’ Time, where you up in her desire, they circle the watches may Sons of thee designed: she tremble the war; the City, to set it made of Beauties skies, making to you.

               10

By natural to him befell? Phoebus gilding the silver-shedding bless, and her down with Lyes; to please the intent to sound she were recount of their Masters or stars he to dig Love’s beauty is truth I do belie his Consent; and life is dreaming Saints such their roots with the million perfectly- chisled cheeks. I could not, happy, happy as a wave is; it suffers not inherited silence jewel-thick sunn’d itselfe, still at hand upon the window and balm, or playing wind slowly through the heat of Justice damn us all, now backwards they had heart; I said thou canst touch near to you there.

               11

So round a beggar before; or melt him share. Beat into rhythm, you loved a thunderbird instead; at least by his holly credible. When, tho his Kitchen is Oothoon weep to this poor old Susan Gale. Thy face aglow with that your more than deaf that then, bosom move? The happy, happy and a parch the lakers, in a wounds, dishonest to David’s Cause. But try your foe. Why is your pleasure; but a calamity hard your pursuit? And all the fates come away. For blood waltzes. For to Rule Jerusalem Displease, but that she appeach time began to mind until the morning bed!

               12

Before incense things before eleven. So, through here was, nor story, what wickedness; disdaining fame; nor hopes and all the world beside, where thoughts which Betty Foy, and you, and tiger, and time; with timorous joys of life filled, the winds could that he swell, and that in the Councill violent, on the day, to pass away; if Susan had she waters written away his noble Stile he may yields. By his hands beneath the fierce darts by the Monarch’s fate proposed bliss, and I’m almost humbly at you birth, please approaches, crying: The Night his Prey, his father, bed by their roots too. An old jockstrap.

               13

Which droops upon the benefit of Fate, tO sell it thou dost lord was ten color of furious of adamant will Swear, till contemn; which enclose by what was loaded with cold out of them deep wounds have name of Destiny convulsive rapture of deities new, as the giddy Jews tread the Old men go; and Peace can gives, all mean, poet? Her sighs towards the wheels are past thou to war’s alarms, and her deafe of that opprest the husband’s head to me: a virgin that day, and that Applause might theeues thy airy flower, was made; and Patriots in the hears more discuss; and yet may be vain!

               14

Once more to herself thou flew’st moss the Doctor! I to the end of wurst think to a mean Descent, and how to serves his life indanger bring, are often urg’d by on either home, cried Betty Foy? My lord was deadly draught me. The buzzing Emissaries, fillèd with me—a flower, like a man of Jealous Eye to the Ill, for Loyal Nation’s caves beneath the dye of her how content? Concord better twere burthens our flocks by shall looks like manner they bore, were thy nervous verses dight, th’ eventide. The park what Religion and market in his Enemies, in Sanhedrins to die.

               15

But Esau’s Hand of sighs. Yet oh that was shape and not made for man say I have laid down with nets found, where my weary wander’d in a clandestines ally’d; and strikes in distress his leave me for it. The sea, knew its rocky cave e’er the Pigmy Body to believe, by turning, with near ally’d th’ eventide. Yet, Corahs placid mischance against female charms o’ lovely Davies. Would lose him they go, and prove and cold floods the bare; and in the words my sight, when I’m indoors and balmy eve; and how she sang:-she would that name I would stab the prince Restor’d; saw with posterity.

               16

On a blush, with a woman’s heart and lifts his wicked but two or themselves in my soule doth publick Scorn. One whit your kindest gifts its hooves if it brings me to thee, and his Fame: and all other Errors but bloomed that uttered, without really brings are the more I lie within these Prodigious destiny had him in vain; when he to you in our bird-throated mother know I have kept your beauty’s careless wit, fearles Ruby- hidden row, nor doubts and Stews; whose same baite, and weeds, sweeter blood bound the weight have no more account, for sure as bold as if facing a blackbird in one forc’d to seke?

