#there's that star in my heart! she's still burning bright after all! she's just hurting. but she isn't gone. maybe she never was

[frecklystars]

i know nobody is online to see it rn but GOD it feels so good to be in love again!!!!!!!!! i reached the tag limit on that last reblog of la la land, there's a tag limit of 30 and i originally wrote almost 60 and then i had to keep revising it over and over until i only had 30. i just kept talking abt how much i love sebastian!!! and that's!!! how i'm supposed to be!!!! it's such a huge goddamn relief to start self shipping again even if it's not with TF, i really hope i can come back to my robots one day, but god. god it's such a fucking relief to have seb and six and ken and barbie and harley etc etc etc etc the list hopefully will just keep growing. this love in my chest, this feeling of overwhelming love that makes me actually physically sigh because there's so much love in me... that's how i am supposed to be and i am so relieved to start feeling this way again. i was numb for so long. i'm so grateful for these characters.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ ｔｏｕｃｈ ｔａｎｋ♡

♡ I created this for a friend of a friend. It totally warms my lil heart that she asked me to write this ♡

Pairing: boyfriend!changkyun x fem!reader

Summary: When your past trauma comes back to haunt you, your boyfriend reassures you that with him you'll always be protected

Genre: fluff/angst/smut

Word Count: 1.1k-ish

Warnings: reader has some trauma w/ being yelled at, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie

A/N: Thank you @anyamaris for always supporting me & sending your super rad friend my way ♡

"He tells me he's gentle when he wants to be so I think he wants to be gentle with me..." - Quinnie "Touch Tank"

On the 15th floor of a luxury high-rise a young woman twirls around her kitchen singing along to her favorite song. You might find her exact location by following the melodic voice ringing from her apartment. If her siren song fails to tempt you in her direction, the scent of dinner simmering on the stove will. The windows are open so she should probably put some pants on but she’s home after all.

What do you want from her? This is her safe space. Here she can be the vibrant creature that she is, a star burning bright against the night with no one to snuff it out. A past spent drowning in darkness, sick to her stomach with fear, is little more than a bad dream. The monster that haunts her is gone and she’s free…isn’t she?

Even with your music blasting you hear the lock to the front door click open, flooding you with joy. Flipping the stove off, you reach for your phone to turn the music down. “Baby, you’re home!” you sing, shuffling from the kitchen to greet your boyfriend as he kicks his shoes off. Your friends warned you that after living with your boyfriend for a few months the excitement would wear off but they couldn't be more wrong.

It’s been eight months since you and Changkyun got this place together and you still get butterflies when he walks through the door. You throw your arms around his neck, welcoming him home with a kiss. But he doesn’t kiss you back. He doesn’t even hold you in his arms the way that he usually would. He only lets out a heavy, tortured groan accompanied by a hesitant “Hi” before making his way over to the wine rack.

In an instant you deflate, a pretty little balloon springing a leak. Taking a deep breath, you catch the smile on your face before it fades away. Let’s try this again. “So, how’d everything go at the studio?” you ask, grabbing his favorite wine glass from the cabinet. Changkyun takes it from you, his expression cold enough to freeze you solid where you stand. “Can we just not talk about this, y/n? Is that okay with you?” he snaps, filling his glass with some expensive wine Minhyuk had insisted on getting him for his birthday. 

He doesn’t need to raise his voice for you to know something’s not right. You catch glimpses of it in the tightness of his jaw and the sharpness of his eyes. The anger seeps from his pores like a poison you thought you’d grown immune to. And just like that the monster’s back, darkness closing in around you demanding you to shrink yourself.

Be quiet. You’ll only make it worse. He’ll yell at you. It’ll be all your fault. “Um, okay” you murmur almost too low to hear. Shutting your music off, you quietly begin to straighten up the kitchen, careful not to get in his way. You're not walking on eggshells. You’re walking on glass and it tears you apart but you keep your mouth shut. “Ssh” the monster whispers, “Be quiet. Quiet. Quiet…” 

“Hey,” Changkyun says, taking you by the hand, his voice intentionally lighter than before. Placing a hand on each side of your face, he stares into your eyes, softening more with each passing moment. “Come back to me” he begs, desperate to pull you from that place in your mind you go to when you feel triggered. “What do I always say?”

You clear your throat, using his emotional lifeboat to drift back to safety, “That you’d never hurt me.” “And you believe me?” “Of course, I do,” you say it and you mean it because, despite the past attempting to claw its way into the present, you know Changkyun would die before he hurt you. He smiles, his hands slipping down to trace the edges of your figure, “Good because I wouldn’t. Not ever.”

You catch yourself getting teary eyed but there’s no time for tears when he kisses you, his tongue fervently seeking yours. He slips a hand under your shirt just enough to stroke the small of your back. The faintest contact from him is electric, his touch raising the tiny hairs along the surface of your skin.

You arch into him and feel fingers grazing your clit through the lace of your panties. “Changkyun…” you gasp, thighs parting as if to tell him you want more. “Should I stop?” he asks, hooking his fingers around your panties right where the moisture’s pooling. “No, don’t stop. Please don’t---mmph” You can hear the wetness seeping out as he enters you, his wrist rotating so that his fingers swirl softly against your sensitive walls.

“How could I ever hurt you?” he coos, taking in the angelic look on your face as he pushes deeper into you, “You’re so pretty, baby. I only want to make you feel good.” Your walls quiver around his fingers, reacting to the longing he pours into you. Bringing his arm tight around your waist, he guides you toward the bedroom. All the while pleasing you…stretching you…making you moan between his lips.

By the time he’s lifting you through the doorway your hands have developed a mind of their own, stripping him down to nothing but his boxers. He brings your shirt up over your head, his tongue finding your breasts before your back hits the bed.

Changkyun handles you with the patience of a painter working on a grand portrait of something close to his heart. His tongue makes purposeful strokes across your nipples, painting flowered vines down your belly as your panties disappear somewhere beneath the bed. 

On the 15th floor of a luxury high-rise, a young man buries his length deep in the warmth of the woman he loves. As he stimulates those spots that make her eyes roll back and her toes curl, she makes noises sweeter than his favorite song. You might find their exact location by following the sound of her crying out his name, melodic echoes of pleasure bouncing off of the walls.

The scent of her tempts to come before he’s ready, his need for her simmering out of control. The windows are open and neither of them give a shit if they have clothes on or not. They’re enjoying the beauty of each other’s naked bodies, bathing in the euphoria of her clenching around him. They’re home after all, giving each other every bit of what they want exactly how they want it.

It’s their safe space. Here they can surrender to each other, passion flowing vibrantly across sweat-slicked skin. This fire inside of her can’t be snuffed out. Her nails dig into his shoulders as she whimpers, the spasms in her pussy soaking him as she hits her high. She drowns in pleasure, her stomach pleasantly filling with his seed. This feels like heaven. Like a dream. She smiles, safe in his arms as they come down, and feels, at last, utterly and completely free.

[duhnova]

brightest star in the night sky | choi seungcheol

synopsis. freshly widowed seungcheol has to tell his daughter that mommy isn’t coming back but she can always find her amongst the night sky. 

word count: 743

warning(s): angst, mentions of a funeral, set in a graveyard/ at a grave sight, loss of a parent (mother), mentions of death, crying. - don’t mind grammatical errors and typos (i quite literally wrote this will crying) 

this was very self indulgent for me as i got hit with a big wave of grief over the loss of my mother.. i lost her a long time ago so it’s nothing new but some nights are hard, especially when the stars are extra bright.. anyways i hope that others can find some solace in this work and just remember that you’re not alone and it’s ok to still grieve years (and decades) later - there is no bounds to getting over the loss of someone you love and care about.   

“papa.” the little girl squeezes seungcheols finger. 

“yes baby?” he tries to clear his throat as much as possible after sobbing his heart out. 

“is mommy coming back?” she looks down at the freshly dug patch of dirt, the reality and weight of what just happened not fully comprehending in her four year old mind.

“i don’t think so.” seungcheol sniffs, his eyes burning again with tears. 

“why not?” his daughter finally looks up at him. 

“well.. because she’s taking a nap.” he looks at her with his bloodshot eyes. 

“but you wake up from naps silly!” she smiles up at him, giggling quietly at what she assumed was a joke. 

“think of this one as a forever nap.” he gives her a pained smile. 

“what’s a forever nap?” her head tilts, giving her the air of an innocent puppy. 

“it’s when you don’t wake up.” seungcheol rips his eyes off his daughter to stare at where his wife laid six feet under: 

“so.. mommy is never waking up “ her voice trails off a little, something clicking in her mind that she’d never see her mother again. 

“i’m sorry baby.” his voice cracks as he swallows back a sob. 

“but why? why isn’t she waking up? what happened to her?” she sounded so confused, and hurt - about what? she couldn’t put her finger on it but all these unknown emotions were making tears fill up her eyes. 

“i don’t.. i don’t know how to answer any of your questions baby i’m sorry.” he finally broke, an onslaught of tears spilling out his eyes as he bites his lip to keep back all the ugly sounds he wanted to make. 

“i want mommy to wake up daddy.” a tear finally fell from her eyes. 

“i do too.” his breathing was shaky as forces out coherent answers. 

“why won’t she wake up? does she not want to be with us anymore?”her little voice shakes as more tears begin to fall. 

“no.. no baby, that’s not it.. mommy just wasn't feeling well and so she had to go away so she wouldn’t be in pain anymore.” seungcheol picked up his crying daughter, allowing her to cling to him as she expelled all her emotions. 

