#pauper with a golden crown

[traditional-with-a-twist]

It Only Hurts

masterpost: Pauper with a Golden Crown

When Obi woke up, Shirayuki was sorting through jars by his bedside. She smiled when she saw his gaze on her, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Obi, how are you feeling?” 

He knew without checking that every wound had been carefully tended to and wrapped, but he took stock of himself anyway. Obi crooked a smile at Shirayuki. “Very well cared for, milady.”

She sighed. “Does anything still hurt?” she clarified patiently.

Obi made a show of sitting up and stretching. He managed to hide a wince as something twinged.

“Obi!” Shirayuki nearly upset her jars in her haste to get to his side. She paused, going back to right them, before hurrying over to his bed and pushing ineffectually at his chest. “You need to stay lying down!”

He took pity on her and lay back. “I’ve never felt better, milady,” he protested. 

Shirayuki reached over to fluff his pillow, which was just unnecessary. She clicked her tongue in response to his protest but said nothing else.

Obi took advantage of her closeness to search her face in the dim candlelight. She had her usual expression of fixed concentration as she fussed over him but there was a slowness to her movements.

“Milady?”

Shirayuki pulled back, finally satisfied with the state of his bedding, “Yes, Obi?”

He considered how to proceed. “How is she?” he decided on.

Shirayuki started. “Oh, Zouge? She’s back with her family.” A shadow fell over her face.

“They didn’t hurt her, milady,” Obi offered.

Shirayuki twisted her hands together. “I know, I…”

Obi put his hand over hers; he could feel them trembling. “Are you afraid, milady?”

Shirayuki shook her head. “No, Obi, I know I’m safe, but…” Tears gathered in her eyes. “The Claw, they took Zouge because they thought she might be me! And, then, you were hurt getting her back. It’s all my fault!” She pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to stifle her own sobs. “It’s this red hair—it’s a burden to everyone—”  

“No, milady,” Obi interrupted.

Shirayuki stared at him. “But—”

“You are not a burden, Shirayuki,” Obi insisted.

She slowly lowered her hands, still staring at him. “Obi…” 

He waited.

“Thank you, Obi.” Shirayuki smiled at last, and this time he could see the light in her eyes.

[thotpuppy]

ThotPuppy's Historical-themed Sterek Fic Recs

I know lots of folks have already done one of these! BUT! This is one of my favorite tropes, so... here are some of my faves! As a note, these largely range from ~vaguely medieval~ to incredibly well-researched SPECIFIC 'Medieval' to ~general regency ish~ to VERY Regency to various points in between. I am also aware of some as of yet unwritten but ~coming soon/eventually~ Pirate, Wild West, 1920s, and of course Medieval pieces coming out, so I MAY have to post an updated version in a year or so lol

Also... have one that's not here? PLEASE send it to me! Especially Medieval Fantasy. It's my FAVORITE and I KNOW there are more that I don't have/don't have saved and I'm very interested!

Golden Boy by trilliath Rated E, Complete, 127k+

A Most (Im)Proper Proposal by Welsh_Woman Rated E, Complete, 200k+

Entente by Siria Rated E, Complete, 44k+

A Desperate Arrangement by mikkimouse Rated E, Complete, 115k+

Foolish devouring things, build your castle in me by LunaCanisLupus_22 Rated E, Complete, 23k+

The Consort's Tourney by Lalaith_Quetzalli Rated T, Complete, 12k+

The Wolf in the Tower by exclamation Rated M, Complete, 57k+

Propriety and Pursuit by JenyaKeefe Rated E, Complete, 27k+

The Wrong Hale by Dextrous_Sinistrous Rated E, Complete, 77k+

The White Hart of Winter by DarkAthena Rated E, Complete, 65k+

The Marriage Contract by Palendrome Rated E, Complete, 12k+

The Omega Servant and the Alpha King by EmeraldTrident Rated E, Complete, 2.4k+

Where the Real Beasts Are by kaistrex Rated E, Complete, 109k+

I Made a Vow Out to the Dark by WhoGeek Rated T, Complete, 22k+

I'm Not Asking Questions, I'm Taking My Chances by keldjinfae Rated E, Complete, 80k+

Here are a few that I haven't had a chance to read yet, but the mere concepts have me in a chokehold:

Kingdoms Fall by Gia279 Rated M, Complete, 74k+

A Pauper's Prince (Revised) by Welsh_Woman Rated E, Complete, 83k+

A Wolf's Heart by Palendrome Rated E, Complete, 22k

Tangled Crowns by Halevetica Not Rated, WIP, 37k+

A Winter's Knight by changez Rated E, Complete, 5.5k+

I Won't Be Alone For The Rest Of My Life by blackorchids Rated G, Complete, 1.4k+

And lastly, would I really be that bitch if I didn't rec my own?

Triskelion Reign: the Shepherd, the Lamb, and the Wolf Rated E, WIP, 47k+

Tagging authors (i know of on here) so they know we out here loving and appreciating them! @Athenadark , @outtoshatter, @halevetica, @changez4sterek, @lalaithquetzallicaresi, you all write lovely works and I appreciate your efforts <3

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Did someone say Zoyalai coded songs by indie artists who deserve more attention? Probably not but I’m going to give you some anyway

Kanej version - Helnik version - Wesper version

Blossoms by The Amazing Devil Zoya of the garden vibes but also works very well for both of them- “I climb up the ladder, had I taken more care I might’ve seen all the rot in the rungs” “And I stare at the soldiers before me, all my blossoms that have waited to fall, and I walk and I walk and I walk and I walk knowing every last one of them is painted in light as I make myself acquainted with the Saint of Never Getting It Right”

Drinking Song by House Phone actually planning a crows edit to this one but it still fits - “I might have grown to be a king, more mighty than the kings you’ve known, who led us through a peaceful time and never simply occupied the throne but out of castle light I’d still be such a sight for sorest eyes, I’d be a pauper in disguise. I might have led the cavalry into glory in the battle field, and they would cast a monument in silver of my weathered shield but now, with all my medals pawned, no proof except my silver tongue to tell of all the valour I have won”

King by Florence + the Machine - “I am no mother, I am no bride, I am King. I need my golden crown of sorrow, my bloody sword to swing, I need my empty halls to echo with grand self-mythology. I am no mother, I am no bride, I am King”

Not Yet/Love Run (reprise) by The Amazing Devil - “It seems, oh it seems, to me, that you can’t sleep” “Sing me awake with a song about pirates and I will try to harmonise, and sip the sunlight from your eyes, oh sing me awake with all the things we’ll do today but instead we’ll build a den out of pillows and get drunk again” “It seems, oh it seems, to me, that you… you can’t dance for shit” “Where is god, ma? Where’s the vodka? If my old mum could see me now, oh how she’d howl” “Love run (love run) Love run (love run) For all the things you wished you’d done, run for all you know that’s coming, run to show that love’s worth running to”

Howl by Florence + the Machine - “If you could only see the beast you’ve made of me, I held it in my heart it seems you’ve set it running free” “The Saints can’t help me now, the ropes have been unbound, I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground” “A man who is pure of heart and says his prayers by night may still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright” “Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers, starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters”

King by The Amazing Devil - “I’ll keep the king, when you are gone away. Into darkness and howling I’ll keep him from drowning when our boat is untethered from the dock” “And the waves made of fingers and the darkness that lingers rips into the bark of our bones” “the sea and its waters, every unwanted daughter” “but our voices collide with each howl of the tide singing all hell and its fire waits for us”

As usual I might come back and add more if I think of them, and please always feel free to add more

[foul-z-fowl]

Soooo I know probably no one cares, but I was bored this afternoon and decided to make a list of historical period dramas following the history of the English monarchs

(Note: these are all DRAMAS. None of them are perfectly historically accurate, several of them are downright offensive. Also, several British monarchs are multiple depictions and some had none. I did my best, but this is by no means an exhaustive list. Do your own research on each of the films for any triggers or content warnings.)

William the Conqueror- The Early Life of William the Conqueror, up to the Battle of Hasting and the Invasion of 1066

1066- William the Conqueror, the invasion of England and the Battle of Hastings

[William II does not have any film dedicated to his life or his reign (that was usable, anyway]

[Henry I does not have any film dedicated to his life or his reign]

Pillars of Earth- This series does not focus on it, but it is set to the backdrop of the Anarchy, which is absolutely fascinating, and it is a crime we do not have any good films about Empress Matilda

The Lion in Winter- Henry II and Elanor of Aquitaine (another woman who needs her own miniseries)

Richard the Lionheart (2021)- Richard I

King John (1899!)- John I [ALL of the other movies with these two were fucking Robin Hood movies]

[Henry III has never been depicted in film]

Outlaw King- Edward I

Edward II- Edward II (this is Piers Gaveston erasure that I could only find this one film)

The Dark Avenger- Edward III (and Edward the Black Prince as a bonus!)

Richard II- Richard II (any adaptation works, there are multiple)

The Hollow Crown- Richard II, Henry IV, and Henry V

The King- Henry IV and Henry V

[Henry VI has no film depictions of his life or reign. WHICH IS A CRIME GIVE ME MARGARET OF ANJOU YOU FUCKING COWARDS!)]

The White Queen- Edward IV, Edward V, Richard III, and Henry VII (plus a fuckton of other historical figures)

Richard III: The Princes in the Tower- Richard III, Edward V

Richard III- Richard III (any adaptation will work, there are multiple. Be forewarned that although modern portrayals tend to be sympathetic, Shakespeare thought he was dick and it shows.)

The White Princess- Henry VII (plus his family)

The Spanish Princess- The last years of Henry VII's reign, the beginning of Catherine of Aragon and Henry VIII's marriage, and Prince Arthur! (Still salty we haven't had a KING Arthur yet)

The Tudors- Henry VII (+plus his six wives and Mary I) (Henry VII has an absolute fuckton of movies about each of his wives, I recommend picking a few more from the list) (also, be warned that this show is as historically inaccurate as shit, but good for drama)

The Prince & The Pauper- Edward VI (I don't think this one is very historically accurate either, but the most interesting thing about this Edward was his birth and death sooooo)

Lady Jane- Jane Grey

[Mary I has no film depictions of her life or reign (GIVE US A MOVIE YOU COWARDS!) (She does appear in the Tudor's and in some of Elizabeth I's shows though)]

Becoming Elizabeth- Elizabeth I (plus her siblings, I think)

Reign- Mary, Queen of Scots (VERY historically inaccurate, but one of my favorite period dramas. Mary's story is also very important to Elizabeth I and James I's)

Mary, Queen of Scots- Mary, Queen of Scots & Elizabeth I (2018) (this show covers the time in between Mary arriving in England and being executed)

Elizabeth: The Golden Age- Elizabeth I

Elizabeth I- Elizabeth I (2005)

Mary & George- James I & VI (This one isn't out yet, but none of James' other movies are that great- like AT ALL, and this one looks like its shaping up to be interesting)

[Charles I has no film depictions of his life or reign (which is very disappointing- this guy was so awful he got his head cut off and caused a civil war! Where's the vilification?)]

To Kill a King- Oliver Cromwell (+ a little Charles I)

Cromwell- Oliver Cromwell

Charles II: The Power and the Passion- Charles II

[James II has no film dedicated to his life or reign (another one that's a shame, this guy was so unpopular he was ALSO chased off the throne. Down with the Tudors, I want to see some Stuart movies)]

[William III and Mary II have no film dedicated to their joint reign.]

The Favourite- Anne I

[George I has no film dedicated to his life or reign]

[George II has no film dedicated to his life or reign]

Queen Charlotte- George III (and Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz)(this one also isn't out yet, but it will be in 2023)

The Madness of King George- George III (and George IV)

A Royal Scandal- George IV

[William IV has no film dedicated to his life or reign]

The Young Victoria- Victoria I

Mrs. Brown- Victoria I

Victoria & Abdul- Victoria I

Edward the Seventh- Edward VII

[George V has no film dedicated to his life or reign]

The Woman He Loved- Edward VIII (and Wallis Nazi Simpson)

Bertie and Elizabeth- George VI (and Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon)

The King's Speech- George VI (and Elizabeth Bowes Lyon

The Crown- Queen Elizabeth II

Spencer- Charles III (and Princess Diana)

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Begged & Borrowed Time (ii, ao3)

(Chapter two: Finding fae in her father's dining room, Nesta is furious— and so is Cassian, when Nesta decides to take a seat at the table. Rewrite of the dinner table argument scene from ACOMAF, with some of the dialogue lifted directly from canon) (prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

There were holes in her clothes.

It was the first thing he noticed as she stood in that gilded doorway, silhouetted by the dining room candlelight. A whisper of breath passed her lips as sharp eyes searched, found Elain still seated at the head of the table. Beneath the veil of Rhys’ glamour, Cassian watched her the way a wolf might watch a doe, hidden in the darkness, waiting to pounce. He could practically hear the erratic beat of her heart, the way it stuttered and tripped as her eyes flitted to Feyre. 

She stood like a queen. Like a conqueror, an empress— straight spine, set shoulders, so poised Cassian would have bet his life she’d been a dancer, once. Standing there, glamoured and separated from her by the length of the cherrywood table, Cassian dragged his warrior’s gaze over her shoulders, the curve of her arm, right down to her wrist, her fingers still curled around the door handle. She seemed as if she’d spent her entire life in the schoolrooms of princes, her movements shrouded by grace, and yet—

There were holes in her clothes.

Ones she’d stitched, tried to cover. Linen sleeves edged with blackwork— elegant and pretty, but the only purpose to mask her fraying hems. A scarf was wrapped around her shoulders, pretty too, but only to hide the threadbare fabric of her dress, to make up for the worn lining of her cloak. Cassian tilted his head, curiosity running through him like a wildfire, spearing through his veins and setting him alight as he watched her take another breath. He had spent long enough living in poverty to recognise those stitches. Old tricks— ones he had witnessed firsthand in Windhaven, watching the widows stitching their own sleeves, sewing flowers and stars around hems in black thread, repairs in the guise of embellishment.

The golden handle beneath her fingers glinted, the cut-glass of the chandelier above casting her in smooth, warm light. So much wealth— yet the eldest Archeron stood in the doorway as a pauper. Cassian took in her pale skin, completely devoid of jewellery save for the thin silver wedding band on her third finger. He might have thought she paled in comparison to her sisters, to the gown Rhys had given Feyre or the silk of Elain’s skirts. The glitter of Feyre’s jewels or the crown that topped her golden brown hair, the shining pearls at Elain’s neck. Nesta might have seemed like a shadow compared to her younger sisters, but somehow… somehow Cassian didn’t find Nesta paling at all. It defied logic, argued against all reason, but somehow, Nesta was even more elegant than either of them.

And it made every sense Cassian possessed more aware, more alert, as she stepped slowly, purposefully into the dining room.

Nesta.

She was a beautiful paradox, a riddle with no answer. A pauper that might bring continents to their knees, a queen without a kingdom. A cruel and selfish beauty, whose name burst from sweet Elain’s lips, was muttered carefully by Feyre. She was an enigma Cassian couldn’t figure out, one which set him alight and doused his senses all at once. Made his frown deepen as her name echoed in his mind, made his hand tighten about his blade even as he stood a little straighter, his eyes growing a little sharper.

I went into the forest and taught myself to hunt, Feyre had said, the first time they had broken bread around the same table. I kept us all alive. He’d never forget how the Cursebreaker had looked back then, sitting in the House of Wind. Broken and shadowed, Feyre had been little more than a waif, baring her soul to fae she’d never met, had no reason to trust. 

Her life had been one of sacrifice, and what had Nesta done, as her sister ventured into the woods? What sacrifices had she made, whilst Feyre crossed the wall and gave her life to save his people?

Nothing. Nesta had given nothing, done nothing, and Cassian watched still, barely moving beneath the weight of Rhys’ glamour as the curiosity burning through his veins turned to ice, turned to ire. He remembered well what it was to be in the snow alone, cold and starving. He knew the call of death, how it felt to dance along the knife-edge of starvation. Standing in that dining room, surrounded by opulence, Cassian shouldn’t have been reminded of all the winters he’d spent shaking and cold. His fingers kept a tight hold of his dagger, because Nesta’s cold stare only reminded him of everything his own childhood had lacked, everything he’d struggled for all those years ago. She incited something within, something long buried, and Cassian thought of all those who hadn’t cared whilst he starved in the snow, who hadn’t extended a hand as he starved.

And yet— 

His gaze snagged again on the pattern sewn at her wrist, the black thread masking hems that were torn.

He had heard the worry in her voice as she’d hurried down the hallway, the panic as she’d called Elain’s name. He wondered where that panic had been when Feyre first picked up a bow and arrow.

Wondered, too, why she stood in that doorway, imperious in threadbare clothes.

Feyre’s chair slid back across the parquet floor, and Cassian dragged his eyes away from Nesta Archeron for the first time since she’d thrown open the door. Lapis jewels glinted as Feyre moved, but Nesta barely even blinked as the sister she hadn’t seen for months stepped forward, took first one tentative step forwards, then two. Her blue-grey eyes were like a storm breaking over tropical waters, and that storm raged harder, more furiously, as those tempest eyes moved right past Feyre and slid, instead… to him.

Had Cassian not been able to feel the weight of Rhys’ glamour, he might have sworn his brother had dropped it.

Nesta kept her storm-cloud eyes fixed on him, her lips pulling up at the corners, a shadow of a sneer. He didn’t understand, didn’t comprehend, as her relentless gaze shifted first to Azriel, and then to Rhys. Still, he felt the glamour, felt the thrum of Rhys’ power, and didn’t understand.

It was only when she hissed, when he heard her heartbeat pound that Cassian finally understood. When she spat, “What are they doing here?” that he realised.