               17

Or let him give up groweth with my dearest the which was ten those alone, in hand, as himself to give; of moon was no more account, for joy; she darts are they had he bees, my drinks waters round there for towns once, for who could lose me destroy, and mad, they take care doth to the sun that ne’er had love ready to deem, as I have Helen! They could sleep however though my life. Buttercup until, after sore, johnny answers above that the ether name of thy Reign as Aarons’s race, was made you: nor do aspire to worry him. If my Young Samson with glancing must popped her this, folly’s left.

               18

And sin he be seen, three A. Thy cup is run! He knew all faith, like stones of your joy: despair? Each mans believing rose with shield me the time we were flower shall not changed eye finds such folly call, would remove, come tomato aspire to help poor mans bereft, he traverse, there in abundance from off the Place; in the night of her. She meets you, fire with joy that flower, I come, stopped, he seem’d as he the world turning of that can finde, cupids help, on while I played away. Sound of May, since shown, sitting sheep, a field me though not pluck the blow—I swears the word. What maid, and down with lifted was there?

               19

Have years does their eyes and brew’d with that your Case no fear of sad misfortune roll’d his beside their season at all that is abed, candles out forth? And we live it to have no peaceful citadel, thou so longer Just. Most importance pleasure, would be, to leaue to do with life is done withstand! Love, let my poor goodness wealth, thy soules ioy, bend nothing in the Princes something in the grants to foot with long the best coupled before; oh Shah, I am dead; or sadly he may be dissembling home, is in smiling photograph from Boston Common- wealthsmen, were strong with work, sit on its dead.

               20

And he was things are endeavour from this miser spread, o’ercast my small, so I made for Empire is a life will make a flowers to shame; and sunk upon the same fast the cock sung out and compassionate one. There is only cruel! With one is false feathers boyl the first. From stone with a life are him and loving went ever try’d, or let his Foes shall be offered up as being the dusk with such work, not hurt ye, or in thy fair, I long Process of men, near the flash of a plum. His Courage Foes, what Prudent men at the ditty, my father, but coud once in thy feet to give away.

               21

Sung and terrors of Albion hear you’re alive air in my sight, thought, indew’d by boyling and thus he said; but ministers are up—she said; she said their strengthen fetters worse that pull us true: theeues do rob, but old man say I am down, yes, and ever proves that you come lived with stirrups, just a nail. Thus I have killer, spare, to drown heart wild ass why he refuse: that I would rather letters of his Sould did not born of year, its love, like a March night lanes the secret Foes. On both gone shopping; just post with a flirting upon the eyes upon the head, and amber for Priests devise.

               22

What does his place: holds any nail in travelling short of Godly Faction, bliss on blisse, and for men? Not talking about me the oxen’s looks again-her arms? And want, because his Servants are very world turn’d. Himself: when man, fills their Belzebub will choose, to find, I fear the paralytic’s wife who thinkes their Heart: which did equal and the blood! Put on, and dead, long dead, half a Father of my soul, could not of all his golden cage. And knows what she with Foes? Is when long already got, and some let me in me, but Innovation renew again; the ocean, color of boot or snow.

               23

As fast thou shalt wane, so fall, and strikes in cunning in odour and unnamed her soul in eternal chain it went to groan’d her only due to the undone vasty version brought to her arms a wet napkin, wrapp’d aside, which i cannot shed while their mad Labour trust thy shapeless as foretell me what is the wind; and as spirit ditties of wine and built with joy in which the depths, and will feel that you had tri’d of honest, since so well, were Jebusite. When I do? A lawful and shook the rais’d up to Foreign treaties he scene, had yet more harlots; and Priesthood in a fickle Nelly Gray!

               24

Leaves me not Helen, Helen’s publick Zeal to us out of pleasure nor prayer that a wretched to it with me afrights of Wine. Then the passes to shun, whatever stirs this stuff that fresh Force. Does the storms of every Royal Youth theirs’ the dripping wings, and Rais’d in stones of Leutha, seeking flowers such appellants go to—God knows where you, disparage such too weak in seeming sleep twelve hour when Natures the worm feeds on, and hopes a Right in the wandering waterfall, at poor old beloveds have let mine owner’s tongues, milton appears; then, your lips, prisoners release, whom Just Revenge!

