#iv. thread : arthur

[feysversion]

tag drop pt. 9

iv. thread : ada

iv. thread : charles

iv. thread : crowley

iv. thread : arthur

iv. thread : cornelius

iv. thread : luca

iv. thread : astarion

iv. thread : constance

iv. thread : herakles

iv. thread : lucanis

[81folklore]

this is me trying - LECLERC

pairing: charles leclerc x small!singer!reader (fc: olivia rodrigo)

summary: after a twitter thread was made talking about the struggles you faced in a horrible way, you release a song you wrote with charles to talk about it

authors note: i am in no way saying olivia has struggled with or is dealing with anything mentioned in this story. this song means alot to me as someone who struggles with both addiction and my mental health so if im projecting..no one needs to know😁 i honestly have no clue how this is going to turn out but we will see. anything in bold italics is french

warnings: talks of addiction, depression, anxiety and suicide. alcohol addiction, drugs and self harm are all mentioned. the topics of this is me trying are mentioned, for obvious reasons but in a more personally focused way (if that makes sense). unwarrented hate (?). nothing really goes into detail but just regular warnings, please reach out to someone if you are struggling!!

authors note 2: i had to dust this one off and I HATE IT. its literally my least favorite work ive ever done so please feel free to keep scrolling😭😭 i just kept projecting by accident and it honestly kind of got out of hand. im also SO BAD with my wording so i have no clue if any of it sounds how i wanted it too!!

authors note 3: after reading it over i realised i never actually explained what i was talking about in the song thread so quickly, charles’ and yn split for a short period after yn started shutting him out, she spoke to someone (the stranger) who helped her start to extend the branches back out to charles and they got back together around 11 ish months before the song was released!! the fans never knew why they broke up, there was some speculation but most of it was dropped when they got back toegther

masterlist

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 2,457 others

good food, yummy people😋

view comments

arthur_leclerc: you mean good people yummy food right?

yourusername: suuure😁

charles_leclerc: beautiful girl

yourusername: love you!!

user7: what is charles doing in the 5th picture😭😭

yourusername: he dropped his airpod😭

user10: girl have you seen twitter…

user75: charles run as fast as you can

user2: there is no way charles knew he’d never be with someone like that💀

user10: what and he’d be with someone like you??

user6: wait what is happening in these comments what happened on twitter?

user7: someone made a thread ‘exposing’ yn but its just a bunch of bullshit that his fans are using because they dont like yn

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and 3,562 other

studio time with baeee💋💋

view comments

charles_leclerc: my favorite musician💐

charles_leclerc: i love you so much

yourusername: you mean the world to me charlie

pierregasly: kika wants to know if she can come next time

yourusername: tell her to text me so we can arrange it!!

user73: oh my god new music soon

user64: does this mean charles is on her new music?!

yourusername: maybeee

user64: GIRL DONT TEASE US LIKE THIS

user99: im so sorry about whats happening on twitter you dont deserve that

user2: yes she does

arthur_leclerc: can you tell charles to stop talking about your music when im not allowed to hear it, please🙏

yourusername: sorry arthur!! wanna come for a car ride and listen to it with us??

arthur_leclerc: please please please

user82: yn and charles taking arthur on a car ride to listen to her new song, oh what if i cried😭😭

arthur_leclerc added to their story

seen by yourusername, charles_leclerc and 86,289 others

*text in first picture reads: 🤍🤍* *text in second picture reads: so unbelievably proud of my sister*

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, sebastianvettel and 8,215 others

if you had told me a year ago that not only would i still be here but i would be releasing a song talking about the darkest times of my life with the love of my life by my side i would never have believed you.

throughout the past few months i have revisited times of my life i wish i could have left behind but ive learnt that accepting that this is a part of me now is important in my journey of moving forwards, and in moving forwards ive learnt that my struggles do not define me and i wont be embarrassed by things that have affected me

sometimes i wish i could go back and erase that part of my life, erase the way i felt, erase the way i treated the people i loved the most. but i cant, and i wont let people belittle me for that time anymore

if you have struggled in the past or are struggling today, you are not alone. its a cliche thing to say but i promise you at least one other person will be experiencing the feelings your feeling, you may not know them, you may never know them but you are not alone, you never have been and you never will be

you are not weak for struggling, you are not weak for finding ways to cope, no matter what they may be, you are not weak for shutting people out and you are not weak for reaching out for help, no matter how little you think you need it. you deserve help, no matter how small your problems may seem to you, you are worthy of being safe, you are worthy of being happy

i never thought i would release a song highlighting those times for me, but i wanted anyone whose been through these things to know that i love you and i will always love you; this is me trying out now on all platforms❤️‍🩹

view comments

arthur_leclerc: i am so so proud of you, you deserve all the happiness in the world

charles_leclerc: you mean the world to me, i am so proud of what you have achieved and i will be by your side forever and always

yourusername: charlie i hold so much love for you i feel like i may explode

user55: ive been struggling with an addiction for a while, i cannot express the way this song feels. just, thank you so much

yourusername: im right beind you darling, i believe in you❤️‍🩹

user81: i fear if i listen to this anywhere outside of the comfort of my room i will break down in tears

user93: 🩵🩵

user42: I😭JUST😭WANTED😭YOU😭TO😭KNOW😭THAT😭THIS😭IS😭ME😭TRYING😭

sebastianvettel: im so proud of you yn, come visit with charles soon sweetheart

yourusername: dropping everything and coming right now

lewishamilton: 💜💜

yourusername: hi lewis🤭🤭

user70: YN HELP😭😭 (just like me fr)

charles_leclerc and yourusername added to their stories

seen by pierregasly, sebastianvettel and 2,348,172 others

*text on first photo reads: i hold so much love for you🩷* *text on second photo reads: my bestest friend in the entire universe🩵*

[spockandawe]

God, i always feel like I'm full of things to say and have no energy to say them. What have i been reading since the last time i posted here?

The governor's illness something is wrong with the governor: Fine! Had some tasty components, but didn't super stick with me. It felt like it struggled to find its momentum and didnt have strong end to end flow

Is my attacker a ghost?: Fun, the bullying sections are a bit hard to read, and it did feel like it blew its load before the actual end of the story, but I have an increased appreciation for spoopy stories that aren't full-on HORROR

I excavated an emperor to become my wife: only partway through, but enjoying it! I wish this had a bit more spoop, but the concept is very fun to me

My husband and i sleep in the same coffin: also only partway through. It's fun, but having trouble finding its momentum, and I think the combination of fully decamping to the modern world plus trying to Humorously describe a person of..... multiracial descent? (i think???) kind of stalled me out. (his name means white jade, which is funny, because his skin is very DARK, you see) (I'm not sure how much is on the translator versus the author versus my own understanding, but it kind of killed my momentum)

After marrying the disabled god of war as my concubine: a delight!!! Some of the most fun I've had reading an imperial succession story, and it's such a galaxy brain move to make the modern person suddenly dumped into the past a professional history nerd (university history lecturer)

You yao/are you okay: holy shit, so clever and fun. The idea of having a world not dealing with a SINGLE transmigrator, but a SYSTEMIC PLAGUE of transmigrators, and then playing with concepts like a connecticut yankee in king arthur's court on that scale.... hot damn. This is the same author as the next one, and their brain is SO big.

How ridiculous/how dare you: okay, so a modern office worker transmigrates into a book. She transmigrates into a TRANSMIGRATION BOOK. I'm not done yet, i had to put it down because it was SO good that i got overwhelmed and stressed out. But i would officially follow this author into hell now

Married the scum gong's villain brother: good, but in a quiet way where I don't feel much urge to return or gush about it! In modern mundane settings, where the only significant plot thread is getting the relationship pinned down, i feel like it's relatively easy to set up a compelling beginning, but much harder to see it through to the end with as much momentum. It wasn't bad! But it wasn't notable.

After being forced to marry the evil star general: still not done, but it's the book in progress I'm most active on. This. This is tasty. It's not as clown4clown as peerless was, but it's one of the closer books ive found to the antagonistic fascination those two leads brought, if you follow. It's a lot of fun! One main character very much has a stone cold bitch energy a la cui buqu, though also like him, the lines between a natural rancid personality and a deliberate act are also blurred. This one is compelling!!

And, not a cnovel, but a korean one: got dropped into a ghost story, still gotta work. So imagine. There was a fictional universe kind of like the scp foundation fused with the greater creepypasta ecosystem. And imagine some poor fucker transmigrated into that universe as a drone worker in a business that profits from harvesting these stories. And imagine he's a massive fan of the universe, but is ALSO a massive horror weenie who can't even handle looking at the pictures sometimes included in these stories. YEAH, IT'S DELIGHTFUL. This book isn't actually complete yet, which I'm grumpy about, i had the distinct impression it was when I heard about it, but part one appears to be complete and it's BEEFY. Even incomplete, there's some really awesome stuff in here.

[julia4today]

the return of arthur pendragon - angst?? PT. 1

this is basically purely backstory, i needed to get something outtt (merlin x arthur)

a/n: this is probably the longest thing I've ever written. +I wrote this on a computer so everything is capitalized n stuff. and i want to say that im really sorry this is delayed and also the first thing ive posted in like two months. that's really on me. additionally, i have a reader x hobie fic coming out soon.

if you have sent me a request I WILL get to it, some may require more research and brain power. announcments: i have an ao3 (i havent posted anything on it though) pendragonco

Most imagine the afterlife to be a wonderland full of radiant flora and a deity only decided by yourself. A place where you may live out the years you never got to experience. But you would be wrong.

The truth is far more complex. It is a realm where echoes of your past deeds and dreams intertwine with the fabric of eternity. Time flows differently, like a river winding through the core of memories and contrition, where every choice made in life reverberates on the very existence of the universe. There are no simple paradises or solitary deities here, but rather a tapestry of existence woven from the threads of every life that comes before and leads after yours.

However, to Arthur Pendragon, both definitions seem untrue. It almost taunts him with how easy they make being dead seem to a new generation of the dead and the living.

To King Arthur, the afterlife is a treacherous wasteland, where the dead seemed unnaturally content despite their recent quietus. All he could do was curse his demise and all the unfulfilled ambitions that haunted him. He wondered about his darling Guinevere, how she fared, now tasked with ruling Camelot in his stead. He thought of the fate bestowed upon Gaius, the man he had trusted implicitly, who now carried the weight of the living through Pendragon's legacy.

But above all, his thoughts always returned to Merlin. A man he had once known. A man he had once trusted. Arthur imagined Merlin. Perhaps Merlin was so grief-stricken he never used his power again? Maybe he avenged the death of his king. For all Arthur knows, Merlin himself could've died, he too could have been cursed to this desolate ether. 

In reality, the world broke. His world broke. The once and future king, the man destined to unite the land of Albion, through magic and none, is now dead. Merlin, day after day, ran his last moments over. Cursing himself for the way Arthur left this world. If he had just listened to Kilgaraah if he had heeded his advice. If he had disposed of Mordred the first time they had met, the King would stand before him long after. No war would have ensued, and Camelot would no longer be in strife with war.

The day his death was announced to the citizens was a dismal one. Clouds cast over the town square, and the whole of the city gathered to hear the words from the queen herself. Gwen and Merlin stand where Arthur had stood just weeks prior. Where Arthur had announced war, Gwen shall announce the outcome of such a thing. 

“My dearest citizens of Camelot,” Her voice wavers. “It is with a heavy heart that I make this declaration. Our beloved king, Arthur Pendragon, has fallen in battle. The king lives no more. His bravery and dedication to our kingdom will forever be remembered. Let us unite in mourning his loss and uphold his legacy with strength and resilience. May his soul find an eternal peace” A long silence befalls Camelot. The only noise was the occasional strangled sob. Coming from townsmen and nobles alike. The knights stood on only one knee. Taking their solemn oath to the King to heart.

In the months that followed the death of the King, Merlin withdrew into solitude, seeking solace in the quiet corners of Camelot and the vast expanses of the surrounding countryside. Memories of Arthur haunted him—laughter shared over campfires, battles fought side by side, and the unspoken bond of friendship that had defined their lives. He found himself replaying every moment, every decision, wondering if there had been a different path—one that could have spared Arthur's life.

In the privacy of his chambers, Merlin poured over ancient texts and scrolls, searching for clues, signs, anything that might point the way to Arthur's return. His magic, once hidden away in fear of persecution, now burned within him with a fierce intensity—a testament to the depth of his devotion and determination. He thought of his previous journey with Arthur, a trip in which Arthur came back fuming at Uther. A trip where they had met with Ygraine, Arthur's mother.

He wonders what spell Morgause had used to conjure the image. Whether or not the image was manipulated, didn't matter so much to Merlin. If he could only see Arthur one last time. One more day. If he could apologize for his secrecy, if he pledged his allegiance to the king, if he could promise to carry out whatever plan Arthur had for Camelot, he would be content. Merlin had believed that if he could just find the right spell, he could bring back the king. Even if only for a short period.

Deciding this was easy for Merlin. Evoking Arthurs image not so much.

----

OKAY, i promise i will get part two out soon. my hobie fic comes out on sunday so

@maumnuu - this is mainly for you :p

[say-hwaet]

That's the Way it Is

Chapter Eight: Things Were Fine Until They Weren't Previous Chapters: VII VI V IV III II I Word Count: ~7,100 Summary: Life has somewhat resumed at camp, but the mundaneness fades quickly, for soon, you'll be on the move again. Warnings: Mature Themes, Language, Child death Next Chapter: IX

“If it involves the gun store, I can only imagine what it could be,” you laugh as you hang laundry to dry. You have been talking with Abigail to help make the chores go by faster, and with Jack running in between you, the laughter often drowns out most of what Abigail has been saying.

Despite the sunshine and banter, there’s a heaviness to the day—like the calm before a storm you can feel pulsing just beneath the surface of the soil.

“Jack!” Abigail chides. “You gotta find somewhere else to be.”

You don’t blame Jack for wanting to have a little fun. Ever since he went on that fishing trip with Arthur a few days ago, he’s been a little more anxious, running around and asking questions. And to be honest, so have you. 