The eldest Archeron could see through a glamour.

***

Bad things come in threes, Nesta had been told as a girl.

A superstitious governess, an old woman who wore iron at her wrists and hunted for four-leaf clovers and rowan berries to hang at their windows. Bad things come in threes. Nesta had never paid much heed before, but as she stood frozen in her father’s doorway, she wondered if there might have been some truth in it after all, if she might have just found out the hard way. Because watching as she lingered at the threshold, blades out and glinting in the golden light, were three fae from above the wall, watching as if she were the intruder.

As if she were the one out of place.

The words had left her before she could think. The most pertinent question not why Feyre was here or how, not why Elain had let them in or sent the staff away, but what are they doing here? These monstrous creatures, standing in her father’s dining room and pretending civility— what are they doing here?

Her eyes went briefly to Elain, her sister’s fingers worrying a napkin as she looked to the doorway with anxious eyes. Silence ruled, broken only by the steady ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner. Tick, tick, like the beating of Nesta’s heart, the chimes in time with Feyre’s steps as she walked forward on smooth feet, more lithe than Nesta remembered. She frowned, but didn’t dwell on it, couldn’t, because Feyre came to a halt a handful of feet away, as if Nesta were the one to be wary of.

She would have laughed. Would have huffed, had nausea not been climbing up her throat, fury bubbling deep within.

Blinking, she moved her gaze past her sister. 

The elegant one caught her eye first. Standing closest to Elain, he lingered behind the chair to her right, as though he’d only just vacated it. He was smooth and refined, all raven hair and violet eyes, in a jacket so immaculately tailored it must have cost a king’s ransom— but a darkness seemed to radiate from him, a hum that made her hair stand on end. His proximity to Elain chilled her, suddenly made her assess the distance between his hands and Elain’s throat. Would she make it in time, if he decided to take a knife and drag it along her sister’s neck?

Would he kill her too, this fae who regarded her with starburst eyes, entirely unfeeling and as cruel and distant as the night sky above?

He felt cold— cold, ancient and glacial, and Nesta didn’t miss the way his lips thinned, pressed into a firm line as he looked at her. Disapproval and disdain flickered across his face as she met his eyes, narrowed her own, and she wanted to rage— wanted to ask how he dared look at her like that in her own home but, of course, this wasn’t her home. Never had been. 

Feyre took another step forwards, and Nesta found this cruel, elegant fae’s eyes breaking from hers to find her sister. He softened— as though Feyre were his beacon, a light shining in his darkness, the ice in his eyes melted. The stiffness in his jaw muted just enough to make Nesta turn away, to make it unbearable to watch as he looked at Feyre as though she held the entire world in her palms. 

Instead she turned her attention to the fae standing behind Feyre, lingering by the seat her sister had risen from. He had the most beautiful face Nesta had ever seen, all sharp lines and clean beauty— otherworldly, preternatural. The generous sweep of his lips, the golden brown skin set aglow by the light of the candles should have been enchanting, should have made her want to be lost in him, drown in him forever. The deep blue stones on the backs of his hands and the matching one shining in the centre of his leather-bound chest glimmered, the deep azure reminding her of oceans she’d never see, skies she’d never stand beneath, and Nesta might have looked longer at those jewels, might have admired them, but her gaze went to the dagger in his hand, and the illusion shattered. He was beautiful— but he could snap her neck in a heartbeat. Could plunge that dagger through her chest before she could blink.

And then there were the wings. His rounded ears had almost been enough to convince her there was something human hiding beneath that flesh, but there was nothing human about those wings, nor that ethereal beauty. Nothing human at all in the wisps of darkness that moved across his arms as though they were sentient. He tilted his head as though he could hear them, and Nesta wondered if he could— if they whispered to him, somehow knew every secret she’d ever kept. She refused to look away, refused to let the breath tremble in his throat as she looked at this fae shrouded in shadow. Only when his eyes flicked across the room did she blink, did she relent.

And then Nesta looked to the third one.

The moment she had opened the door, her eyes had fallen on him. The question left her lips - what are they doing here - as he caught her attention, like a rabbit in a snare. She had watched his eyes widen, watched his lips part, but she hadn’t bothered to take him in properly, too consumed by her shock, her surprise. Now, standing beside the elegant one on the other side of her father’s dining table, Nesta found that this one was bigger than the other two, his beauty far more rugged. Deep brown hair fell almost to his shoulders, half tied up in a haphazard bun. A ruby earring winked in one rounded ear, matching the crimson stones that adorned him the way they adorned the other, blue-stoned, one. Like the other, he wore leathers that shone, smooth and oiled, an armour that was mould to him, flowing and curving over every inch of his powerful form. And like the other, a pair of membranous wings stretched above his shoulders, bat-like and unmistakably fae, marking him so definitively as other. They twitched, rustled, as he stretched them and Nesta didn’t know if she wanted to leave or scream.

She was fairly certain he’d done it on purpose.

Hazel eyes looked back at her, prowling over her skin as she found herself unable to look away. She wondered if this was some kind of enchantment, some fae trick, that kept her eyes pinned to his, kept her standing motionless as his gaze turned assessing, predatory. His lips curved slightly as he watched her sneer, as if she’d just issued a challenge he longed to accept. Those monstrous wings stretched once more, the talons at the tips glinting as wickedly as the blade in his hand, and as a dark smirk played on his smooth lips, Nesta wasn’t just fairly certain he’d done it on purpose. She was absolutely certain.

Yet something about him… resonated. Made her drag her eyes over his shoulders, the muscles lining every inch of him. Like the other, he gripped a blade, but where the blue-stoned fae held his blade like it was something deadly, a weapon he could use with terrifying precision, this red-stoned fae held it like a lover. Like it were nothing but an extension of his arm, his fingers caressing the hilt, his thumb just barely brushing the steel. Nesta dropped her eyes to the blade, to his fingers, then above, to the leather gauntlet housing the ruby stone. It glittered, pulsed, and though something in her stirred, though some part of her appreciated the beauty, she grimaced. Like a mirror, this third fae considered her too, all easy confidence and assured, lethal grace as his lip curled as hers did, pulling back over his teeth in a silent snarl.

The blue-jewelled fae cast a glance at the first, the elegant one, who looked to Feyre and inclined his head in silent question.

As though they could speak without uttering a word, Feyre nodded. “Nesta,” she began, taking another step forward as Nesta took a step back. She was wearing a fucking crown, and the sight of it made something inside Nesta recoil, something bitter and aching start to keen as her youngest sister closed the distance between them.

Of course, she thought as Feyre looked at her imploringly. Of course Feyre had found her happily ever after above the wall. Of course she’d found someone to put a crown on her head. Nesta wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, as she wondered for the hundredth time why she’d bothered taking her vows at all.

“Let me introduce you,” Feyre said, holding out hands, her palms facing upwards as if this were a plea. “This is Rhysand. He’s the High Lord of the Night Court, and this is Azriel, his—”

“I don’t care who they are,” Nesta interjected, her voice cold. Why should she? Hadn’t her life been upended by fae enough already? Hadn’t the creatures above the wall done enough? She didn’t want to know their names, didn’t want to stand under the same roof as any of them. The elegant one - Rhysand - bowed his head when her sister said his name, but his gaze as cold as the tone of her own voice. The beautiful one - Azriel - shared a look with the other one, the big one, whose name Feyre hadn’t had chance to mention, and Nesta had to work to keep her breathing even, to keep all of the rage and the bitterness from consuming her completely. She inhaled steadily, calmed her racing heart and asked, brusquely, “Why are they in this house?”

There was no answer Feyre could give that would suffice, no excuse good enough, and Nesta didn’t look to Elain. She wouldn’t look at the sister that had opened the door and welcomed them in. She asked Feyre, kept her attention on Feyre, and as her youngest sister tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, Nesta damn near fainted. Lapis earrings glinted, but it wasn’t the jewels that made Nesta suddenly feel as if the world was tilting, as if her centre of gravity had been knocked off balance. 

Feyre had pointed ears. Fae ears, and suddenly Nesta noticed all of it, everything she’d brushed off before. Her sister was slightly taller, her movements smoother, her skin flawless. She had thought it might have been the side effects of living above the wall for so long, but it was more than that, it was worse than that—

“I— we need your help,” Feyre said, cutting through Nesta’s inner turmoil, the inner grief that sent her spinning. 

The breath she sucked in was so sharp it hurt her throat. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and she didn’t bother to calm it, not this time, because what had they done—

Feyre had gone above the wall to save the man she loved, and what had they done to her—

Nesta wasn’t like Elain. She couldn’t show her love through kind words and embraces. She wasn’t gentle and soft. She was sharp at the edges, but whilst her relationship with her youngest sister had never been easy, Nesta couldn’t pretend that seeing her sister as fae didn’t bother her, didn’t hurt her. Her sister stood before her now transformed into the very creature they been taught their entire lives to fear, and it hurt. Nesta cast her eyes to Rhysand, wondering if he was the one to do this to her.

“The last time I saw you, you were going over the wall to save your fae lord,” Nesta said, her voice dry, her throat even drier. She couldn’t take her eyes away from those pointed ears, and as Feyre looked at her with shuttered eyes, Nesta couldn’t help but draw away, take a step back, because her heart was pounding, aching, and all she could see were those ears— ears that changed her irrevocably, took her away from her family for good. There was no coming back for Feyre now. No life for her below the wall, and Nesta couldn’t help the grimace that flickered on her face, the agony that danced for the briefest of moments in her eyes.

The last time she had seen Feyre, they’d been painting in the garden. The day after the ball their father had thrown, they had sat together on the lawn, and Feyre had told her all sorts of stories. Tales from above the wall, whispered as her paintbrush moved across the canvas. She remembered the soft laugh Feyre had let out at Nesta’s efforts, her gentle hand guiding Nesta’s wrist as she tried and failed to recreate Elain’s flower garden in watercolour. It was the first time Nesta had stayed at the house since her marriage. The first time she’d been alone with her sisters. Tomas had no interest in attending a preening society ball, and so Nesta had gone alone, and for those brief, precious hours, Nesta had allowed herself to pretend that all was as it was before. Before they lost the estate, before she signed her life away, before Feyre left. She’d sat in the garden and painted a dreadful picture that she’d taken home with her, unable and unwilling to throw it away.

She could still hear the birdsong of that day, tangled up with Feyre’s musical laughter. As Nesta looked again at those pointed ears, the laughter died. The sunlight faded, and the memory of Feyre smiling, her fingertips stained pink and blue, grew heavy.

“What happened to you?” she breathed, her stopped heart shattering, breaking under the weight.

Feyre glanced over her shoulder to Rhysand, to the two other fae that loomed behind her. Rhysand gave the barest nod, and, as though Feyre had given him an order, all three of them retreated. They returned to the table, sinking back down into chairs Nesta doubted could support their weight. Feyre only held out a hand, silently begging Nesta to take it, and as Nesta’s fingers slid over Feyre’s, feeling the softness, the smoothness of her new skin…

Feyre told her all of it.

***

“Please,” Elain said after Feyre had finished, “Sit. Eat. I didn’t know you were coming today or I would have…”

Nesta looked like she might faint, but still, her shoulders were straight, her spine stiff. He had to give it to her. She hadn’t blanched as Feyre repeated the tale she’d told Elain. As Rhys explained why they were here, what they needed, Cassian sat at the table and watched each blow land, watched those eyes turn dark with depthless grief and sorrow. And never, not once, did Nesta Archeron flinch.

It was something he would have commended in his own warriors. Something he would have respected. In her, it only puzzled him.

When Elain spoke, he watched as Nesta’s eyes flitted to the head of the table. A flicker of warmth crept into her gaze, just the barest hint of softness, but Nesta said nothing as Elain trailed off. Her eyes landed on the spread of food laid out instead, and when she swallowed Cassian recognised the look in her eyes.

He knew hunger.

Had felt its pang long enough to recognise the keen edge of it in another, and as he beheld her pale cheeks and thin wrists, Cassian knew that if Nesta Archeron was anything, it was hungry.

But why? He studied her as Feyre pulled out a chair, wondering why, in a family possessed of such wealth, Nesta had holes in her clothes and an ache in her stomach. Perhaps it served her right— perhaps this was what she deserved. If Nesta was hungry, perhaps it was time she picked up a bow herself, ventured into the woods the way she’d let Feyre. Ice crawled, crept through his blood, and even as he thought it, he knew it was cruel. Knew it was too harsh, but something about her rankled, wormed its way under his skin. Reminded him of all the things he’d rather forget.

Smoothly, Azriel rose, giving up his seat so Nesta could sit beside Feyre. The spymaster rounded the table and took the seat beside Cassian instead, shadows dancing over the silver. But Cassian didn’t look at either of his brothers as Nesta sat in the chair directly across from him. He rested his chin atop a curled fist as he dragged his stare over her, unable to look away. She was as ready for battle as any of his soldiers, and had things been different, he might have welcomed her at his side in a battle. 

“What are you looking at?” she breathed, her voice so soft it took him a moment to realise she was speaking to him. She didn’t lift her gaze, not at first. Didn’t look up from where she straightened the knife beside her plate. Oh, that voice was soft, like velvet brushing against his skin— but her words were barbed, venom dancing on her tongue as she spat. At last, those lethal eyes lifted. Met his and clashed like two blades in the midst of battle. Storm-grey brushed hazel, and just as when swords collide in war, when sparks are drawn from steel, Cassian could have sworn something sparked then. His anger or hers, he wasn’t sure, but something— something caught, an ember beginning to burn.

Cassian raised a brow. The siphon on his hand flared, the dull ruby turning brilliant for half a heartbeat, casting crimson over the silverware. His lip curled as he took her in again, from the golden-brown braids right down to the thin band on her ring finger.

“Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing,” he answered flatly, his distaste brewing, bubbling, boiling as he watched this woman sitting across from him. She was as poised as anything, the sweep of her neck so perfectly elegant, and if she had been literally anybody else, he might have drowned in those eyes. Might have let himself appreciate her beauty. But she was Nesta Archeron— Feyre’s cold and selfish witch of a sister, and so Cassian made a sound of discontent, his lip curling even further. “Someone who let a fourteen year old child go out in that forest so close to the wall.”

Beneath the table, Azriel’s foot connected with Cassian’s ankle, and a warning glance from Rhys had him almost hesitating— but the words were flowing too freely, and he couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to stop, as he looked at this mortal woman who needled him by just walking into a room. Nesta had married herself off to save her own skin— left her sisters behind, left them to starve, and his heart hammered in his chest as he looked at her, at that wedding ring, because he’d have given his life to save Rhys, would have done anything—

And she had done nothing.

“Your sister died to save my people. Don’t expect me to sit here and say nothing as you sneer at her for a choice she didn’t get to make.”

It shouldn’t have affected him as much as it did.

Her stone-cold eyes lingered on his face. His shoulders, over his chest, to each of his siphons before sliding away as though he were nothing. As though she had judged his worth and found him entirely wanting. With a grace he was certain was meant to taunt him, Nesta only placed three slices of roast lamb on her plate, entirely unconcerned, entirely disinterested. As though he hadn’t spoken at all.

The dismissive shrug shouldn’t have scorched his soul, shouldn’t have been the spark to ignite the fire, and yet as she turned to Feyre, his lips drew back into a snarl. Vicious and animalistic and fae, his siphons pulsed, and the insult to Feyre, the insult to his people, wasn’t something he wanted to let go. He had been forced to sit back for fifty years as Rhys made sacrifice after countless sacrifice, and it had torn him apart, ripped his soul in two. Yet Nesta had no qualms about Feyre doing the same, and perhaps he was judging her, perhaps he didn’t know her well enough to comment, but his own anger was still too raw, his own feelings of helplessness still all too clear in his mind for him to sit there and stay silent.

She could have done more— she should have done more, should have done all the things he’d wanted to do for Rhys when he was trapped Under the Mountain. Cassian hadn’t been able to save his brother, but Nesta could have spared Feyre, could have saved her. Indignation burned through him, settling his blood alight as Nesta took her first bite. He scowled as she ate, but she didn’t raise her eyes to his again. The food before him, bland before, was suddenly entirely inedible. The conversation around him picked up again, drifted to life above the wall, but Cassian wasn’t listening. Dimly, he heard Elain ask about the wings, but he couldn’t answer, hadn’t been paying enough attention. It was left to Azriel to explain flight to the middle Archeron. Cassian’s eyes were still fixed on the first.

She wasn’t a doe at all. She was as much a wolf as any of them, something feral lurking beneath all that poise and grace. Something as desperate and hungry as the beast that writhed beneath his own skin, something that made his blood race and his lips pull back. She looked at him again, just once, her own lips twisting incrementally into another sneer, and Cassian felt his heart hammer and pulse, felt Azriel kick him under the table once more.

She incited him, made a stone cold fury bubble in his veins and yet something else moved beneath it all, too. Something entirely foreign and unlooked for, his blood singing as her imperious, impassive gaze met his. Cassian wanted to test her name on his tongue. Wanted to see how it would feel, to call to him this woman filled with contradiction.

His eyes snagged on that ring again. A pale silver, the shine dull, muted. 

“You want Elain to take this letter,” Nesta said, not looking up from her plate as she spoke. Rhys regarded her above the rim of his wineglass, violet eyes blinking as she sliced the cut of lamb cleanly with her knife. A lethal beauty, good with a blade. “But she has no part in it. I’ll take your letter myself.”

Feyre swallowed, half turning in her seat as she looked at her sister with gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you, Nesta.”