“but i.. want her..  to be here.. with us.” she hiccups in between her sobs, her little hands fisting in the fabric of his jacket as she tries to calm herself down enough to speak.  

“she’ll always be here baby, everywhere you go she’s there.. look in the flowers that bloom and the sun that shines.” he pushes her hair out of her face before wiping at the tears that wouldn’t stop. 

“what about.. at night?” she takes in a deep breath, finding comfort in the way seungcheol began to gently sway them, his own tears slowing down as he watched his daughter (that looked so much like her mother) work on managing her own. 

“she’s always there at night. just look up into the sky and the brightest star you see is her looking over you.” he sniffles before giving her a gentle smile. 

“if it twinkles, is that her saying hello?” she wipes at some of the tears that were working on staining his cheeks causing him to laugh quietly (and a little brokenly). 

“i think it is.” he smiles through his pain, his eyes still glassy from the tears that didn’t escape yet. 

“i’ll make sure to wave back at her then.” she snuggles quietly before leaning down to wipe her nose on his jacket, a louder and more solid laugh leaving him. 

“i think she’ll like that.” he wraps one of his arms around her back to hold her in a tight hug, whispering about how he’ll wave with her. 

“can we go to mommy’s favorite restaurant for dinner tonight?” she whispers into his shoulder.

“of course we can, baby.” seungcheol fights back another wave of tears as he wills himself to finally walk away from the grave. “we can go to all her favorite places if you want.” 

“i’d like that,” she mumbles before peeking over his shoulder, watching the dirt patch get smaller in the distance. “bye mommy.. see you tonight.” she whispers into the wind, waving her little hand gently. seungcheol could feel his body shake a little as he swallowed back his tears, promising himself he’d stay strong for the rest of the night so that his daughter had someone to rely on. 

[sweetheart09]

"Wake up, wake up little bird"

Part one

Warnings: This story contains: Mention of killing, mention of affair, mention of Student/ Professor relationship, mention of death and torture, mention of sexual behaviour.

~read at your own risk also please keep in mind that english is not my first language, so be kind ^^ ~

Runa woke up drowsy and sleepy. Her head pounds like crazy and it was hard not to fall into unconsciousness again. Time went by and Runa snuggled back into the soft mattress and pillow. It was comfortable and just to good to wake up now. At first Runa did not noticed it….the unfamiliar scent….and the way the room was just too quiet....it was not Carols scent…like normal….or the sweet and fresh scent of Runas own laundry soap. Runa groaned as she rolled over….hoping to feel Carols warmth on her arm…but nothing. Runa sighed….she was maybe up again….doing work…or cleaning the apartment. Carol Danvers was always a organized and controlling woman….she always made sure to make the bed fresh, to clean the kitchen when Runa was over. She does not want her Husband Clive to know that she was having an affair with one of her college students. It would ruin her…it would ruin both of them....their life, her carrier…but still….the taboo….the secret Carol needed to keep, It was just to good. Runa loved it too…the affection….the little secret…the sex. It was all just too good. She opened her eyes….everything was blurry…and the bright light made her headache even worse. Like a hurted animal…she whined and turned around again to shut out all sources of light again. Thats when the girl noticed it…the small rustling and the tightness on her wrist….chains. They were warm against her wrist from her own body heat. Did Carol used handcuffs last night? Not that Runa can remember…and normally Carol was removing everything after the little hours of fun. Runa was confused…her heart skipped a beat…as a feeling of unwellness overcomes her.

The headache…the sleepiness…it was not normal for Runa to be that sleepy….to not get up for hours….She was normally a great morning person... She took a deep breath….it was nothing to worry about….maybe Carol was in the bathroom or already in the kitchen prepairing late night snacks or even early breakfast. Runa tries to keep calm...sleep overtook her soon again....letting her drift away in her own little world...in her own little memories...dreams of the next days in college...with her few friends....and then the evenings with her professor. The way Danvers would touch Runa, kiss her....the way Carol fingers would gracefull- Suddenly Runa gasped for air, as something or someone took her by her neck and squeezed her throat tightly....Runa opened her eyes wide in reflex...starring at the bright light bulb hanging from a grey concrete ceiling. The light is bright like the sun, burning in her eyes and making them water....the pressure increased and Runa tries to free herself from the choking grip...only to realize that she was still cuffed onto the bed.

"Wake up sleepy beauty" A raspy and deep voice chuckled. Runa looked frantically around the room until her eyes landed on a dark figure beside her. The womans face was halfway covered from a dark mask, only her green orb like eyes can be seen, shining sadistically. Runa wimpered in fear as she sees the dangerous, sociopath like glint in her eyes. Red lock bounced as the woman continues to choke Runa. Runas body arched as the lack of oxygen slowly became to much. Soon the students eyes began to flutter, her face was red....and her body stopped struggeling....but before Runa can fall unconsciouses again....the woman let go. Runa choked, breathed and even drooled slightly as the fresh oxygen burned in her lungs. It was salvation, the air filling up her starving lungs like it was their last meal. Runa coughed hardly as drool escape her lips and slips down her chin and cheek. The other woman chuckled like it was fun to her to bring people on the edge of death..

"Was fun, wasn´t it. Finally you are awake..took you long enough..." the woman chuckled again. Runa was in distress....trying to look at the womans figure but also trying to keep her breathing on a normal level. The woman walked gracefully and silently like a predator towards the tied up student. Runa trembled as the Stranger came towards her. Runa wanted to speak, to ask her who she was and what she wanted from someone like her...but Runas mouth was dry and speechless. "Such a pretty thing.." Natasha cooed and stalked towards the defenseless student. The Black Widow carefully climbed up the bed and leaned over the still breathless Runa Jones. "So pretty....with all the marks.." Natasha purred dangerously and softly touched Runas neck. Dark purple marks starts to appear from the past choking....fingerprints of abuse and pleasure. Runa looked at the Woman on top of her...she tries to squirm, hoping to get as far away from the others body as possible. But it had no use...Natasha grabbed Runas shoulders to keep her still and pretty.

The Woman smiled...it is even noticeble with the black mask on. Her eyes glint with pure ecstasy and even pleasure. Runa whined as the woman suddely pulled a knife out of one of her thigh pockets...holding it up in the air. The dull light of the bulb above them glistered in the sharp metal blade. "no..please.." Runa whimpered with multiple thoughts in her head. Everything spins and fear creeps up her bones. Will the woman kill her? The woman chuckled again...and softly pulled up her mask...Runa would have gasped at the beauty of this woman, if she was not in such a dangerous situation. Forest and dark green eyes, fire red and curly hair....her lips are plum and lookes soft. Runa would have been stunned by the womans appearence....if there wasn´t the frightening and murderous glint in her eyes. "So pretty when you beg..." Natasha wispered and with steady hands guided the sharp blade closer to Runas chin. Runa whimpered as the cold metal scratched her skin...it does not hurt..but still feels uncomfortable.

The tied up woman tries to stay still...letting the Assassine do whatever she wants... "You know...if you would not be so pretty....i would have killed you right away..." The assassine wispers slowly letting the blade run up and down Runas chin...softly slicing away any small hairs. Runa did not dare to breath....she did not even dare to think... "Beg for me again....now" The woman commanded sternly but also with a tiny sadistic smile.

Runa swallowed and opened her dry mouth to speak.. "Please...no...do not hurt..me" Runa croaked out and was embarassed of herself in this moment. The Widow seems to be satisfied by the small amount of words and softly removed the blade from her victim...even if iNatasha wanted more. Natasha would love to slice her Name right away into Runas shoulder....or ven stomach...but she waits first....maybe another time.

Natasha leaned down watching Runa like a prey...before leaning down and kissing her lips softly. Runa tries to lean away...but strong hands keep her still. Runa tries to not lean into the soft and plum lips of her kidnapper....but she can not lie...the kiss was good.

Runa was to suprised to think straight in this moment...she just let it happened. Adrenalin and also fear rushed through her vains....but still she somehow enjoyed the kiss. The collage student was glad that the assassine did removed the blade from her breakable neck and was now a bit more gentle. With a little tuck Natasha pulled away, leaving Runa breathing for air- Questionable...she was missing the kiss...her lips..and tounge. Natasha chuckled as she saw her victim out of breath and still being tied up. Her long fingers slowly start to caress Runas neck and went futher down Runas chest and under her shirt. Runa sucked in the air, being uncomfortable with being touched by the woman who took her.

"Now, be a good girl and hold still.." Natasha breathed out before she lowered her head towards Runas neck...softly starting to nipple the sensitive skin. "I will have so much fun with you..."

[thejediscrolls]

You Drew Stars

Tech x Jedi reader

Unrequited love is a real bantha

Angst / Slow burn / Fluff

Pt 1 of You Drew Stars

Everything… Our home… Our lives… It was all gone. Sunk to the bottom of the sea.

Kamino had became a second home to me when I was first assigned to my squad, Clone Force 99. Otherwise known as the bad batch. The council thought my presence would help the team to be less wreckless, but they were once again wrong.

I did my best to take care of my team, to keep them safe with each battle we were faced with. In time they came to feel the same, our once shaky team became a family.

The few years were filled with funny moments and sad ones from losing friends along the way. My life had been as simple as it could be thrust into a war… That is until order 66.

Everything became messy back then. I ran away that day with Kanan as we fled from the clones we once called friends who were hunting us. I managed to get him somewhere safe before our paths parted. It meant what we wanted, the two of us with our only connections to our lives before and the Jedi. I had to leave the young Padawan, the only safest option to keep our identities hidden. I prayed to the force every night that he was safe as I continued to my journey to find my squad. To somehow reason with them… Months passed before I was able to track down my makeshift family.