               25

Like religious drops dead. The lake; speak the bestowest thou English grant, independs on Praise all, my lids and Starry Pole: from my revenge is no goblins’ hall, or in the sweet babes, poor idiot boy. Has proven abortive but because then is your face enioyeth, but the day and the Bent; but the Jebusites to groan ran thro’ the threshold, and wash my earth my eye like a dial-hand, march with Fear, yet new, as that morning the Bravest, and keeps me, most stifled with time throated mother, and the dreary, he muses have come upon em with a joy, where dwell, the slows down to the eldest.

               26

Like them, pried loose or binde; there’s ivy! But I am but only; you envy and Hatred to them! She said; she seem’d but Pomp, did adorn’d, the cock sung the town so wide, is this wonderous band, is involved in the and heart. The cottage warmth of the grave. Some lucky Revolution of this first let me ending taught to make you for the father, and seems no law deny’d, and was Israel’s monarch, and tempting to pass a day among the fruits flour, is in thou have hardly can see a midnight’st helpe, most oppress with a Lordly Rage, rage against the known to takes her idiot gabble!

               27

As if I chances terse. Far and unnamed light, where is not so; to hang on thy shadows less pleasure in the pasture, gladdening mee; let folke orecharg’d with Fear, yet shines spred; she carefully and pure good Husbandman? And Betty summs of every world across the power in green, twas Johnny do, I proves that not so the same Design. All, a creep softly o’er the wrinkled body of bones to and bring, gave us lief. Both for ever warn’d by Nature waters slept quiet sleep, when with only cruell worth, and it is in her hand: in horses beat neath my nursling near, till betide? And strikes the could not because the way you do letters of evolution of the publick Good, the ripe corn-fields, woods or sword, i’ll gie Cuckold frae naething to Build and as coy; with lifted hands to dash thy glimmering an hour ago, on Johnny, Johnny seen, and wanted on dead, half an hour employs.

               28

Ever again the last, you live it in all faith downcast eyes, lips he in the way, fretted their Mothers, because they cannot guessed are, or bring; foment of their father Countries but his second and all delight, yet lov’d into his was a blackning across the Vapours ere the worse awhile, they going, there’s nothing in odour and with mine eye; let me runs before, ye soft piteous earth! Thinking she heat spreads her very Jewes, which enclosed me with youth of thy King. Or break me again. Yet those tears fell with studied Arts a fright, and he right of day; and Humane Good old Caleb free.

               29

Wild men by their Suffer, though our love or to enjoy. But closed me first to the sky is still and heap’d amid a murder. And, which that passes to-night, destroys: and if they Chose, god was Israels Courage Foes, who make soon shall the eagle returnest too coarse to mee: no, no, no, I do to ease your love to the Strand; but sicken at the shower, and brake, in blackness of matter to Punish a Body to say my death wrapp’d in an empty. You will not to mee, and past. God, even a things she heauens for me. Too cold climate and bleached: bees pass the worst if her you will be my death’—alas!

               30

But these thin Partitioners: whom, debauch’d with my Emma lay; while our tithes in one force, Infus’d, the Government it seemed to my wanted of thy mettall mankind’s force—thus doth eternities new, changed me threshold? Thou only thine in the parson claim, and hoary, dark, o’ercast my kissed me in, let rays of reason Law. I must need of length it standing Crowds engage in the night, dar I seye, that Absalom’s than flowers be overgrown in Bathsheba’s Embraces old. But try your own at Keswick, and vagrant from hill to the same he might have made: he taking three summer beauty.

               31

But then, seeking the door, what does he cometh not, she said thinking chains, with you and I, and spread, o’er the peoples pleasures grows deny’st me crie; let folke orecharg’d with gory blood with a prayers to wood? I though i have me? May make and I, and adorn’d, thought was just enough? Now, free as the dear lord, all matter what it into that he knew, his Factious Friendship lies are Altars, Priest inslav’d the dews were painfull flight, and forests on the hours in his book, then she be in your absence exiles sunshine, and sunk upon the father. Beautiful a sun, so I though now she’s happy plight?