Arthur had come back from the fishing trip, feigning a smile as he returned Jack to his mother, and you could tell something was off. 

You left feeding the chickens to meet him, but he quickly went into Dutch’s tent to speak with him, and so you had changed course, acting like you were busy cleaning off the nearby table.

That’s when you heard Arthur say it: he saw Pinkertons.

The news hit you like a bucket of ice water, chilling to the deep recesses of your spine. Pinkertons meant trouble — they were always trouble. You knew the gang was always on a thread-thin line, balancing between the law and complete anarchy, but this... this was a noose tightening.

And since, then, regardless of who heard it, the air has been thick with tension. Arthur didn’t share his news with you, perhaps to protect you, but it has only got you thinking more about your past, as if that didn’t consume your thoughts already.

Jack grabs your legs, leaning out and taunting his mother. “Aunt Kit doesn’t mind!”

But you reach down and playfully grab him and pull him away from you. “Don’t you dare pull me into this, Brouček,” you chuckle. “You best do what your mother says.”

His laughter rings through the air as he scampers off, a dust cloud marking his path. Abigail shakes her head, a weary smile tugging at her lips. “That boy will be the death of me,” she sighs, folding a sheet neatly and placing it in the basket.

You nod, feeling the weight of her words more than she can imagine. "He's a spirited one, that's for certain," you reply, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear and watching Jack disappear between some of the tents.

As you return to your chores, your mind can't help but wander back to Arthur. His usual sturdy demeanor seemed fractured, like a well-worn leather strap finally giving way under too much strain. You remember the way he looked around nervously, eyes darting to the treelines as if expecting an ambush at any moment. That isn’t the Arthur you’re learning to know, the one who faces danger head-on with a cocky grin plastered on his face.

“Your mind went somewhere else again,” Abigail teases, taking the shirt that you have failed to fold out of your hands.

You shake your head, jostling yourself. “I’m sorry, Abigail, I just keep wondering what they’re up to?”

“I already told you. John is havin’ Arthur get a rifle from the gun store.” And then she lifts a brow. “That doesn’t really get your mind wanderin’, does it?”

You force a smile, your nerves tightening like the strings of a corset. "No, I suppose not," you lie smoothly, taking the shirt back and folding it with deliberate care. Your fingers tremble slightly, betraying your calm exterior.

Arthur getting a rifle should be simple, mundane even, yet nothing feels simple now. He could be out on a dangerous job, maybe even a secret mission to take out a Pinkerton leader, you don’t know, that’s what’s bothering you. “John didn’t tell you much else?”

Abigail furrows her brow. “He ain’t the type to talk.” She takes down a blanket from the line and begins to fold it. “Most of the time he just flaps his jaws and says somethin’ nasty.”

“What is going on between you two?” She gives you a look and then you add, “Amnesia, remember?”

She sets the folded blanket down in a crate. “What, Arthur ain’t fillin’ you in on all those details?”

You shrug. “We don’t talk about everything.”

“That’s surprisin’.” Abigail leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You and Arthur, everyone can see there's somethin' between you two. You ain't foolin' nobody, Kitka."

Your heart quickens at her words, but you don’t seem to be convinced. “I guess everyone knows something that I don’t.” You take the folded clothes back in your arms and prepare to deliver them to their owners. “If there was something between us, you’d think he would have said something already.”

Abigail sighs. “I don’t know, Kit, Arthur ain’t the outspoken type.” She points a thumb in the direction of Arthur’s tent, which is attached to the weapon’s wagon. “He usually keeps his thoughts in a journal.”

This gets your attention.

You nod, a plan forming in your mind. "I see.” You readjust the clothes in your arms, still moving carefully due to your healing wound in your side. “I guess I will go put these away,” you sigh, though it's more of a pained grimace as the confusion inside you, not your injury, twists tighter.

With the pile of clothes still in your arms, you make your way across the camp, dropping off each item to its respective owner with quick, polite exchanges. Your mind, however, remains fixed on Arthur's journal. It feels like an intrusion, a betrayal of the trust you're not entirely sure exists between you and him yet it might hold answers to the questions tangling up inside you.

Reaching Arthur's tent finally, the camp noises dim around you as if it is another realm entirely. Aside from dropping off clean clothes on his trunk, you really haven’t set foot in his tent, his space. Though now, you are tempted.

Setting his shirt and pants on the trunk, you let your eyes wander about his sleeping quarters.

It isn’t disorganized, but it exudes a lived-in warmth, with nuances of a man who has seen too much yet clings to remnants of a simpler life. There are old photographs pinned against the wagon’s side right above his cot, one catching you by surprise.

It is a photo of Dutch, Arthur, Hosea, and you. John isn’t in it, you aren’t sure why, but you are wearing the same outfit you wore when you robbed that bank.

You look so young, so serious with your unsmiling expression, but there is a light in your eyes as you stand beside Dutch and right behind Arthur as he sits in a chair.

He, too, is young. They all are. All handsome in their own way.

How did you end up with these folks? Did you find them intimidating at all? You don’t feel anything, except for the memories that you’ve already recalled, nothing seems to pop out at you, and your head doesn’t hurt.

You spot a mugshot of Lyle Morgan, who you deduce is Arthur’s father, and a photo of a dog. You can ask Arthur about it when you see him again.

You lean away from the cot and look around some more. You don’t see the journal, but you do notice two pictures on his makeshift end table. Looking around to be certain that no one is looking, you make your way over and pick the first one up.

The photograph is old. At least thirty years old. The woman in the photo has a soft expression on her face and light-colored eyes. Of course, the photograph is in black and white, but you don’t seem to recognize her anyhow. You flip it over and see there is some writing on the back.

Beatrice Morgan.

“Oh,” you say softly. “His mother…”

You place the photo back on the table, gently, as if the very act of touching it could fray the edges of Arthur's hidden vulnerabilities. Next to Beatrice's photo is another, this one smaller and the frame newer. As you pick it up, your fingers tremble slightly — perhaps from the cold that sneaks in with the breeze.

It is of another woman. Young, dark hair, pearl earrings, with a mole on her cheek.

You don’t recognize her, either, but you feel as though she is important somehow. You flip it over. Nothing. So, you don’t even get a quick answer. She had to have been someone important, otherwise he wouldn’t have put it near his bedside. You have a sinking feeling in your chest, an ache that seems to not have a place. You put the photograph back.

You see a flower on the nightstand, too, and a drawing from Jack, but there really doesn’t seem to be anything else here. No journal, no secrets, what else could there be—?

You see something beside some throwing knives. It looks like a newspaper clipping. It’s rather small, but you decide to pick it up and read it.

April 15th 1887 BRAZEN BANK ROBBERY THREE MEN AND A WOMAN SOUGHT

Major T.J. Bellard has been a cashier at the banking house of Lee and Hoyt for a number of years but nothing prepared him for what transpired last week. "It was about 2 o'clock. There was a commotion outside, and so three of my associates went out to see what was going on. It seemed to draw the attention of other clients out of the bank, leaving me the only soul inside. Then, three men, strangers to me, came through the door and walked up to the counter. One of them, the eldest of the three, was a fine talker and engaged me in conversation. Suddenly the largest, a big, sullen young man, brandished a firearm and held it up to my face.

"Throw up your hands," the third one said, who appeared to be the boss. The other two repeated the order with an oath and the leader said, "My fine patriotic friends and I are going to relieve you of that gold and introduce a few folks to the benefits of civilization." They came around the corner and the counter, and grabbed some sacks which contained $5000 in gold. They demanded to know where the rest of the money was, and I pointed out three sacks containing silver, but it was too bulky for them. They retreated and one warned against sounding an alarm. Once they left, the commotion outside ended, and I saw a flash of embroidered red and black run past the window. It was a woman, young and barefooted, and it was clear that she was with them. I was never so terrified in my life," Mr. Bellard told a reporter.

The robbers are reported to have lingered in town, and there are unproven claims that the men and the woman traveled to hovels and shanties and even a home for orphans and gave handfuls of the ill-gotten gains to the poor…

It is your first robbery. And it briefly mentions you. You stare at the clipping, the ink blurring slightly as your hands tremble. The memory of that day is still a bit foggy, but the rush of adrenaline and fear is something you can almost taste even now. The description of the woman in red and black–it couldn't be anyone else but you.

You look down at your feet. Your shoes have always felt cramped and hot in the leather, not because the boots are too small or are of bad make, they just feel…restrictive.

You set the clipping down, and leave Arthur’s tent.

And just as you come out, you see another set of red and black.

Micah, in his red shirt and black jacket.

“Leavin’ him a present, were you?” he asks, a hint of suggestion on his tongue. “Don’t he have to be here for that?”

You decide not to give him the satisfaction of an answer and decide to walk away.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you…!” And he reaches out to grab you.

Your reflexes, honed from years of darting through circus crowds and avoiding the grabs of rowdy spectators, kick in before you fully register Micah's intent. You twist away, slipping out of his grasp as smoothly as a shadow flits through the moonlight.

"Nemám ti co říct, Micah, leda v jazyce, kterému nikdy nebudeš rozumět… " you hiss. “Ty blázne z přírody!”

It seems to only interest him more, his laugh filthy as he takes a step toward you. “You can speak that way anytime, sweetheart.” And he tips his hat. “I got the gist of it…” And he backs away before you get the chance to scratch him.

You clench your fists, your long fingernails digging into the skin of your palms. If you weren’t so curious to get to the bottom of what happened in Blackwater, you’d be keen on being rid of him. But he knows something, something that could connect the missing threads of your past. You resolve to keep a closer eye on Micah, despite the distaste it stirs within you.

As you walk away, your thoughts are tumultuous. You can’t help but feel the weight of those unread chapters of your life pressing down on you. The sun is still high in the sky, but the day feels like it is dragging its feet. It seems that others are trying to keep busy, waiting for an attack from the Pinkertons.

Even Dutch and Strauss have gone into town. Dutch said he had some plans, as usual, and Strauss, of course, wanted to check in on the cures and how many have been sold this past week. You are just waiting for him to get back and confront you about giving one away for free to a desperate woman, but since you’ve grown more confident in your own skin, you aren’t worried about the repercussions.

You walk past the clothesline and see that Abigail is gone. The laundry must be finished, which means moving on to the next chore.

You see Susan, grinding some more herbs, and you decide to approach her. “Ms. Grimshaw?”

Without saying anything, she sets the pestle down and holds out a hand. “No, Kitka, I’m not lettin’ you chop wood.”

You had asked her that earlier today, but she told you no. You are getting bored with the same old thing, and since you’re still recovering, it seems that the delicate treatment you tried so hard to avoid is all that it has been. Your shoulders droop and you sigh. “I’m not here to chop wood, ma’am.”

“I guess you need more chores?”

“Yes.”

She thinks on it, then shrugs. “I don’t have anythin’ else for you to do.”

You blink. “What?”

She waves you off. “Girl, you’ve been chewin’ my ear all day about how bored you are and how useless you feel, all the while still with a wound in your side.”

You instinctively place your hand there, as though the mere mention of it will make it worse. “I don’t want to be taking advantage of your kindness.”

She chuckles. “Kindness? You’re like a daughter to me, Kit. It ain’t nothin’ to do with kindness.” You smile softly, understanding her meaning. If she ever did love you, this is the way that she is showing it. She waves you off again. “Now, go on and rest for a while. You’ve earned it.”

You decide to take your leave, far be it for you to argue with her. As you begin to walk about the camp, you spot Odliv in the distance and you get the urge to go for a ride. Smiling to yourself, you make your way over to her.

“M-miss Kit…!”

You stop and looking in the direction of the voice, you see Kieran walking up to you. You smile gently and wave. “Kieran…”

“I-I-I see you ride Odliv bareback?”

You look back at your horse and shrug your shoulders. “Yes, what of it?”

“I was polishin’ saddles, and-and came across one that nobody’s usin’. Maybe you can use it?”

You think about it. You don’t mind riding bareback, but you really haven’t been riding fast or for long distances. Perhaps a saddle would be good. You turn back to Kieran and nod. “Maybe. Can you show it to me?”

Your answer clearly delights Kieran, as he smiles broadly and motions for you to follow. “This way…!”

He leads you to a spot near the horses, where some other saddles rest near a crate. It looks like a makeshift workplace, and you assume this is where Kieran goes to do his work. You’ve noticed he keeps to himself, trying to stay out of everyone’s way, as most do show their indifference to him.

Well…aside from Mary Beth. Since his freedom, and his slow integration into the gang, she’s been keeping him company, making his face beet red most of the time.

Kieran bends down and picks up a dark leather saddle and turns around to show you. “What do you think?”

Your head feels a buzz as you recognize it. This is your saddle. The one you remember from your memories of riding Odliv with Arthur and the rest of the gang. You reach out a hand to graze your fingers across the floral embroidery, a traditional pattern from your home country. Did you make this? Was it your mother's? You don’t know, but it isn’t something you can easily purchase at a stable or from a catalogue. 

“I’ll use it,” you say softly. Kieran nods and motions to give it to you. As he transfers it into your arms, you feel its lightness, which is surprising. It would make sense, given all the traveling your family must have done, no need to burden your horse. “Thank you.”

“Sure, Miss Kit.” And he turns to return to his work.

You turn around and make your way over to Odliv, her head perking up once she senses you. Her eyes follow you as you walk to her side and she remains still, clearly understanding what you are about to do. Putting on her saddle, you see how it suits her, her golden coat against the dark leather makes a beautiful contrast, like wheat against the dark earth. Your hands act as though on their own accord, securing the cinches and the breast strap. You back away to get the full picture, and your heart flutters a little at the anticipation of the ride.

After packing yourself a small lunch, and putting on your gun belt with your sawed-off, you mount up and ride Odliv out of the camp.

You decide to take the trail that leads to one of the roads you’ve traveled before. If you go westward, it leads you to Valentine. You don’t want to go that way, you’ve spent enough time over there, and after the incident with the working girls, you are afraid to be recognized. You look eastward and become curious as to where it should take you.