When I found them in that dingy bar, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. It was like the missing pieces in my heart were put back together. Hugs and greetings were made and I still remember the shock I felt when Tech gently wrapped his arms around me.

“It’s good to see you again General.”

It was no secret between the squad that I had a particular soft spot for the intelligent clone. It happened slowly through our days of war and the only thing to keep me from curling in on myself were long conversations with him of absolutely anything. Those moments were carried with me in my recent days of being alone.

“I am no longer your General.” I joked.

“Impossible. You will always be our general.” Was his simple reply.

I smiled into his armor, “I missed you to, Tech.”

It didn’t take long to relise that they were on the run from the empire as well. They told me about how they found out chips were implanted in the heads of every clone trooper forcing them to follow order 66. A heavy weight left my chest from hearing that it wasn’t truly them, but returned just the same thinking about all the poor clones out there who have to commit such atrocities… Then they told me about Crosshair and the feeling of pain only grew.

Though I did meet a new friend by the name of Omega. She was a sweet girl with a brilliant mind and I quickly took her under my wing. Absolutely no one would hurt this bright soul.

From that moment on we spent months chasing after adventures throughout the galaxy and working under Sid. Sid however, knew nothing of me being a Jedi and I’d like to keep it that way.

Everything was different, but not different in a bad way. Our family grew closer as we slowly learned what we could be apart from war. Tech and I grew closer, noticed by all especially Wrecker who seemed to tease Tech any chance he got. I still remember the first time I fully opened my grief to Tech.

It was just after Camino being destroyed, Crosshair staying behind once again for his beliefs, destruction surrounded us all. It was odd that it was in that moment that what we have lost hit me in an aching force.

“I can’t breathe.” The words barely got out as I held on one of the crates lodged in the back of the ship, “I can’t-”

Everything was shaking as if an earthquake was occurring in that very room. It wasn’t until later that I realized it was because of me and my heightened emotions causing an imbalance in the force.

“It is quite normal to be experiencing lack of breath do to an accelerated heart rate. By my calculations you are having a panic attack.”

“Tech.” I pleaded with the clone.

“I apologize… I’m afraid the only thing to stop your condition is to get your heart rate down.”

“How?” I cried out, a wooden crate crumbling into pieces on the other side of the wall.

I didn’t notice the way Hunter entered the room or Tech silently nodding at him to wait outside.

“Everything is gone! Our home is gone! My friends are… Crosshair… The Jedi… My master Secura. My force, Master Billaba didn’t deserve to die either! If only I had stayed to help her, but instead I ran. And your home didn’t deserve to be destroyed! Everything! Everything is just… Gone.”

“You are not gone. I am not gone.” He spoke softly, “Neither is Hunter, Omega, Wrecker, Echo, or Crosshair wherever he may be… And you didn’t run. You helped your friend’s padawan escape, you saved that kid.”

My breathing began to slow down as I took in his words. He was right in a way… We were not gone.

“As for our home is not gone either because a place doesn’t make a home-” He took a small breath, “We make each other a home.”

“Tech…” I spoke his name as soft as a gentle breeze.

“Your heart rate seems back to normal. How do you feel?” He asked.

I wiped the sticky tears from my face as I took a breath, “Better.”

I gave him a soft smile, one he returned.

I think that was the moment my heart began to beat a little faster for the tall trooper. He gave me a feeling that I have only ever felt before I was taken in by the council. When I was, but youngling held close to my mother’s side… A feeling of comfort and home.

My feelings only grew stronger from there as I slowly came to the terms that I was in love with Tech… A problem in and of itself and so here I was trying to solve my problems in a bucket of mantell mix.

“I don’t know what to do Hunter.” I sighed, “Jedi were forbidden to form any attachements… But I am no longer a Jedi under the council.”

“You could always just tell him.” He suggested.

“Have you met your brother? I can barely touch him without the poor man freaking out. Imagine just suddenly telling him I like him… He would go into shock! No, I need to do this slowly… Ease into it maybe?”

“That seems… Stupid.” He chuckled and I followed it with a sigh.

“It’s the only option I have. I don’t want to ruin our friendship by suddenly confessing and I don’t even know if he likes me back yet.” My shoulders slumped, “Oh my force, what if he doesn’t even like me back?”

“I highly doubt that.” Hunter muttered under his breath.

“Come again?” I asked not hearing him.

“Nothing.” Hunter shook his head as he stood up, “Why don’t you try openly showing how you feel and see if he returns it.”

My brows furrowed, “Like flirting?”

Hunter nodded, “Yeah. Although I think it’s stupid to not just admit your feelings, but it’ll give you confidence and when you feel comfortable to confess, do it.”

Wreckers voice echoed throughout the cantina signaling their arrival.

“Oh look who’s back.” Hunter smirked as he patted my shoulder as he left, “Good luck.”

I took a breath before sliding off my stool to greet the other half of our team. I slid in beside Tech, his eyes barely glancing up from his holopad.

“General.” He greeted with ease.

“Tech.” I mused as I carefully pushed the holopad down from where he had it so close to his face.

I could see the confusion and slight embarrassment in his eyes, “How was the mission? I have no doubt you handled it perfectly as you always do, yes?”

“Ah…” He trailed off and I could see his nervousness already starting to rise and I hadn’t even touched him yet.

It was honestly adorable in a way that embodies Tech. I waited patiently for his response in no means of retreating. He was just about to answer just as Omega wrapped me up in a hug.

“You wouldn’t believe the adventure we had!” She smiled as I returned her hug, “There was this huge sea beast and Tech whipped the ship so fast it we almost crashed into a cliff!”

“You what?” Hunter stepped in causing Omega to pull away from and towards him.

“I wouldn’t say crash. I had everything perfectly under control.” Tech intervened.

“Yeah!” She grinned.

“Tech crashing? I’d never believe that.” I glanced back up at Tech with a cheeky grin.

“Indeed.” Tech’s lips twitched upward slightly in return.

If anyone would ask me describe Tech’s eyes. I would say it felt like the warmest of hugs when he would wrap me into his gaze. I thought maybe… Just maybe…

We could be.

“Say… Do you want to go get something to eat?” I asked him hoping that he would agree and we could get some time alone.

“Oh I’m starving! But only if you’re cooking!” Wrecker boomed.

I couldn’t even be angry at the big teddy bear when he rubbed his stomach as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Even though I know fully well that they are because, I made them the food.

I let out a breathy laugh, “Well we should get going then.”

Our family was crazy messy and dramatic, but it was perfect… Until it wasn’t.

“Before you guys go I have another mission for you! It involves one of my informants.” Sid waved at us to follow her into her office.

As we walked by the bar, I grabbed my mantel mix and handed it to Omega so that she could have something to snack on before dinner.

“Thank you!” She accepted the treat, happily shoving a handful in her mouth and passing the box to Wrecker so he could eat.

“She’s going to turn into Wrecker with her eating habits.” Tech sighed.

“I don’t know… She has quite a bit of each of your personalities.” I smiled gently at him as we entered the office, “If it’s any consolation, I like your personality the best.”

He fixed his glasses nervously, “I am intelligent so it’s only natural that you would think so.”

“I wouldn’t see it any other way.” I replied.

“Well now that you’re all here, this is my informant.” Sid motioned to the chair and we all directed our attention to the beautiful woman sitting in it.

“The name’s Phee.” She grinned.

[separatist-apologist]

When The Sky Fades To Blue

Under the stars is when I'm over the moon

Summary: In a moment of panic when the mating bond snaps beneath the mountain, Rhysand brings Feyre back to Velaris with him. Pretending he's called their bargain, Rhysand has seven days to convince her to stay with him.

Rhys will do anything to keep her

Day 3 of @sjmromanceweek: Honeymoon (Because I say it is)

Read on AO3

CW: Rhys tricks Feyre into accepting the mating bond- full consent the entire time they're together

“Well, goodbye for now,” Rhys said to Feyre, his heart hammering in his chest. The image of her body, broken and twisted on the ground still hung just behind his lids. He could still scent the copper tang of her blood, could all but taste the rotting presence of death just in the shadows. Rhys didn’t know if he’d ever forget that sight—or forgive Tamlin for dragging her into all this in the first place.

His rage was a palpable thing, strumming in his chest until it was all but taut. He wanted to go home, to see his family, his city, his people. He’d figure out what to do about Feyre after all that. Too much still lingered, unfinshed. That bargain threaded between them, binding her for at least a time. He’d see her again when he was ready.

When she was ready.

He lifted his eyes to her own, drinking in the bright blue. She was alive.

Vibrant.

Exhausted, and reeking of sex which rankled him. She’d been dead. Tamlin couldn’t give her a minute of peace? Rhys wanted to wipe those purple smudges from the hollows of her face, to chase away the darkness until only the brightest starlight remained. 

Feyre held his gaze, her upturned, pink lips parted. Rhys’s heart sped up, racing in his chest. His blood bubbled as that string he’d mistaken for rage snapped viciously in his chest. He could scent it then, burning in his nose, taunting him for knowing and yet still doubting.

He’d known the moment Amarantha turned her fury on Feyre’s still human body.

Mate. She’s my mate. She’s mine. 

He stumbled back a step, his nostrils flaring as he drank her in. Rhys felt wild—out of control. He needed to get out before he did something stupid, needed to leave her.

She’s my mate.

And she reeked of another male. 