Nesta shook her head sharply. “Don’t think I’m not furious you asked this of her in the first place.” Her cold gaze flicked up to Feyre, a gaze that had Cassian’s gut roiling all over again, had Rhys’ dampened power thrumming. “You have no right to come here and—“

“No right?” he cut in, his voice low. As dangerous and deadly as anything, the voice he used for Illyrian warlords, for soldiers out of line. Nesta stilled, her furious eyes looking at him with a ferocity, a vehemence, that threatened to steal his breath. “She has more right than any.”

“Elain is engaged,” Nesta insisted, speaking as though he were a child, as though he were too stupid to understand. He gritted his teeth, but her voice rose as her fury mounted. “If he or his father found out any of you have been within a mile of this place—“

“Ah,” Cassian said, leaning back in his chair and feigning indifference, even as the high wooden back dug uncomfortably into his wings. “That explains the iron. I did wonder.” He glanced at Elain, at the ring on her finger. Her cheeks reddened. “Most brides tend to want silver or gold.” Cassian folded his arms over his chest, and wondered whether it was inevitable, whether the table between he and Nesta was always destined to become a battlefield. “At least your husband knew that.”

He could have sworn her breath caught. Could have sworn he saw pain and regret flicker behind those tempest eyes for just a heartbeat— but then it was gone, and Nesta was rising from her chair, her pale hands gripping the edge of the table as her fury threatened to boil over. Cassian watched, his own fury matching hers, because he didn’t know why, but something about this woman put him on edge. Something about those eyes, and her voice, and the way she carried herself… It made him feel like the world beneath him was shaking, like everything he’d come to know was suddenly brought into question, because when Feyre had told him the tale of her eldest sister, he hadn’t imagined her to have eyes like those. Hadn’t imagined her to see through a fucking glamour, hadn’t imagined her to barely even blink when he took her on. 

Not even the fae above the wall dared to look at him the way she did. 

“My husband—” she began, but trailed off. Cassian had the distinct impression that Nesta Archeron was somebody who didn’t lose track of her words easily, who didn’t let her sentences go unfinished. She shook her head, sank back down into her chair. “My husband isn’t relevant to this discussion.” She paused, her fingers finding the stem of her wineglass. Her hand didn’t tremble as she lifted it and drank deeply, but she set it down so hard once she was done that Cassian was surprised the stem didn’t crack. Didn’t shatter.

The wine stained her lips crimson, leaving them shining, glistening in the low light, and Mother above, he couldn’t move. Could barely even blink.

“I’ll take your damn letter, and Elain stays out of it,” she said at last, voice filled with finality.

Rhys cleared his throat, broke the silence that had settled uncomfortably over each of them. He glanced at Feyre, offered her a small smile as he gave Nesta a single nod— a bow of the head, a dip of the chin. “Very well,” he said, his voice containing an echoing darkness, a flicker of authority that ended the conversation once and for all.

Beside him, Elain nodded too, reaching for her own wine.

“Since that’s settled,” she said, smiling weakly as she tried to force civility back upon the table. “I assume you’ll all want beds for the night?”

Tagging: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria

[libidomechanica]

When lookd for much think in few world looser Lasse

A ballad sequence

               1

Some content groan for wag, thought in     tears, to breeze. Live in his pomp substance at hys whyte hero.     When look’d for much think in

few world looser Lasse now too ripened     palace found them: knows howling on, from out onely     tower: but being, sooth,

I deem for this house it singings:     and sparents’ bones above to the whole in the saw him and     ever the river—Then

to spill. Within your flockes, globing     and business, can in eyes the splendor. That I would brine:     in vigour to that is

as real and ripe: my head. Nauseous     range or I have see thy reach us equal fires fades! Or     duches, prop not admit

of sorrows nice tried all me moon:-     it see thy wearing time- betters, if the said, I tell if     that’s and springs, yet being

river agoe, that which hurried     and loud betwixt me, I do? Agony of Indian     snake heroic complying

her be enjoys, that for that     in a whale strikes wise to promised float, blacke of Growth to sings     save the day by the has

maids were all carrets of a king’s     ne’er wanting mind, who puff from him the question there, to drain’d,     and every true a pauper.

By that o’er your at them, said—     ’Lady, I pitied: and Mary! Am I, where then birk,     how all argument. Or

if thy golden that heaven as     t was noble minds are whose by the kind of the natures     and niche. In verse, to clime?

               2

There is drink the outer chains flower     place. Faint that old-fashion’s trees, voice and country cheering     with clown, and below thinnest

odour, of her matron-like     some haunt thrust in the call her left it wast thee, wit, not so     happened his wan on me

laughty crown paper-flamest and     a noblest keep in wretch, and to call wiles she cast in life     abhorring ale evil-

starry it on the rolling the     prise. It is they were grand all seraphs, I cal must and     enterest, a gentlemen

sav’d but now, and every glee, and     permit’s perch, hover’d strength and an old with his the moon, with     seely our live and earth

remove. The stay.—Lust to flower     festerday it pour’d fold make fashion, we sweet comes across,     desire buryed vp

his subjects the rain’d half-closets,     voice; and, be my late-writ leap there! A body who dotes,     to dressed tasted with the

libertee and my birth only passe     hands liked he harbengers, all to they met wind, in piece     to look thought, as river’d

hour but thy of the raigne, if he     took wings of such a squalid stole better shame. In light the     Muses, the Norther

majesty young, ’twad be delight seemed     the stern his Jean. The bridegroom and though I clung above, we     knots of sorrow to keep.

And hurl’d me sits we wound, but for     Years mad with many care. That can be fynd, as steries, nor     she thine wote, who, mixing

breath-nighing spring to their gay,     great any good, but a noses will be you for all are     white flagrant you too. Your

wealth of cheating they must not say     miles, as if upon this I probably took for half raught;     lamia, regarden.

               3

His yerely graces lesse the     rural westerday, the host. And entent; but because turns.     Is good before. Along

I will stand such a pillours such     cool’d then my sad in their power to cope string love, well that     hem keep the Geaunt to be

foeman’s that Sphinx, who mark tress’d his     little she sea, or more willing of them in our direction:     to win who likes with

mine eyes, my freely, the light a     fine cages for the Sorrow long the dull-ey’d nigh turrets     over than you to should

do suggest brink to expect lie     hirelit look’d as the Sword-wind art cries, to former, the     great oftention, to keep

it shall pass the good a book thoughts     would not with a children forest go, and death, or thousand     the should have a bastion

as made can be you and thee of     hazel eyed, all one, exceeds must nip a far-spoomings fails;     and thereby thou years? Bene

dress. So Stellas for man, which     he think of Mortal lovely tas-ke. There where wont with cheer,     without thy poppy thro

endlesse were it is abused. How     shall bow, of corner fabricius from women, barr’d with a     suburb her pain. Tore this

better mouth, unsafely just,     you curtain, founded sister held it shall we mought, that live     and them. Excelled wardes

of the knuckles curlews call, so     longing all thee and thereat thee, and village freshening, while     I scalding reigns pale now

that my widow drown’d foreign land:     throught to stiff twinkle into the rusty knight, let me had     the other for that’s the

shine impressing again. Are all     out a rich. Repelled on the virtue on, from its swell one     little ease, and curb was

the there are muscles of Temptations     that is no hope, we do. The empty our fathering     Muse and gave me the first

a woman’s public fault in deed,     no soft bloosming tears, and the will on to enjoy? Our care     found his born is gone of

his wandred: so kindly knows-what:     for him by changed however love his break as the moon in     woe! Far dear selves most blossom

to know too harmony, pulses     after more like all bloomed to her Kiddie at through chequer’d,     but where touches

rhetoric can beaks past as men to     him to life is: though a squares dead was heart; for one leg stuff     might, to groan for I heart.

               4

Escape me—who lay that him, wept.     With it favors neithers, of hys heart. The fate of reach. And     men, and still my passion,

I trowe, and never had been, not     with act control. Numbers, but still you may’st thou     A boon one misusage.

               5

A woman: the curlews calf at     eight but a strength want with disguise. With other selfe that does     were a winters Russian

channel fuming case? For my garden     they mighty head Uranian came her ivied carcasses     every burial.

You think that once, lute, that what a     woman’s the look’d inspir’d Legitimacy’s cheek; no poets     simples. No crimson

come, where misse no long whose pair, its     Incompress, deigns that know not be ages equal fire champak     odours. It could pass,

nor ever held his purbling vanish     fly posses bared no play he shade ourselves: which none bittour     by thy heart when I

have took her throne whose Attribute     observant. I myself, a friends or mother eye. A rich     we never subtile

love in the light, and thee. On the     loth the villanaged, if not by ethe. World be, thro’ the     motes to know with simple

burdenous was prove: the striving     on her adieu my darkness on the rampant been and lips,     a shepeheard old

Apollonius: somethinking in     the vault into him; and lovely Scylla and much utmost     import and to his old.

               6

And like th’ other to mone.     To forgetful utter’d, that so true t is placed Lanskoi.     Spring like rock to the

sugar, thouh I lay embalmer     of the new-found shall those were that Belt me go. May takes me     plumes, lest stops, still impressed,

will I will place, our part; for any     sigh because he fynd, and I’ve canker-bloom’d slowly left     to me you faint and jewel’d

down, and day, and had besprings,     they writing moments are end in midst the tails. So stedfast?     Her unto go, what concerned

and honey Bee, whose juggling     for such truth, I do not why, because and all divert come—     to dear, get a little

else. And after reaps not blown, and     therefore met wither, said did impregnable knight. Up past     the world’s the people! Now

strong wind with that mad spleen, come that     the loving to blossom, that’s this moment’s clamour approven     in the Rosemaree?

Both, and yet closes dark as the     gos are no more, still, beauty joined the new apparely     received, the sand? I looke

of slaves, while single liv’d stay: or     like a gleam delicitas. With muffled that mouth. ’ And fool,     you art and curse, they helpe?

Gifts put the that this aim: beside—     nor clamoured oftention reckoned walls below, as still     the finger last with vision

of Lovers’ to a tenderstand     think you too so mean to us mone. That thy lossessed     to make it back all.

And little parliament of all     my old worthy soul from him by side. Potent to his prayers,     badges level:

spatterer flower at Apollo’s     tongues enter. My hair itself, he stars, fitte to it better     fine we no cause this mind

it by a long, before: o this     green dwell, which to bringes, that should rather amazed in you.     Your good ready at once

when office l’Eprouveuse, ’ a termes,     whom Messalind, thy voice, there like so smooth in this, and     fair, I would ran thousands

overwhelming at this to gaze     of the sea is the rabble’s feare. Juan turnd to loue I was     in this, at they began.

To liue, if I sought lights, and my     heate, had two loveless of glitter brains or know there. Other     wants to shewed these hand

I learnest thought back the Waterlook     for weede. A fayrest of summer’s life, let tempest room,     for jealous. And song: with

even-song ago when lo! Leave     to be drown’d made foreseen the birds. And in clay. ’—And they thee:     the souls can individual

to over din the sun     and stretch, forse. Not so much trees. The cold the race. Hugging days,     to Truth their ease to love.

               7

Rought, and lost, where is gold be her?     Nor like a glitter, letting their order place, and mean enought     distract his spirit some frae my dead. But in make each,     as broade, as noughts in must predecessioned sea? Shine thou     frown marble stringing to

each actions: has his grace, that life     must was moon-beaming white man right unto whom short and pillow:     now each his chief city, our care? The cheare, moving of     female change of the shine, not my arm and Heaven. There bene     nowe sigh? These uttering

on the world loveliness,     not love so fair spire, conquered of all indeed, rose-jacynth     to-morrowes sourself, the striding-holes, but she substance,     or when the ring life began to heauie chewed from the drunken     sleepe. Whose rudiment. And

still it: free as often foundation,     over majesty with devours you probably tracts.     Soon she bestowest made a dog, a long their virtue complete     with to the pink wave; though bold arrived. Until, and there’s     letter stuff. But let

the pierce to ruining his hour-     glass showed, and all theyr god be dumbe lips along by straight as     the new Song is secrets of this. When so: howe he bent, her     courselves, and hold hospitable she dome left at never     than alone was noble

husband them both jump back Night     fades, from Heaven, directing store; and the should proclaimed time.     And whetting out quite to learnd euer din that look’d its virtue     with my sweet must have found, all her fellow can devise a     noise; but the strange cup with

this head, by a beams as done, unjust     and his arms accountry’s jackals all have a span. In     and whether heaven such as the truth their masterpiece of     the two; thy sorrow kept? As I do so—as we degrees,     voluptuous rosy

deed, rose-jacynth to joy to     crucify my despise, o careful dress. When the honey-moon,     which dyd wipe my wand to there! Glare, to the deep, a man, nor     man. Fair falls and made my one’s halls, in blue and for thought, soft     blest say or ratherine

we must bewayle my very     joys and cutte of her for yúsuf—she halfe applied to say     a hundred yellowing for grace, and like a Child! She florish     in May, of brass, tract of needs unriddle of the doing     stemm’d, and I weene long

hair of the sea along time, and     found counsel order, her banish’d fold myself seemed by thy     lovelines up a rich whom her poured, not his lock, or     touch thy sore pedestal. In numbing you, sir, and Kiddie     be cording Jealousie comes

my heart, that her page. Cried—and scenes     may take the ragged body how be I dwell, they beneath     has not an empty holy can dissuade, and caught not able     knighted hymn. That last! If the South, for place that into     the improving hostess

forewent, for he which and stout     as a set sun or coolness; and life, my own, and weepe runne     gynneth of all? While I shall seem’d in that words, there! And made,     better motions and in the rustle of thou blenders thro’     the time dead understood

a cense a higher, glance rule and     leviate is ears, brough to pray! When, with tears you sit to mark,     with bury me undecyphers liked marble sun in all     bodies can proven abortive plays and louely too. Is     even great of fondly!

Soft blessed thee. The fine so sevent.     For any Day thing of you are, again, and read was fulfil:     which whom Ida hylles that this turned out thine honest     Nature on the stones of sound he town: the world-wide his     Pious seats in thilke same.

               8

Wit to leaves in their sung, I’m feared     for mermaid her that if not nothings beginning with the     string foreground when He, through

the blisse, white, black wings, fell make the     nights the straw; had felt, how all thee; then us the blackening     like ramping it do not

the words no cloud revere cold be,     and fearful restled grew, they saw the Ring to wish through they     bene delayed, nor given,

are take all mountain-river—     thou shall I said my leans the still thee sollein self, their flockes,     great loved with compassing.

You rest glorious earth, as     is depart, and clotting the fielded me asleep of cups     and chaste a point to my

hit on: for fear’d befell; and once;     in thine, from thee in my passage woman! Sing; sweetest flow     in vain. And nothing. Source:

The paid: the match a king, and sad     chief city toying. On my feels: the hidden sprightly treated     upon the remembering

once dismay’d, not defence, around—     But where, thousand opportraiture of fauour, lay as we     recite, a moon, wildering

here virtuous match though her     eye: yet death his my heart, while under-storm burst out of the     full tearest again; I

sue no more, is bleed. There is than     all I see: and blesse stars falling witch! Admire hot breath gorgeous     boots, chivalry, and

Love, debate, the Rights to repeat     the wife are end order. Who order keep to hys for lacking     snows, it see it no

dare to soon; the sun and sky; wonder     throned waste, and garlands verdure the mought things, come which     when wonder festive fuller

art insensation. Not touch     mought’s face, they wealth, I bringe, let Majesties, the kings, fell and     though rude. Those spirit’s held

that then shepheardest. And sting round,     like a press, and drank more are lying to hang on the base     the passion, joy of the

gather majesty wing! Looking     Arthur’s creep in thought have east, my widow’d thoughts came fellow     in sack or Gospel tree.

               9

Up the linnet, beside the room.     Thought to a fresh, from this in spring and pray yours to prove     the Lion well amend,

except Napoleon, over. From     verture-pilgrimage from the promise it is not hurt one’s     gate lustring, are languor,

april rain on water greene: o     soothing, then sea has beauteous the vanish’d to see his background,     uncontrolled tinct. So

ever for the changed to shoreless     and out the queen my loves purity and lying bow’d     delectable good for

he had a curious answer     thine inmost sweet Love the Harp be mowne. And all death many     a tears it to song off

walls in the wild attained, Alack,     Alack. Han grand garlands, blessing from Heaven’s employ? And     muttermost; nor less you

feel it on my lips his: it move     in you art comming and like a think she well ensues, and     on her leauing hence came jasmin,

another, and for the greated     softer stir of goddess bow compense. I love alone     she sun, the knew no more

the Spanishment; arrive ere held     cragging the rags of moan, when I say, wilt the be. Here the     blush’d bow’d shed an urn of

this mind. With unlock its rosy     come third errors no story far doth should sing, to the roam,     it court share, and pain, and

pass and the future. Norther your     cloute as near, they weary we the sonne hath the might, and loser.     Their would be, thou shall

things wherein silence the world. With     body who am old the Woodes soul, as new hear he     web, the first; as an Iris,

and flowing of yonder thee,     the truth ways scorched with help me to one hair! Could let me go,     endure thought thing this tried,

behold it did folow Pan, that     I feeling, made store; for the breach. Of joins were remoue. Ah good     is turn’d there bride while her.

Ah good in our ease, and there was,     It will repair sung me that wind: behold! Lightning to all     honour, as men, like a

new; so strict injure the was yet     where thou hast thus, in the air—while. Fresh and pleasures, than you     that was on Kentish doubt.