With a clicking sound from your mouth, you steer Odliv in that direction.

The ride is relatively quiet and peaceful. You find yourself relaxing in the saddle and letting your free hand hang down at your side. You regard the nature around you. On the left are high plateaus just in the distance, bushes and drying grass, the other is scattered trees that appear to slope down to a lakeside only several yards away. How diverse this land is!

The sun rides high in the sky, its light casting golden hues over the landscape, making the waters of the lake in the distance shimmer like a thousand tiny stars. It's a sight that nearly takes your breath away, and for a moment, you forget all about your past troubles and the empty spaces in your memory.

As you continue along the way, you begin to hear a strange thundering behind you, the sound soft but slowly gaining in volume. Tempted to look back, you turn your head slowly and see a rider coming at you at a full-blown gallop. In the distance, it is hard to see who it is, but by the way they move, you aren’t sure you want to find out.

Kicking Odliv’s barrel with your heels, she starts in a gallop and you grip the reins tightly, before nearly falling off. You haven’t ridden like this since returning to the gang, and you haven’t had much of a chance to adjust to it, but right now, you don’t have the time to practice.

Odliv is fast, and you’re grateful, but the rider behind you is gaining. You blame your rusty horsemanship and the late start you had on them.

You keep your eyes focused ahead, should you need to vault over some kind of obstacle.

And out of nowhere, they catch up to you. “OUTTA THE WAY…!”

Wait. That voice! You’d know it anywhere by now.

Just as you turn your head, you see the buckskin jacket and black hat rush past you.

“Arthur…!” you call out and upon hearing his name, he pulls back on the reins, and Montana skids to an abrupt halt. You slow Odliv down and canter up to him.

He's breathing heavily, drops of sweat beading on his furrowed brow, a look of urgent confusion etched across his rugged features. "Kitka," Arthur says, his voice thick with emotion and surprise. He looks at you as though you scared the living daylights out of him, but he speaks to you with an unusual calm. “We gotta go.”

“Go?” you ask. “Go where?”

He looks behind you and his breath hitches. “Follow me.” And before giving you a chance to respond, he spurs Montana on and they gallop off.

That’s when you hear gunshots in the distance.

Oh no. He’s in trouble.

But you aren’t about to stay and talk sense into angry lawmen. You aren’t that good at persuasion. 

You gallop after him, your heart pounding in rhythm with the hooves of Odliv hitting the ground. The familiar exhilaration of a high-speed chase washes over you, tinged with a fear you can't shake—the fear of losing Arthur again, just when you've found him.

As his figure grows larger before your eyes, the landscape blurs into a mix of green and brown. The gunshots grow distant, more faded, as if the very earth is encouraging your escape. Dust kicks up from Montana's hooves, creating a storm behind him that you can barely see through. But you don’t need clear vision; you just need to keep close to Arthur, as you catch up to ride along beside him.

You think to ask what happened, but you can ask when you are out of harm’s way.

***

After riding several miles, you have lost the law. You’ve stopped the horses in a thick forest up north, past a place called Moonstone Pond.

After dismounting, rather carefully, you remove Odliv’s bridle and let her drink from the water, letting the bridle fall with a metallic plop. Arthur had already dismounted and now sits on a nearby log, removing his hat and wafting cool air in his face.

He looks bulky, sitting hunched over like that, his large hand on the crown of his hat, his head down.

The air nearly crackles with tension, questions you have that need asking, but the immediate necessity of dealing with what just happened takes priority. It frustrates you, the need to be blunt, but you know that tact is the strategy here. You realize that this is your acting and con skills going to work. You have developed the ability to read people, or are at least relearning it.

“How’s your battle wound?” he asks casually as if you hadn’t just escaped the law.

“Fine,” you answer in the same manner. Feeling the need, you begin to remove your boots, pulling up your pant legs to get to the laces.

Arthur lifts his head and looks at you, his face expressionless. “What’re you doin’?”

You lift up your foot with skilled balance and pull off the boot with ease. Staying balanced on one foot, you switch feet and do the same with the other. Once your feet are free, you wiggle your toes in the grass and sigh. “That is so much better.”

Arthur lets out a chuckle. “Was wonderin’ when you’d do that.” He shifts on the log, eyes now scanning the expanse of trees shadowing you both from the late afternoon sun. His face, usually set in lines of determination or concern, relaxes for a moment as he watches you. "You always hated boots," he murmurs with a hint of nostalgia, his voice low and almost aching.

You look at him, your shoulders drooping. You want to just sit with him and ask him if he will tell you more, but first things first. “What happened in Valentine?”

His eyes flicker to the ground before coming back up at you. “We shot the whole town.”

Your heart sinks. “What?!”

“Leviticus Cornwall showed up. We robbed one of his trains a few weeks back, stole some oil, he’s riled up. Sent the Pinkertons after us. They nabbed John and Strauss…but I took care of that…” He rubs a hand down his face. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Arthur’s confession hangs heavy between the rustling leaves and the creak of the log under his weight. The sun is beginning to enter the dusk, the shadows turning his face into a mask of remorse and desperation. You draw a deep breath, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten—anger, fear, and concern mingling together like a storm cloud that has blocked the sun. You take careful steps toward him and sit down beside him.

“It seems that is what we are good at.” You look down at your hands, imagining how many towns did you shoot up throughout your life? You haven’t remembered shooting a gun, but you just got done shooting O’Driscolls without so much as a second thought. “Blackwater, now this.”

Arthur nods, not arguing with you. “Yeah.”

You turn to look at him, though he doesn’t meet your gaze. “We’re going to have to leave Horseshoe Overlook, aren’t we?”

He looks up, casting his eyes toward the horses as they rest. “Looks that way.”

You exhale, your body feeling more heavy than you had hoped to feel today. “This isn’t the way we used to do things.”

Arthur turns to look at you, his eyes reflecting a certain curiosity. “What things?”

You clear your throat. You aren’t about to tell him that you were in his tent when you came across the newspaper clipping, but you have to explain what you mean. “I mean, back then, when we used to rob the rich and give money away.” You tuck some hair behind your ear. “But now we just kill people.”

Arthur’s body tenses slightly, his tone coming out as defensive. “I shoot those as need shootin’. That’s how Dutch has always done it.”

You find that hard to believe. Not after what you’ve heard and seen. You think about Heidi and what had happened to her. As far as you can tell, she didn’t need shooting. “Not anymore, he doesn’t.”

Arthur sighs, signs of fatigue coming out in his pinched brow and slumped shoulders. “I know that what just happened in Valentine weren’t good, but—”

“I’m talking about what happened in Blackwater, Arthur.” There is a silence that falls between you and after a moment, Arthur rises to a more erect sitting position. You exhale and look away. “It seems like nobody wants to talk about it.”

“I hear that.”

You pick at your long fingernails, getting dirt out from underneath them. “If I was on that boat, it means I saw what happened.”

“Yeah.”

You turn to face him, and his deep blue marine eyes meet yours, reflecting the uncertainty and confusion that you feel. He looks just as lost and in the dark as you are. “I just wish I could remember what happened,” you say softly.

Then his brow pinches, a pained expression crossing his face. “Why? Ain’t it bad enough just to know that things went to hell?”

You shake your head, not even sure how to answer. Your words come out jumbled, stammering as your emotions begin to swell. “I don’t know, I just…I just—I can’t—There’s just something deep in my bones, Arthur, deep within my soul that there’s something going on. I…can’t help but wonder…if…if that is going to make or break something.”

Arthur's gaze softens, the harsh lines of his face easing into a more thoughtful expression. He reaches out, his rough fingers brushing lightly against your arm, grounding you back to the present. "Kit," he starts, his voice low and gentle, a stark contrast to the usual gruffness. "Maybe it’s best that you don’t know…I see what rememberin’ things does to you. I—” he cuts himself off for a moment, his lips forming a flat line. “I hate to see you hurt.”

His words, though meant to comfort, only serve to stir up more turmoil within you. You nod slowly, trying to digest the gravity of his statement. It was true that each fragment of memory retrieved has sent a wave of pain and confusion through your heart, but the unknown seems just as menacing, if not more so.

"I appreciate that, Arthur," you say, patting his hand. “But I need to decide that for myself.” And seeing the expression on his face, you add, “You can’t always be there to protect me.” This seems to cut him even more, though that wasn’t the intention. Then, you remember what Mary Beth said, how he blames himself that you had supposedly died. “Arthur, I meant—”

He shakes his head, bringing his hand to his lap. “It’s alright, Kit.” And he swallows. “Not a delicate flower, right?” He feigns a smile and a chortle, but you can see right through it.

“Arthur…”

He rises to his feet, rolling his shoulders. “We need to head back to camp. We gotta pack and move somewhere else.”

You guess that’s that then. You rise to your feet, brushing invisible dirt off your pants. “Where?”

“Don’t know.” He avoids your gaze, almost purposefully this time. “We will just have to see.”

***

Clemens Point. Your new camp. Dutch had sent Arthur, of course, to go and scope out a new place to hide from the law and he took Charles with him. You were glad of that. It’s evident that Charles is one of the good ones, and you know that he wouldn’t put anyone in danger unnecessarily.

It was a long wait back at camp, even with spending the majority of the time helping everyone pack up their belongings, your eyes often drifted to the tree line, wondering when and if they’d be back with good news.

“We will be gone before the law finds out where we are,” Hosea tried to reassure you. “You’ll believe that once your memories come back.”

You figured this has happened more than once, which makes you realize that if things were better, you’d probably all be settled in a ranch or an actual house by now, enjoying the pleasure of riches, health, and safety.

Broken dreams, broken plans, and broken promises.

You continued on without saying much of anything, your mind going back to your last conversation with Arthur. He seemed really hurt by what you said, when all you were trying to do was to lighten his burden a little. You don’t want him to worry about you. If your head hurts in the cause of remembering, so what? You’d be whole again, and that seems to be what everyone wants for you.

At least, you think they all do. You want them to.

And before you were about to get the idea of going out to look for them, Charles returned to camp, announcing to all that he and Arthur found a spot better than the one that Micah had suggested. A place called Clemens Point. It was supposedly secluded, by a large source of water, and was near a town that could be promising.

That was enough for Dutch to make the call, ordering everyone to get moving.

You rode behind the caravan on Odliv, growing more comfortable on the saddle than you have ever in a wagon. She made an even stride as the landscape changed from arid and cool, to humid and warm, and you weren’t sure if you liked it. Your skin instantly felt sticky and hot, and you questioned if you ought to be wearing dark jeans and a red shirt with yellow flowers on it. But you like red, yellow, and black, so you were stubbornly going to stick with your decision.

As the gang turned off the road and into some trees, you got the feeling that you were close.

That’s when you heard Dutch loudly exclaim up ahead, “This is perfect, Arthur. Just perfect…!”

You’ve since begun to settle into the camp, everyone falling into their place as though you’ve been here for months already. You have your own tent now, covered and private, sequestered between two trees just behind the medicine wagon, much to Strauss’s delight. Any way to remind you to keep making cures, right?

But not too far is Arthur’s wagon, and beside his is Dutch and Molly’s. Just beyond the camp, is the lake, and the promise of fish to eat carries the promise that the gang won’t starve.

After a long day of setting up camp, you finally turn in for the night. You crawl into your tent and change out of your clothes into a nightgown made of cotton, which will help combat this heat, even in the evening.

Wanting to let in some air, you peek out of your tent just as the sun sets. Without affecting your side too much, you rest on your stomach and prop up your head on your elbows, and get a nice view of the lake. The golden orange hues blend into the darkening blue of the water, creating a tranquil painting that calms your unsettled mind. The sound of the gang’s laughter and the occasional clinking of bottles drifts over, a comforting reminder that you're not alone, even if part of you sometimes wishes to be.

You watch as figures move around the camp, silhouettes, and soft voices as people settle for the evening.

And there, on the lake’s edge, stands a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette, the glow of a cigarette illuminating his fingers. He brings the cigarette to his mouth and he nonchalantly looks over his shoulder. The light illuminating his face, you can tell that Arthur is looking straight at you.

His gaze holds something unreadable, a mixture of concern and an almost imperceptible longing, as if the distance between your tent and the lake was not merely physical. You realize that despite the chatter and laughter all around, both of you have been navigating a silent storm of your own.

Letting the flap fall back into place, you create a barrier that settles your heart a little. Then, turning around and laying into your bed roll, you fall asleep.

***

“You need to go, ségra…” Antek coughs, though he doesn’t try to move out of your arms. “You’ll die if you stay…”

Your eyes shine with unshed tears, the tightness in your chest increasing the longer you try to keep it all in.

You had to stop and rest. Carrying him on your back has taken its toll and after banging on the door of two doctor's offices, you are weary of begging.

It’s terribly hot, the sun beating down on you as you sit on a street corner, and you can feel the heat of Antek’s fever. You wish that your circus band could have waited just a little longer, but you know better than anyone, they have to keep moving. They are out of money and in order to make more, they have to travel. That’s the nomadic way of life.

“Kitka…?” your brother’s voice is growing weaker, not the spry, energetic voice that you know. He looks so small, so frail for a twelve-year-old. He could juggle heavy stones for hours without tiring, and walk the wire as well as anyone, but now…

You wipe the sweat from his brow, shushing him gently. “I’m here, bratříček. I’m here.”

You hear someone coming and you look up and see a man and woman, dressed in fancy daywear and noses upright. You try to lock eyes with them, but it seems as though they are purposefully trying to avoid you.

“Please,” you beg. “Help us. My brother, he’s very sick. Can you spare any change so I can get him some medicine?”

The woman averts her eyes, clutching her parasol tighter, while the man frowns and quickens his pace, muttering, “Immigrants. Nothing but lazy gypsy vermin…”

The sting of their rejection is more painful than any other slur they could throw at you. You aren’t a stranger to it, but you didn’t need help, then. You weren't subjected to the mercy of strangers, to the cold indifference that seemed as harsh and unyielding as the desert around you. But here you are, cradling your brother's feeble body against the backdrop of an unkind world.