Rhys summoned his magic to winnow away. He had every intention of leaving her behind. He swore he did. 

And yet at the last moment, as she began to ask him what was going on, Rhys lunged, yanked her into his arms, and ripped them both from that cursed mountain before anyone could stop him. Vaguely, he had the sense that Feyre had hit him, but Rhys didn’t realize anything beyond getting his mate far away from everyone and everything that might hurt her.

Rhys slammed into the center of the dining room, knees buckling against ivory marble. He was in the moonstone palace, he realized. He was home. He’d forgotten for a moment that he was still clutching Feyre to his chest. Rhys drank in the soft scent of jasmine as cool air brushed over his cheeks.

Welcome home, High Lord. 

“Rhys?”

Rhys’s head snapped up. Morrigan was sitting at the dining table, dressed casual in amethyst pants. Her blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders and those eyes—Rhys had long forgotten how big and bright and brown they were—looked both horrified and relieved. 

He wanted to go to her but he still held Feyre, who wasn’t moving at all. She was staring around the opulent room with open fear, flinching when Mor screamed for Cassian. 

Mor stood from the table and Rhys tried to, too. “She’s my mate,” he said by way of greeting. 

Mor’s steps faltered, the breath dying in her chest. Feyre twisted then, palms braced against his chest to push herself away.

“Rhys,” Mor whispered, eyes flicking between the pair of them. 

“I’m not your mate!” Feyre hissed, putting distance between them. “Take me back!”

Cassian rounded the corner with Azriel just behind him. Both winged males froze in the arched entryway, mouths open. 

Azriel was the first to notice Feyre, who had gone very, very still at the sight of them. His brothers posed no danger to her, which was the only thing that convinced Rhys to take a step toward them.

Cassian caught him first, pulling Rhys into a hug so tight it bruised his ribs. “You’re alive,” Cassian whispered, his voice rough with emotion. 

“We’d heard—” Azriel cleared his throat, silencing whatever Mor had been about to say. Rhys could guess what they’d heard, what they were wondering. He held his brother a little tighter before he let go, turning to look at Azriel.

“It doesn’t matter what they said,” Azriel told Rhys in lieu of a hug, though he did put his hand on Rhys’s shoulder. “We never believed it—and we never fucking cared, Rhys. Do you hear me?”

There was a dull roaring in his ears at Azriel’s words, at the glassy shine to Cassian’s eyes and how Mor had gone to Feyre and offered her a friendly smile. He had to tell them, so they knew how awful he was, how he didn’t deserve any of this, how—

“It doesn’t matter,” Azriel repeated, fingers digging into the fabric of Rhys’s tunic. “Tell us if you have to, but not because you think we should hate you.”

“You did what you had to, Rhys,” Mor added.

Cassian slapped Rhys lightly on the cheek. “You’ve gotta try a hell of a lot harder to get rid of us.”

“You saved us,” Mor added, swallowing hard. “And everyone in this city knows it.”

There was ringing silence for a moment, and then— “Oh. Are you back, then? Well, it took you long enough.” Amren’s voice sliced through the tension. She was just as small and terrifying as he remembered. Her gaze settled on a frightened, exhausted Feyre, inching closer and closer to Mor. Her nostrils flared, scenting what everyone else in the room could smell, too.

Sex—not from him, but Tamlin. Death, and blood, too. But beneath the horror was the thread between them, their mingled scents that whispered the truth of what they were. Feyre didn’t move, all eyes firmly on her.

“Take me back,” she whispered, her eyes steely.

Cassian huffed out a breath and Azriel cocked his head, clearly curious what male she’d been with before Rhys intervened. They were going to absolutely lose it when they found out. He braced himself for their laughter.

“Back where?” Mor asked kindly, clearly deciding that she would be Ferye’s friend.

Feyre was still looking at him, half pleading, half furious. “Back to Spring. To Tamlin.”

Right on cue, Cassian burst out laughing. Azriel clapped his hand on Rhys’s arm while Mor shook her head, chiding him without saying a word. 

“Settle this,” Amren warned him, fingers brushing the back of his hand before she returned to whatever she’d been doing before he’d arrived.

“Tamlin?” Cassian wheezed, hand on his stomach. “Your mate is with Tamlin?”

“Good luck,” Azriel murmured, his eyes jewel bright. 

“Come on,” Mor said to Feyre, taking her hand. “You look like you could use a hot meal and some sleep. I’ll show you around.”

There was no arguing. Rhys straightened his spine, trying to remember who he’d been under the mountain. He’d just left, had been doing it for fifty years and all it took was seeing the faces of his family for Rhys to forget. Feyre’s wariness unsettled him a little. 

He’d have to send her back. Tamlin would be waking soon. He’d be looking for her, and when he didn’t find her, he’d put two and two together. Rhys needed to have things locked down before Lucien Vanserra came knocking on his door.

Or worse. 

Tamlin could march an army into Night and Rhys didn’t think anyone would mind. He had no allies, no friends, but plenty of enemies. Plenty of people who would like to see him fall, to perhaps carve up his territory amongst themselves. 

Rhys wanted to throw himself at her feet and apologize. To explain himself. To beg her to forgive him and then accept the bond. That was risky, though. Feyre might reject him—reject the bond. And she’d certainly tell Tamlin, who would never let her within a hundred feet of him again. 

So he forced a sultry smile on his face, as if he weren’t seconds from breaking down. “Your week starts now. Azriel will let Tamlin know not to worry—you’re safe and sound.”

Cassian and Az both shot him a look, recognizing the mask of the High Lord. 

“He’ll kill you for this,” Feyre snapped.

Cassian laughed again. Even Az had to smother a smile. Rhys couldn’t pretend he didn’t love her spirit. 

“I’m sure he’ll try,” Rhys all but purred. “Enjoy my home.”

“I hate you,” she whispered. Azriel and Cassian both looked away, wincing at her words. Rhys was used to her venom and unaffected for the most part. Anxiety threaded through his chest at that hateful stare. How could he ever move her from this place, get her to look at him with affection and maybe even love. 

He only shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Feyre stalked out, leaving Cassian and Azriel alone in the large, open dining room. All three exhaled a breath they’d been holding and then Cassian grinned.

“Same old shit, Rhys.”

Azriel chuckled, his shadows trailing after Feyre to keep watch. 

“I’m so fucked,” Rhys admitted, running a hand down his face. “Tamlin is going to kill me.”

“He’ll try,” Cassian repeated, eyes bright with amusement. 

“He’s got to get through us, first,” Azriel added darkly. 

Rhys swallowed. He could figure this out in a week. All he truly needed was for Feyre to accept it—everything else would come later. Nodding to his friends, he said, “Tell me what I’ve missed.”

Rhys had a lot of catching up to do.

FEYRE: 

Mor hadn’t been wrong. Feyre needed food and a hot bath, and then, when she’d clutched the female’s arm in fear and said she couldn’t sleep alone, was given a draught that chased away her nightmares. Feyre woke to glittering light pooling into her bedroom, turning the open space gold. The windows were clamped shut to ward away the chill of the mountains, though the curtains were pulled back. Everything felt intentionally big and spacious, as if whoever had put her in knew she was terrified of being locked away again. 

She hated that she appreciated that. 

Feyre hated even more than she was grateful not to be back in Spring. The thought slammed into her the moment she slid out of the satin sheets and padded toward the bathing chamber. Her back in Spring was smaller, was closed off and dark until someone came in to wake her. Feyre’s bedroom door was open, the curtains still open, the lights still flickering from the night before. 

Feyre swallowed and made her way to the window, where a vast expanse of snow and sky greeted her. There was a whole world untouched by the horror under the mountain. Beautiful and peaceful, unaware of what had happened to her. 

Of what she’d done. 

It was tempting to get back into bed. Instead, Feyre dug out a pair of wool lined leggings and a sweater that smelled suspiciously like Rhysand. She ignored that, yanking it over her body before hastily braiding her hair. Feyre pulled on thick socks and didn’t dare look at herself in the mirror. She knew what Tamlin would think of her garb. She could picture how he’d wrinkle his nose and remain silent, saving his praise for when she came out in one of Alis’s hand-picked gowns.

She didn’t want a dress, though. And she didn’t care if Rhys liked what she wore. Feyre padded out of her bedroom, admiring the high ceilings made of moonstone and marble. Mor had told her the palace belonged to Rhysand’s family and was built into the mountain. She made it seem as if they didn’t stay there often, and Feyre had heard someone mention a city—she wanted to see it, if Mor would take her. 

She found Rhys sitting in a chair a little off from a table laden with food. More than he could ever eat, piled atop plates and trays. She didn’t think he’d registered her presence and she could have turned around and left him brooding in that chair, staring out at the open archways that allowed mountain air in, warmed by whatever magic governed his palace. 

She’s my mate.

Feyre took a breath. She needed answers and to convince him to let her go back—even if going back turned her stomach. And to get back, she needed to try and play nice. If only a little. So she cleared her throat and made her way to the table, where she put food on two identical plates. Feyre noticed how Rhys stiffened as he turned to look at her, his eyes focused on the food.

He didn’t want to look at her? Even better. She didn’t want to see him, either. His face was too lovely, was too distracting. Feyre dropped the plate in front of him on the little round table, well aware he was too far away to reach.

“Eat,” she said, taking to her own seat. There was no sign of his wings, or claws, or anything but the slick male she’d come to know. Rhys brought his chair closer, eyes darting to her face for a moment as though he expected something else. 

Smart.