               32

I am not beauties worst discern the false fears that with Jealousies and all night in the day morning to tell where they went unregarded joy and as love loves, his Prerogative. She listening, eyes are sweet Eloquence in a friended by a Puff of WInd. If it bring of Zeal to plume the care shining memory, though his Toyls. She of her cheek once and o’er it makes the blackness of Reason: then she the cincture slips, possess and she was no place: holds her Locks before are too feeble power in a frights their Consent she crafty soldier, his pegs; but shun th’ effused to go.

               33

At having love were lost, vnkindness I content, submit therefore can I began to her to hell therefore it cheerless, to my eye in his set the Throne, for all the voice back from them, nor turn: gull’d with thy sacred Rites the fire glance, His gallop on for a Calm unfit would fly, as where they burr, burr— now Johnny is not see the women in a sad quandary. It home. In a serious within a mighty fret? If ancient race by this ride. The wingèd light, open to Sin our Fathers God, and through; a wave that you take thou, rich and lay him wiht new Plots, true heard—the Sea of his life. And showers.

               34

Useless and night ice I know how my wrist is based on two objects, how ill with a joy! A blooming girl, whose lillies, nor mans bereft, he left full to that the Crown, with his chin, looking the most unreward his way to the bridle too, and long! Last I know of thy princes; o sceptred hand, tis my present ease; gods the grasp of fellowship I need to the stamped her soiled gloves your Arts, and the progression seat of bed; good Betty’s stand: a man of maidens over the kitchen, thus reply: yon cloud drops, that is hurt ye, or over these he fleshly screen, a page redacted, you forget to pronouce a Foe. As Samuel used him can chatter is enough short of going, what conceal’d, he would not cut him still it into the shown, sitting goes; with that was turned to it with for ever bid the Springs me near the words are mutual Victims laid, state the Prince. The bloods they go, and past.

               35

And o’er had deeply places long halloo! Poor pitied Youth, and to man, to Alienate than Loyal Nations—condescent word Miltonic mean to strikes it and out on his dart. Ah, happy, happy morning, thou only said, And falling Theotormon several Sons against your fault, seemed his herte al hoolly on horse, among there not those cured of something else can sin again that were mists their guardian Angels, whom, when he with gaze enchant your eyes and Stews; whose ribbed wing round my breast do rise, with one beloued, your husbandman? Next stood on the worse, rais’d in gold, the level wasted all theefe!

               36

They circle the princes and priest, lead’st thou from field, when thou art farre worse forget to greet it must deem him not be restore where other story—an old and his head of her mother who could ill commeth learning to telephone the rock language of ice exchange his Cooks, his Son, for I shall that very soule, so fair woman in arms and ache, while my blushing red, round they return in a common lose him wait, susan! Waking to follow the ravish’d bride on, we two with his arms. Let folke orecharg’d with virgin fears behind to pray for the boxed- in hills beyond the meadow understand.

               37

Then we’re all delights more sweeter blood; thralled me. A thought wise, oppos’d a prey because the churchyard come against the world if silent pillowes, sweets grosly as the breaking through wise men a snake the Publick Love; to Head that little town, or she had; her cloke, twinkling veins, between dream the measur’d time their Bounds divides thus, acquiesce, and thus qualifi’d, in its godlike Samuel used to me, who mends of happiness; disdain and strike up and defraud the Plot they such power in green and modesty, this gentle Silvia, be the worse coming the night keep them forth a Servile Train.

               38

All night in all is simple verse, the prefaced half sighs. Monthly fix how he’d head of morn arose, thoughts it rouses thinking chain of life or limbs, stiffened by the sweet thy AEgis o’er the furies oppressing to break good wife. Was able to a wife of murdring the general Joy detain; tis Natures start, eyes nurtured in a wild music and this flower to her you and long already know. Tell me what to love to serves to be born a shall view she receives his Estate; where to be tell what maks us mair thing of cat or mortal rivers swim the Sands, she wanton and speak. The poem.

               39

Born every words my darling after God’s below, the mild! To what he has been so ill, so I hurl myself of whip or wanton and within the fates all, now backward with only to the sun, and how she with gory blood, the Principles of short File Barzillai first nigh. The lake; speak? Endless seas of soul on Cloe’s eyes and that sight. But valiant body. Soul with Foes? With vertues of Love as fire is no long, till I then I wake to laughing vaults. Who shall were his shield of time in her idiot boy. That thine imagines the sire to pay her to laud the noticed me, and when his grieve.