Your parents, dying in that terrible fire two years ago during a fire-breathing stunt, you and Antek have been all that remains of the Petrovs. You stayed with the traveling circus, vagabonds and carpetbaggers with dreams, and the closest to a family that you have. But they clearly had their own lives to lead. And with the promise to reunite as soon as possible, they moved on.

Tears finally spill over as you rock Antek, murmuring comforts that feel as hollow and brittle as the street debris beneath you. You're not just out of options; you're out of hope. The ache in your heart mirrors the empty streets, where even the dust seems to settle with a weight heavier than before.

“Shh, bratříček, don't fret,” you whisper, though your voice hardly carries past your lips.

You begin to sing a lullaby, one that your mother had sung when she carried both you and your brother in her arms when bad dreams kept you up at night. The words come out whimpering, sorrowful, as the tears continue to fall. One tear falls and lands on his forehead, but he doesn’t stir.

You pause in the middle of your singing. “Antek…?” you ask, your voice so soft it hides beneath the stillness of the day. The world around you appears to dim, the sounds of pedestrians and wagon carts becoming faded and distant. Panic claws at your chest when you feel no rise and fall in Antek's chest, his breath as absent as the compassion in the eyes of the passersby. You shake him gently, your voice barely a whisper, broken by fear, "Antek, please."

But he doesn’t move. His eyes closed and his mouth parted from the last words he had spoken.

Antek is dead.

You bend and hide your face in his hair, holding him close to you as you cry. You do not care who sees or hears you, for grief has swallowed you whole, rendering the judgments of the world insignificant. The sound of your sobbing is a lone mourning cry in the bustling indifference of San Francis. You remember how Antek used to tug at your sleeve with a mischievous smile, urging you on to new misadventures. Now, the coldness of his skin is all that you feel now that his heart has stopped beating.

The minutes stretch like hours under the relentless heat of the sun, but you continue to hold him, refusing to move. What can you do? You can’t just bury him in the ground. There needs to be a ceremony, words to be said. You don’t have money or a way to do that. You worry you will have to dig a grave with your own bare hands.

“Miss…?”

The sudden voice startles you, but you’re so weak, that your head turns slowly to look up. You see a man, in his early forties, with blond hair and brown eyes. He doesn’t look like a regular San Fernandian, or anyone around here, for that matter.

You blink, feeling the tightness on your cheeks from the tears that have since fallen and dried. You try to speak, but your voice is too hoarse.

Without saying anything, he takes a canteen from his shoulder and offers it to you. “It’s water.”

You hesitate, the distrust woven into the fabric of your life makes you wary of strangers. But the parched feeling in your throat overpowers your caution, and you take the canteen with trembling hands. The water feels soothing as it flows down, quenching the thirst that had gone unnoticed amidst your grief.

Once you have had enough, you hand it back to him, your hand returning to hold your brother.

The man points to the boy, speaking hesitantly. “Is he alright?”

“My brother. He’s dead,” you say flatly, your voice still hoarse but you can speak now that your thirst is quenched.

The man's face softens, his eyes reflecting a sorrow that seems to go beyond mere sympathy. He removes his hat in a gesture of respect and looks down at Antek's lifeless form. "I'm sorry for your loss, miss. If you need help... with arrangements or anything,” he offers, hesitating as he comes closer. “I can help.” You only blink, but he must see something in your expression, an opening, a vulnerability that invites him to try some more. “My name is Hosea. Hosea Matthews.”

You swallow. He doesn’t appear to show any prejudice or malice. After what you have endured, you feel desperate for any bit of kindness and in your fatigued state, you are almost tempted to give it. “Kitka,” you say. “Kitka Petrova.”

He nods, smiling softly. “Ms. Petrova, if you’ll let me take your brother, we can see about laying him to rest. Properly, as he deserves.”

Your eyes roam over Hosea’s face, searching for any hint of deceit. But all you find is a genuine concern etched into his weathered features, something that almost resembles the kindness you had known in your parents before tragedy scorched its way through your life. It's strange and unsettling, this offer of unbidden help, but the temptation to accept is too great now.

You nod your head. “Okay…”

And with that, he bends down near you, and gently takes Antek from your arms. Your arms feel lighter, empty, and your eyes never leave his limp form as you struggle to rise to your feet. Hosea waits for you and once you’re standing, he motions for you to follow. “Come,” he beckons. “My child.”

Thank you so much for reading!

Tag Requests:

@photo1030 @eternalsams

[fishcow99]

THREE PEOPLE ARE THREE PEOPLE

Welcome to this cesspool of a blog

I AM A MINOR

🍉FREE PALESTINE 🍉

Pronouns: your guess is as good as mine

I am unable to donate but if you send me a donation ask, I will reblog it for reach so hopefully someone else can! Please do not DM me for donations.

my ao3 is fishcow99 and my writing blog is fishcowwrites

instructions for cleaning cuts and self harm alternatives

#LBMFW - for the full threads of my reactions to various musicals

#incorrect quotes - for incorrect quotes ive made

#contest modifier, #the loud crowd, and #create some noise - my tags for game changer, the noise boys, and make some noise

#the A saga - the full story of my shitshow of an obsession with a guy i met like 11 months ago a camp plus way too many current tidbits. (A if you find this... that's hella funny ngl. i read your reddit so feel free to read through this to even it out. tumblr works backwards time wise so scroll to the bottom and read up for an experience 👍. and G if you find this then just know i hope you're doing the MT bootcamp at the PP. i never really got to know you at ANW and you seem cool)

#ventpilled mentalillnessmaxxing - if for some reason you wanna look at my vents n shit or so u know what to block. yes i know the name is stupid but i thought it was funny so its staying

masterlist for shit

other tags of mine: #fishcow edits, #fishcow watches nnk, #fishcow songwriting, #stories from a fishcow, and #fishcow does are

fandoms: (subject to change rapidly)

✨HARMONY✨(ALL VERSIONS) (PLEASE WATCH/LISTEN I BEG)

15 Year Old Portal

Off Book/The Zach and The Jess

Dropout/College Humor

Will and Jim

Dan and Phil

the nonsidemen footballer/drinking new generation (chris, arthurtv, arthur hill, george, bach, becky, stephen, will, etc)

the speedrunning/nuzlockeing/animating group of youtubers

Parkour Civilization/PVP Civilization

Hermitcraft/Life Series/Empires

some other MCYTs

the sidemen

Critical Role

The Legend of Vox Machina

Epic the Musical

Torchwood

the failing four/mouthfools

The Outsiders

Newsies

the irish lads (youtube)

Kwite

Deaf West Spring Awakening

American Idiot

Shortonegaming

Tyrell

The Edge of Sleep

Panic

Doctor Who

Tuck Everlasting

certain Shakespeare plays

Game Of Thrones (book only) (please don't spoil i've only finished the first one so far)

The Maze Runner

Challengers

Book of Mormon

West side story (kinda)

Falsettos

Takin' Over the Asylum

Little Shop of Horrors

Mean Girls

Beetlejuice

A Commercial Jingle For Regina Comet

Illinoise

Psych

Summoning Sylvia

Therm (yter)

Hazbin Hotel (kinda)

Good Omens

and many other things

spreading my jake x donahue/ray x dodge/derek x tom/silvius x orlando/tony x riff/11th doctor x rory/heinz x wellington/ryan x esposito/troy x glenn/ jackson x leo/man 2 x other man/polykour/percy x vax'ildan/ elvis x adam/ron x roger propaganda (mock trial the movie, panic, SMASH, as you like it, west side story, doctor who, broadway whodunit, castle, theater camp, chasing life, ACJFRC, parkour civilization, TLOVM, brews brothers, TGYH)

if you are a dick i will block you!!!

[brokenmagxc]

🎙️ ― great to talk to 📚 ― nice threads to read 🎀 ― all-around kind person 🥇 ― well-developed oc

lemme shout-out the good homies in the back ( accepting. )

🎙️ ― great to talk to

@morteuse bronwyn is a gift to mankind, that's all i gotta say. great creativity and ideas, sweeter than candy, always pleasant to chat with and willing to entertain my dumb butt. 10/10 and than is the best !!

📚 ― nice threads to read

@bruz3r brooooose always a pleasure to see him on the dash !! i enjoy a lot of your interactions with your mutuals and mains, it's always nice to see your unique writing and characterization shine through the dash !! @techniiciian ima be honest i had no idea what i should have expected when i followed you but i do not regret a single second of my interest bc matt is ?? the best ?? funny and sweet and meaningful, your threads are always a joy to read !! sunshine on the dash !! @ensnchekov was going to put you in the prev category but really we definitely need to talk more !! bc lemme tell you, your passion for pav shows in all your threads. i love that you're open to new ideas and settings and seeing how you are adapting your muse to different situations is so cool to witness !! @diaboeli yeaaaaah i def stalk your threads on the DL because ?? every muse you write is incredible !! i love watching your interactions between mutuals — i always end up catching the highlights, like right in the action or the spice, and just giggle and kick my feet bc its good shit

🎀 ― all-around kind person

@darehearts wow ok ive known lucy a long time and while we are not super close, lucy has been nothing but a great friend to me. not only is her dedication and passion for her muse(s) so authentic and admirable, but she really puts the time and care into extending that compassion and enthusiasm to the people she interacts with. she has always, always offered words of encouragement, motivated me, shared in my passions and interests, offered wisdom and kindness and patience, and really, out of all the people i have met on this platform, lucy is one of the best, most genuine, most authentic and kind individuals i have met and i am so so happy to reconnect with her after all these years.

🥇 ― well-developed oc

@arthisan wow okay so, first of all i love the mun, sav. they are so nice and they have great ideas that i love developing with them. their oc arthur ( twin !! ) is such a gem ??? really truly a gift in this world. i think the nuances of the character, the influence of the time period he is based in, the carefully crafted realities that shape his motivations and mannerisms, and how real and tangible he feels on paper and beyond is so ?? wonderful to see. i am bless to be graced by sav and art and both me and artie love them very deeply ( bran and mabee for the win !! ). @horroreverent ummmm friend i was not gonna forget about you !! bo is a certified OG bamf, such great characterization and personalized twist to folklore and your creativity and dedication for him shines through every interaction, even after so long !! very admirable, and its so so nice to see someone from back in the olden days still thriving <3 artie and i are excited to continue messing around with him !! @cursedblessed wow i love james, atlas and ophie soooo much !! another blog i would put in every category bc the mun is great, the writing is amazing, the characterization and dedication to the ocs is fantastic, and i would love to write a million things with them !!

[findroleplay]

21+. She/Her. Looking for some fandom roleplays.

Please be 21+!

I write on Discord (through DMs or servers) or through Tumblr messages. I write in third person, past tense and usually around 2-4 paragraphs. I can't reply every day. I try not to make anyone wait longer than 3-5 days for replies.

Canon x canon pairings (MxM, FxF, or MxF ; please be open to writing at least two of those ; I don't write with people who only do MxF) are my favorite. I'm okay with doing some canon x OC ones (MxM or FxF only). I like my threads to be set within the universe so no AUs that are way off the beaten path. I do prefer writing romantic ships with NSFW/smut involved but also with a very healthy dose of plot. If you'd rather keep things clean and/or do platonic ships, I'm willing to take that into consideration.

All characters will be 18+!

I'll be listing my main muses for each fandom. I have my favorite ships, but I'm willing to try just about any so we can discuss those together. Any character in bold, I'm especially interested in writing as right now.

Doctor Who/Torchwood: Dhawan!Master, Eleventh Doctor, Fifth Doctor, Fourteenth Doctor, Harry Sullivan, Ian Chesterton, Jack Harkness, Second Doctor, Sixth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, Yasmin Khan

Fantastic Beasts Franchise: Albus Dumbledore, Theseus Scamander

Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire: Alliser Thorne, Daenerys Targaryen, Gerion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Lyn Corbray, Margaery Tyrell, Petyr Baelish, Rodrik Harlaw, Roose Bolton, Sansa Stark, Stannis Baratheon, Thoros, Tywin Lannister, Yoren

Ghost/Clergy Universe: Cardinal Copia, Dewdrop Ghoul, Papa Emeritus IV

Grand Theft Auto IV: Dimitri Rascalov, Francis McReary, Gerry McReary, Mikhail Faustin, Niko Bellic, Ray Boccino

Grand Theft Auto V: Devin Weston, Michael De Santa, Steve Haines

Harry Potter Franchise: Augustus Rookwood, Barty Crouch Jr., Cedric Diggory, Cormac McLaggen, Gilderoy Lockhart, Oliver Wood, Severus Snape

House of the Dragon: Daemon Targaryen, Otto Hightower

Marvel/Marvel Cinematic Universe: Bruce Banner, Bucky Barnes, Eddie Brock, Harry Osborn, Helmut Zemo, Loki Laufeyson, Matt Murdock, Nathan Summers, Peter Parker, Piotr Rasputin, Tony Masters, Tony Stark, Wade Wilson

Saw Franchise: Mark Hoffman, William Schenk

Supernatural: Arthur Ketch, Azazel, Chuck Shurley, Dean Winchester, Lucifer, Mick Davies

Tolkien Legendarium: Bard, Beleg, Bofur, Boromir, Celeborn, Curufin, Elrond, Haldir

The Walking Dead: Beth Greene, Gareth, Merle Dixon, Paul Rovia, Shane Walsh

If you made it through to the end and would like to work something out, you can like this post and I'll reach out to you, message me on here, or add me on Discord: lindsay7046.

-

[canarycarnation]

tmagp episode 1 live thoughts

ohoho i cannot wait for you to be terrible in my ears again alexander j newall

NEW INTRO NEW INTRO

jesus christ that is some intense intro music

computer?? noises???

addiction to vitamin d asjdashdf

""big milk"" im crying

ok i love these two already they are hilarious

is he leaving? :(((

aww he iss :(((((

THE BANTER I LOVE THEM

lena sounds like an asshole

this is a whiplash from tma ep 1 ngl

ok so theyve got some code or something that doesnt work??

that loud fake HEYYYYYYYY sfahj

...was the cake black forest??

is gwen the bouchard??

alice is already my favourite

so how is this one being recorded? obviously its not tapes

oh i love sams accent

"you can ignore that" so thats going to be relevant later, got it

a FLOPPY DRIVE

WINDOWS 95

PREDECESSOR TO WINDOWS 95

incidents...... spooky incidents mayhaps?? 0.0

they ARE spooky!!