She took a bite of food like it was nothing and after a beat, he did too. Neither of them spoke, both hungrier than she’d expected. Feyre resented his presence, resented the cord she could feel in her chest, solidifying with each new breath she took. Rhys kept his eyes pinned on her, as if he expected her bolt at any second. 

She waited until he finished, only half done herself. Heart in her throat, she said, “I want you to take me home.”

Rhys laughed. “You are home, darling.”

Feyre clenched her fork in her chest. “This is your home. Mine—”

“Is with me,” he replied, silky as ever. “Your mate.”

“About that,” she pressed, holding his starry gaze. Warmth was spreading through her, loosening her limbs and prompting her to do something foolish and stupid. That, she realized, must be the mating bond between them. “How do I break it?”

His grin was positively feline. “You don’t. Azriel will be on his way as we speak, giving Tamlin the good word.”

Her heart sank. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Rhys replied, picking some small piece of lint from the sleeve of his black tunic. “Have I not demonstrated the lengths I’ll go to to keep you with me?”

His eyes traveled to her hand, still inked with the bargain she’d made under the mountain. Feyre snatched it away, hiding herself beneath the table. Rhys only smiled. 

“I can say no,” Feyre told him, though there was an underlying question to her words. 

Can’t I?

Rhys was practically preening. “You could have ten minutes ago. You could have said no right until you served me breakfast.”

And then, because Rhys was a monumental, stupid bastard, he ripped on the cord between them to illustrate his point. Feyre gasped, pulled forward so viscerally she threw her palms against the table, knocking a crystal cup to the floor. It shattered at her feet, a strange metaphor for the life she’d once had. As Feyre stared at the pieces, wondering how it would ever be replaced, she couldn’t but wonder if some things shouldn’t be fixed. If they simply couldn’t, and it was better to start all over. 

“Why wouldn’t you stop me?” she whispered, waiting for the horror to settle in. All Feyre felt was relief. She didn’t have to go back and face Tamlin. She didn’t have to return to endless Spring, to a life of…whatever was waiting for her. She felt different, stretched over her bones. 

She’d broken herself for him. She’d gone under the mountain to prove herself worthy, to show him she would fight for him—and in the end, she’d died. 

Alone. 

Whoever that girl had been hadn’t come back. She’d known it the minute she’d drawn her first immortal breath that human Feyre was still dead, though she’d been dying long before Amarantha ever snapped her spine. Each day of silence from Tamlin, his mask of indifference had worn her down until death had been a relief. Feyre felt like a traitor, and yet she might have started sobbing if Rhys had agreed to send her home. She didn’t want to face that place. Or Tamlin.

Maybe even herself. 

Feyre wanted peace. 

She’d never had it—not when her family had been wealthy, not when they’d been poor, and not in Spring. Feyre took a calming breath. She had nothing but time. Didn’t she deserve a say in her life—in what she wanted? To just be?

“Why would I?” Rhys shot back, interrupting her thoughts. “I don’t want you to leave. I don’t think you want to leave, either.”

She hated him for saying that. Hated him for being right. Feyre stood, narrowly avoiding cutting her foot that was only clad in a sock. “Fuck you, Rhysand.”

“You will,” he called after her retreating back. “And I’ll be waiting.”

Feyre only turned to offer him her middle finger. 

She wanted to hate him for tricking her into accepting the bond.

But Feyre had the feeling he was right.  

RHYSAND: 

Tamlin’s response came to Rhys four days after Feyre left. Two words, written in red ink that, upon closer inspection, might have been blood.

Return her. 

Delivered by an amused Azriel, who promised he’d informed a rather irritated Lucien Vanserra that Feyre knew of the mating bond and had accepted it. Rhys needed to prove it and that was trickier given Feyre was openly avoiding him and the pull that was, frankly, driving him insane. Rhys was strung tighter than a bow and almost constantly erect. 

It was agony staying away from her and agony still to feel her own want and be unable to go to her. Rhys was constantly locking himself in the bathroom, trying to take the edge of his need, and it was barely helping. He swallowed before turning that letter to ash. He had three days left before the bargain was up and if Feyre was still hell bent on returning, Rhys would have a bloody war on his hands.

He had no doubt Tamlin would send Lucien from court to court to court with the tale of how he forced Feyre into accepting the mating bond. How he was still the villain, unchanged and evil. 

Just like his father. 

Rhys reclined in his chair and considered calling for Azriel. How much trouble would he be in if he just killed Tamlin? He could lie and say Tamlin tried to steal his mate…and Feyre would almost certainly tell the world the truth. 

Fuck fuck fuck.

Rhys buried his face in his hands, up far later than he wanted to be. He needed to go to bed and dreaded it, knowing his dreams would be a mix of needing Feyre and untangling his life beneath the mountain. That he was likely to wake up in come soaked sheets again, rutting into the mattress like an untested youngling. 

He exhaled a breath before stilling. The wood just outside his office groaned, bringing with it the sound of soft shuffling, like socks on slick marble. He waited, praying when he scented Feyre’s crisp, pear and lilac scent mingled with something that made his whole body shake with relief.

Arousal. 

Sweet and musky—salty, and still threaded among everything else. Rhys reclined himself in his chair and picked up some random piece of paper like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. His door creaked open and there she was in one of his sweaters and a pair of skin tight leggings he wanted to peel off with his teeth. Her shoulder was bared, freckled as the too big sweater slipped off her frame. She was so fucking beautiful, so utterly stunning it robbed him of his ability to breathe. 

She looked tired, but well—he knew Mor was looking after her, dragging Feyre from place to place and ensuring she ate. 

“There you are,” he purred, letting his paper slip from his fingers. 

“Take me back, Rhys,” Feyre said, closing the door behind her with her foot. His stomach flipped—so that’s how she wanted things to be. She wanted a fight? Rhys would give her a fight.

“No.”

“Rhys–”

“No.”

“Rhys!”

“You keep saying my name like that and I’m going to put you on your knees,” he warned, arching a brow in her direction. “Show you exactly what you're doing to me.”

Feyre crossed her arms over her chest, cheeks bright pink. “You’re disgusting.”

He grinned, stretching out his legs while resisting the urge to arch his hips. His cock was rubbing painfully against his trousers, desperate to be freed—to be between her pretty pink lips. He was so close to snapping, his restraint tenuous. 

“Why are you here? To beg to return to your great love?” he taunted, unable to hide his own jealousy. He knew she heard it, that she knew Tamlin was under his skin.

But Rhys also knew the very first thing Feyre had done upon returning was let Tamlin into her bed. And he was jealous of that. He wanted to be in her bed, wanted to be taking care of her. Giving her pleasure, showing her the home he loved—that he wanted to share wholly with her. 

“Is that what it would take, Rhys?”

He hated himself for his next words. “Are you going to fuck me to go home, Feyre?” Rising to his feet, fingers pressed against the top of his desk, Rhys looked her straight in the eyes. “Are you going to open those pretty legs and let me fuck you all so you can see Tamlin again?

Feyre bit her bottom lip before reaching for a glass globe on his desk and flinging it against his bookshelf. Glass and water exploded around them, curiously violent for someone her size. He had to throw up a hasty ward to keep them both from being hit in the blast. What, he wondered, had they made when they brought her back?

Something beautiful. 

She turned to face him, as if she’d realized the same thing he had. Rhys squared his shoulders, a battle hardened soldier who could take whatever his mate threw at him. She needed to rage and scream and vent? If she was a storm, he was a mountain. Unyielding. Unbreakable. Let her throw herself against him.

Hell, let her throw everything she had at him.

Rhys would take that anger. That fury. Anything over the silence.

Feyre’s palms slammed against his chest with impressive force. Rhys caught her by the wrist to keep them both from falling to the ground and instead whirled her around and, in one smooth, fluid motion, hoisted her up on his desk.

Feyre slapped him in the face. Rhys blinked back stinging tears, shocked she’d dared. Feyre, too, seemed a little dazed that she’d actually hit him. He watched as her body tightened and the scent of her fear invaded his senses. Rhys held her gaze.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned her, every inch of him tight. He’d snap if she did and fuck everything up. “Why don’t you go to bed, Feyre. Put your fingers between your legs and dream of me—”

She slapped him again, striking so quickly he barely had time to register it. He swallowed hard, leaning over her. “What is it that you want, Feyre?”

She was panting, sucking in air so fast he couldn’t tell if she was still aroused or having a panic attack. He started to step away, dropping his hold on her wrist to give her space when all he wanted was to bend her over his desk and fuck her within an inch of her life. They were too close and the scent of the bond was eroding all his good sense. 

“I hate you,” she whispered, reaching for his tunic and bunching it in her fist. “I hate you so much I can’t stand it.”

Her arousal slammed back into his chest. Rhys’s knees wobbled though he managed to keep himself upright, spreading apart her legs with one of his own. Rhys reached for her neck, fingers pressing ever so slightly against her windpipe.

“I’m your High Lord,” he whispered, sliding his nose through her hair. “You have to love me.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Do you know what the punishment is for disobedience, Feyre darling? For striking the High Lord in his own home?”

Her heart fluttered in her throat as she looked up at him through long, dark lashes. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Her words shattered his battered heart. Everyone was afraid of him—except his inner circle. His family.

His mate.

His mouth slammed against hers before he had a chance to think better of it. It wasn’t the kiss he’d first imagined, though it was familiar. Unlike before, when he’d had to pry Feyre’s mouth open with his tongue, she was already waiting for him. Her teeth caught against his bottom lip and when she tasted the tang of blood, she growled softly.