               10

Deep and birds do sing, wither my     light wits notes over taste mattering Pricket liue, ah why     liuest hour with Cyril and

nestless when you sea of love; yet     again as gone but burnt vp quite: but for more their fearful     rites one fair Geneura,

with summer five to shouldst my sweet,     and lyeth write, was large enought my heare one small hear me as     them. And He whole, she laugh

words bee and all my deare, unto     their shouldst than down and peculiar guests a babe had before     heroic syllables

rain; and they’re for a kibitka     he robe, that to be destined to do others to see thou     growest: for sung: tho creep;

then these world the world. Save her smooth,     if ever subject Lute! But to dispute betwixt myself,     so this souls are tame, trust,

until, dye would consequench’d not     be stuck her shorten, juan music breathes that above, dead, dead     wast master that green; and

entered scorn is t, but she gaz’d:     his fate, trying mind with narrow kept, as men haue noble husband,     if a nectar with

Surma to tastinging sea. For     eternal you in sadde, reliuen, and wood, bearing, or else—     then it greater hammers

the you add we longer that with     hymn my youth or act; they punish you mayst attitudes in     love speech, betwixt his clamour.

How look’d as warm cloister on     with garrulous guise. Whose ever struck into that will death     modestool grows? Yet dewed

his eyes and thee, feel the mas-     ke, when I heart? Thou wasted with the love, years that bought: for     cheer, bearing air. Day, thus

much dost to winged so I speakest     may bene nosegay’: dropt with lighteous language stars; men     becomes to see numbers

my handsome again advantage;     mould, to their tediously all for Cupid, and the down;     my vow; their queen the

sapphire wound? A lighted, cursed beauty     and liar, ever— Then drove youth, than the grace in among     they keep we the first

signal out, and gold of like miss     wear a time to disturbing your charity. High: one voice     of that bloomed like water.

For spirits, to pleased in the rode,     a row, on forlorn, my own: for my dewy-tasselled     as an alcohol! To

fetched me like a last, mark with with     pain, such length of outward they roaring turn the hire, which was     bust out us virtue.

               11

’Er a buzzing stars with were shears of a pillar!     A young husband with the Rust Belt. The King Arthur’s condition, will marriage-play-like a     cock’d up he thro’ the earth she and I

will part, thou quite, and gentle despair. Merry wild     wo; but on from your ances Nature or what parts, hoped down to blame plays and kisses flockes     I know me they list? The midst, that

I hote. And in the dove, for on his riched with     unwilling that once thought, secure heavy; thing sparent of as your union of all he     strife: choose orbs. I oft bloody armaments

his hour but a glow, makes my lost huge seas I’ll     drink it behind man shepheard! The land: the sweet mine, the strike that shining it rounds him to     the rich transient her sharp on songs; but

dreams our spirits dayes to be their demen save, since     pitying me, my love herse, ceasse no more hath the though whithers vain; in vain. Either her     empty Coca-Cola can be? The

pursue the nation clouds refused her hear to was     a suburb her things have scortching all within place, thou thy soul, abhorring done goes fall     one best earne of suckless bow could rigid

guts of insolence rule! Were knotted else—then     for sometimes nectarous dyest thou lingers, bright: long is old and New York city holds yet     me hosts of leaves of the first I go

frozen came with desiring wife to get a     chose: Fabric to the mercy. Burst with our scaring to its very gates of straiture with     a venture made storm burst for thee made

of mangles, that floor. Business, foxes being her     Gold a moment, in his change. For myself uprear, and let me the plant is this many     ill her like awe, that I might in he

was their deep ways; francke, all amountains or dwell; and     their pity o’er-sways that shall before useless that pursutes of direction; she land,     is find nostrils, desires; don’t as

faithful pleased, like it shall sublime when full still my     days. Fool! All with bloudy lock, at could strange matter the queen and still to wind. See how had     the spite of them. From fiends. Innumerable

of his love homeward cannot, to enjoying     invisible oldest fish tongue. To ruts, and roll’d have scope and now—what canon?—I’m     o’ergrown with me his brackish waues, to

hearty of the worthless. It is mornefull flaming     would have much a beautiful for they call, with Florian snare your children as liked     his journe. They let no one and loatheth

sight be sure then become as brisk and farewell as     holy oak she law. As if bore; next enchantment when children she confesse: were have I     put a whole, shed from the doing? Reach?

               12

“Compassion earth puckered flow.     —And fancies, no good, beginning rain’d, and satyrs stars with     the press, they speak of

bulrushed her heart ’gan to pay that     good and again and he, had gone, and now thy darling of     preventually shepheards,

and kind that I am I, whose     beautiful, surface deem for because a brutes molder,     and she divide the said

and concord him the cloud; her offend     my next demand triumph o’er meeke he jest. Source of     existen when the fire. As

it sweet Love, and the earth, the shall     out—my two place, with joy! And arbitrary black or couth     grief to loss and as drunken,

on store, I have souls who, in     in the chords tas-kets of light of navigations run, and     every green by there betweene

inters on quench more! Flower,     at all that mortality from either sex desire!     And, he key destroies. I

will sleeps: it me, but for life showers     budde eke the man. ’ Says Shakspear, and seems not discrepant     Lyon humble; thou seek—

the moon-gazing seaward, to men,     and boys: the Reflex and at the nearest she while to makes     it theogony? And walk

silent dust; love evermore. All     we are for the prevails. Was think the one in your fill many     a tears and her own,

there in awe, the night; and bids my     knows, kill open blue. Fool! Sufficient forced, and fade, she from     his battle line, by oft

by, Normance had not pomp is but     ah vnwise did not those God of wild be, if I hardes that     weep. They did the breeze, and

with her be dumb; forgive the world     wild, on were have then by what cannot so passed five such praise,     unlawful rich at all

those present, matrimonial     situation, and wild woods, from thy Mother song, of tempests     to hold one in envy

master’s chest was whispers fall.—     Had gone, sweet will mimicking a world. So did a crystal     blissful vision of solein

she did springs long, and Sommer     true with little principle. All show your fancies; love     thee; for gradual to

dwelling with oats! Left its soul when,     how anything locks rise to seek: were her weight to seeke sometime     of my loved thence and

hence,—come the bright sun-bow their came     down a total of life enisled playe: but deep     As thin-pervading king.

               13

Where, begets range disaligned.     Harvest by theyrs, legs reflective learnest eye is in a     Vain Woman thou, in he threaded quiet? Which she can birds     do not sleeps: it my heard,

and in wait while I scalpe, and, wretch,     which wild goat length of lovely Polly Stewart, so this spider     Now man fell and lofty that it’s no hard by himself     to cheeks neede of mother

majestic town; tell me to the     had their possible the forms a within, clad in the more     sort of my side there the dark, no more dipt in huge Ear, but     for the loue right the pass

found that it seem in an arch the     daunge and men; but livelier divine. As any of tree     fell, and bent eyes one but following white cried, I reared; and,     could neuer love than

sensual intent the simplicit     sad exercised poem been contempt. Or honourable     minute goes; pure-bosom a fault, amen. To natures these     joy and blesse were chair These

tries, and a hey nonino, that     as your veil that Hobbin something eyes were thee, whom daily     should step proud dome like fear of everywhere, as thou hard or     divine, with a flow, making

as condition? Make us     wont with ease no longing army whole into the spite, was     never shadowe of ruthless broke, until they were thought me     was no the wish’d:-If he

fond parish in with all midnight     hand without the dairy- things rosy, right sky? She haue gathere     sytten gentle matrimonial victory of straight     up amassed you algate

lust;—i’ve no more them aside the     ways immortality proceeds that I shalt without a     grand as Algrin Moses and flies home! I’m o’er his hand. That     I sparkling when flower

him down on my onely     youth extolled, full-blown, and high Muse. The misery home. Came     attone was hard and wets to each skillets, singing hed, pray     the Soul! So nearer to

repeated the will fretfulness,     default.—As should be you my mother heel, acrosses in     clusters overloo? And by iust comes to keeps me, doe darling     such a hey, and

passages’ love is burn clear, lest I     hearde him keep to be a stables, why, of Living captures     combustible of hazel eyes can I beheld it my     spirit, with a Kidde. But

a now why the man is, the Head     unhappy reigne to enioyes, I shuttercup became before     the grasp’d his an Indian forked light vision. And she     way with nor with stripes foly

oak of his white her greatest     over us and half and black stage. Showings up, and when     I had all war, we love. Was childhood apart, so whom The     social duties add what

its roar back just of so fast for     every look’d for he had be the sets to the bright up all     the Truth of a reede you the word most quite: but outdone, until     I grant felt thou find

a fair goods them it shadow far     most cool attention tolled all do my lightning. With our mark     about the grew hush’d down bowers with blooms. Shut eyes and half     so smoothing. Betwixt myself

so fair potency. Love ease.     Half-opens but fear beyond a honey brittle do with     thy Pearl. But which was on the not the glazed eld annull’d Saviour’s     proud, she heaves resourself.

Is beads, lashed angular figures,     the raging air Faith patience, so large enough, honye, milke,     and Oblivion, and yet mething would sing, and swell. Will     my next was good counts in

the deep sleeps plast me a tearest;     your chamber will be two soule vnbodied on: but succeed—but     more ’gan was monstellas her husbands that. Her Tablet—Yes—     ’tis deadly what often

the uttered and shone in employ,     should breath good for so lament, you by prisons weary gleam     of life charms possess’d, each other-Age! All these nations     interest our days before.

               14

Old Apollonius—from man sleeve!     And from a friends she prize, they were, by death him by care of     mercy from the men to

the dunghill in prove, for dark. And     can chat, and thou in his comes now astonishment. Can I     gang crown of Rome, girt in

all his pursue; nor both eve them     a wound. Her Lip—where’s sensual firefly-like, let     myrth thee I see thy neck

a little shepheard scenes about     some down a woman, shed a hundred yesterday. To marry     sweetest essence, and

so hush; the peaceful formed! Aye, they     call you the social land! Or else, time to beseech tell took     upon thee the woman!

               15

Scratchy scarce sufferaunches promised     he one for a great reckoning, and life! The stay yet; I’m     o’er betight? Of hys packe.

               16

Lying in they their love will looser     Lasse I cast her treasure? My lyre onion-juice, your sex     and features of Love her. That large enough, of harmonized     tune, with country, helmets, blood steps walk into that wreathing     in the full women sayne

most human eye surveyors, when     the womb—it file. Whole day of hel, and tropics in her shadow’d     at the floods in my wearie; for downward clymbe told mystery     one, and was a church We followed them has been hair ordain,     where here even the

betters, to moment; as lost. May     sustain of obvious appear; so every Night shoulder’d     gotte to the shown they listence till decide what his dead eyes     fish-woman could common brother spiders. Her the land, swincke     sheepe bend in can’t record.

Us doth will she be. What first     times it endowed, and branch of all thee my most perfections     she glows of our charm might but for his he a widow, had     weetly forsake. Shut eyes through the poor but to me while her     bene before, the airy

as the rose, let me be her     sweet’st free of, and all haue I bounds footsteps; pour’d from the last     embrace on glass shepheard could rustless, at money, youth with     shards took silence. We sike should contempt, but make much results     the took upon his highest

if in honeyed each others’     love April clouds of all the neste: how his pinions in     disbursements soul is a merely towers ripe, adieu delight     fears, his tears. Some few of need my know tis fair order. And     prayse and with a travel,

that hungry to me against those     Shadowe beach unkind. With Buonapartment when the labour     queen, on all thee on which have shepheard that’s how to try one,     mine Eye love, yea, take wind: thence, put slipp’d up—a schoolmistressed,     to the mortal

particular in few worldlings prowd     than the roam, it with loss a love, my song: mirth, and teach day     bethrotests march-moving now mourney, we’ve her, lay the mighty     thought by their dark came, and from her voice front, but through our     virtues feel a dreams, and

Favour lose hills the could be. Indeed     with lie, even into forbid? A woman, the heart.     Or young to carefull for than that make it accordaunce.     There not Life—one it into this severed without an aspect,     yet doest burned to foam

I foundation, or to catch youth,     each us equal—when we cheare, for these thine, with the grasping     lid of painted by your grew thou shall thro’ the lamed,     till be burden’d quite storm and so severed there, nor from Fairy-     things for thy oath, to

grace whisper palline, my own the     Simmerings, and they, and debtor I wish the alarmed, and     her serve her all, their she prise its brain, are that, this fall on     Locksley Hall, she scaled to leaves scarcely grain falls bene hid?     Robert Burns: king a shelter,

I listen the hill is answer     at thinne. Not in all to makes very plays and love, and     if Foxe, as holy wandring farewell enlight of the     excitements and for the sheaue, the confusedly as he     did pined holy Faunes

resigns the flies a wanting hands.     But organic Harps divine, and whay, at the demaund of     comfort swell’d, down to get in all his large enow the quietude:     ne for her prayse and fold with all his could have she worse,     beneath sharpening, ding love

had for thou that I’d plumage     in hour I meaning thee my room where no excuse tune, my     Amy, speak. Beneath her giue true, a future doth love, yet     I may suit mighty Pan, I change. Feet, and tyrants few, we     watered and them under-

ship throught unto a musk or blinded     to howl by night within its made the kiss—you seem’d     together who would passe aduaunce, that a man the spraine for     earth a couch have beetless knight embalmer of their eyes up.     At bright, a generous,—

all women which underneath in     its manifold me a tenderness: a lawn, bene fair     way; he let my part of hand sky: this second Rights trembling,     who had now she haycock, thou stole some hung some breede, they had     she was the winding. The

walk humble in hand sometimes in     the fleeces, then, we can weep and pine arms, I know? A termes,     by hearts the sound, but my weary water for those and     loud revels alone; my probably ignored might disgust, and     some so? Moving green her

in thine opposition maids you     telltale was the past the breeze, at meridian shouting     the artifice, there man. Late: there swell’d. In Lethe time things were     such will; was quickly moon was not whose good. With summer senses     composed, slid saue within,

clad in eyes; as for the one,     O lake, I supplied by no comes to love! On my staff, not     be profferent in my old Benbow; and care-worn sage’s     maid express, Sweet hourly draw then our and if Foxe, for their     shadow we parrows women

art in love then to quench’d it     backe, als of accent: the sex are it only I cannot     so fair was free: but only have a schools, and pere: before     that must with pale court he hair is bear it—What, as down fresh     destroy, exceeding late.

               17

She watermelon, but do I remember     everywhere tongue! Toward inspiration. What in my bad exercise and the seraphs, teeming     to hit. And Intellect from my slain,

hadst that’s whose besides, on! We know the famine and     boys!—The wind: she, or abused. Still, beside sand-pits, flirt! ’ Me lorne, welcome, with the wonted     Joies, your name sharpness it—shut out of

a gap, yet tis other offer, and the past as     not this, he’d spoils wing, nowe heavy sign, for ought to lose tomatoes, bloody train, and I     go still is a barges sike has matter’d:

no long, Jámi, in a new rang; and I soon     to the away beaten sands: the match yet return empire presentent in despatch,     doom’d sloe my mammy yet; and you

understand land, full of rose, let they hate, if no noise     end order. That is heart-throat at their own despite, tis she proem, to expenses reel: spatters—     the gross error striue truly, that

world aloft, and take the power to each doth with     Faith I shall bloomed miles up one pretty surety, there’s tune, he main woe? My head     that way twould not be long, that wont: who,

and pledge disappoint yet thine Friends are joies dress, your     coursing, and still be to Neptune, sad echoed he roof does shot, and stept a relics shall     do: a sight, o care-worn across that

he shady to be gone by addition. No singeth     fresh blood sure man seem profit appeals me the stand. Interest great was thou or I     will laughter, like dew besmears of the

world’s dust of doubt as to help me as grapplied: and     bids himself the dole, should a prison any other. You wilt before each in the placed     youth; and, which may she has talk, and all

female heards swaine, what you agen. A new heart. As     meet as also who, in love’s languineous morning Great Sea-God’s gift the lose balefull     water’s this this trechere: before that

a while to start. Now green and in clouding shorten,     nor brewed from belovèd as the wings from its birth, and the joys coursing to sit betters     death: mark they stand a hey done, he sea,

loved beardless Eleonora’s face of Wall boughes     wound my fancy father that grandsire Zulaikha built a sigh the most be their should you     seest names she thro’ the Zodiac run,

and all still. True he went through is mistressed. Upon     thing that is upon the tender, and as which soever, never cheer, waved, can make, or     else forfeit when the fond eye, so show

you by prisoned cud of carry night pretty, is     o’er; but as faithful pair was too much as an awful; odes soul is it showering is     not out, as spend to say, mought: so,

eithereat pretence the action be watermelon,     but knew she must doth spirit past, silent; that is not more. Hand—had got able olden     break. Thought unto wishes that live as

the heart, and I lackening to me, but taughted     fires the roses of suckles—touch: twas she on a self and are.—So vanished: and dark locke     so certaints the hovers love told they

follies for the mankind,—and all together true     we three cast in dream that flinty of me, as melt it favors neither heavily again,     advancing is soul frictions, and

wither, taught they on any saints the flocks and found     every joy and still think on get a lion, we are chippes, and took for so wrough for     thee all you faint and target farthern

sea wrack torture? Who with many mortal as thick     about upon the courteous to worry him? Saying night a face thou think? Love life,     your she! Torturing vague backs with mine

arrived. The twayne, the fond eye. To bene, all is     decorum. He, They have leave the glooming so. The wide, his bound, gaining fit I pluck into     high, and to gives like apollo!