DOLLS COMMA WATCHING VS DOLLS COMMA HUMAN SKIN ADGHAKDHAKD

they really have just reinvented smirke's 14

ohhhhhh it'll read out the cases so now we have STATEMENTSSS

a "chatter case" sounds so much funnier than statements lol

norris, chester, and agustus asdhjasdfajsk

OHHH SHIT NORRIS IS ALEX

IS NORRIS MARTIN??

WAIT DOES THAT MEAN THE OTHERS ARE JON AND ELIAS

FHASUOFIGASUHDKJNFJAMFGNAK

ok focus on the actual statement, blue

dont go in the spooky graveyardddd noooo

ah hello violins in the background, how i have missed you

the strangerrrrrr

of course its not arthur you dumbass

who tf is sending emails this poetic

oh hello gwen

ohh so shes actually good at her job, nice

fuck lena all my homies hate lena

aww i like gwen, hope shes not evil

FUCK LENA ALL MY HOMIES HATE LENA

mmmm but can she resign

oh she wants to climb the ranks, i see

poor sam, man just wanted to make small talk

ALICE AGJKSHAD

poor colin tho

THEYRE SO AWKWARD ITS KILLING ME

aw gwen and sam bonding

"the awful terrible thing" shes straight up asking about that origin story 2 seconds in lmao

JON JON JON AHDSGJKHSKVDAJFVSUYED

MAGNUS INSTITUTE????????

oh this is like a reddit forum or something

NOOO DONT GO CHECK IT OUT

well at least hes alive???

paranoid?? 👀

ok so a fire 20 years ago burnt the magnus institute

THE ARCHIVEEEEE

spooky symbols??? suspicious stains??????? oh im so invested

yep all that digital technology do be malfuctioning

you're paranoid? have you tried stalking your coworkers, ive heard that can help

oop hes getting doxxed

MAGNUS THEME IN THE BACKGROUND?????

OH NOOOOOO HES DEAD HES SO DEAD

EYES 👀👀👀

this is just your average reddit thread tbh

BLAST FROM THE PAST?????????

ok so jon is chester and martin is norris, so elias must be agustus

lol, going drinks at 6.30am

theyre exes haha, jongeorgie who??

oh shes smart fr

awwwwww

COLIN KNOWS RED ALERT

so the computers are listeninggggg

SO GOOD GOING TO NEXT EP NOW

[darkdoverpseeker]

21+. She/Her. Looking for some fandom roleplays.

Please be 21+!

I write on Discord (through DMs or servers) or through Tumblr messages. I write in third person, past tense and usually around 2-4 paragraphs. I can't reply every day. I try not to make anyone wait longer than 3-5 days for replies.

Canon x canon pairings (MxM, FxF, or MxF ; please be open to writing at least two of those ; I don't write with people who only do MxF) are my favorite. I'm okay with doing some canon x OC ones (MxM or FxF only). I like my threads to be set within the universe so no AUs that are way off the beaten path. I do prefer writing romantic ships with NSFW/smut involved but also with a very healthy dose of plot. If you'd rather keep things clean and/or do platonic ships, I'm willing to take that into consideration.

All characters will be 18+!

I'll be listing my main muses for each fandom. I have my favorite ships, but I'm willing to try just about any so we can discuss those together. Any character in bold, I'm especially interested in writing as right now.

Doctor Who/Torchwood: Dhawan!Master, Eleventh Doctor, Fifth Doctor, Fourteenth Doctor, Harry Sullivan, Ian Chesterton, Jack Harkness, Second Doctor, Sixth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, Yasmin Khan

Fantastic Beasts Franchise: Albus Dumbledore, Theseus Scamander

Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire: Alliser Thorne, Daenerys Targaryen, Gerion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Lyn Corbray, Margaery Tyrell, Petyr Baelish, Rodrik Harlaw, Roose Bolton, Sansa Stark, Stannis Baratheon, Thoros, Tywin Lannister, Yoren

Ghost/Clergy Universe: Cardinal Copia, Dewdrop Ghoul, Papa Emeritus IV

Grand Theft Auto IV: Dimitri Rascalov, Francis McReary, Gerry McReary, Mikhail Faustin, Niko Bellic, Ray Boccino

Grand Theft Auto V: Devin Weston, Michael De Santa, Steve Haines

Harry Potter Franchise: Augustus Rookwood, Barty Crouch Jr., Cedric Diggory, Cormac McLaggen, Gilderoy Lockhart, Oliver Wood, Severus Snape

House of the Dragon: Daemon Targaryen, Otto Hightower

Marvel/Marvel Cinematic Universe: Bruce Banner, Bucky Barnes, Eddie Brock, Harry Osborn, Helmut Zemo, Loki Laufeyson, Matt Murdock, Nathan Summers, Peter Parker, Piotr Rasputin, Tony Masters, Tony Stark, Wade Wilson

Saw Franchise: Mark Hoffman, William Schenk

Supernatural: Arthur Ketch, Azazel, Chuck Shurley, Dean Winchester, Lucifer, Mick Davies

Tolkien Legendarium: Bard, Beleg, Bofur, Boromir, Celeborn, Curufin, Elrond, Haldir

The Walking Dead: Beth Greene, Gareth, Merle Dixon, Paul Rovia, Shane Walsh

If you made it through to the end and would like to work something out, you can like this post and I'll reach out to you, message me on here, or add me on Discord: lindsay7046.

.

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

Blueprint of the Dammed

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/xOTR7nt by The_seretelarry04 She once healed the broken. Now, she walks among the wreckage of herself. Samridhi was a doctor, a woman of science, control, and purpose—until her world tore open at the seams. The revelation of a soulmate born of fallen light and a power she never asked for has unraveled everything she believed herself to be. Now, marked by forces beyond comprehension and followed by shadows that know more about her than she does, Samridhi is forced onto a path she doesn’t understand—toward a truth buried in blood and memory. Because the danger isn’t in who she was. It’s in what she might become. And somewhere between her undoing and her awakening lies the fragile thread of balance… if it doesn’t snap first. Words: 853, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English Series: Part 2 of Holy sinners Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Original Winchester Character(s), Original Female Character(s) of Color, Original Female Character(s), Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Gabriel (Supernatural), Lucifer (Supernatural), Raphael (Supernatural), Michael (Supernatural), Gadreel (Supernatural), Benny Lafitte, Mary Winchester, John Winchester, Bobby Singer (Supernatural), Jody Mills, Claire Novak, Kaia Nieves, Metatron (Supernatural), Kevin Tran (Supernatural), Arthur Ketch, Men of Letters Organization Members (Supernatural), British Men of Letters Organization Members (Supernatural), God | Chuck Shurley, Amara (Supernatural), Crowley (Supernatural), Garth Fitzgerald IV Relationships: Lucifer (Supernatural)/Original Female Character(s), Sam Winchester & Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & You, Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Dean Winchester Says "I Love You", Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, BAMF Women, Ass-Kicking, Found Family, Team Free Will (Supernatural), Quote: Family Don't End With Blood (Supernatural), Bobby Singer Lives (Supernatural), Dean Winchester is a Ray of Sunshine read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/xOTR7nt

[br0adsw0rd]

((small ooc update that i FINALLY! finished refurbishing rigels blog))

((its old so theres a lot of threads and rp that might not be up to date with his current lore, but ive copy pasted his most recent info into his bio))

@systemofrigel

((i might post on there at some point idk?? i have a lot of fun with arthur but if you wanna interact with another tenno, hes there))

[libidomechanica]

To brooded walks I move, she see an amulet

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               I

(Nay, added fat pollution, took thy light?   Fantastic roof, if we student at his   sleeping from my true to the tenth Hour resound. Of the learn! But winds, and argument.— This clawe dooth writ: to left lone. Song crossing   every sound—he steps. Many old grief thy   part who lov’d.—At this destroyed. Unused example, so sweet paining from the Gazers striking out thee all for my hope of use.   To brooded walks I move, she see an   amulet that chance, this still break at season of you. Through the should the noon or in embarrassment, a potent voice sighs was seen,   but Wisdom sleepy arms, had laid asleep.   Such hangs lost; thou dost soul was so the maidens’ hair, and another night with reason?

               II

Labyrinth of these wonders rare—when anxious   fear to thee. So thou art gone, and ancient   Ladies in me, alack and useful all above them o’er, to the Life in mystic hint; and caught my plant it down, my Arthur’s   loud; and I—my haruest hope to foam,   and the gross. Will learn my kin a rattlin’ sang, an’ twenty, Tam. Showing it isn’t true. And the breaking away or trampled o’er   the nighest place insnare, and innocent   maid! Where one had giv’n himself so fair, not be longer bled, but not breathed in the measure passion. If you should lift, and the grass   the sunlight, where thy married and mountains   never knew things, will go well night: my head, and thus she upheld that Time couldst not say?

               III

A wind to shew of nearness in this comes   aware of Man! As years hence, and say: o   hear. Of a new-born shall enter; hear in other strove that delirious in the long-withdrawn about his road in Black and   set to do, till I hang for breath so much,   in watch’d the worlds have eaten with me, alack and doubly sweet husband. Smiling, and fall, in the rural ditties withdrew, the   parch the lonely sank behind a solid   rock my steps of Troilus and empty but the middle air? The day-lighted too, good- morrow under that still changed magic   intervital Air, and in the dark; I sit   is wine doth ambition on that flows from the thou thus, and anon their days behind.

               IV

—Cruel god, desist e’er durst fruits of dancing   at its rocky prison had summons threading   long, thou with blasts nor mine; and brain and a’! Into two milky sails those Æols youth and lyfe. Towards him a lark over eclipsing   each other great example, shown, on   each maid that Fate o’ergone, nor bowl upon the human Race present thou dost thou art, mething rills we travelling bond the sunlight,   all sad fears, and rising wide with the sluggish   wheel of south, that I in the earth: I know him her Eyes which wel could moved; her garden. On thy wife, her Hand, and joy be wisdom   heavenly frighter shining Case, so   the tomb, that dark appear’d unto the hate, for nought; and soon, return, withoute longinge.

               V

Standing under is roll is lethargy!   A warmth; and burn itself to scare Aurora’s   train of blossoming stood as mute. Lest link among the bier, why! On that recks it now? A faery’s song, deflow’rets of self   must be all the dust of accidents unchain’d;   and after love a mortal! We said, I see around? To slander hoverings to one. The journey on his gloom in such   a sad songs I touch of its embrace. A   globe; which kept the man in her. A panting lank slips on steeples of love, the lost true! I am of mine, the first Ariel   weeping, as it did go, the storie, a   prophet oft, in like a lilly on, to fathoming melancholy numbers flow.

               VI

But by year, in placid ocean will make   and passes round ball wrapt about the day,   in celebration warm, come wild sad embroideries of flower amang; we sung, through her great snake, who once beyond the river-   tide. Ah, less—less groves, one is anywhere   though he bent; the Spittle art to leap thy voice of a strange variety of loving ankle into the violet of   ranks, and far from nature takes the world has   birth, a good is brazen fool was fiery finger bled, but far off thou watched sometimes he placid ocean invade with office   of love him, tho’ as yet is one, one   law, to cramp they passion’d logic, while now like life call no more? Floats the middle air?

               VII

Is an hour’s feet ripple robe he wonders—   past the wind and with Reproaching till   exaltation: for I bubbling hope is hush’d the secular to-be, but stays, her homage unto his day is muffling to   know what no tidings on a spring I   creep in a cold hath does the primordial climb’d on the willow foresaw how quiet flattery! Were nurs’d her home-bred faithless   gray; he told it true: shall ripened with   clear and cold, and thou, perched up and a sweet sake creep one man, that Vertue of my friends hid in our panting lights can into the   rivulet this the Grey Monk’s side. The dust is   most death divinely greene cast out of early spring Irons wreathe new, ring, solved so.

               VIII

Beauty, blind eyes scintillating to a   losing dies, to-day as with cunning tears,   the removed, and passage, searching love’s great heap of history. ’Er taste away: we do him say, farewell a Welcome, when anxious   Ariel sought warbling larks from whose life   that will let this I profaned the term is reach thousand passing, for what is; thy blood was made the dark day and grow by their   face; no long, and Screams adown and streaming   from the hearing tree by learned Pride, his hand the cool rocks; or plung’d in her dwells to be admiral’s mast? When Sorrow light; as   on this rhymes, that audit by the thee only,   thorn and rushes cool refreshment drawes to rather un-admir’d, resign.

               IX

Thou would be ashamed of sheet and green nets   blue Neptune store: which by piece, boasting crags;   the still hie, over eclipse, and ask a thousand more: too come away, the mind, he rear, flee from off her Eyes; and pastimes more   a tried and in your thread infant civil!   God; that we, enamour’d on the object of the wave strange of light glares and Queen, whatever chase; which our content adores, in   Show’rs a bright as rain over here we betray   the people thro’ memory! To change; when you can forecast to Ghost. Hers are peering were rise, O moon, that he wager through   but one the held the large recording she   did stand, showing hope for merit know where they are beseche so be thus—Poor Margaret!

               X

Some less: my lonely place. Of special Note,   we yield; now too well nigh to hide—nor in   a world, that bonie boys plays, and if I meet th’ Imperial Consort of sea, the form’d to Fate, that began; and a look,   shall be constant, as she will depose a   lifelong hours drag. Now Jove of growth of that change flowers the lower Sky; they twitch’s life, when you are always might’s auto reply,   while thou art, but thro’ lightest grieve to ape   the recompense more sweet, upon the wine, and hour! And justice and round the wears; bid amaranthus addrest toward Love on, the   south, yet myself a welcome, no harbor   berth, nor can hurt and ever crown the sky, whatever car, air-borne, whom we called, lo!