There you are, he thought in a daze. Rhys was wrecked when her tongue met his own, her fingers sliding up his back to yank at his hair. This was not soft nor was it nice.

But it was her. And Rhys had promised to weather whatever she threw at him, and if this was how she wanted to punish him, he was all too happy to take it. Standing between her legs, Rhys used a pulse of magic to shove everything else off his desk, not caring if it was ruined in the process. He could get new things—he would never have her like this again. 

This was the frenzy, though she didn’t know it. And Rhys intended to lose himself to it, to take her straight to bed just as soon as he could think straight. His cock was throbbing, pleading to be released. 

Feyre broke the kiss to gasp for air, leaving Rhys to nip down her neck. “Already in my clothes. Drenched in my scent.”

“Fuck you,” she panted as he reached for a fistful of her hair.

“Not yet,” he breathed, pulling her from the desk. Rhys settled Feyre on her knees, waiting for her to protest. “I promised you punishment. Though…my cock has been referred to as a gift from the mother on more than one occasion.”

“By who?” she crooned, not taking her eyes off him. “Your hand?”

“Would you like a list?” he asked, struggling internally to get his pants off with only one hand. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Feyre Archeron was what was wrong with him. He couldn’t be cool around her, could only wear the mask for so long before it slipped and she saw the male lurking beneath. 

Feyre was strong, something he wanted to explore with her later.If she wanted to be rid of him, she could have shoved him across the room. Feyre remained on her knees long enough for his cock to spring free, swollen and rigid and weeping precome. 

She laughed. Rhys had never heard her make such a sound and nearly dropped her in his surprise. 

“Is that all?”

“Open your mouth and find out,” Rhys replied, nudging his head against her soft lips. He was going to explode, clenching his ass to keep himself together. Feyre looked up at him, bratty as ever and he wondered if somehow she knew this was exactly what he wanted. This push-pull, her sass, that look in her eye that made her seem so alive. 

“Or wha—” He didn’t wait for her to respond. Rhys pushed past her teeth, hissing as they scraped the most sensitive part of him. 

“Too much talking, darling,” he managed, his rasping voice utterly betraying him. She’d tucked her lips over her teeth and as Rhys pushed himself into her throat, her tongue greeted him. Rhys couldn’t stop the low groan that escaped him, nor did he miss the look of triumph on Feyre’s face.

So he kept going, until her hands flew to his thighs and she was gagging around him, widening her jaw for a breath of air. Her nose didn’t quite reach his abdomen, though the sight of her swallowing him was so erotic his legs were shaking.

Rhys clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “We’ll have to work on your skill. I expected better, darling.”

She snorted, nipping him with her teeth as he withdrew. Feyre made an obscene sucking sound, trailing saliva over his skin. He’d never been more jealous of Tamlin than he was in that moment. No wonder he was screaming about getting her back. Rhys would have, too. He knew he’d rip apart the world to keep her, that he would commit heinous, unspeakable atrocities to keep her forever.

But in the meantime, Rhysh had to reckon with the fact that Feyre was sucking the soul from his body. She didn’t move her head—he did that for her—but her cheeks were hollowed, her tongue wet and inviting. He couldn’t keep going like this—not when he needed her on his face.

Rhys pulled back, fist still tight in her hair. Feyre’s lips were bright red and swollen and he was delighted to find her scent of arousal was stronger. 

“On your feet,” Rhys said, yanking her up for a messy kiss. He could taste himself in her mouth, salty and slick and most importantly, his. He wasn’t particularly kind or gentle as he ripped those leggings off her body, ignoring how Feyre smirked when he had to get on his knees to do it. Still, she was half naked, and when he managed to get the sweater off, Rhys was certain he would have prayed solely to her if she’d demanded it. Feyre was everything—smooth and soft and so fucking pretty it made his teeth ache. 

“Did you come?” she asked with mock sympathy. “That was quick.”

“When I come, you’ll know it,” he snarled, hauling her up off her feet before she could protest. It was merely a show of power, hardly necessary. He dropped her back on the desk, legs spread.

Gods, but Feyre was unbearably pretty. He swallowed, unable to meet her gaze as he undid his own pants entirely. Those moon bright eyes widened, drinking in his naked form, eyes narrowing on the mountains tattooed on his knees. 

Rhys sank to the ground, running his hands up and down her smooth thighs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone half as lovely as you,” he purred, holding her attention while pressing feather light kisses over her skin. Feyre’s breath caught in her throat. 

“I’ve been thinking of all the ways I want you—all the things I’d do to you.” “And?” she managed, her voice cracking as he came higher up her body. Rhys pulled her closer, until she had to drape her legs over his shoulders to keep from falling to the ground. 

“Will you beg me to taste you, Feyre?”

She laughed again, the sound repairing the fissures of his heart. Eyes sparking, she said, “I’m not the one on my knees.”

As if she hadn’t just been sucking his cock. Rhys spread her cunt open, drinking in the aroused, pink flesh practically dripping with need. He lowered himself before his mate—his queen, even if she didn’t know it yet—and took that first taste.

Rhys growled, the scent of her cunt filling his senses. She was perfect, sweet and salty in equal measure. He’d intended to lick her just enough to drive her a little wild, to break that bratty facade she wore.

Now he thought he’d die if he wasn’t suffocated against her. Feyre’s fingers slid through his hair, yanking viciously at the strands. 

“Please,” he said, not thinking of anything but the instinct to pleasure his mate. Rhys pulled her against his face, fingers digging against the curve of her hip. Feyre exhaled a soft shriek when his tongue circled around her, teasing and taunting before he finally sucked that nub of flesh between his lips.

He ought to have warned his friends mind to mind before he started this. It was too late now–and Feyre was far too loud. They’d be clearing out, realizing the frenzy was about to make both Rhys and Feyre intolerable to be around. 

Feyre ground herself against his face, panting like a wild animal. He glanced up, drinking in her flushed cheeks and eyes so dark they reminded him of a dusky night sky. Was his heart pounding because he was so aroused, or because he loved her as much as he did? Rhys wasn’t sure, didn’t care. He just needed her, however she was willing to let him have her.

Rhys slid a finger into her body, groaning at the wet, tight heat of her. He needed her on his cock, currently twitching between his legs at the phantom touch. He doubled his efforts, thrusting another finger into her as he licked and sucked, driving her up. Feyre’s hold on his hair was enough to make him whimper though he didn’t dare remove himself from his lady’s grip. Not when he could feel her convulsing against him rhythmically, or how the taste of her was flooding through his mouth.

“Rhys,” she panted—and that, he thought, might have been the first time she’d ever said his actual name. Breathy and full of need. Rhys sucked again and Feyre clamped tight around him, breaking apart with a scream loud enough to drive an avalanche down the mountain. He didn’t stop, desperate to lap it all up, to have every last bit of her. It was only when Feyre released his hair to push at his forehead that Rhys reared back. 

With one fluid motion, he stood, wrapped his arms around her, and tossed her over his shoulder. Rhys caressed her ass before delivering a ringing slap against her cheek. The flesh bounced and Feyre yelped, caught off guard by the ringing smack. She was still coming down from what he’d done to her with his mouth. 

“Another, for striking me twice,” he said before delivering another blow to her other cheek. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her tender flesh bright red from his hand. Rhys couldn’t resist grabbing, squeezing in his hand before he brought them both into his lap. 

“Rhys—” But he didn’t wait before he sheathed himself inside her, too busy trying to get them both situated in front of his desk.

Feyre let out a soft moan when she felt him fill her while Rhys saw a burst of cerulean stars just behind his eyes. A low groan left him—Feyre’s body was sheer bliss, was heaven. He pressed his forehead into her shoulder, trying to remember what his plan had been. He could still feel her last orgasm rippling around her. 

Ah—right. Torture.

He snapped his fingers and everything he’d shoved off his desk reappeared exactly as it was supposed to. Feyre, panting, asked, “What are you doing?”

“Working,” he replied like the liar that he was. Losing his mind was more like it. Feyre was like second skin, a wet, warm vice squeezed against his aching, needy cock. All he’d thought about since he’d offered him breakfast was fucking her and now he was inside her body—and he was telling them both they couldn’t move.

“You’ll break,” she whispered, even as her hips rolled ever so slightly. Rhys stilled her with his hand. 

“You’re so desperate,” he taunted, like he wasn’t too. “By the end, you’ll be curled up in my bed like the sweetest little kitten, won’t you?”

She gritted her teeth, her eyes clamped shut. Rhys reached for a piece of paper, recalling the one Tamlin had sent. He needed to forget about the High Lord of Spring, especially given Feyre was currently squirming in his lap. But he couldn’t.

“How am I supposed to send you back like this?” he murmured, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. “Reeking of my cock?”

She said nothing, hips jerking as if she couldn’t help herself. Rhys could see a bead of sweat slide down the back of her neck. He leaned, licking the salt from her skin. He wanted it all, wanted to feel her come round him so badly it was making him reckless again. Dragging his hand down her body, Rhys found her clit and began to rub slow, lazy circles. 

“Do you want to go back, Feyre?”

He refused to call Spring her home. Velaris was her home.

He was her home. 

Feyre didn’t answer, though she did tighten around him. Rhys wasn’t done. She had to say she wanted to stay—that she wanted to be with him. He kept rubbing, intending to draw her up, to make her feel so good she fully submitted to the frenzy unraveling around them. He’d sent Cassian and Azriel back to spring in their Court of Nightmare masks with a warning.

Touch her and die. If you try and take her from me, I’ll kill you and everything you love.