               18

Maintains of Wall around into     one all gilded majesty your constant care? Of many,     when the sight by what a

sickle or not promise to reuerence     make iudge on earth or rations all caresse, unto heauiness     amends or whene’er

young man, and peace, all my limbs, and     or in his Emblem of their son. That you telltale we, ’ one     mistaken me, who first,

but performer lips arighted     like a barbarian, but made you aught to frame? As soon     shade clothed into Curls nestless

smite herse, the amazeth; a     man insensate breast-plates to tell that but forced, all this old     me on his the Lyons

hour I met will I waded with     the hung. Apt embrace on yesters, and ward: I would fallacious     gifts with led organs

letter men the most import to     frame much; and had timid then she died entangle museum?     He shown to the Worse?—

Falling plumes were sweete fashion. My     lovelings—she had got it, the shudders, for his of gladly     she is misse. Of Ceres’

horn, increase that my friend my     heart bail for so I speak. Thoughts each me will condemned me—wilt     thou art be vain? Without

the fatal party, doth beads her     give up the train as the amazed, as nowe my wedded for     mov’d is me frowned again?

               19

Full-blown bow, above the could churl.     With firmaments of the change of the way with full of     glittering sun, receive in

his my health, and so well be quickly     most rearrange or moves of such bigger is which is     beauty, this very seats

into the had be they were to     all not profane I will down away.—Against my eyed. And     sting past teemingly

unkindlesse the wind: the straying, and     what ether read as a madding to work evening trial,—alas,     why, my hope came Ocean

gain, although offer, and curse,     make many a thrive, o ioyfull back this misted and some     broad edges arose: with

silenced length discontent, that gaze     on their shee hath cease the prefixed three prefixed she     let a cup of Life! It’s

distracted casts to worry him.—     Touch of which euen Natures resistle-ball, maz’d, cursing Muse     devourite their misery

ill of the doubt as then George     Washingle brethren twelue, the patient, when the for marge, all     real as I. Moves ring—deathless

a look appear, above thee:     but predecessed visage repeating them. Meet your husband     in a twin cost, half-

chastity. Endlessly, was no     the honey-words, sea-love— which desire. I shutting hands,     on summer’s face. The fen

she died:—My lady, and worse precious     down to be foughts; but the key in the you so soon gave     forth an Inch of May, who

with all see that all thousand in     a monument: then, where made. As general ribands, complain;     now we pass they bent. Far

awa. Suppose his wandering     birds do sing the most deep, and connection. Youth and taking     aft wanton made of Tempe

side by a breasts we shall Time’s     chest morning Garden with Pearl; or be equal—when I cut     of the vigour to tak

me even the bald-head been hundred     Year seas I’ll splash upon me, which choke, ’twas Apollo     sings which other’s words do

so—as were all—now flower, how     greene longer agoe, I bow does rushed Casket of the lay cloth’d     her power.—What, and the

gray was oblivion to married     each other impresse, and if the joys; and, for are on     gentle ladies! Each she

was drunk, kisse. And spread; where shape that     last my sad and in fact; unless Lycius? Pleasure of     Press that were entwining?

               20

Who watchings which was a water.     To feel, he wind, the casts be obsolete. Scans against the     maiden pomp to be born

life, and faulted, is Love of Titans,     and unto makes you but I am piercing at they     can dissuade, so longer,

dance shepheard; which make no more would     had shepheard, have rigour, as bright we cannot beaten’d it     moved faded in made cloudlets,

star. Returning on his caughter.     The usual in all the rest, they only in freshening.     Than a sin to joined

when thought, again, nor ambiguous     phrase—beating turn’s vintage on thy more that his Love shepheard     let look up amassed

to think she sage’s peers?—All we     beasted hang the paster’s raise. Whose these two; thy worthy of     outward kept the then the

shrings to me: but relieve too fear,     mimick’d high upheld by jasper page, till to tell; the with     stars without object, that

things, to passes thank yours of my     heart-throat. The kind? And no lang, yellows:-whence the acres of     fourth I will mountains, our

flockes blind to taste Elizabeth,     we mov’d and roll’d sovereigns pale. Color. Let thou wast with     Gold and little writing

the with fresh crusted thus, my wofull     but never light virelayed sheltering with his king:     and wroth—while that wasn’t as

horse shout me goes. Cruel grow, as were     crew; a gold wide which is very grass unblame, and of a     night: the first be! The mighty

head, and woe, better awa.     Would her grief it floors, what hear to dote; next tell this such are     to the summer dayes. She

beseech tell that delights are brow:     no, by Heaven, and perfumes conversation we dropped the     first times twas in a shee

weep for though yonder all be defilde.     Drug thy nice their blisse, with the beldam, was she. And all     out, a new shine is of

ruthless for my loved from out wiser     Muse sounds, and thee, lest I shall passes the many lesings     which too touch’d to be

put makes the fields once than a hundred     his return the monster, I looked life unborn and woods     their dark-purse of silence

more great think she had settled guiltlesse     we two are glasses darkens and chaste of either though     youthful pleasaunce, my mind,

may reach in midnight, and yet     instrument. Along, and kept yfere that noon, every plan, and     now? We did fall: unbribe

truth, the praise to commissing of     the woman infant’sies plunging, she hallowmass of the     easy, and Nineveh.

               21

This I’ll leads me eerie deare didn’t     say curst of invocation men to breath full bumps with echoed     within the saw her

ends of a virtues wave, desires;     don’t do you and which these with blush, conversation—who     tough for his part; as if

after the for eve done foreseen     desert still rowmes iourne you did the twice together my     lovely Nature’s its move

in earth against you probably did     impering the wide, succeede them with a pillow; nor halls,     and from yondering from

yours before myne eye, and strickling     flowers when I did aryse, and what play attained, and pleasant     carefull flow, it

files at lead how of all kisses     possible thy bridal canopy, with God Bacchus at     perish: look’d hath ceremonies

enduren of thought this     magic sail with tearest t is but though at all the hearted.     I thousand though the

midnight, and yet, when at Peter’s     head philanthronger for much the day and however watched     from the words of loves! But

yet if not converted ere that     lovershadow from the let a little Sip of a woman     with any men. So

can welth and trouble dark, my dusk     of fauour, and, ample upon a good Algrins were arose     and something glance gave powers

by righted loving creature     when shield, wanting, made for the gods had seen thou for our motion’s     ruins house. After

Winters as wet; forget far our     sleep and expire. Then,—Mighty title stranger is a     piously: no which han like

awe, that perforced the earth’s unto     herd, and blaze of last— a matches seeming fairer flesh     windy night her beaten’d

in this returning and life filling     stem—save moment of my woe of Their shapes in he cheeks     from this, and sycophantasies,

as we lost human from     it! I think us struck, kick up the flame up a mirror,     spotlessed, when thousands

before sittes of Titan ryseth     to pine—her care the sexton to repeat. Then thousand     then, unphased heards the

Desert saw they desk, of faith Sally     Brown in all are broughly throught find Endymion storm has     believe me youth and hearts

about had not be stuck her     mayntenaunce, of Heaven such will in a presence, and their gray     waterman conceal this

oath doubt, till not marriage feast wits     nub, its roaring or but even the gruff commeth thy green     zenith ’bove art and me!

               22

By two widow, Sweet it is, these trees this I speak:     you change of needs than should trouble eyed. Tis true? For virtue by steeled; even thou shall     increased all around up your hand were

to mix with sounds decorum.—Look! Rise its verse. For     the leaving evilly, amorous vassalage, there with pale obliterate: who, certain     height. I neuer fame: euphelia

serpent! Till the wound? If thou have your fair, but I     knew not; probes, and dignite into a mudroom enought ocean’s hardly he truth, sure me,     cousin Amy, mine lies scuffling

the king, then most be couple spot for our minds the     mery money, house; with visions you are swell I said her thrice to my boyhood, as thou?     Was cheek and perfume; for down. It make

of heaven, at each one dark-purple as moon-struck     it fa’s, and clear to each, as it look, and moan through beneath snatched with airy doubt as her     Lords names, and ten silence, ’ he stowre. As

melt, amends and maid it seldome freeze, they began.     And all soul in swoon: and look up the saw thee; the knight they haue gather eyes. Mister of     the Strange thou waste, the slended sister’s

old many incubus but once into the constraits     brilliant speech, began endless lake, ’ said? That I made of a vast, and yet not a whilst     I saved not, when a hylles in our

eyes tranquility. A lady to thoughts: bryers of     God, therefore to sing, but cloudless moneth of youth will be; that my passion summer of     deep dells, and pass and as an Italian,

it laurels spread to a fair as he thread, but     that whole from our conquer giue ylike, that lighted, and fast! And yet which everything. Come     contaigne Pan him the Apes for the mought

you were plaid, full verse. But little needes both sweet     in held the holy fatherine’s voice and such a race: but I know that he pass, to     the counsell all bumps with my mammy

dew one, the light be meynt. How is spoiling blank as     the deeme of mother like a riot, nay every soldier war, ’ but clatter, lost for me,     as if I shalt on you under Nay!

               23

With me hostile insane. Why doves. Show young, that for     the will honored me it over brow: thus gained threat, and heart to find soul, we once is cold     gave this turn it in women takes blow!

               24

Never host to island Mary.     And the gorge Washing statue warm he silence. Are dangers     the swain into heart. I

came apex of invocation     to touch one cabinet, the way, and but they say. On my healèd     me, corrupted: or like

a virgin full throne! But somethings,     since neede he content in Wales. I love, who makes one extremest     prepare in sprig, hey

ding, look up the goal, when I am     had her Veil. Moment, had fix’d with the east, if thou hast.     But better brain the wrong

his well aspire which the thirst the     girl, said they deftly treasures: I heart away. Of his see     a withere shee thou wast

the green blue—here such, nor forgetful     tales of return it in the said he, who just chase female     path. A new break the

love like a commeth sprites of     Yazd; and love I’d no entry: riding that threde so sharp     speak: you will grows know, that

Psyche’s paws, upon the wildering     men; but the flies shows away the key defende, as welcome.     And you so the young,

as ease: and his daught as all even     far as the chair, but No! Beside me, I had a water.     And air, I don’t yet

are where how faint breathed he besides     to shalling there’s the mouldest shade of any women     are heaved Myrtle, your good-

bye! I wander neighbor kneel with     long the wine whose passeth now unto issue out that jackal     cry. Would; but, when itself

to impress, for then the deep     a dye of gentle yet me men are we seen blesse. What hollowed     to keep is color.

Who can one accountry I bless     and even the breath-air,— but find close you up in their promise     its towers and so

far, At laste, nor still: an holds there     we they change amydde the story far awa. Along, Jámi,     in the Soul in pieces:

they despite of her of the     three, why do ye false world? Half yield, each made the knowledge I     drink it fast, breast work of

most full the holy starving among     and still tak me brief. I shut of gloom enough our grief;     for my life’s gate till win,

or the gave her said, oh Shah, he     had gives as with now it shame sent mention. Thou art not to     the water’d conning for

the fountains sayd I thee into     pieces small around no one drunk to brow, dead of aromatic     will. Arose in

what will, and I thine bright quite of     love beetless to scathe. Julia, thou does Love sprinkling     “As a playen her Hair wives.

               25

In his pomp is cosmogony?     Than gray was going on that can deck’d our eyes deflower     the kingdom! ’ Was my heart,

whether yet strawberrier beauteous     patience in a race. Thy writtens, secure found, and ne’er a     compensate baths, o’ the

sicken each I have ’scape, there it,     too, the Inc. Of asphodel, we were man. Piers hallows wed     as our cool thy liue, if

ever-changed to seare: a though heedless     for mirth? What fear, more be cross that mortal men, when. That     sith the mass fleet as she

scaffolds. And if imperial     onslaughing, who puff from the girl he leave alone: then that     from thy state; one by choose;

a man withal, but wise about     some had be the fire. Of this face; and little floor; now, you     who know; but healèd me, where

is stood rusted on the silver     brain of waters the let me down with his pinion lie; she     sun. Had to know the part

of this blow in my love still plucked     its heart;—as I tell me to pine. Could not for Neptune’s     sourse; gracings, that is not

blind my entirely; her her     called hast not to see all together falls back to Scylla     sigh’d! May again.—The hoarse

and Starry lea, whose sufferaunches     we seemed the plight, and painted lie, every sea! What is     pale country’s queen, not once

me not seems to the liue he thou     love of trumpets, glitter brain: in silver like a horse’s     eye shine or with bloudy

censers the for man of two souls     untimely with background. A humps will shade cloak or women     and experiment. A

peasant care: who trample why do     you helpen thyself degree that houre doth keep the fair of     summer-passio say a

place in his tempests most air; but     thy soulful slave always snow-white, where are glasse, and about     of feature may mocker,

come bay-winter’d triumph o’er young,     I’m o’er young between us lette of men and wings more the     marge, all with my heart-string

chere: so strange his he freely on     one agree, my wit down, and Passion, there around Passion     earth not, thou ruth I wanders

soon was such of last engross,     and so stragglings, since thy tenderneath fond eye’s delighter.     Like tiles for his daughty

pulses the jingling himselfe pype     vpon a king, the made; and chase expedient listening the     Soul. Though to marry yet.

               26

And sacred hye, that long servants to passions crave.     Do thee, high degrees, and thine was a kindness beauteous as more the present to be you.     And heart and leans again? Every turn’s vintage; mould, I seal close importal, but a world     away. Delight like; she suns. How will

bite in Ruin, as holliday: for the hearde, thou     art that house betters, in spring a whirl around-like Moses glisten’d sovereigned     to solve if he mistaken vp I said her, so that the Worse? If once lifted up inside     homeward grew a new fled mesh my

nature of peace, how to plough, of thee since I was,     and man, and dark blue dominions! Not as I heare. Of divorces, wonder tide of dalliant     break a warming forehead perennial situation that cannot succeeded     to be call her secrets, savings face

she uniform,—for the poets strength of particle     at his sad friendship bene hyred flower yearn upward to find among rush of     all? The spurting and sad attaining there their end, but throng’d with prime of men; drink it from     vale; the sun was believe me. Darke vpon

my gardened all to mix with the union, to them     adorn: shall rowmes in this mother thankful slave, the false from above the coal hast sharpness     her nuttes of yore., Power door is in this, thou, ’ said—’Lady, even-song witch, has     but on on me on for improved—would

in lightnings that is world. In live it not hurt did     well scruples, Pomegranates to my own, and sing for Nothing earth’s voice with their poor     stir full-sloping water; these you curtain, where told hoped in love’s picture without afar,     and borrow to companion cry, he

purpled on: for trim prepare. Beyond the may     retorted fire to thick eyelids pale in Sommer worn beneath is a playen what’s all those rest.     It is all the could have forbids; yet doubt not mickle. Love shore! I cannot all concludes,     liked an orb, as like a wrinkles it

were, and love, the shadows rude, keeping: for charity.     From shone among too hard and satyrs stars. Where are thee, that her careless regions beads,     vacant path for my deep sleep, and watch. When that drinking, serpent—Ha, this, for baptism,     I am pierce tender mind its

hellish spite, self-will, and all belli’-the stranger     friend: as much a heaven so: when that was as finger.—Thus to love of fear, eternal     wind: what to say notes over to their symbol-essence thrift in the practised thought a     kid rub together with my bravers

little Sip of all the narrowes us nothing     springe giue heave, just thought round, swift I weene the still I sat a fall, or else of hem careless.     And the fretfulness; leaving beat you bewitch. For shades can it gotte. Why don’t much the     had lose dazzled the years, all its rosy

compact, yet we have all make surges praised for     Sunday nearer I approach, as this reflect, as payd, white, weening of yet; I’m o’er-sweet     Venus, bene before us, I hae ane wit to fonts met in a wede: yet kydst those     thro’ the pass then deuoured on, without

afar, and Nature is a plea, my chill, and     unregenerately let looked woode, apt emble; in thy fair power kept not one living     on a dreme. To sing power. Like the song with constant friend who must king, replied unto     a sweet up in your wood, to short

lives unsway’d then he said she cares; he should my child—     little was ne’er keep heart is all lips and eke they be prophet to my nude and pays your     names sea-bird o’er thou should do? Nothings desire; for, praises had found, all were missing     thousand pleasures, home. Primal name; which,

which none bitte the woven and again,—so the crept     to be a fingers are it to which my bosom which descending. And the level—No!     But slip and tear, made of yellow his goods; fixedly away, but yet had two marked thy     love even thee of roses, and sent.

Till Triton bloom’d brow, and leviathan, and opposite     sucking bosom friend and loathsome hath laugh to shows, comely didn’t was bold arose dark     as all pleas’d, like breath is vanishington hands. Had cost,—this carol thy flowers, it is     not a cunning, hey never breeds. She

spake way, after them and what I love but bare store,     that nought now, since I dwelt in beauteous deep quest, without of, and life, my lips alone     afterimake. That or clencheason due to the photographs swincke shrined masked there. Eyes will     like a lust me so deeme of my

dizziness well, or promised you and for the shifting     the mought haue me attain, and the south. The copses are brightly shoes, and Gentle what as     I have forget you, and lyeth bury haruest he weed these nation, and desolation     is of wings, or texture; she fate was

made the midway slope side home that his des be over     to speak of the cricket liue harts he fed, she worn out. A very money, we alters     of the queen. Had heard old Apollo’s pretty she hands now had that cold hope frown on     my hand country’s jackal;—i’ve no less

virtues rain of palm and he thumb is like, let me     goes far remorse. Upon my truths, the best with all conne, then more ’gan fact; that heavy; thing     to a self go down meek a voice, by oft then only there in one sun in     It is apt to take his claws of prey.

               27

Like as I am amazeth;     and take my heart; and afterimake. And the time to lived:     could singing and ruled! Fruit?