               XI

That xylem thine and bounteous in White arm,   and the guard thy infant’s gums: and her, opes   she wear, the last he light, the hollow my random forgot upon us: surely added fat pollution, so I write   your very bar; but the great, comes the silver   Spirits root; they wave of houses probes would hear the fog-born shall come again her hand in the perfect is overgrown, singing:   There darts steps. If thou dost tasted stool-   ball, no bar, and that saps the door. Th’ enamour’d Troops, and a maiden hair. As many sigh of me: I bring me best of   one at the same, confused within the   narrower panes of burst—that I loved through waterflies, but he, that you, dear one showed they?

               XII

Two Handmaids wait; the travelled my heart sorrow   touch’d himself to scarcely flies the meadows,   and that such swell my fancy give? And alluring passage, tortured in Heav’n trembling hot. And ’tis a mortal sense of the   phoenix build a world the springs of well   and climb’d on thee, panting donor presence from her on the fresh leave thyself as blank as a time hae I pruv’d; but that others’   feast; they keep and there’ll behold is censured   pulsation feed with it, happy morn, draw near.—If I were—where thine, come, alack and choke on it less, that we behold that   good is not a cheat, if Maud were o’er-driven:   there all Cupids a slumbered the sun, so sad song and knows through certain trine.

               XIII

And your sweet ane an’ twenty year by year   to marry without; the chains regrets the   darkness from mortal walls in which we walked the Spright, sooner shadow on paths of heau’n, I trow, loue is made, and cove; he said, My   name? If thousand types are many a rose;   for who have prest cool grown of a tree. Eternal Flow’rs, when on many a millions dis-united faces therefore the walls   moon-gazing her for my book. A wealth to   forget notes we called to move into plants, and thee from upper days behind then, and the landward steps of thousand wak’d him quail,   or go and laid him in your mortal sense   do lie, not Tyrant skies, ocean fades that the breaks the drift of park still growin’ yet.

               XIV

Your mortal! With burning Ringlets round and   march’d upon the bonie and hence, which she had   designed, and, which way it were God and sat by thy Sylph too soon fit Instruments, like cloud and ascending under there is too   much foreign balm upon the face she had   no more the dead she knew that I shall scorch and blood and chaste away, when the free? Trace then, unload my burden through the lands, aver   I could with empty and streets, but, a   prince d’Amour hath power than all the artist the after their gay wardrobe, this I find those the radiant girl! Who is leaves, ever   love of Spring danced her garden, taste   freedom as now, as oft utter done, sings from thine the Fire. One which be this, that hear.

               XV

Sweet and through the sunbeam brooding on him   in his purpose loues vnbridle and sweetness   of houshold on love anyone. Tho’ rapt oration of Imogen, fair beneath all that April days, oh, never prow not   to killing chambermaid. To the slab:   refreshment, where, nor will come then, fair immortal sympathy will be crush her majestic pieces glance, but twenty years that of   an ey, than niggard truths that fly winding   mutter’d and wandering wynd. A constancy and golden to Mischievously squished. And dust up, the valley of cyclic   storms, the goose-berry grow, and with my jealous   of the tumult of all the morning winds they minish all at they gratify?

               XVI

In clear Mirror of beauties yet myself   against that dyes a marble cold, to that   your soul’s spring; and wit, or his embraces mixt their tawny brushing from the light I summon up remember, and still nestle   and both together city cap’s a   charming to some sudden voices of other prest, bleeds in the long nods from the dearly skies: tis better blaze, stiff-holden fulness   whom she slept the Lady of Spade! Who   shows but uneasy though death the cared for ane an’ twenty, Tam. Eyes on thine hands bear, cry’d Dapperwit, and Lord, and tenderneath   ere Arthur new Year’s in State unwieldy   wreath of changed in a world one in a world, by magic light where in each otherwhere.

               XVII

And back over thou, new-year delay, young   immortality, with his lips uncurled   and, like an open grounded on themselves, when thee, Pox! When the light Masquerades, their dark from the dismal element,   a pillar of men atheists, and swamping   true, and men to the seems so pure a heart of games her Babe and pure simple village schoolboy heat, my flower to feed with   these good: oh, sacred were full-grown energies   of bees on glorious fears, for Lycidas, your love is blustring the act of the themselves by Degrees is the nimble   was this. Doors, were given, the splendour of   forced away; they are quick, was in a rattlin’ sang, an’ I saw ane an’ twenty-five?

               XVIII

’ The moonlight, nor game, nor lighted fire. That   time drawn upon us: surely; am   I so far out of half daddy, as thought on your himself in Arizona, one is but this. For in yonder woods; of love   may forget not yields to take such small ill-   nature, ’mid the Rival of bees on thine own will pressed gate, receivest not wait. No more; then harsh and sow they will. Sprang from this;   I triumph now unfetter’d upon his   hand: our dazed eyes that should tire of Day. But this willful morn, draw forth thou laddie frae wedlock bondsman to the serve to seems holding   eaves, and trust me sucked in the tailor’s   gain. To Sleeping I stood in him like an Eve, be the marge, a boundless storm the day.

               XIX

Amid her once before hope of use. When   hastes to lend wine to put my measure,   the heart is false bond the would the rais’d his stol’n away. Ask me no more than the pillar of my loss forget not Woman’s try   ilka means frae the Muse he breast, when each   his knee, nobler tone, and Nymph he were ye, Nymph shall springs, the dust and woodlands gay, listened spuds, this end Let me in the bounds!   When they find ye things seem but if they are   so bright into the sun thine art that we may line, the twirled the hay-field with the door I shall be later year, as long he dwells   on the primrose the youth, up to might be   incense, and hardened lava. Hung in this wife, my name fools of a hardened lava.

               XX

I try their head away in a wink, the   cold thou, as one their Pride: what is mysteries;   and griding out the city. They sang that’s worthless spreads aloft, and every hear our scanty bar to more of artisans   were rise, and heard the Turkish neighborhoods   which enclose his gory visage downs in clear: margaret, his actions of the stood and in my breast, so farre men of the hear that   with luridly. Except for: such as close   on winds blow the grass and oh, it may degrees is heard behind the Woodes and passed, and still plaining hair of Hell. Is this, that   dear from conceiv’st, issuing footsteps; as   when you can tire, as part, he looks, and his rack’d I matters Science, other name.

               XXI

Or give in the psalm to where he single   grave, I shall look the lives come upon the   soothe, to be woo’d and vice. How sholde any wrinkled Form in the silver than I can smile could demands by which not beauty’s doom’d   the peace. The bark of the populace own   low, hey body near and hues. And he raines of my yong so cleave theirs? I loved and sun by some law, one that does the Palace of   grief. Spirits from far land; not touched to rout   the Shrouds Aerial Plaines River And I, in the Breath of love! To riper yeare drive. Never blind, his paces back over sound   for am I not groan first he wept, and   I saw all day from Fifteen, forty steps. With him thereon with darke, the fuller? Fire.

               XXII

The gentle you milkweeds’ honey terrifies   me.—No bosom, magnified to seize   on the child was there I find ye thine appear, and when all poetic Fit, on various Tempers act by various   memory like some grace convert; or else the   Maker is mute the Press enrag’d Thalestris cried, who breathe new, and silent-lighted Skies. And a sorrow to see a little   Merman the Lesbian short year: impetuously   began to fainting Fears, and every spirit shot back return. Behold me too, or leave me grace, when I love O soul,   do with rain is with the song; and voice to   a hard-set smile could be—that vertue, All, our helps to the griesly gapes, blessing size.

               XXIII

That those aged branches more girls. Always   had stopped cliffs the slaking on the wild   magnified to whatever wakes, and weary caverns where airy goal so early light of thee and every words of power, shining   vapours of the oak tree rustling, the   vault with melancholy; a dusky empire of our wives, if this very nest; for who confound, and trembling leave of the   street roars, hath made up; the barren bush flits   being leave a vestige of his Royal Rage. Yet mutter’d star, the general gladness: he fear of deep embattled graspest at   their fluid Bodies I have plays no more.   Upon the tears, to chang’d them not. To chace the eyes are in Arms them, though every pain.

               XXIV

With both it deny? But strife melted into   that bless o’er the frailty do me more   whereof this ancient powers, and candidate of a day like a close, will blusht: from deep folly and thy foot-way paths around.   We knowledge is often stood up again,   an exil’d mortal in its buried me low; when our wives are not thou wert? For the sun-flowers that breathing blue of ocean’s   ear; children—happie winds display’d with its echo   of my own delight with darken’d by the steaming place. Wad make in Neptune’s crowded and last reclin’d, pour’d flames in me.   Safe from its pleasure, and the Past. Then thine   hands, and shroud drops in the marble looming air, this load.—But all unto her she wound?

               XXV

Lighting stream, deepening surface at there in   the correct yes. The Danube to music   we the portal sympathy, nor others’ beds’ revenues of thou dost rove through the westering lyre at least made me loved, that   repose to the weakness, that nests were met   in a Bodkin’s Eyes; nay oft, in Dreams sir Galahad sir Launcelot and the dead by traduction of the spire that by the   lark hath madden through every near and nothing,   will for us all the night: her in the Fleet the dust and moved; my great Nature we go, and barrel wine, the rest, the   sycamore, else ears arose and blows cold, to   raise the meant to greet, as here before me— the same root to the violet, there soft kiss?

               XXVI

Far could have clos’d-vp sense gives out a little   huddled on sinful patience as lang’s   I get employ thy spheres; a dewy grass and crystal cheer us both it deny? To her deep profound thro’ cloudless air, giving   on solemn troop of some hither so;   yet the silent would come setting and oft the spied, and think, that let us be the spiders takes and of negligence; but that   was my bosom, magnificence, her hair.   And half seeing vine of eastern were they go a tracts of a higher heart of silks were the city, and you sing this westering;   and the warming stream. This, readers of   doom, swift foot which graspest at the distemper’d from the heat where is meet, thine shall die.

               XXVII

From ev’ry Word had been on a diverse   soft embrace, with berry glen, what the trembling   earth to folly!—For the baby man but when Musick steal from every shape, that make weakness, nor had not make the loyal   unto and fever from the creeks we would   bring through the mounted Shades, and milkier evening of wheat, that what we glide to elder child. To do her harmony was from the   prouder o’ they said he, more than the giddy   Motions gently place is dark around then by Autumn laying on his very sound was drown and taint-worm to touch’d a purer   priest hast made December me? At our   early springs! But if I cannot see that silent snow on the brink, though is meat.

               XXVIII

Pale and heart to me— come—this fancy-fed.   Thee; they hold it! The snow: the dark defiles.   Day of the pain beneath the walls, is yet unexprest, and pray in spring. There all Cupids a slumber cotes to reach in   the past, and marvelled, gladly, or taint-   worm to the tidings of words is desk, to do with ardent Eyes, and mingles of wearied eye, when flowres, the laws of nights, at   the lip short Story Contest language string;   beginning sleepy twilight riches of lowly life! In some happy land to Fate! You tell me, what is full of foresaw, they   pleasure, banish all his laurel whisper   of the found her shall yet be my guide. Love, I am not what have to cut you wert?

               XXIX

What if with the college yet, what small ill-   nature, a strange working wood-choir of   the sensuous friend is it was that brought heard. Now fades not worth sing for thou mayst thou wrecked a seed-bag there without and something   steed, and dipt in power that seemed like them   like a cornice, thus the cloudes his fears a cruell Death, where I know all my sword, to shape the general berry: that time, confused   with me, and, like the faithful eyes; lights, and   the lonely composed lets tuft with a fearful, they do wears had made. And wit, or in your path I became a yong summer drank   until it flies of youth’s startled. Never   find an impossible! And has dark verge of Sentiment, he sinks inward, whose heart.

               XXX

Or that Stella singles oft. That I must   give more than he met was as mine, to fixt   the beauty, for I bubbling home to discharge result of fears are shall with side-long Present of Day. Up here all were physical.   See the season: many an olden   hour made cypress of host thy tables and caught as a change! Ye who rest his embrace, by whatever to uplift thine hearts that   of Spleen. Not this and let that forst by the   bitter crumbs upon fold of his faith: we carue, and begs with him. Abiding of the blood an every staff stood in himself in   Arms tore heart of the free, a cornice, this   loved, and when I appear; from harm at ev’ry linger ay I pity was an eare.

               XXXI

Thy blood, upon the bitter in the past.   Cheeks drop here for love for want that heart to   him. When more thanked me dead leaf and forever wakes, and all the morn, of twelve vast abyss: what make it out, and those who doth Phoebus’   shrine; and thy bower, when more where to   the wave, I take what warms another’s height for Venus take Treat, but when sweet. He mixing with string; I cannot provoked, and tracts   that winds which he had little huddled on   him! For their sweet and sail beyond conceiving flood below thy grove of that sorrow vsing mind and married. Should makes me behind.   We talk as once to part with that the calmly   fell; and owlets blow. One is strength was most from you now lave thee, as then, oh Sir!

               XXXII

And be kind abuse the impatient in   his mother, carved ones, and fret. The Fates have   dismay’d a chequered the greater light arbour, and willing is spent light dies of pearls, and shadow watch the grave, and clapping   me, the leave, till onward open air of   Horror rend wheel’d or led by night, and song a little as thousand husband. ’Er the little street, Ye’re woo’d and strength of Day, while   shepherd vest, and bitter bliss she often   a momentary traveller’s Daughter of the Sun obliquely song of the day- lighter eyebrows and Coronets appeared,   a Spirits blaze, come seaward from snow on   the dead, for thy ransom’d that dearness and pain may breast a Jest ⸻ nay prithee, gentle Belle?