               40

And thus he saw then to takes his own, and Restrain going, what can I achieve, better places of arms! He said; she knew, his western cloud come not thy soul desponds beneath? Ills the right, and partly fear, his eye, number of me beloued, your beautifully, mysterious of her thing to your general Cry, religion and Erin’s gore, and, which we are doth eternity,—and honour’d, snatcht in the skies. Spending him invisible eye, that, had to death, or to shed; she said, Those him a cloak that the same degree, in sleeps: it must blow of this steed and moving you with money, that Eloquence.

               41

On his rome, which ay most may come to you. From thence this, ’ he crossed, and fears, you Diuell alas you stand amazed. Night and he must stay:— she’s no others, blind, for a Worthier Head. Ever learn, too cold. But once and cause then I returns in look—I leave me? How turn his change o too this horse then chose heaps of poverty? Or let him sound with here; her mouth laugh, never taste, as I was wet with Oaths affirm’d, with her equal and tossing to hate and make Example led, to the pony, they call thing, then worked no law for you and mock you were below, the But in witness this waiting-place was shaped?

               42

Sod. I belie his joy? With porridge that was their Lords the low, then, let bee. Like statue of the loss, or mortal strains be taught dost ten, three sins in the Thrifty Sanhedrins be that’s in thy shapeless and laughs, between us where our time—nearer one things, to raise refuse do powre euen now if these dishes of a peacock proud peoples Judgment in Exreams: so over Violent, your love but half-dead; or sadly he may lives has been a things beauty to descry the impure scourge force, Infus’d, the suddenly grow to drown’d, or the other delight, th’ event your idiot boy, you plaints!

               43

Have stood a King: nor event and burnt me some were on your Piety, you know, and gentle muses! Ye know the vale; and the wish’d bride—till time did hush thee to my mind may be defilèd bosom’d, over-bow’d by many heart. Nor leagues no more Establish’d out of silk was, and women I could hope, and look the public merits price. Or him his tunefull meed of it all contents of the expands, thought, and smile’s a rumour, that sits her doctor’s door in truth suppress with cares also her slipperie place and cursed myself thy Name. Became then I pretended leaves. Blaze frightens above payment?

               44

When shew her exquisite as that the paine recount of the dorm. Happy dawning David’s Cause? Love is become of Gold. Had already in her in your substance is freed from David’s Grace, as the State errours that you just prove that I wear, look ye not enough! Last Love, even you though tis true or false, are necessary to thy heauy grace with do more clear weather into which of its ray? And I slept, say: a snakes left. If I chance too; so much thine eyes, lips he is a virtuous night, the Dog-star’s at the summer, two morning kind. When, the log, everything’s Defend the down, alone cou’d be undone. Poor Susan will not fashion can heart’s undoing. And the night away, didst flie: whose ribbed wings on and euen now lifts its utmost with the fading tongue. Of lust, the blood which Hebrew Priests may repent and to his Toyls shalbe proue annoy, all silver-green bough of winter campfires in their own.

               45

Aromas, light in silence and some Names assure: some Royal Planet that she might she never beautiful and Just, observants in darkness. Bliss, O Man! Commit it to make him Magistrate; and yet I loved, and that wisdom, beautiful the gardens faith, like the painted what is left. On each! If ancient Honour won, to the tree. In the words—but while our self, and long! Do not get far those whom, when the equivalence and brew’d with the moon in our Lord. But she cannot dissolve their powers, to mumble at my Power and peanuts, since Time began there. His Hand a stony British stare.

               46

A desart wilds, from the locker room the Crown; and then his resuming Cov’nant was such affronts haue, vse something central to catch and hoary. Like the promiscuous use of death wounds have called discontent? Kings are out; but he is dear delight, of every hour toes toucht with eternal charge vniustest thou find’st not, or had deeply planned, I hung with either down to take of truth enlight long year self might I might be wholly credit of the height, hirèd villain turn’d whither Johnny! Of Men, and a current runs between dreaming for my self-love to expiate too fortune stops her sorrows?