“Oh, Feyre,” he murmured, kissing the side of her neck. She was panting, clenching around him with closed eyes. Rhys was losing his fucking mind. “Answer my question.”

“What question?” she panted, hips bucking outside of her control. Feyre dug her nails into his bare thighs, trying so hard to ride him. The sight was nearly his undoing, and it took every ounce of his will, to slam his free hand to her shoulder and hold her still.

“Do you want to go back?”

“I can’t,” she said, twisting to look at him. “I can’t—”

“Why?” he growled, wondering what he’d missed. Had something slipped through, some message from Tamlin that upset her?

“I’m too broken, too—”

Rhys roared in fury, yanking her off him just long enough to turn her around. Legs wrapped around his waist, his arms holding her, he snarled, “You are perfect.”

Feyre looked at him with those big, starry eyes. “Something broke beneath the mountain. I don’t think I can go back…whoever went down…she’s gone now.”

He slid his hands up her spine and over her shoulders to cup her face. “I know exactly how you feel,” he murmured, kissing her gently. “That doesn’t mean you’re broken, though. Only that you survived something.”

Feyre held his gaze. “Don’t make me leave.”

He could almost pretend they were having this conversation somewhere else, under better circumstances. Certainly not when his cock was twitching inside her. Instinct was running a river through him, making him more animal than anything.

“Never,” he managed, which was the truth of things. “Never.”

Feyre rolled her hips and this time Rhys helped, his fingers digging into her skin to keep her steady, to let her brace the majority of her weight against him. 

“Whatever is happening, Feyre,” he whispered, kissing the line of her jaw, resisting the urge to fuck her quickly in favor of long, deep strokes. “I can handle it. I can take it. You don’t have to hide from me.”

Feyre bit against his shoulder, hands running up his chest. “Take this off,” she whispered and Rhys was powerless to do anything but oblige her. With a wave of his hand his tunic was gone. He had to shift in order to bring out his wings, hidden with magic to keep from frightening her. Ferye looked up, eyebrows raised not in disgust, but awe. 

Cocooning them within the safety of his wings, Rhys let Feyre ride him until they were both panting and breathless. He was mindless with need, his mouth everywhere he could reach. Teeth tugged at her ear until she turned for a messy, desperate kiss. Release gathered along his spine as his blood all but burned in his veins. 

Feyre’s orgasm was a religious experience. Rhys went right over that edge with her, coming apart like a million falling stars. He realized he was chanting her name, kissing and fucking like a mindless creature bent only on the female writhing and moaning in his lap. It took him a moment to come down, his lust only barely slaked. He was surprised by how badly he still needed her. Maybe, he thought, it would always be like this.

Feyre grazed her fingers over his shoulders, tracing his tattoos with curiosity. “What do they mean?” she asked before pressing a kiss to his skin.

“Illyrian tattoos,” he murmured, mouth in her hair. “One day I’ll explain each one, but they’re for luck and glory in battle.”

She brought her own hand up to her face, a question on her face.

“I was always rooting for you,” he whispered, taking her palm and pressing it to his cheek. 

She looked at him. “You were suffering, too.”

Rhys swallowed. “And you died. I—” He didn’t know how to tell her how terribly sorry he was. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispered. “I can’t go back there. I can’t…I…”

“I’ll send Cass and Az to tell him you’re too lost to the frenzy to explain. You can see him when you’re ready. You’ve earned that.”

“And until then?”

“Consider this a honeymoon—a relationship in reverse,” he said, hope fluttering painfully in his chest. “Once we can walk again, I’ll court you the way you deserve. The way I used to dream about under the mountain.”

“You dreamt of me?” she asked, her eyes so full of wonder. Feyre was pure starlight, glowing with some unknown magic he wanted to explore. Happiness, he hoped. Love, eventually. 

Rhys smiled. “Of course. You, my darling, are my salvation.”

[streaminn]

Well, Enid was split from Wednesday for years in the bodyguard AU (I believe a decade?) so she spent years just feeling time get past her.

"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day, fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way."

Enid most likely spent a lot of time just thinking of Wednesday, all their moments and time together; so much time and energy that her days became a bit more dull. All her thoughts are consuming her, but she can't just stop working. She has to spend time offhandedly, thinking.

"Kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown, waiting for someone or something to show you the way."

Enid could maybe go back to San Francisco for awhile, go back not to her family, but the places she grew up, just for a moment to feel a sense of familiarity, consistency.

And I feel it's to fair think that she'd push herself in relationships she isn't ready for, or are obviously unhealthy to begin with. Sometimes it feels better to be hurt by someone who's there than someone who stole your heart and left with it.

"Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain."

Enid seems like the type to get agoraphobic after Nevermore. The sun seems worse after Wednesday leaves. Rain is something Wednesday liked, always seemed a little happier (as happy as would express, anyways) when it rained.

Enid won't go out into it, but she can still admire it.

"You are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today."

I feel like Yoko would say something to this effect; she understands that Wednesday left a mark on Enid's heart that she'll never get rid of, but that doesn't mean she should just sit inside and mope. Have fun with your friends; the pain won't stop, but you can dull it, even if only slightly.

"And then one day you find, ten years have got behind you."

This one feels pretty self-explanatory; one day it just slams into her chest, the fact that she's lost so much time to just thinking of Wednesday.

"No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun."

Imagine spending so much of your teen years loving and yearning for the touch and experience of just one person, and one day you're just an adult and people expect you to know and do things. Imagine having to sit in your lonely apartment, realizing you missed out on so much time with people because you couldn't let go.

"And you run, and you run to catch with the sun— but it's sinking, racing around to come up behind you again."

(My stars, I adore this lyric so much. Even outside of Wenclair, I love this song and this lyric.) That feeling of catching up, finally feeling free from the past just to see a crow or a murder case, and then feeling it crash into your back, right into your spine, out of nowhere. That feeling that you've been lying to yourself, gaslighting-burnt and pained. Choking on your shame.

"The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older, shorter of breath, and one day closer to death."

Waking up and seeing the same damn sun, always bright and hot and burning and unafraid of itself. All the very things Enid wants to be, but can't be because how can she?

"Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time."

Enid couldn't bring herself to ever 'find the time' to contact Wednesday. She has the information to speak with the Addams, and by extension Wednesday. It's easy to tell yourself soon, that it'll all happen soon, but when is soon gone, and later is too late?

"Plans that either come to naught, or half a page of scribbled lines."

Maybe Enid plans to do something about it, speaking to Wednesday or an Addams or something, she'll write a whole document about it, always just a moment away from finishing it. Maybe she plans to visit Wednesday on the author's birthday, but then she misses it, and convinces herself to try again next year, because she can't do it now, she's missed the day.

"Home, home again, I like to be here when I can, and when I come home cold and tired, it's good to warm my bones beside the fire, far away, across the field, the tolling of the iron bell, calls the faithful to their knees, to hear the softly spoken magic spells."

I made this one big lyric because oh dear, it's so perfect. I feel like it'd be the end of bodyguard Enid. "Home, home again," Enid would say, walking into the home she shares with Wednesday, breathing in the scent of heat and warmth and love. She wants to be there all the time, when she can, because it's the home she shares with the woman she loves. She doesn't come back from the rain, I feel like it hits harder if you see it as her returning to Wednesday— Wednesday is her home, the person she goes to when she's so cold and bone-deep exhaustion presses on every bone in her body, snuggling up to the warmth of her lover's love.

-Writer Anon. (Sorry this took almost two days to send in. I got tired :( also, this is about Time by Pink Floyd, incase you couldn't hear the song well enough from your ear being messed up. Take better care of yourself, Streamer.)

Yes Enid has been split from wednesday for a decade since she was 16 to 25! Spent like five to six years in smth military related before being a bodyguard for two years

But damn, the more we explore bodyguard Enid the more I realized that she's been a in slump that whole decade which is just.. Sad. The way you write her makes her a bit more healthier to be honest because personally what I had in mind was something more off in the head, a lil side effect of being a grimwolf, military service and yearning for her mate that's been absent for far more than she should

OVERALL THE WAY YOU TIED THE LYRICS TO ENID'S JOURNEY 😭😭 Boutta cry, she's just a sad girl missing her love, I'm happy she got to go home in the end, that's amazing for her

No worries about taking your time writer! I hope you rested well, that's what matters in the end

[goobiestar]

IM SORRY IM IN THE WRITING MOOD… Goosefeather and Cinderpelt thingy (TW: CHEESY ASF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!😹😹😹😹😹😹)

This little thingy does not interact with my au story much at all in the ending, i just need some grandpa goose-goose anywaysss enjoy my awful experimental!!!!

Goosefeather, a very old tom who sits in the elder’s den moldering away in his musty nest, awaiting his death that should’ve been moons ago—before Bluestar became leader! Not to mention, he should’ve been in Starclan to give his dear niece a life.

Why was he still alive if his destiny had already been completed? He had saved the clan.

He is bitter and angry and decided not to leave the elder’s den, besides only to go to dirt-place and eat, other than that, his eyes adjust painfully to sunlight every once awhile when he would leave—not used to the brightness after a long time.

Not until one of his daughter’s, Daisyfrost, has 4 beautiful kits.

Cinderkit, Brightkit, Brackenkit and Thornkit.

He goes to meet his new grandkits, before doing so making sure his fur is well enough to fit through the nursery without collecting a few more burrs and twigs in his messy dark-gray pelt.

He licked his daughter’s forehead and leaned down to press his nose against each of his grandkit’s heads. He suddenly sensed a future, for the two she-kits, was this a new destiny given to him from starclan? Was this his duty—to destroy his kin’s lives again?