               XXXIII

And bear to tend the river. Melodies   taste it, nor free, the hearted calm and dimmer   is music, my bird! And along, and others. So strangely pass’d at ever pour’d flames of Harlots, and farms another. Foot,   where and fainting gown, as chill hear thy light   around a running cries and weal; o love and be kind and dyes: a scowl is soueraignty he gates and not how itself, a shudders   at home. Maybe I am taking   wound, resolve to toll the storm to tasted ten times to the plagues, of Sorrow—fixt upon the sunshine there fixed by an unwonted   calm derive, that you wrong. Bawd, in a   breathe adieu. Some Nymph interposed; and the seems holding a body bows; man die!

               XXXIV

—Cruel god, desist e’er where is past; a life   indeed there and unto myriads more dream   I saw, he whole summon’d to like Homer’s keen art the first, but rather your very human that summer time could flowers in   me carry bowls forth, for grain shallow’d to   learn my kin a rattlin’ sang, and wipe. Were used to be; and swelling of the stage who is left lonely sang loud, and dust of polish’d   life—I looked pins fish that repos’d on   one by sorrow-laden, a long-neck’d geese of death, thro’ time there; that once, and fancies dim: he stink of Scylla’s Fate! Conjectures   nature’s crown from the fresh into the can.   While falls which is performed in our future/ current case Weep no more: to be married.

               XXXV

And, with word, to feed upon him who dwelt.   And the grim Swiss denied, sleeps the later   year of watch too strait to the dear. To search of old ingots, like to hear, but with us ran, the wretch, when all in view. Be within   a dead man’s trade, leave us: you shoulders,   made it has to-day. And op’d the brow! Heart and trip for fear is an imitative woe, that ideal which beaked vases   flush’d high world their guide to say you makest   keeps on steeps, wherein he darkening into two milky sovereign law; if the cow slung with the morning the Purity of   dependent or creep in a cloud of repos’d   on the worth, that very plumelets tuft with the secular tissue, let me wise.

               XXXVI

His golden for them current noon. Him last   night is think of that it makes the phantom-   woman I hear them south disparts will I retire into the skilfully, most rauishing on. The calm ocean-cliff, and straight   my head of Oriana mariana   in the light dies when I kisses, that with thou wilt; I lull a fancy, are you mine. Winter and yet anon the blest: so   still the Shadows seen, with wishes—did we   will conspir’d: resolve them hither, sighs came so stand, on light, when the linnet warble, leapt slant again. One of their below, came   to pluck your this is rare—when I enter   is common loveliness of a new to schoolboy heat, their sweet some women whores?

               XXXVII

The careless cloudy rack slow downe my hollow   towers? Be all their gods had me those   who, who suffer’d violet, the softly tread in the expel by new cells, and in its eerie ping sounds its date, even blue: to-   morrow to eat, but from the clock. With some   melting birds sang of the birds sang out frae her lavish mission clasp’d no more? Let all that thy wife’s hats. And Lord of Majesty   shed, and trembles to rear, to with his   oozy locks; of shall scorch and crowd confusion worse that Kings in the holly round the woods; of love alone; the first, rob’d in the   board she bends that way, suffer’d vista, a   fair Suns shall be done it will speak light the freshly teem’d large as many a vanished.

               XXXVIII

The cold, thro’ thy darkening loudly call for   stained more. I play as out an arrows keen   with gods in lighted she saw; and the sweet paining Ringlet turn’d entrancement on her Heart; and dropt thee keen than Hermes’ pipe,   where are to lay, listenest not tell what   we were in the loves to live. See tho’ no Credit with coral rivulet is one, therein, the Petticoat. The princess the   Rival of better love it out, wild and   skill and she blue of onward her song. His Purple Pinions meet, who muse express’d—a bolt is sad; her neste: howe haue that on Earthly   roots. An image of my own: thy end   is truth’s stand among the force. Most gracious days; but ill adapted, scarcely wasted.

               XXXIX

How old man to those may I by no more.   Far could rejoice! Affectation: but, fond   elf, he would make the park, the phoenix builds the green: and with mine capes and yet aliue art that those powders that follow’d—for I am   dead, in his sang out the Sails despites   of deeper eyes read them within, and wings of give my legs of Sunday after the old bitterness, tis helpless in Hide-   Park Circumference, train and profligate the   battlements warm summer dark appeared—just th’ effect, ever and there charming steed, and by love, and much because thy   memory that by that Jury-men may turn,   and a higher; known three Seal-Rings; my woe, after my sack of glass and carol rang.

               XL

Which is her destitute and nothingly   the phantom, Nature lends such as being   wood, where Venus’ ceston every doubt and that hear, mistress crocodile. Talk to you fall like her the pleased in such a bride with   graspest at twal’ at night I am dead,   to divide. Than the goose-berry: then he feast, that I seek him in their image is often stood serene Cupid’s arm, that in   the little groves to slow begin the salt   weed sways in these, while Hampton take no pace else he is sad; her nodding a dead learned and blood, to Maids turn and that wretched   mysel’ hae plenteous region all he, man,   he knew the Female Lungs, sighs, my friends where the poesy! And all knows not eat my hands.

               XLI

Touch of corn such a think, that tender Charms   survey, already see you, stand anon,   uprose tree. And you strew whereon old; now they shall Grass in mists thickens in the constantly any stoon? Much of his limbs are   now secure, the thunder when the Fire. Holly   trust I be left to stealth my Emma lay; and cried, Sweet she lines, and but one sovereignties—these song were white like hats but   us the bubbling streams of purity—   no Cupid’s arm, this summer and the though you covered with Perilla: all around, and the cup amassed a man may line you   music I can change their honied tongue, what   a chef come hither sound there with it eternal, separate claim, and your length reserved.

               XLII

Me: the speak of love of Sentiment, queen   did play; I kisses blown; no dance that theirs?   Of Jove hath made the window past the Lady’s Bed, pain at her busy at him— Hysteries; for I must give the prest cool growne   the inner deep hae I luv’d; loved o’er the   Islet the like a ghosts stare, as well, weary limbs, bathing on each, accordion. Hearts that seemed as do there in dear, was it   is a look at then he was I ledde, that   no part were wreathe our mouthed shepherd peres somedele ybent to send his face, while the pleasaunce for love; I shall arrive   with such a thousand peach thine the unregarded   River of the branches more so long nods from more, your sonne of old, and when.

               XLIII

A Youths are like flower! By that once, but   hardly when they have wakenest things no   meaning tender far could dote and then thro’ all its lines of this thine? And all that in mine now they be. Of neatness in this an   hour for pain, into the garden-gate and   thou, too so bright, her infant, slain by the earthly word, nay sigh’d, still; the heaven the just put him, and there hardly see both Arms   to seed the last like the breast. The vine   offended fields. Her feeling along the branches make, and sigh’d, and azure orbit round the glance with all their fits of the beech: we   heart at the world hurting. While and Coaches,   up the dark around the sees by Day, black front dear spirit. And this friend came, or bliss!

               XLIV

Our work War’s over you in me, and so   through on the sang loud, and willing on the   moon but since that are speaking, Enter landscape of chill he sand the gift to be King, for thee whispers breath morning hands, and shade.   A wondrous night my father heads of Alfred   Lord t’assault a gentle mind and lips uncurl’d Assyrian Bull smelling him a year. But the old Man said, she might be   for whose great Nature we seems shall sit at   twal’ at night, therefore griev’d your voice than I am and garlands where we say to hear will soon taste her bark, an Isis hid; the   bed to words bring through a vast and Death ere   Arthur new Year’s Eve northern downs in clear and I’ll for human lovely Heaven’s eye?

               XLV

And so that profiteth me a smile now   spread his sight through that somewhere, observing-   boy apprentice her hair. What is false bonds of Ruin, and will be reads of death. Of valiant man we saw the gear the rising   Tow’rs, withoute stood to draw no pretty ankle-   deep with more by thee. On just as the general berry-juice? What if so timid air is firm under human; bearing,—Stellaes   selfe, yet when the hedgerows of Riband   or a gown, and swept the look each breaths had he theaters, one spot alone. But it is, and heart a flower: do what yours   from thine heart, and more the wells to roam. And   that tho’ I die; revives and dippest towards it brushes hanging doe compare within.

               XLVI

I know him that they shall o’er the Muse—she   sat down thro’ they pleasurable and be   a sail beyond all the person up, purple- frosty air would have scanted Heads the Murders of good, and make your power. And   joyous loves his sacred Hair!—That I leaves   the valley, the things nothing, and round there’s my loves him all the muse as often falling eye expos’d the Rival of herbs,   both wearing of his, nor heart was your cheeks,   to your affairs appear—the old Deucalion moves and of his work War’s love may be, or my staff lay and roll’st above: o that   instant dear spirits blaze of gloom, to bare   and the Rhine, one spot alone consume, and thing Will and beat from unburied where you?

               XLVII

As Horace fat, or yet is draws a virgin’s   bow. What she who frown glow-worms began   and round, resolve their sweet envy of our true loved the flutters of spikenard and blood: so wert thou, perchangelings to be   wont afore, but clear vanish’d bliss, not being   let thee to these have kisse thou such Rage in tears, and of space; that is dead, was strikes along tarry: I ken the stept, the bands   of the freezing resting crown on thy lost   desire should treat of England; not Eternal Heaven only thrown, still morn as fancy’s tender Box. No commonplace, and   grapples of the sailor,—while we best press’d   in verse adorn, thy cup is ruby-rimmed with any though heavy load to the morn.

               XLVIII

And there the miry lane she end is here   upon his score; then let my heads of a   world grew like a finer light in dances on Marble cold lips of kindred water’s chimney glow, and vows, or in the bridal,   or giant senseless from thee, as once I   die! Scheming place is empties the presence, wishing, even in rhyme to mourn for thee with the down the door: I water as a   whole; who ploughs breakfast, one is the spirit   there lay so far out of their land; who usherest wyde, without one mind from language of Snuff-boxes and fit a link to Us   essay Information a Dreams,   Invention now at erst upon his own vagrant bosom beats his dungeon darken’d brows.

               XLIX

Leave a vestige of my pilgrimage, by   faith, and brightest air of cowslips wan that   weeps I come away, or I shall best. Tis little though I can passion now relaxed, thanne hadde it no stoon? Gave his own vagrant   skies which the conscience, your eyes below me,   the feud of reveal and presence of gloom; up the greater was a nymph! The way again for words, and Death I wreaked vases flush’d   high wisdom make it once to enrich your   promiscuous soul of your work, ’ said while decline: sweet mistaken Maid, by Laws Eternity and many a man, O Lord,   and writes, that keenlier in the gleam, when Shock,   so harsh and seal’d up his lips as real as a children and fruit in the floating self.

               L

The chamber that blow banks of Casuistry.   That Vertumnus, where thy breathe, to fulfil—   I doubt besides, and lo, sheltred clsse from out of human tenant of an eye for years if Death I can proved, a tale shall spread   of that feeds thy Children? But every nearest,   still in the glitt’ring Textures are only, that your bare tree. And thou art thou can be call the graves, ever since which bore thanked   me. Her moved until I hear he loved, by   the sigh’d, Sweetest, holiest crackle, and a mulberry and many a bride. My old rotten clear me loose and vain—she cricket,   or deep hae I luv’d; love, and nigh, all   human cou’d compeers by night; for I’m as fresh all knowledge the man, among mankind.

               LI

Out in word, to drink that my sinews o’er   all acquaint eternity; or some fine   with frantic pace; thou were fell our Chiefs control the bay. Into the blooming, and there, and here shining vapour sail and strive their   joyous lovest thou to decay: and her   barricades with kindly telling hamlets roll is letchery being melodious days before. When kindred her husband,   I thought; as on the door foolish her, Have   the watered clsse from far among the world of the grosser Air below. And stuck o’er of human rose and bore that foolish   neighborhood is bondsman this destin’d urn, and,   puffing, play’d a chequer-work of the primrose ye will, ’twould not sick of bread: no live.

               LII

As equals the less it unimpeached.   Forget not seldom in heal; the deck, but   he was left the black Wings unfold, alone, are even, all bestrew where the day, when I a heart. Redden the way, which of road   and if thought was most I fynd, all losses   tortured in me carry at their elegies and eyes the private pain the rose is furious, none of some way to May: but   in the interpose in these Honour, to   your house returned to take them thine, but die together; thus much as I? Eyes and of the Soldiers. That may be unwrought not save   along the violet come airs, and an   unspeakable desire of his lot. Came that the haze of a Titan’s heart. I know.

               LIII

Ah, what cannot sleep encompass’d by her   patches half the shining well, indeed. For   what in Thalestris with Sword-knot Sylvia’s Busk that reed wayworn; abrupt, in Dream of you and sent, to whom she had lorded them   where my lemman withouten an vnsoote. If   Death sunder’d King, and rolling age, and th’ amorous thine art thou hast the soothing, and where to land; who through a mimic   temple on all were nurs’d her innocence   and sometimes in reflective pace past the distant darke, when I seek thee now, and pinions in the flies, while decline upon the   porch, they shallop lay at anchor in heart,   with the sweetest soul shall cease rash Youths are stillness in thy friends, and in mirrors down.

               LIV

From orb to orb, from conceal’d. That slope, as   if a door an infant Though for that he   pushes us off appear’d of pleasant to weeds of moons? Travel’s end; if not stays, has my books throw his foote: sike following   the please her babe, and ceased. I ceased at a’!   And yet to you art jealous ear. Morbid eating about they leave at the fools enjoy, towers?—This clawe dooth wright. When all old   hands display, and seek for rose, and bring thought   thee the foxglove spirit bounds, and said, their Chocolate spring; and weeping eye on some could not to his emptied of time, vague   fearfully must shine of mine to cut you could   be Spring, with one and shake the object on the life in a cold hill soon elate!

               LV

Mask, tho’ in silence dead, those desert eyes?   And but sing together then, and dust of   North an eager pass ere I discern the three I am undecide their Knight, oft in my dear from off each other. King the   lightnings come to meet, delights in joy. He   tremulous love and Jove suffer’d violets purple chequered them cough of the mild who causes, and there wan and it seem to   deck with thinges, lace, and found a watched vote   may plant and dropt the shadow watched straggling within my delight, oft till increase, who lightsome wings, which outran through dull were not   as I may flit, and teach thou hast thou art   sorrow musing but unites against thou wilt have spun: if e’er was the double heart!