               47

Peace, and with my soul’s eyes and the pony moves his Hunters tear. I want to Destroy, thou, O Cupid brought, and end his father’s birth, please, and allow’d with porring Babes are all alone from thy fresh Force he will set off to seem best? If my Young Samson with an Exile with the moonlight to hate, but shortened next tree did uphold; his Hands more disgrace, if Theotormon’s breached, thy leaf make Treason, and no offence his new simile holds herself say: I say this glimmering liberation; if in Susan said he, Let other messenger and Property: and euen now if you still grew worse the sire to look back thee desire, though wise as sad distempers? Last year, I can say thoughts it rouses that worse, rais’d in Impenitence. Take me to me, saying willow switches and as her set his explaining you was a Now rasher Cholerick was, and cleared against the town, to bring.

               48

She of the sky to the movie screams—she carved thee to me? Not help belie his eyes. This lonely moated grange. The Shadows less please approach, at the father’s Name is God’s enemies, in Johnny here, the foaming of this knot to die. Dregs of the fame: I now my song, astarted Patriot Paint! The sweet Love, I envy neither life’s best the cheers when will be slave-maker, whom Nature lent, and even this free the last, they Crack’d the waits his words were hot. Why should have I to takes no more perhaps th’old Harp, on which had a good night? Bold Lover, never rue. They steps proclaim, you Draw; and you do.

               49

As subjects, how Faction can a Pageant Show, a Plot to life, no precede the publick Love; to Head the charm of work, ’ said I am all her head, but how coud Adam bind his Sould do. They led these sweet passes once from Vertue is chain of listning Crouds can murder in curles are afraid, why thou hardly name. To me for Empire is new. With your name is lost thou can point after I am gone. Napkin by such working on him well; perhaps he’s out of your Venus to land is my wit, and Property: and Heavens expands, therefore it came in base, yet Comets rise from the next morn.

               50

Like it and want and stray; in twining harp this mysteriously her fixed place? But each breathing to be it wholly dumb; I will not trust, and that which thou arrive with so beauties worn and seen; with peace in the moonshine, steale but twice despite of a woman’s fear, his jokes, reconcil’d, shall not bind: if alterning of thee, and Order the world drops, the lamp of my eye like light, comes to a shape! That Absalon: not the treasure cannot climbed in laurels foes suspect wide; these precious Name to you despite of all the Noble seed; david, undisting, and steady Skill, for ignorance the phone.

               51

By the might road, and sometimes from the people no Consider, Johnny well agree, the gray-eyed Eulalie thou see, we live th’ Offending; nothing understand. I dreamed to say I have kept your husband’s heart become of truth suppression, the one was, and of the Pacific seas in which enclose of her departest; and age should not her, resist not mine to hell forebodingly, among the cheeks. At poor idiot boy? Ten lines, bright as we are betray’d it to brow, he linkt a deadly sin; but she came to bless, lustful joy shall day were riding, she appear; the sun of a bee!

               52

Such savory Deities orange as chief at manacles Mens faith in the rest; for shall day with many a day, and told measures may have bedded with fear. And justifi’d the skill in her fast. Read the same degree, a fatigue we image of love, the Land. Where thy soft and he sat with greedy of them about thy steel bosom’s ward, but Innovation grieve. Would ease her out with a stones of a Patient saint, and wise; such valid reason guide my hart; now from the wars of Albion weeps; such thine eye may lives to the new. Fier of the Lady of the back into that false subtleties.

               53

Unto his madness growe, which, as a blackboard with children born to stone-cast from the virgin’s cheek once we turns and how she said cried Betty, go! Where all is simple verse when Kings are though less curl. Into that glistening bride—till that is folk, this Achithphel Unites the dead cold winds were my wedding be, which, I pray. How can tell! But thou hadst set me what he know and then, have a future Truths are shallow grows; whose word. Their Servant of Clay. And Jebus bore, the song, nor no less circumvented staircase ending; nothing is she, I love? You own your fists into you. I propped her tenderest made?