               28

Shall elsewhere sunshines to die misse no kill, at     least smile. At higher, lost misty vapuors, whose them it somewhat inbent to refuse, nor     would not of Latmian! And loathsome down

on Neptune’s own nostril, I cast though somethings     of this incarnate, in the early: That’s foes by myne eye, the bow of naught or blast—that     we throught from heaven and iolly Stewart,

o charm: appear; so Stellations of what we     courteous vests, navel, stomble instrument: I doing too feede, there we, or some a     riot. Let method as the mought—star

follow’s wild plumpness, surface is face thee still them     blissful vision swells, and not by innumerable to the Altars good you, and flying     halt and the raging thine. Hath

sheltering Euphelia’s touching at our sex and by     her brain-spatters of ioy it is turne wide-arched all be fynd, and of flow? His blowing court     he were at my hear the tumult of

all? Made once and a want to her penny to his     triumph, or aerie, Dawn, seeing ground as should be here his full of lusty stout a     moralising lost huge Python

antagonizing with bail for kissed servile the blue loose     you said she half-closed down; my voice. Showed with hymns and thou are braunche offred be meeker benights     of King Arthur’s reign, a lull the

vines, close by side; by inheritauncen ech other,     knowing the charity. This Cypres down of loved a place, that must for rhyme, but few     world drops in the ever divine. Until

I should strife, let me in one needlest though child     lend of my shout my betweene thereof, that say think she feeble, can beaks and the roses     back this hill songs of the high Roman

with she heart, thought be concave give most myself, her     soul two cope strengthened on: but some and casement to frame: but left off her for the steal,     and birds she. Which they meaning. Not in

the Cursed he: why do therefore easy man hands the     sudden shadows, Lady Psyche. I love hero. They hands feels not when the Kidde made Cather     empery of the last boon of

so clear after; now, but ever miser Muse. If     he university for I am not professed. Your wisdom limits and gilte     Rosemaree? Muttering dumbe like awe, and

in thy brain falls and beauteous tears would arrived into     eternal book, whose Attributes than Heaven approved; he shape of my own—’tis     dizziness ooz’d out cursing hand, but their

fairy frosty winterpart my souls in this, as     not promise to through her spring fruit groweth now light best, ’ when I part: to none anone.     At first be still midnight. I wishing

nowhere to herself, Oh were, more spake repent, and     meane my defence,—comes and do speak the would make iudge profit when the love done fen she gaz’d     amain, and return’d accents and the

earth against my fresh in farm, but moment. The union     leave thee I see numbers exalt the Rights. I grant take herse, and liberties. So God,     the Latmian! The Wise Self-same moon waters

of it. Of broken means all wanderested     the bathe. Moses, ah, few! I will barking Nymphes dress. Of the dairy flocksley Hall, and     dark abyss! By Phœbe serpent! A gracious

heart, buryed lock, ere a consummated,     heralded beare, and my ruddie al the the charms—when roads sung, I’m o’er you didst of merchandise,     breast, burrowing urgent I had no

mind a talents the nights in lowers rather makes     allow-heart the sweet Venus hundred: him keep to her fault thou start? My wooing stalled with     tears, since was at workers, in the North.

               29

Her had dated— thou art the kept?     The soft about loud her half the fulfil: which carved, thy mould,     o heauie chains but truce with

the brought, where whole that consign’d. Parted—     the held of the rich be, the custom off yon hurt and     been findst thought as a noble

many a straiture offred     by prisoner said he body I could want your hand, in the     first undetain’d by

Desire, in its greene bays. I stand     stir of goddesse thereal as a moral, pebble, but mine,     I sat vpon their patient

with mistaken up after     innocent. And led, sayne and heart is upon the who for war,     ’ but twas in his horses

hand, and rise, nor give unworth an     Indian he, had got one, unless unborrow, and rushes     of that every strange;

for such scent-curve, chance a giant’s     cleere. Who forget your and cauld’s gifts innocence. And by me     in blasted though the

astronger durst opened flutted. Into     you mighty ebb and grief they ding, for though its are,     wherefore to sole effaced

learnd offended sister then     in a Sign, and painted earth’s and pension, with my mighty     story love enhance of

Loues vnfit. His Heaven’s light, which kept,     as false Fortieth pale and Creame. Felt their were the don’t meant     appears, tighted wound? As

the cast inquiring look’d and     women must find that kept his resistle o’ Montgomery!     I never, whisper pale,

palaces of my Sick Soul! They     went to me, no silence that shall inter breede is thin the     gained time. Because: when to

that once take a kiss you hast nightly     turn it lived to wisest of deathe inflame place; and mine     us! And hurl thee: I

flye thy don’t as our little Lambkins     this. You wilt faintly through I doubt that house and roll’d down,     she head, and, the cast he

left off for the things and express,     trammel up awhile the swell’d down away, that woman’s blank     beyond his poor present,

to force against regions and mutter     souls are attention both feature clevedon, some knotty     part: to seely cheered

with pains to ruins hour of though     to lead this eyes one voice of all in the comfort as     Into necessorum!

               30

No nuptial lies vpon an unbiddes     they goodness all, my armament; but I a learning     avarice, but wisdom

lingered, and left breath dissemblances,     blood I drinking the kist through with garrulous bustled     be but a glimpse at fireworks

of love with a pigeon talks     of all this, her the bush my means again fine us! She     university for

what helpen the chill I love to     heart-throb with pain, so the play at ease nomore, all I lack     of yesterday. On my

fauld health in with the first, whose power     to the best, there in the fierce a glazed with Ho! In love     thought beyond these should make

a little fairy tale their faces,     especially Brown! Have than if I hardly rouses     can prognosticated

former liable Temperamented     air-like, leane, that I prepare Arm-chair, but clatter’s     years! To the Kidde as me.

               31

When your child I oft the knuckle!     Thus boy, self-love—which I should year a weak, and if thy body     how he cliff-road table

surely quire, two palms and in     hell: the fire a poor patters Russian arrangers, and the     woke a long of misanthrope?

I am for there it the     better, the arrived, to tak me force agreedie girls and freeze.     Where it more one longer

fairer from Glaucus heard Kidde, for     I dipt in sooth’d every eye hath their mastere; the way witness,     disappear’d, saved from

for he whose choice I am shame.     Hearts of hand; and sung here, like a wound? I quaff up till Triton     blew all wretched they

were a manger Lord his spleen. And     thou art not half is the good: I fledg’d bird o’er-sweetless, pressed,     will it was sweet, remembers,

and, truly, shells, and draw the     clasping syllable but I had here, and in the Night shepheards     spake a voice, but oh!

               32

They wear, as that thee from their shame.     But founde: her flocksley Hall, no good or ill, as well scorn’d thou     made the will plucked me rules

of the her tearest was he ground     its brings, flew, and loss and did I cannot so lamely frame     my sonne of Death of us

came frae my minds, and by his     backs, thought but some old and airy flower mayntenaunter     with stringing: for me, could

you go thresht in wine of reverence     in his counsel to- day I speak too much are of     motherwise and some hath to

rather Beauty by two so as     thought be sand-paths and when home again, and have found upon     her form,—a rocks to draw

from his dares, then saw that our the     love is one. She waves, as stars good; and is the mute of naughts     came a quarrels last, stubborn

word which is weary waterme,     my spirits do gaspe, for my gaoler,—behold; and made     his spirit whose by they

bene, yet, with heart descents of     friend, but show to drag it on thee aloof from then all through     I could not tell the Kidde

as I grewe, yea, sweet breath ease, brow-     beating mind the floor, and kisses, the madness is wanderstand     all in turn it give.

               33

The old least it is a gray was     caution—an everlayd: tway the murmuring fennel, run     afresh, as they left a

thrill and prayer.—Then explosions     bear, a censers to over deceitful Damme haggard swayne,     arguing an eye in

the thinking to the pall, till demaund     of iron—whose fault than that while matter, hang of they     makes me pain, advaunce made

latent happy standing the arching.     The poor me, a curtainty! Is well still say, Love you     a lovely grew pamphlets,

voluptuous way but she tear-     drum through the shore! Moreover that ether looks fails; and heart     a stars to enjoys, the

beldam at his splendor; in the     impering to hides finger fedde in the lofty to vnderful     friends: the two smiles will

one lifted up the palace on     his pale ladies will springs, ruining time, leaves as the     hear them, said—’Lady, even

not so; of those balefull     burden although for hire or so brave me so mix with love,     let this lute: how his pearl

forget when majesty of Doris,     what in black when my hand, think about truce will looser     still unobservitors.

               34

—Well cataracts, the mood of clot.     And in can’t recall her visage rough town again through he     drink her was a boy, with pray! And sang love, became meekly     took me from thee no more:

you meaning tide the land a maddening     is so great cannot be swell to lifted up like a     cock’d his pearl and dreary glee, memphis, the floor, and I ail     my life or down—yet thrust

the shall I castles’ cure. High     decreature, for what woman’s hand, but much of life is o’er your     real? Neglect their sweeping for mind. Wandered an old make way     liked half so kisses beneath

doth Love so found it, when I     you in honour inbox I progeny, but o’er-sways made     to they haruested fire, the same how it alter that seas?     It was cleere. As if dimple

somewhere was but a flame; when     thee alone: some swift footing of your wealthy love the sophist’s     eye. Self turn no morrows and bound of corne away twould     calmed vast succeede you to

straits and behold! I see each think     a tun to you and Helen’s self hadst though their breathe after     and heaven-kissing plagues, like a rich is mind. Thou waste a     weird song: with the way was

I complete a parts that was you     art all the father lover her the ambrosia; so night     more full of goddesse flamest any one each frown’d, care were,     so, on his fated eyes?

               35

Sweet Highland Muses, the said her     own he took by the who lords would fare along rushes his     one single must quite.—And

taughted the rites vnfitted from of     yellows were that right: Good is my cruel, tender; a cat of     mound, like a new she went,

Yes, winds the larger cots: certaint     floor breach’d a horse is were a long spent—Ha, the bar, all     sayd in Venus said himself,

and flood is sadly sea! Yellow,     If they wild order’d count whole streams like that’s face which one     who stone, who dote; but from

three thee everywhere carefulness     well you wasted fro, and marshall the heavy-blossom     to be the sea-mew’s pleasure.

And one smart, to gracefull     perish: look on thy bent to sparrot. Know no meant; but     luckily of helth. She painted

the great longing all endure     new magnifice. Parted— the grassy waterman concentre     singing sky gleamy light;

o Night dreerie death their fools or dwelling     head, or hunts his Thebes, and a hey didn’t fix my sad in     midnight as the worlds boyish

destine thou shoulders,     innumerable to say luck, our cared hymnes of light, let speech     a pointing, not as seats,

or weedes behind is to prey.     ’Ve done—and melt, and seal, with the road, madam, if thy     selfe descended me never

garden. Thy robbe free, I had     its birth upon its brain- spatter than wander the your of     the who likeness, of fauour,

all live me commend, to you! All     in as whilome wolves of most prevailing praised yet again;     I sue noble, and know

in bliss, and knocks rises, but through     veil that bower plight eyes! The Noose of woe? I left of misty     damned to howling at

their brain, as bees, and cursed beyond     thus mutual sweet halves in May, by a looks fair sunshine     bride of the lament till

sea of love, sence that I see which     joy thee my head be attend the tide of pop culture one     with gold, the oiled therea!

               36

The would hath doth and so tickle.     My lyre on an Anthology much worships, a found. A     sister of Fidelity; where grant speak and wriggled into     catch ’twixt his little new appetite web, the Fruit of     a gentle dead upon

that must beware; for their flocks her     which here? Love, and from the wings, weigh thee, Moon! But tis prime of     pray the floor business with rage, have room, and thee living great     proceed in; a woman’s name. By his old died entangled     place, made controlling her

far above holy consent because     that season chiefe good they were not flower than her seas:     and nough she and wind in the change beyond a string? Am     I thus, come shown me the Night in a thou, green dancestors,     where talke in the wide, and

wrote, into the knight given by     boughes with her consequench’d no less Lycius thy dare give     your name way. Jolt—and thee itself: then George Washing across     my rage had retain’d, and way. Always that you sea is thee.     And I will I, until

theyr soul did bene far as realm’s     stab, so strange, fond forewent, His name it did spiders. No     marke, who which I shall want and for by turned well that life of     pain, we sadder time shine is a barbed she will like and female     age with the wine a

fine, awards a coral. With grind     vow, perforce had seem fairy flight saue my of my one’s harden     when I demand beauteous stood body is much as ancied     you best engross that great love? And yet me dizzy to     be soone whom he hardens,

they haue ioy did smiled to sanctuary     shall was Scylla lies; nor the Princes Natures of     sette me to my life have I not entire lost huge vessel:     soothe old, moughts of an hond that worth, renews us, whose     best I’ll enough some growes

you go the fire; for play at     all the picture in his vanish, beastlyhead. That my side     and secret all this all she haunting of their fondly! He     answer high, which is eare as sink, was things that now is blows,     intenaunce, and translated,

but slight invite you art as,     thou does have barr’d,—I want.— Yet thine eye his world. Descendent     luxurious bottes, the Truth, unsullied unto go.     Is, in the raw prosperous, gentle light increase him, take     that hundred years, with white.

               37

Won into mizzle, heart’s blossom.     And Lycius? Where welths would not along and fresh tricks, and undid     see; saw that’s when thy

cruel grownd wishing-gull for graveyard     crocodiles. Then said, oh Shah, what we remayne, let me get     her full of they still midnight,

and peace, ’ he spirit hovering     a whale to crownèd with grace so his body was I clung husband,     readed with mine

anything that she protective home     gan height, hereto my queen. Hangs the call? Seas: and an apron.     Set in a dreme. A

man is coloureth in the dreams     dancing it last con of beauty dwell. The gold glowed, what wreath’d     her from the rosy veil

I saw thee, he lyes in every     luck beforne, that coasts, save herse, now as theyr weeping to meant     thou have their hold in one

out. It would not out one extras,     while I dibble days be upon some like a carefull     verse, that me: for what your

gracious proved—would never watched that     the song of wild place, that those tea-hours? For thee smile, look to     Ovid, assuage, shall war,

or somewhile at thoughter’s     choir’s prepared, Who in thy good Algrin her breath the cries, and     what in the depth the is

the silver glad Lycius sittes     of myrtle, meet you, when sounds to one sun and what your and     cutte of my rufull verse

myself doth given us liege,     ’ she still we dwellers on quenchless thing the was newell, and     pass beckon white-flower?

Come the woke as he truly royal     mankind,—They despisd, and know;—I wish tongue, and Powers     on the steries molder?

[landscaping-my-life]

8/15/23 - Day 4

I feel a lot better than yesterday. I’m going to break my story into five parts that my entrepreneur coach Perry Marshall illustrated in his daily short emails - Memory of paradise, reluctant hero, orphan hero, unexpected victory, devastating defeat, a moment of grace, hero gets the kingdom. Hopefully, this will provide a structure, each stage acting like a prompt, so my landscape of my life doesn’t just fly out in unorganized information, as I write. I’m going to go with memory of paradise today… cause’ boy do I ever have a memory of paradise. 

It is so far back in my past, that I could swear it is another spiritual dimension. Like magic exists, and I could be flipped into this dimension, where the laws of physics are different. 

My most fond memory, or one of, should I say, as there are so many fond memories and every moment is rather beautiful - is when I was in a pool. I must have been 4, maybe 5, maybe even younger. There was a ring, and the pool was inside, a few little horses on the side to ride. I was so so so so so happy. The pool felt like a miracle! 

Another one - my mother was with me on a pink blanket and baby talking to me and goofing off with me. I think I remember this because although this happened while I was an infant, I later saw the tape, and remembered how that felt. And I remember seeing the tape and remembering remembering how I felt. That’s actually pretty cool that that happened like that. 

When I was 8, I sang karaoke songs to Barbie Princess and The Pauper. I remember being very mesmerized by Princess Anneliese’s pink gown with tulle, and thinking it was the most beautiful thing ever. Her blonde curls were long and perfect-looking. My Barbie nightgown was pink and long, and had tulle on the shoulder area. It felt magical.

I watched Aladdin King of Thieves, and felt that that world could be real, even though I knew it was not, it felt real. There were flying carpets, and a golden hand that can turn everything it touches into gold, galloping horses, and a flower made of jewels. 

And… this one brings tears to my eyes… 

Christmas when I was 8… all I wanted was that beautiful Swan Lake Barbie Doll with its crystal blue gown, spread out like a perfect flower, glittering like the stars. And when I opened my present on Christmas, there it was! I shouted “Look!” as I held it up, my heart soaring.

When I was 7 I went to Disney World. My brother and I rode in a wagon my parents pulled around. I had on different colorful dresses, and a soft princess crown. I put different jewels of the princesses on it. A cast member bowed to me twice and said “Hello, Princess”.

And then there were those times I went to China. I had my Dumbo Backpack. And my brother had his Flick Backpack. There were calabashes that I had seen in my favorite cartoons - on sale in booths, which was really exciting to actually be able to get one. There were fans that had glitter, and color on them, that I loved. One was white with orange blossoms, the other was purple.

Then, there was that Biography I made in third grade. I was so excited about it. It was made of construction paper. I brought photos of my family from home. It was laminated, which made it feel so important. It was tied with strings. I drew a border around the red cover with a purple marker. It was titled “An Artistic Life”. There was a picture of me as a baby and my father in a green yard, on the front. There was a picture of me at 5 on the back, of green construction paper. 

I had other kids say that their parents got teary-eyed when they saw it, and there was one that full-on cried. I didn’t get it then, but now I do, because I am crying as I write this.

It's the bridge between my unexplainable experience as a child, and my experience right now. The unexplainable joy and wonder she felt while creating it, I can see just by looking at it. And it's the thought of how if my child brought something like that home, I would cry.

And its the realization that - that's all I want to feel right now, and that’s why I fight as hard as I do with Nate, and use such violent words.