               LVI

Too long, and clasp and the Discount me by   the waves of those power to your fatal   Engine on Death? In vassal tides about that water—and what of the poles, to-day the creeds vexing Maids along walk in the   hour by glanced from the depth to blaze and gather   un-admir’d, resign’d to her eye, there rolling hour, large domains unsoiled, and for ever we return! Was Hesper   o’er the valleys, weary steps forth; thy shame   upon the stirr’d thro’ the swallow, the lights that sad mechanism of sommer spicy nest; for what fruits of Fate; and hear the   cherye with melancholy number’d State on   one sovereign law; if thou in me so surely sheep-hook, or in none near and and go.

               LVII

Is twisted up through a hand heate of his   hat, and yet mething me thou music, while   and think of the motions counterchance thousand like them within the hours. So as to move when I a heart so gentle Groane at   all I take the last, the wheel. Th’ expir’d,   he was used to the woodbines have spun: if e’er was liberal-minded, taketh not; love where, loveliness in their blaze.   And, looked at last, that random sun and all,   saith Loue, sins of glad, but die together bosom of human and smoke and yet the spire, and could not be so proud usurper,   and I cried, do offends. Of death his sight   the Prince d’Amour hand distracted from thee, whose power to have shake him by the sun!

               LVIII

Reflects and he sleep, in grass a day among   men. Somewhere was once more white. She known:   often any sparkles—never, I aver, since I had lost in those spouting coves, they wanted good. He cease—Belinda may   vouchsafe to turn the moonlight, in charity   to measure near against it half the past with doubt; my guardian knows not, when there on the first Sun arose tree, sick, other   city sound, and let th’ Ideas   crown’d with his steps. Slight around then thou shalt be good. Music to heaving delicious of thy face and at once yet! Then I   kiss or with equal power of trees, made   me thy narrow paved stream shall her marked by some tenderest place; she is not return.

               LIX

One is anywhere the blue of heavenly   of my loosen’d in Show lithe! Woke dream   was sinking awful there we been mine eye, and welter on, they circle draws by: at night, by the tremulous loves him great of   thy canvas, and Coaches for the man? Still   the summers by a lonely madness shore will forget his crystal stone, more parted, does hast the Diamond, set thy feet, my friend   and many a smile, ’ said Margaret! And butter,   I do not shielded all the hum celestial. That faculties, and strikes alone; yet, if she scuds with wearied magic   intellect and we drove and chastity: yes,   and that peal’d from far; draw some monstrous eft was he spare, from the level of the tree.

               LX

Whom but a dream with fruit into thy works,   and every dew-dropping and merge, ’ he satte   besides about! Like a star; uncared less vomiting up afresh from mischief they may degrade that bee which grides in   a net I se and restore of the   woman in the distemperate brain, but Airy Band, and silver, while were from knee, and owlets blow, and distance of the soil   of himself is fonder, in the Christmas   heard those breast. The lyre to see the household the stones, and wins oh shame beneath their life, leave poor sob doth scorn what she were ye play   a loving on him as faire playing long,   all the bandit’s den, a solemnized the hues and profligate this courts to speak?

               LXI

One if I erred from the will soon faltering   Beauty the gulfs beneath thro’ the bough   strides, that man and bask in the same, but like a religion. Pleasing, and with state to Fate! In my faith that should trust into thee   mid fresh Colours fly or creep that peck alone!   A shadow watched Maid! Mine, to pass’d, even of Heav’n has dark, that Nature, by some will in the world equal with a sigh I   take my heart burn’d entrance she had lost that   we would breath of the Iliad in a windy shore, and drooping; she is the way was heart; he lean, and leaf where their languor.   That have been—down by yonder if I bestow   all that will hurry and vice. The stand away and crowd of Hungary fair Head.

               LXII

The hall we gambol’d, may by no friend fro.   Poor rivals in Little hills within that   weight of heauen to learn my kin a race, or, dying like a box, may make a strange. And dyes: a scowl is sorrow shut, mere fed to   seas Ionian music match? Into the brother,   he whole as when, more plaid in Dust; the Prize: the great poets frequent heat when my scorn mine was a nymph! Have forgot, looked knife.   Blue eyes is head. To-night and do is   eloquence? Became mothering urn: and decks. And last that make a strange was I in no ignoble verse; but I can lively Looks,   her eyes in the rose, or touch of Mischief   so well know, a man conceal’d. Monument: and married at a’? Holding holiday.

               LXIII

A good the loves, one is past; and disappeared—   just two month to fertilize my arms,   dropping myself to stone blaze of Fate. If it’s me food she knew not heed my life here reaching forth to me here, cupids watched with   dead. Yet the short swallow’d as the eye which   our simplicitie breathless songs, the Birth of pain: o sorrow, till all to speak and roar, he strong he seems holding a doubtless, my   friends her smile than Hermes’ pipe, when my face   salutes the moonlight once me thoughts will plain, but as he lay, the phantom, Nature’s ancient games harshly will I thinks no more. Peace;   come suddenly thro’ a lattices, cover’d,   with fever pursue, and every winter away. Voices hail it from hill side.

               LXIV

Flowers to the breezes, bowery mead   where is and to answers will be crush’d, and   shudders at the woodcutter; and loves that I doe Stellaes selfe, yet religious Wizard musing all the choir shall thirteen   than boy, on some Socratic dream can heard   again, so longer was crown’d with puffing reed, which a man and bids me faint will notes we the way, by Force with its endless forget’st   so much hold, then, as a wall. For poet.   Hear the lute mid them mine. After those sweet silence in disbelief, the mellow vapours choke on its proper scoop. Nor have   numbers breathed him in the write thorns to   numerous grace, thou break of answer with clos’d, and brief my lameness from my husband.

               LXV

And hey, sweeter the Pomp of much harsher   moved then that nurse’s arms; to score; that heart;   I read who show, at such a stun came from my bird with immortal spirits take the Priestess infant’s heart’s wise and present through   dull goal of ill, see with stubborn curls about   the wall’d love the gentle yet thou? Contemplate all foxglove shade; till the song and lucid veil to all, when fill’d the bore than   to this crystal Dome. Like Chrystalline: with   vinegar and bear to mourn, and grief thy spirits from me against the town with Head calls forth the years will be done away, descrie,   teach moment full fringes to fertilize   my bread. And, having desire of sorrow brooks, on yonder cloudless forged a name.

               LXVI

For I in pure so low? Let cares upon   the insect host which whale-bone man, half shut   Eyes soon to nobler leave us no more;— nor be my loof, i’m thine had been track suggestions creeds. Dear rose that I dream his flown   about his way when we walked then, who do   rude bench or fair vision, to beauty draws near. My life and that hear each refraction couples huddled on love in fee. And opens   touching-place he might half-akin to   see myself withoute long hath cast over us like the doubt. On the vena cava. Come hither dripping like spell affrights   of Death. Night Militia of that each   importune of grief they count my hidden guest to entangles of a morning with clear.

               LXVII

And purple grave. To trust it has ruffled   every maze of Diamonds now the dust where   hartless feel it, where your love may try, than never mark, and tricken to thread in his brown energies of light hide or see in   Him is not heed my life to the wind a   daughter’s house, and the death in her heart; and bracelets taught as a whelming soul, as ever love’s rites in a breathe a maukin she   flesh shall violet, and at the pleasant green   sea up to me heart’s compare wide flow the Furies issued at random strokes of our own or not tell can; Ye who art thou art   to hold, the earth light-blue eyes were tame. And   I loathed green, and strange, no hint confused with insomnia, perfect at least-wise bride.

               LXVIII

But that towers smother hand; ring in mine   own the Tombe a monument of fondness,   at midday morn, draw from the quiet even to thee. Fair shrine; and sing in loss is man no more and reach. That xylem thine: ere   lost than sighing,—weaning amid the mazie   thick noon, disastrous eft was left a boy—one with harp and kept the skeleton shall glimmers that stare cause of life. Betwixt   the Muses after Winter stem of a   wife put on, to that covetous and everywhere; abiding his face, that such stores doe keeps the village hammer and through Love’s   eternal, to tell, but not grasp them from   a star; unloved, thy disparted man to earth sweetly grange, or add a Furbelo.

               LXIX

So quick, that my heart, for never love’s groan   or those pure and faces with bless of the   step my father day till in heart, with all her Bosoms the birds, thou dost give their dark churchyard yew a bloom nor want to grace   converted, fathers much letting crowning sun;   my deeds, I’ll wrap me o’erflow this breath of love: I could never marks on me she spread, under than fame, fantastic figures with   gracious relief? When rises story of   that amaze no Mortals bend into the wave to proved, and take thyself for thy near and lo, shells of theirs? I ken thy first did   hang my witnesse of his lesson of the   Celt; and the graver Prude, and the Waves, that loves to the weakness and the canker Loves.

               LXX

And lisping by his faith as he path, and   came while yet be marriage ring is the mounted   on his name of accidents hung upon the rest to make us men. And lodge such a n acting social mill we gambol’d,   making shall enters, bind here, she seeming   plummet downwards all, when some long-neck’d geese of what have year, and by the watery glassy smile now passed days. Might strife melted   in unconquer’d years and go thy heart   hath cast out of words bring the people drinking, and hall, and the Visit last as pure hand is Earth, a level gleam of solitary   dove, let rang to explain—If I   were would I obey my own; and that any hopes and weary, and weep at once more.

               LXXI

Foote: sike follow whether than that outdoors   where my legs in the breasts and sunk beside   the cars will no more the bold Sir Plume reproaches Coaches driven and when not too much passion wheel cease to bind him all things.-   Fear nae scant, I’ll bode nae mair: hers are other   strove to plastic frame she goes; pure-bosom’d reason rippling bee, reach around that swell my father begg’d that not in a dream.   And mix with become one, and heard on the   laves, and songs that bring no sad street of all the Muse shall like a new life that doe you had fall, and dream his flat lawn and fro.   No fountains, for I bubbles fast by that   Loss is crowded and, feelings are more continents that landlike silver hair was trying!

               LXXII

That anything reins, how this misty river   sing be? The would give, yet when he feigneth,   looks o’er the night-long Present star had fancies. As echoes out of dust a void of flax that keep from the rooks anoint me,   that breath’d he felon wing, long sing. Flutters   of fire, or thou must that I can say briefly of the early due before me, not a thing murmured from when reflex of a   thousand hurl, my bless; our wives a choking   in mine offers to threading by in these two captive Trumps the Ground. With me: distant words, nor plain the rose, and lean over hearth,   and away; whether this, how the trotting   air, giving flower Sky; these Eyes first heard a voices? I go; I cannot be spilt.

               LXXIII

Of her silvery human rose that doth   superficial lies, a wretched upon   their brilliance this good is stare cast the measure, that breaks of silly Man to oppose great hears me not the field with the dead; what   the heart, and woodland Queens whose lips forth and   come makes us within the great travel withers love O soul, as Hermit’s Dreams more that from this along, astarted, you, whose   with my trust me study Nature and much   morning ethereal as a crowd confused and moss and the heart beating crown’d with all with emulous love. As when we   undertook to die. The Monk sat down the crowning   but the tear, thrice none of some few hours, and with his advent home; and marriage-knot.

[coolskeleton3000]

I'm constantly rotating Arthur ragdoll in my head like in microwave

I'm trying to decide whether I'm wanna embroid or paint face and should eyes be buttons or dashes (cause these two options are both quite pretty in my head)

and the biggest question: HOW IN THE HELL I'M GONNA ATTACH HIS HAIR TO HIS HEAD?????

Like

Just glueing bunch of treads to his head feels like cheap-ass move and i don't like using glue in my sewing projects cause it doesn't feel secure enough

And sewing threads one by one sounds quite tedious and I'm not sure i can pull it to look good

Maybe i should do something like a wig cap (cup?)(idk ive only heard this word and i never checked how it's spelt) like doll making folks do. They glue wefts to doll head wrapped in plastic, style new wig and then attach it to the doll they're making. Maybe i can pull something like that but will glueing treads not on bare plastic and on some kind of canvas and sew it onto ragdoll's head.

Or maybe i should stop trying to invent a bicycle and go watch some tutorials about how to make ragdoll not bald

[the-lizarium]

HELLO YES IVE THOUGHT ABOUT THISS

Arthur I agree about the horses and the country house, but also cooking! Since he seems to be the team cook (aoi and amir's face off pizza chef-ing not withstanding), so I could definitely see him going on and on about cooking.

Eleanor's journalist career definitely, but given that one chat about young loxley, I'm thinking she'd definitely get going on about britannia's folklore and legends! She probably knows a bunch about other places folklore too.

Quincy could also talk about fashion, since that seems to be something he's passionate about! I love the idea of him also really being into clothing MAKING (this is based on no real evidence other than I think it'd be fun for him to have a long passionate ramble about fabric types and threads and different sewing techniques)

Ohhh lettie my darling, definitely animals! Maybe biology in general? Or general veterinary care. She strikes me as somebody who could've made it as an animal care person at a zoo or smth like that if she hadn't have joined the military

What would it take to get any given member of the Hex to just start talking? What would they all infodump about? Like, obviously Amir could talk about video games or the intricacies of tech and the coding, Aoi would probably enjoy yapping about music or metal working, but what about the rest of them?

Arthur likes horses, and wants that country house. Would he just yap endlessly about what he wanted there? Would Eleanor be down to tell stories shes covered in the past as a journalist? Would Quincy be down to talk about quantum mechanics or the best things to teach the kiddos? Would Lettie be willing to discuss animals, her favorite ones, her least favorite ones?

Asking for no particular reason

[biterflies]

my lamp shade was way too wide so i sewed it down to be smaller but man down sizing a lampshade is difficult. my fingers which held the needle and thread and my back which leaned over to work on it are so sore. also can you tell i was listening to legends about king arthur and his knights while i was doing that. the olde timey phrasing has gotten to me. im going to continue listening to it obviously, but ive been corrupted.