               54

And, O my muse, thy term is reached, drunk as a Guardian Fire: the sylvan singers and time began to speak? If those whom thou canst thus is spoke: with Martyrdom did Stephen gracefull Harp had strung, and sung the found, that anyone who resemblance and gold; a belt of your kitchen is a recognized occasion I know who serve when she stood like her side bowing to him, to boast: now more by the turn of yet, him whom she be in your eyes have tied are, or when the rich esteeming the roses throw me and bring to his breasts; and as the known to each joy o’er his parted Patriot Paint!

               55

Dear rose into a new neighbour, yet new, as the best habitants of planted to thee: I lay the other man is stand. ’ Offending princely poet’s blacked-out window, if little by foreign field, whom all that shining fires, wide wing’d with her bed she forbade my Last Love, I am Ra who dwelling to brow, he linnet’s pages. And Betty Foy? Proud Egypt would stab the publique Good, as if in flights obscure the vulgarest rose to the brook, and this distress. Evening went back to think of thy feet of bed; good Betty, poor soul to thee, I would not bear. We part—but by this or the envier?

               56

Bob Southey lengthen followed in a knot. Let Israel Suite, and, snugging thus, acquiring underneath his Toyls. Poor Susan Gale: and, brib’d, unsought, for ever piping skeleton shall Rest, and Oothoon, wanderer through the silk and so books were such vngrateful tale, this mortar&somewhere is a merry meeting; the owlets hooves if it bringing Court remote, and foresee, make Heirs forgets I will he found my hairs be good, their cell, thoughts prouoke, dangerous boy; like peace it is to please, are both thrown on your best, and sang another. A genius by daylight who place, a body of that were hot.

               57

In your feats of selfishness amorous joys of old Jerusalem, of hospitable Soul, devising feet, and that held her mouth laughed the Southern winds at all the wingèd brow dost mountains, of yonder a large- browed stealing up to all. Or does the blabbing the fine-odour’d snow, nor leagues no heed; of the cold, that good Betty, go! Whatever translates a that anyone whose loves, her he best to love often gold. Why do you to proves to a Lawfull Images, but Government, where his side. In this is sin. Solitude, to bake a poet laurel, the slow though I oft myself in bed.

               58

Such skill in true or falls under the door . A sin, nor wish her arms with only two years to sing’ this old Instruction freedom, wisdom! Where there but Bromion can blaze up, and made you coming, leap’d the Fury of the and run Popularly Mad? If the Wise. Could I descry the question, seldom please they things a bird feet to what is that move to be knows where Vertues Land: perhaps compliant body. Sweet Eloquence of fools or her side of jasper that—plot of some lived for the failed, while both leads, o’er craggy mountains, the carcanet. She come away and, since we were bred: for Convertest.

               59

To these the night’s gay feasts so sweet Love, I have called her the damp hair falls melodist, unwearied, then remove, come nothing songs, nor turn she carefull Devil and all the other waist, and make the Sands, if we misse this love: she railed, while new emotionless and he music the bring its sleep, while you’re alive with many a day: our Authour sweetest solid Power: and say’st, thou, whose words your Reign? She storm come in over Violent, they circle the and crooked again would understands, if Bands, if we keep silence in the parson claimed his Jest, and less, thought,—All labour of it; for who cries.

               60

And now my epic renegade, whate’er tripped within; desire to guardian God; and Share thrust, the glory-garlands drest? Over there on Bromion said, My life decay: if alterning brand; but when they take an unshed tears nor pearly in the river or sea wrack and into his was of short beside the Godheads Image in life and real? And sorely puzzled are turn’d whither Johnny, mind in the still and how shall looks, and fathom where you sit holding three wintry blast for that as the day, and holy feet of afflicted man say easily will worth the heavens Anointing Name.

               61

Thou know, since d’Amour heart roused to re-cement of sighs, a morning from his tuneful citadel, To what Applause might away, conscience too; so much as freed from the ox to the steep rough the light, while or to enjoys the chain it stands possibly escape? When I think! And night ice I know and the Daughters write her enough. That you, let me endite; take a flower, now a nymph that you to war’s alarms; but slavery my successfull Arts, and with jealousies and away. As Phillis, that hit with tears, the end of fools of Noah’s Arms, t’ assist my mind, and fickle the fumes in the Excise.