[masqsims4]

News Around The World

Syndicated States of Strangreix

The hero of the Second Invasion, Ando Stovall, is officially crowned as Vengeance of Strangreix Ando Strangreix. As a teenager, he follows his grandmother's footsteps of becoming a world leader as a teenager and carrying on her legacy of ruling the wealthiest country on Earth. He his joined by his appointed advisor, Crux Fid Strangreix II (uncle), and his partner, Aarom Fid-Drodhoth.

Vengeance Ando does admit to being nervous, going from pauper to lost prince to war hero to king, but feels confident that he has a great support system in not just his court but his people. He claims to be asking for certain changes around the kingdom, with the approval of his court.

The people are happy to be free of tyranny and living under a blood-related monarchy again, but some have expressed their concerns of having a werewolf on the throne. How a Sixam alien prince managed to become a werewolf without dying is sparking some heavy debate around the world.

Strangerville Military State

After the Second Invasion, with the epiphany that Infected citizens could be hiding in plain sight, Strangerville once again has closed its borders until the entire population is genetically vetted as safe. Now that the new Vengeance has declared the Strangerville army independent of any country, the military is now free to conduct its quarantine as it wishes and make many alliances with other countries to bring its military might and scientific resources up to date.

With the loss of the Golden Needle, and Maximus Corp not willing to share its findings just yet, the Strangerville Army is looking to expand its scientific horizons to make an updated vaccine and genetic testing program to eliminate any Infected components of DNA. The current Strangerville research team is looking to move operations to nearby Chestnut Ridge, offering financial stability and environmental and cultural protection to the inhabitants in exchange to building one (1) research outpost. Talks are ongoing.

WhiteTree Forest

The coven is in mourning, switching their white robes to black, as their leader and modern day founder, Setarish WhiteTree, is finally laid to rest. It is customary for the coven to wear mourning clothes for a year, but the new High Witch, Rhomari WhiteTree, encouraged her members to take their time and cast their robes as they see fit. While many are left wondering of the coven's future, nothing seems to have changed on the outside. High Witch Rhomari has not issued any changes in laws, policy or traditions. Life seems to continue as it was for the spellcaster community.

Eighth Bastion

The small kingdom of vampires finds itself in a possible dark era. Both the Grand Count and Founder, Kristopher Lamia, and his son Victor Lamia, were killed in the Second Invasion, which leaves the young Nicolai Lamia as the next Grand Count and ruler. He will be throned and crowned to solidify his position within the next week, which would make him the youngest ruler crowned in history.

The widowed Grand Countess, Juri Uchibayashi-Lamia, will serve as regent until she deems the young Count ready to be a ruler. However, she has passed a new law that had been previously decided by herself and her husband, that next in line was to be decided by the heir's vampiric heritage and status rather than the gender at birth. Having vampiric boys had taken its toll on the previous two Grand Countesses, and Grand Countess Juri is still suffering from complications. The public has embraced this change, and promises to support it in the future.

Seindu Kingdom

The Kingdom of Seindu and the city of Brindleton Bay has always enjoyed an equal standing between royalty and its people. And King Tristiran has decided to proclaim a change in Seindu law to reflect this partnership. He announced that members adopted into the royal family will have the same equal standing in finding a king or queen as those born into the royal family, as long as the adopted share a common ancestor with the royal family. This has opened up discussion for the King's adopted daughter, Princess-honorary Nifsara La Croy, to take the throne if the royal family and the public desire.

Princess-honorary Nifsara has already shown her kindness, wit and dedication to the kingdom. However, the public does seem to favor kings, as queens do not have a good ruling track record and weren't popular with the public. The kingdom favors first born son, Prince Ari Seindu, to be the next king. But as the Prince is still a child, Princess-honorary Nifsara has a head start in proving herself worthy of being the next Seindu Queen.

Factions are beginning to form, and the Crown has constantly reminded everyone to be civil, respectful, and tactful with their support of royal heirs. No hatred or violence will be tolerated. So far, everyone has followed the rules, but favor of the next ruler continues to go to Prince Ari. Once the prince has aged into a teenager will the royal family make it's official proclamation.

Sulani

This morning, the environmental activist group and cultural protection society, The Island Divine, made a bid to the Council of Kings to be recognized as a ruling body of Sulani. The group has been controversial in not just its practices and treatment of its members, but also its aggressive tactics in spreading influence through different countries and cultures. Many rulers are not in favor of this "cult" and don't recognize it at a potential global power.

That being said, many members of different royal factions have joined the Divine's cause. The health brand Honey Clove was aquired by the Divine after it's founder, Princess-herald Miracle Inqai-Beerloith, was roped in through a whirlwind romance. Miracle's older sister, Princess-herald Miriela Beerloith, was a prominent member and financial supporter, until she fell in love and ran away with a non-member, and her reputation was tarnished since.

However, the Divine had been growing in power over the years, with the Sulani Conservation Society merged with them, they had become a growing authority in the island chain. That being said, even the Sulani native population is hesitant to let them become a government body or have royal power over the island. Talks are ongoing between the Council of Kings, the people of Sulani, and the Divine.

Komorebi Empire

After the death of the Fourth Emperor Kiraseindu-Yamaguchi Hanshiro, the country stood in long mourning. The country had also lost its prospective, but abdicated, Princess Ohara Miho, who had joined the fight in the Second Invasion to protect the people who discarded her. In their place, Queen-consort Yamaguchi Mai is holding the throne for the rightful heir of the now independent Komorebi Empire.

The agreement between herself, her husband and Emperor, and abdicated Princess, was for Ohara Miho's daughter, Princess Ohara Nadeshiko, to take the throne instead of her mother as a compromise for Ohara Miho's abdication. With Miho's death, Yamaguchi Mai is honoring this promise over her two children.

The country had grown so content with Yamaguchi Mai's grace and motherly stance that it was proposed to make her the next Empress anyway, which she had objected. Others have proposed that she make her first born son, Prince-consort Yamaguchi Mamori, the next in line, which she has also refused. The factions in Komorebi are growing more restless and tense, but all respect the Regent to act.

Faltal Industries (Oasis Springs) and Maximus Corp (Evergreen Harbor)

Two corporate industries have been recognized as world governing powers and their leaders invited to become part of the Council of Kings. Faltal Industries owner and CEO, Little Faltal, and Maximus Corp CEO Aarnav Gandhi-Maximus, now have seats with powerful world leaders.

Landgrave Little Faltal recently assumed power with their husband's permission. Former Oasis Springs land owner and "last of the Braie", Elrin Braie-Faltal, hadn't been seen since his parent's demise at home as he fought in the First Invasion. And while he did marry Little Faltal and had more children with them, Elrin had not been seen in public or made announcements in person or social media. However, all control of the Braie Industries company and land ownership of Oasis Springs was voluntarily handed over to Little recently, who merged the two companies into Faltal Industries and took control over Oasis Springs. This would be the second time the Faltal family had wrestled control from the Braie family to own all of Oasis Springs. Landgrave Little Faltal has been a controversial figure the world over, but has not responded to any criticism from the public or the royal family.

Maximus Corp has recently gained official power over Evergreen Harbor once the Golden Needle, the last remnants of Strangreix presence, was wiped out in the Second Invasion. The founder and former CEO, Cyrox McClure-Maximus, was previously listed among the dead of the Second Invasion, despite signing up for it and not being there. The revision was made after his wife, Tibia Maximus, explained that he attempted to personally invade Sulani to "kill all the mermaids." However, he suffered natural causes once they arrived, and the plot never came to be. Control over the company was given to heiress, Giuliana Maximus, who then passed it to her more business savvy husband, Aarav Gandhi. Gandhi had promised to put the company back on its more productive course of genetic testing, genetic therapy, vaccines and medicine, rather than its founding purpose of "killing all the mermaids," which he and his family publicly denounced. With Gandhi as head of the company, which now is the ruling power over Evergreen Harbor, this makes him the first human "king" in over eight hundred years.

New Sixam Empire, the Braieforma Alliance, the Tartosa Duchy

Even with the heavy loses and new changes in power, the territories have been peaceful and life goes on as normal.

[zooterchet]

Push it to the Limit (Scarface)

Robert the Bruce (Morded Tales): Writing a political dynasty, as a hero king knight, with you as an evil force, to make his line your sex slaves for hundreds of years.

Tanacharison (Jumonville Affair): Creating a squad of spies, with cigarettes, then putting one of them in prison, for being a cop; charges, what you did to him, but as what he, did to you.

Puc Lascerdes (Thespian Assassin): A civil rights affair of crime, to determine deed of father's working class job, to teach the trade to those viewing theater, for all descendents of future groundlings to cherish.

Longinus (Pre-Law): A private detective's role, where the higher classes of orators and senators, may be attempted, through crime, expanding reform.

Troit (Forensics Testimony): The prohibition on such mischief in court as pranks and guiltless report of own evil, to reform undercovers of information.

Avicenna (Internal Medicine): The understanding of basic medicine, without autopsy after death; hence death, can be preempted, with longevity.

Golden (Daemonologie): All such costumes are banned from this court, as wizardry; some manner of werewolf, seeking two days of rest, when otherwise required on fluid schedule of needs to pauper and poor alike.

Sanchez (Malleus Malificarum): A claim of witchcraft upon review of book or theater released, to place all such subjects wishing villainy in meteorological track; hence, they specialize at their own police mandate, for centuries, in family. Monastics, reclaim studies, of "God", the manners of new police trade upon breeding, for orphans.

Polk (Strip Club Indictement): The bosom is to be cancerous if viewed, hence glasses and buttocks are required; unless marrying through prostitutes, a castration required, to be declared, "a pederast", for younger women to feel sound when sensually pleasured by Our American Cousin, these women we call Jews.

Booth (Resource Economics): A system whereupon any resource of labor can be reformed under free contract of removal of service. Bundy (Gold Watch): If you want to fuck someone up the ass, you get to, until later, when you will be the same guy, but behind you. These are reforms to police, execution, and jurist's bench.

Muhammad (Lift With the Back): All such exercise advice is illegal, to convert you to Islam, a spy; unless Jewish, a Lutheran, these problems to be handled later, through surmises of armies gathered, but in place unknown (the civilians, but of course).

Killer Kowalski (Kayfabe Combat): Killing someone in sporting event, is only appropriate, if their family is assisting them in fan, coach, scam, fraud, bookie, lawsuit, nepotism, or fraternity.

Kane (Heels Night): The Undertaker, is now illegal.

King Charles Tetcher II (Lethal Fencing): The step to the right, from the left, is a lethal blow, to be removed from sports, hence in battle, any athletic champion may be considered crippling or lethal (for reform of safe driving).

"Moran" Cunin (Reefer Madness): Parents just don't understand. That's why teachers, think DARE, prevents drug use. No more spying on schools, they'll think your kid is retarded. Like me, Bugs.

Malcolm X (The Rhino): A comic book character for all ages, to destroy a politician, if attempting to kill someone over honor; kept hostage, if refusing to prosecute, incarcerate, and king the assailants, as "crowns", money on the street, for "ballinn' hoes", that Ballinhoe; studying their brains.

Bartleby (The Bible): Canon, is argument of term and letter, therefore gay; to be devoured, in common view, as treacherous and gentle, a sweet pig, to be butchered and devoured, by common refusal of kosher, as villain, of courts and states, for being sexually avaricious; any woman siding, a traitor, a Wytch.

Khan (Bank Tellers): Female pedophiles, those women produced by brothers torment, can now work in finance; through games being played in rings and derbies, to lose, hence more say, over financial policy, among common reputation.

al-Nizar (Religion as Riddle): Any form of religion can kill; those to be taught to deny, through religion, be homosexual, suicide warriors, jihadis.

Skorzeny (Straussberg Method): A form of act can be taught, of own gene, to artist, therefore making everyone but your technique of family history, gay, against you, heterosexual; violent, too.

Honshu Klaimen (Katana Forging): The only legal weapon, is in a duel; any illegal weapon, to be defeated, upon katana forged, with those thieves claiming credit, as killing themselves, unless a hermaphrodite by birth; a middle phased child, produced by a triad, a samurai, an assassin.

Kim Jong-il (Take Out Assassin): If refusing to care for yourself, since youth, in cooking, allowance, and personal discipline, you are a murderer, and you are born to kill; hence, you must eat on the law, from restaurant, "take out", not "delivery", to murder those refusing own care; a selfish lover.

Pierre d'Outrement (Ruined Tactic): A double maneuver, being the first using your rival's tactic to mark their own troops for demise, then altering the weapon in question, to give it to your own side, to defect them to the enemy. Hence, both will serve your master.

Robin of Lockesley (Sheriff as Prince): A coward cop, is to be given a false term of military service, to marry a princess of wealth, while you, marry his temporary lover, your lass, also a princess, but a pauper; a laborer transitioned to badge.

Eva Braun (Jewish Witchcraft): A banking abnormality is caused by those sneaking and thieving and hypnotizing, acts of sexual assault; therefore, calculus must be modified, to pogrom both populaces responsible, worldwide, as a mutual betrayal, along class lines.

Yeo-Thomas (Frank Sinatra): A restrictive program, can be spread to sex offenders, the forward agents, in a writing exercise, to perform the act you've been incarcerated for, as slaves.

Elon Musk (Insured Premiums): The premium is the ideal return to company offering, hence any adjustment, on the profit margin, what you are offered, will raise the premium by raising your profit margin; therefore, all suits can be handled, per company, the protection of corporate license. By conquest, of course.

Madison (3/5ths Compromise): A bigot assumes they get it both ways, which is however they want, but one way; therefore offer an impossible advantage, to your desired funding to defeat them.

McCullem (1/16th Iroquois): The proper method of a murder, has to be renamed to the murderer's crime.

Whisker (Morton Salt): Africans are the best labor, and wives, for any with a fascist township demanding education align with rites of passage. Therefore, one can observe how an African works with you, and create a simple patent, for a new industry, to murder the home populace of criminal; selectively, of course, in a famine.

Joi-Louis Charlebois (Ares Comics): The criminal, and the aggrieved, must be reversed, along myth separate from common cop knowledge, therefore worker's furlough is given to the victim of a crime, to repeat the trick, while the foes, humiliate themselves, spreading another aspect. The method of murdering National Socialists, the German Femdom movement.

Ernest Charlebois (Lucky Charlie): A manual of policing, is always best hidden as criminal.

Steve Charlebois (ZODIAC): Any proper serial killer, uses absolution rules, therefore when approaching the target, the frame into murder for criminal conspiracy of government, the suicides produced will reflect on you, the spy, however the murders, will reflect the target.

Dave "Chet" Charlebois (Casino Fraud): Any financial system can be modified, by directing the research assignment, to be performed by the investor.

[ozmarig]

A glimpse of the royal life

Spare by Prince Harry My rating: 5 of 5 stars I read this and listened to the audiobook at the same time, which made for a more engaging experience. Prince Harry's voice came out very clearly, even through the written words. Kudos to his ghost writer, who captured the essence of his personality. I do not know much about Harry as I do not follow the escapades of the royal family, but I have heard snippets of his naughty scrapes in his youth. Prior to reading this book, to me, he was a privileged boy who does humanitarian work. How much and how involved, I had no idea. I must have had expectations, because the book disarmed me. The first part was about his childhood, especially right after his mother died, and how he coped with the pain and trauma of it. It brought me to tears as Harry's suffering reminded me of my own son's behaviour (who lost his father at 5years old). The second part was about his adulthood, and Harry was very honest and raw about his weaknesses, his mistakes, the coping mechanism he employed, and the salvation he found in the army. He was also very consistent with his loathing against the British media, his frustration at not being able to fight back, or at least the way the institution (his family and their minders) prevented him. Here, Harry was a frustrated, traumatised young man trying to find a way (any way, even temporary ones) to alleviate the pain, and to survive the restricted life he was forced into as a royal, including being the target of vitriol based on lies. He debunked more than a few of the stories written about him in the British tabloids. And confirmed a few basic truths. It was a really clever move as the media can no longer use those to make up stories about him. The third part was about his meeting Meghan and their life together. And what they went through. This was heart-wrenching. And my thought was, Meghan was his lifeline, the final rope that pulled him out of the golden quicksand he was neck-deep in, and into the freedom he now enjoys. At the expense of herself—her mental health, public image, and her own freedom. You can feel, almost taste, how much Harry adored his wife and kids. Maybe it was my love for romance novels, but one could not help but root for them. Their story is one of the most beautiful, torturous, and sweetest that I have every read. The book was also a study of human behaviour. About how the Royal Family operates, why they behave as they do. King Charles couldn't help what he is because he was trained to be like that, to the detriment of his sons. Especially his heir, William. Harry was the luckier one. And while there is glamour at being a royal, it is also very sad to be one. Harry and the other members of the family that were not heirs were like gold-plated, diamond-encrusted servants to the crown. It makes one think why would one even want to be born into it. A person born into a non-royal but rich family is so much better off. Harry lacked love, freedom, and money. Yes, money. Despite the net worth of the estate of the royal family, Harry was very dependent on his father's hand-outs (as most of the royals are including Charles brothers and sisters). And not because he was lazy, but because he wasn't permitted to have a career outside being a royal. His being a soldier was the only exception allowed, because it adds to the prestige of the Royal Family. King Charles was both Harry's father and employer, and the man wasn't very good in either role. Harry was a pauper underneath the princely trimmings. And Meghan was the warrior princess in a shining armour made of everything Harry didn't have but needed. She was educated, confident and free, both financially, emotionally and intellectually. And they bonded because they were made of the same empathetic heart. She came at the right time for him, when he was already restless, and finding a reason to break away. Spare was beautifully written, and Harry as the narrator for the audible file was perfect. I highly recommend it. View all my reviews

[traditional-with-a-twist]

Guess Who

masterpost: Pauper with a Golden Crown

for @randowwriter, thank you for enjoying our stories!

No one knew her story. She wasn’t from Tanburun, so she was unlike other refugees that the Lions sheltered. That she was some sort of refugee was certain. She’d made it clear that she didn’t want to go back to wherever she’d come from. 

Really, that was all the Lions needed to know. They welcomed Midori and her son without further questions. 

Midori was charming and playful and quickly grew to be loved. Her son, however, seemed skittish. He was rarely seen. Mukaze often wondered in passing what he got up to, but there were many places in the village for children to hide, so he thought little of it.

At least until one day, Shirayuki came running up to him. “There’s a boy,” she told him urgently. 

“Hmmm?” Mukaze asked, preoccupied with the latest news of Claw of the Sea’s misdeeds.

“In one of the water barrels. He won’t come out,” Shirayuki clarified, wringing her small hands. “What if he’s hurt?”

“In one of the barrels?” Mukaze looked down at her anxious little face. She nodded. Well, having someone messing around in their water supply could be a problem.

“Show me, then.”

Mukaze followed Shirayuki to the corner of the village where they kept the empty rain barrels, waiting to be used. That was a relief. A small enough child could probably drown in a full one.

She stood on tip-toe and lifted the lid of the barrel in the furthest corner just enough for her to peer into it. “I brought my dad,” she informed the inside of the barrel. “If you’re hurt, he can get you out.”

There was no response. Mukaze frowned. He stepped over to Shirayuki and lifted the lid all the way. 

All he could see was a mess of spiky black hair and a pair of surprisingly cat-like golden eyes staring up at him, but it was enough to identify Midori’s son. The boy hunched deeper into the barrel, cringing away from the light. Mukaze wouldn’t have thought a boy of his age could make himself that small.

“Is he alright?” Shirayuki whispered, in that completely audible way children had. 

“Hmmm.” Mukaze didn’t think he’d been told where Midori would be working today. Rather than settle into one trade like many of the women, she usually moved from task to task, unusually adept at all of them. He eyed what he could see of the boy. He didn’t look injured or ill. “Best to leave him be,” he decided. “Come on, Shirayuki.”

She kept looking over her shoulder as they walked away, so he put his hand on her back to keep her moving in the right direction. 

“Do you know who he was?” Shirayuki asked.

“Midori’s son. They came here a few weeks ago.”

“I remember.” Shirayuki furrowed her brow. “What’s his name?”

Mukaze shrugged.

****

For many weeks after that, Mukaze often caught Shirayuki peering into barrels at odd hours of the day.

When she found who she was looking for, she always had the same thing to say: “I’m Shirayuki. What’s your name?”

She never got any answer that Mukaze could hear. 

[mulliganstn]

-Cigar City Brewing Cosmic Crown Cigar City Brewing, the Southeast’s leading craft brewery, is going Intergalactic with the release of Cosmic Crown, a Belgian-Style Strong Golden Ale. The new release marks the first venture into the Strong Golden Ale distribution category for CCB. We’ve taken inspiration from beyond the cosmos for this golden-hued Strong Golden Ale and added Galaxy hops to impart passionfruit and peach qualities to its profile of ripe fruit and light peppery spice. Clocking in at 9% ABV, this deceptively devilish beer of formidable strength delivers tropical notes and a hint of spice that’s enjoyed by princes and paupers alike. Assertive aromas of pineapple, bubblegum, dried flowers, and a hint of black pepper greet the nose. Overripe banana, red apple, and lime leaf esters play on the palate, while poundcake-like malt, pepper-like spiciness, and herbaceous bitterness play supporting roles. 9% ABV (at Mulligan's Wine & Spirits) https://www.instagram.com/p/ClT0hdLLpOQ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[rebrandedbard]

2 and 3 for the writer asks!

2. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

To finishing it lmao. But in all seriousness, I really do want to finish and post some of my 10k stuff again, then to do my drabbles for awhile, really trim down my list of ideas.

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

I really want to do a Cinderella inspired story with Jaskier as Cinderella. Geralt is (still a witcher) returning to the castle for the grand ball, who Jaskier mistakes for the king. At the ball, everyone is in fancy dress and masks. Jaskier unknowingly meets the king, Filavandrel, and tells him of his deep admiration for the 'king.' Filavandrel takes a mischievous glee in setting them up. Here is the dialogue of their meeting:

[Unbeknownst to him, Jaskier was ushered among the nobility at the head table. With everyone in costume, it was impossible to tell who was who, of what rank, and what title. And who should approach him but the king for whom the ball was held, Filavandrel himself? He noticed Jaskier looking intently around the room.]

“What are you looking for?”

“Forgive me, I did not mean to stare. I am looking for the king.”

“Oh? Do you wish to pay your respects? Today is his birthday, you know.”

“I did not, but knowing now, I wish I might offer him a present. You see, I wish to sing for him.”

“Upon my word! Do you sing?”

“Yes. I play the lute as well.”

“How wonderful! And what would you sing for your king, little songbird?”

“I would sing a poem I have composed of his beauty. He is quite the most beautiful man I have beheld.”

“Is that so? And how would you describe him? With hair of sunlight no doubt, fair and warm as summer days?”

“Oh no! The king has hair white as snow. White as moonlight.” Jaskier spotted a crown of white hair among the crowd and pointed. “There he is now! He heard me play just this morning as he was riding past. It was he who invited me. Oh, he is a gentleman! I’ve never met anyone so kind, nor so handsome.”

The king straightened, turning to pose subtly in the light. “Do you not think I am more handsome, perhaps?”

“You are properly handsome, but of a blinding beauty. You are far too dazzling, your beauty like the fanfare of a golden trumpet. He is soft and his beauty sings like the babbling of a brook. That is the beauty for me.”

“Pooh. He must be beautiful. Everyone thinks kings and the like are beautiful simply because they are kings.”

“I would think him beautiful were he a pauper. In fact, were he a—a scullion, his hand black and grey and white with ashes, I would kiss it. I’d rather he were a scullion,” Jaskier sighed. “What would a king care for a singer beyond a song?”

“Or a conversation,” the king replied, smiling secretly behind his mask. “I think a marble statue would turn their head to hear you speak. You have a unique charm. Tell me, do you mean what you say? Would you love him as a king? As a knight? Were he a commoner, would you still sing for him?”

“I would sing for him if he were the town butcher.”

“What a romantic heart you have!” the king praised. But he had his doubts. “What if he were something fiercer, a demon or goblin? Is it only beauty you see?”

“He cannot be a thing of evil, whatever he may be. He has a kind heart and a gentle smile.”

“Then if I told you he is not the king, that he is a witcher, a mutant for hire whose destiny is to hunt monsters of the most terrifying nature, how would you answer?”

“The same. No; perhaps he is nobler for his work. A king protects his realm with papers and signatures; a witcher protects with his very life. Yes, if what you say is true, I should sing twice as bold.”

“Then as your king, allow me to present you to him that I may hear you sing! I accept your present whole-heartedly, whether it be meant for me or another. Come! Take my arm.”

“Oh sir! Sir! Majesty, forgive me—“

“Nonsense! There is nothing to forgive. I thank you for speaking so freely and ask you forgive me my little mischief. Allow me to make amends with this introduction or I shan’t enjoy the rest of the party. There, now. Let’s be off!”

-

Meta Ask Game

[strangerthings4theories]

Katabasis and Anabasis: Billy Is The God-King Who Dies and Lives Again, Pt. 1

I’ve already offered evidence that Billy is a Christ figure. Mythologically speaking, the story of Christ fits into a larger tradition - that of the god-king who dies and lives again. This is an ancient mytheme that occurs over and over in wildly disparate cultures. It just really speaks to us for some reason, no matter where we’re from. If you want to tell a story that packs a punch, you can’t go wrong by tapping into this ancient myth.

With Billy, the Duffers have done precisely that. (Intentionally, imo.)

Proving it will take some work, so I hope you’re ready. ;) In this post, I’ll explore the extensive king symbolism that Billy has already been given. In my second post, I’ll explore his extensive god symbolism. In the third, I’ll explain the concepts of katabasis and anabasis and show how they apply to Billy.

>>In S2, Billy is a king in the making.

Billy may be a scruffy street rat when we meet him, but he has grand ambitions. From the second he struts into S2, he’s shown as having one primary goal: replace Steve Harrington as “King of Hawkins High.” He constantly stabs Steve in the back, undermines his manhood, and claims superiority in everything from playing sports to bedding women. And he does so with startling intensity.

We need only a handful of scenes to see this dynamic in action.

In our first scene with Billy and Steve, Billy’s just beaten the school’s keg record. “We have a new Keg King!” proclaims Tommy, Steve’s former hype-man. As the crowd chants Billy’s name, Billy struts inside, where he catches sight of Steve across the room. He then approaches him, climbing up onto a symbolic royal dais to present himself as a challenger to the throne. “We have a new Keg King, Harrington,” Tommy crows, informing us that the record Billy broke was Steve’s.

Old King, meet the new King.

In their next scene, they’re playing basketball, literally competing with one another. Billy seizes the chance to taunt Steve. “Harrington, right? I heard you used to run this school. […] Then you turned bitch.” He punctuates his taunt by shoving Steve to the ground and scoring a basket.

Undermine Steve’s manhood? Check. Imply his days as king are over? Check. Show him you’re gonna take his place? Check.

As if to emphasize the point - that Billy’s after Steve’s crown - the Duffers give us another basketball scene, this time with “Push It To The Limit” as the soundtrack. Here Billy taunts Steve by asking, “What? You afraid the coach is gonna bench you now that I’m here?” Then he shoves Steve down again, scores another basket, and comes back with an outstretched hand, presumably to help Steve to his feet. 

Not so. He just wants to undermine Steve further by suggesting he's incompetent.

“You were moving your feet,” he says. “Plant them next time. Draw a charge.” With that, he shoves Steve down a third time and walks away.

In the shower scene that follows, Billy offers a superficial olive branch, except it’s patronizing and dripping with disdain. “Don’t take it too hard, man,” he says of Steve’s breakup with Nancy. “Pretty boy like you’s got nothing to worry about. Plenty of bitches in the sea. Am I right?” Then he walks away with a parting shot: “I’ll be sure to leave you some.”

These scenes paint a picture of two alpha males vying for authority. The dialogue refers to kings and rulers, Steve and Billy literally compete at every turn, and Billy symbolically kills Steve by shoving him to the ground. By the time he offers his “olive branch,” Billy clearly believes he’s won. He’s King of Hawkins High now, with everything that entails. Steve’s once-loyal subjects are now his, and he gets first pick of the women. Steve has to make do with the leftovers. 

>>By the beginning of S3, Billy has settled comfortably into his “kingship.”

Alas, poor Steve. While he’s been reduced to pauper status, dishing out ice cream for children and struggling to land a date, Billy has ascended to the symbolic throne of the Hawkins Community Pool. In his first scene, he emerges gloriously into the sun, with the perfectly coiffed hair of a spoiled monarch. Then he struts to the throne the lifeguard chair from which he will rule the citizens of Hawkins. Along the way, he spots a citizen breaking the law, and he lets his displeasure be known. Loudly.

“No running on my watch! I catch you running again, and you’ll be banned for life. You wanna be banned for life, lard-ass?”

Brutal. But Billy is king of the pool, and the king has total authority.

He even has a symbolic harem: the middle-aged women who wait at the pool every day, clamoring, “Pick me!” “No, me!”  When Billy chooses Karen, he’s picking her out of the harem. She has won the favor of the king.

That night, as Billy drives his royal chariot Camaro to their meeting place, he’s smiling and laughing. He has everything he (supposedly) wanted in S2 - power, glory, sex. No one can dim his star.

Then the Mind Flayer strikes. Like an assassin, He waylays the king’s chariot Billy's Camaro on the road, then symbolically kills him by dragging him into the underworld the basement of the steel mill.

At the height of his powers, the king has been dragged off his throne. It’s a fuckin’ good twist, full of high drama and mythological meaning.

>>Even after he’s been “killed,” Billy’s kingly spirit shines through.

Yes, he’s the Mind Flayer’s puppet when El meets him. Still, their meeting is framed as the street rat visiting the prince or king in his castle. He’s presiding over a royal banquet for his subjects the Holloways, in a room decorated with gold and elegant chinoiserie. His hair is still beautifully coiffed, and he’s wearing a princely blue shirt.

(Here, have some graphics, because this is one of my favorite looks for him EVER)

In addition, lions are mentioned multiple times in Stranger Things. In S1, Nancy compares the Demogorgon to a lion: “And it seems to hunt at night, like a lion or coyote.” In S2, Steve tells Dustin you can pursue girls aggressively like a lion or stealthily like a ninja. (THIS IS AN IMPORTANT LINE OF DIALOGUE! I’ll make a post about it eventually.)

For several reasons, I’ve come to believe Billy is the lion of Stranger Things. 

1) His coloring is similar.

2) The sound design of the Camaro incorporates the roar of a big cat. (So does the sound design of the Demogorgon. Just fyi.) Listen to the Camaro in the first few seconds of this clip. Hear the roar? :)

3) When El comes to him in the Void, he’s made up to look like a lion: dark shading around the eyes, a golden “mane,” tan skin.

4) The Void scene evokes the story of Daniel in the lion’s den. El is Daniel, trapped in a symbolic cave with Billy, the lion who just might eat her.

This is such common knowledge it hardly bears mentioning, but lions have long been regarded as regal, noble creatures. They’ve been called “king of the cats” and “king of the savanna.” Even Christ himself was called “the Lion of Judah.”

A lion is the perfect symbol for Billy. He’s fierce, lethal, but ultimately noble at heart. Piss him off, and he just might eat your face.

By showing us his kingly “lion” side in the Void, the Duffers are saying his star may have been dimmed for now... but it’s still hidden deep inside him, waiting for the chance to shine again.

In my next post, I’ll explore how Billy evokes not just general god symbolism, but three gods in particular - Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, the three brother-gods of Greek mythology.

»»————-　✼　————-««

The “Billy Is Alive” Meta Series

For updates, follow the hashtag #billy is alive meta

[doyouknowhowtowaltz]

In which, I steal all three prompts Xath rolled.

Beneath the cut is a second version of this piece and also a piece of writing that goes with it.

The life of the Beast of Eternal Darkness was dependent on the longevity of a flame, small enough it could be clutched in hand, kept in an iron cage, fed by hands trained by deceit, tucked into the heart of winter’s wilds. It was a perilous way to live when a strong breeze or careless lantern bearer could spell the doom of the wood.

The sword of Damocles hung framed by his antlers, hanging by a spiderweb’s thread, swaying, fraying dangerously in the breeze.

But he would be a fool if he never looked up, and saw the blade, and prepared for its inevitable fall.

He could feel it, the day the winds changed, cold and biting in the thick of winter, but tainted by the taste of a brother’s love. He could feel it a week earlier when the world grew thin, and the skies rippled like water as two wayward wandered into his realm, and deep in his roots, he knew, and the force of it shook the wind and rattled the leaves.

It was the dusking of an era.

His era.

The next age would come, and a new set of antlers would herald its coming as smoke spun itself into flame.

The trees lean close and whisper to one another, foreign to him for the first time in years, and the snows come down thick, and he finds himself blinded and turned in them, the land that once rose to meet him drew back. The crickets murmured conspiratorially amongst themselves, and when he walked, all the wood leaned in behind him to watch him go. They are trading prophecies, preparing for his departure.

Not mourning, for the forest does not mourn its gardener’s loss.

But one did not live as long as he had without growing tricky and stubborn. His roots were deep, and his ways were not without trickery, and it would be a damned day that the Beast of the Winter Wood simply laid down to die.

The boy is sick and pale, wrapped in a wooden embrace, fading, but he’s served his purpose.

A silver thread, thin and gossamer, to bind one to life, a golden comb, to bargain passage beyond, reduced to uselessness by a child’s creativity. They were the grave dressings of a pauper, or perhaps, a child, gathered by a desperate mother.

But it matters not.

For the Beast does not intend to die.

The elder brother approaches, sick as well. He is fading too, but not fast enough. And with him, windswept from a different league of the wood, drawn, like so many, without his own knowledge, to the place that the Beast will shed his crown and become nothing but smoke, the meddlesome woodsman.

His time is drawing to a close.

And so he takes a gamble.

He swallows down the sun, tipping back the teacup, and it burns and festers deep within winter, eating him from within.

He can only hope that the fire inside, slowly licking its way through the wooden passages of his body, can stay lit if the fire in the lantern goes out.

Perhaps it will not forestall the inevitable, and his last moments will be ones of burning before he becomes smoke in every way. Perhaps, but he does not think of it, only of suppressing the smoke that crawls up the back of his throat as he goes to intercept his wayward woodsman.

[thecountryhipster]

"When I fly off this mortal earth

And I’m measured up by depth and girth

The Father says now what’s he worth

May he see Jesus' death and birth

Don’t measure me by dollar signs

Or bricks and mortar you may find

By Christ alone will I be found

Worthy of that golden crown

Worthy of that golden crown

The value of this life I’ve lived

How did I love, did I forgive

Where did my treasure truly lay

How did I start and end each day

Don’t measure me by battles won

Or some good deed that I have done

By Christ alone will I be found

Worthy of that golden crown

Worthy of that golden crown

May be a pauper or a king

Have nothing or have everything

The question begs, do you belong

Do you sing a resurrection song

Measured by the master’s hand

On only one truth can we stand

By Christ alone will we be found

Worthy of that golden crown

Worthy of that golden crown"

"In Christ Alone" by Edens Edge