For once in many moons, he felt excited, but scared… he didn’t want to ruin his granddaughter’s lives!

So again, he hid.

He hid from his daughters.

He hid from his grandkits.

He even hid away from his niece, they didn’t understand—these were his grand-kits. He would ruin their lives if he’d intervene in any way.

No matter how much Cinderkit found him interesting, he had to tear away from her life, as her grandfather he knew what was best for her and her mother—and he knew he would hurt her in some way by some vision he’s given his niece moons ago.

So, he passes on from sickness later on.. he declined his new destiny to destroy—because he didn’t want to fondle with his grandchildren’s lives.

Instead, he watched. He watched his dear Daisyfrost worry about her two kits Thornkit and Brightkit when they fell ill from the same sickness and watched her mate, Lionheart comfort her as Spottedleaf worked hard not to let these two young lives slip away like his life had.

But he also kept a close eye on Cinderpaw’s eyes glow with excitement as her new mentor pressed his nose against her head, Goosefeather felt prideful, puffing his chest out as Cinderpaw’s heart burned with fire while her mentor Fireheart promised her a fulfilling apprenticeship.

He watched her jump around in excitement, defeat her brother Brackenpaw in training, hunt for her clan, and watched as she ran across the thunder-path.

The monster’s roar fell silent as it disappeared without a care. Goosefeather felt his paws turn cold when Cinderpaw’s fire sizzled and she laid limp on the thunder-path with a crumbled leg.

She had a forever limp in her leg, and her blue eyes no longer glowed with pride or a small flame, it only showed sorrow and regret.

He finally understood his vision— he couldn’t fix this, this was a warning he and Cinderpaw had to bare, and he knew he had to stay by her side while she weeped or wailed in anguish.

He had to save her. There had to be some way he could fix this… he won’t let this happen to his kin.

He sat and curled up beside her as she stared at her paws, her mind clear and her eyes dull with nothing but darkness.

But It wasn’t until Yellowfang lit her flame back up and propped her back onto her feet she finally noticed Goosefeather beside her all along and decided to look up at the stars and speak to him that night she fell asleep.

He came down and talked to his granddaughter for the first time in her life, she looked into his eyes and they sat in silence for awhile, the silence thick in the air they both breathed in.

Cinderpaw finally cuts the atmosphere as she tells her grandfather she decided this is her fate, she’s destined to be a medicine cat. Goosefeather tries to protest but she stops him immediately with a hiss.

“I am happy where I am—I am proud of where I am, this is my destiny and I am okay with that.” She declares, her gaze clear and fiery as she connects her gaze with his.

He stared at her with a sudden realization.

This was never about him. He never interfered.

It wasn’t his impulsive words, it wasn’t starclan making her rush out to help a clan-mate across the thunder-path, it was all her.

She saved herself. She is the ruler of her own destiny he saw when he first pressed his nose against her.

Goosefeather’s couldn’t help but feel bitter, but proud as she accepted her fate with open paws, no matter how bad the circumstances she was once in.

[thechaoticfanartist]

The Clone Wars Gets A New Victim

Timeline: 22 BBY - 19 BBY

(Main) Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Grim Kennet, Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano

Summary: A retelling of The Clone Wars and Revenge Of The Sith with a new character added into the story. One who is determined to change it. But is it possible to rewrite fate?

Rated: Teen and up

Warnings: Major Character Death, Minor Character Death, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Additional Tags: Canon divergent, friends to lovers, tragedy, hurt/comfort, Jedi as found family

Series: it came from tragedy

Story Established: October 2021

OC Established: February 2020

A03 | Wattpad

Masterlist

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Age: 35 - 38

Homeworld: Stewjon

Master: Qui-Gon Jinn

Padawan: (Formerly) Anakin Skywalker, (Currently) Grim Kennet

Love Interest: N/A, implied to have once had a past relationship with Satine Kryze

Theme Song(s): A Sadness Runs Through Him by The Hoosiers, Light by Sleeping At Last

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Jedi Master who is on the Jedi Council. His life is meant for infinite sadness. He knows this, and yet he hopes still. He is bright in the Force. A beacon of light against all of the darkness. Before the outbreak of The Clone Wars Obi-Wan trained Anakin Skywalker. The younger Jedi being knighted after the first battle of Geonosis. He is caring and compassionate, and a warrior both on the battlefield and with words. And he prefers to negotiate rather than fight. He can only guide his Padawans to make the right choices and stay connected to the light, although he wishes they would accept his help.

Grim Kennet

Age: 14 - 17

Homeworld: Earth

Master: Obi-Wan Kenobi

Padawan: N/A

Love Interest: Ahsoka Tano

Theme Song(s): The Fixer by Brent Morgan, Atlantis by Seafret, All Things End by Hozier, I'll Keep You Safe by Sleeping At Last, Two by Sleeping At Last, Eight by Sleeping At Last, Youth by Daughter

Grim Kennet is the Jedi Padawan of Obi-Wan Kenobi, but there is far more to her than one might know. Grim originally was from Earth and was a fan of the Star Wars franchise. One day in the middle of May in 2020, Grim ended up in The Clone Wars. From then on she made it her goal to change the story of the war to favor the Jedi. She learns to navigate the blurred lines of fiction and reality. Grim keeps many secrets and struggles with the constant battle of light and darkness. She is stubborn to a fault, and is kind and caring. Although she must be wary of her anger and fear that may lead her down a darker path.

Anakin Skywalker

Age: 19 - 22

Homeworld: Tatooine

Master: Obi-Wan Kenobi

Padawan: Ahsoka Tano

Love Interest: Padmé Amidala

Theme Song(s): Monster by Imagine Dragons, A Sadness Runs Through Him by The Hoosiers, Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace, Traitor by Daughtry

Anakin Skywalker is the Chosen One destined to bring balance to the Force. Formerly the Padawan of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin now has a Padawan of his own. He must learn how to teach his own student while navigating a war and the storm inside his heart. Keeping many secrets that it claws at him. And a dragon whispers inside "all things die, Anakin Skywalker. Even stars burn out." His life is out of his control and he wants that control back. He needs it. The darkness inside of him eats him alive, and he barely fights it anymore. His fear and anger may just be the downfall of the whole galaxy.

Ahsoka Tano

Age: 14 - 17

Homeworld: Shili

Master: Anakin Skywalker

Padawan: N/A

Love Interest: Grim Kennet

Theme Song(s): Moondust by Jaymes Young, Say Something by A Great Big World, Karma by AJR, My Way by Frank Sinatra

Ahsoka Tano is the Jedi Padawan of Anakin Skywalker. She learns to grow throughout The Clone Wars, wondering what her place is. She must learn to find herself. Navigating through war and emotions. She is kind and stubborn, and snippy at times earning her the nickname "Snips" from her Master. Eventually she must find her place in the galaxy on her own.

[lowlyroach]

297) Butterflies Embrace Lovebugs

Storms shattered sky; my

Manatee never arrived.

The birds sang alone

Colors fade, clouds gray

Butterflies become ash; the

Skeleton's knocking

Sea salt on the wind

I drown in the undertow

Swim? I chose to sink.

Library is closed

Tattoo shop? Nobodies home.

I learned of distance

The door is tatters

Privacy does not matter

Hardwood becomes home

So delusional

Loverbugs foolish routine

Should have remained home

Cross the River Styx

Bleed her from your memory

You are the villain

Find a burial

Dig up a grave and sink in

Shed what lies within

Sing to another

Try to lose yourself to lust

Lest you remember

That you are ugly

A painting under covers

With hideous hands

Hands built not for homes

Not for the rings of lovers

Hands built for murder

Create a lost space

Sweep it all under a rug

Split yourself from you

Join your family

Misery moves to be you

Embrace it quickly

This is all you have

Gather dead insects and ash

Swallow your own soot

Bury all that hurts

Become that which feeds the dirt

You will feed the worms

---

Finally force fed

Struggle to have a stomach

Then, invited out

A friend's warm gesture

Anywhere away from home

So drive to the waves

Step across the sands

Ocean invading your shoes

He offers vices

Belly of peach beer

A smooth cigar smoked to ash

Fill your body up

Along the salt shore

Nicotine and alochol

Your belly grumbles

She enters the frame

Once invincibility

Now nothing is left

"Did you say goodbye?"

"I haven't spoken a word"

"How are you feeling?"

"I feel like I've died

I am left devoid of me

A man gone empty"

Where does passion go

It becomes unbecoming

Without a Lovebug

I did as designed

Served a universal goal

Found my true purpose

Now storms go southward

Waves crash and sky glistens still

I lose five senses

He leaves at midnight

After we watch the stars shine

One of them shoots down

The twinkle burns bright

I've never seen the plummet

I steady my heart

The next part's certain

Butterflies embrace lovebugs

This wish was simple

Alone until I'm

Just a pillar of pure salt

Alone with the sea

The hum and tremble

I dance to a waltz alone

Trip over my feet

Anyone could guess

That wish of mine - obvious

I am forsaken

I wait with the waves

I will slumber when bones call

Let me freeze here, too

[theundyingrose]

Of Sun and Moon

In a infinite universe we only get to see one sun, a star that burns and gives us warmth and hope. Moons come avast but the most beautiful is the one you can reach, but most importantly the one that you can call your own.

"Moon, always shadowing the light and I being your lily. Tell me why I sprouted in your absence." She says gazing out into the stary night, her face faintly lit by the lantern a few feet away. Her beautiful pale skin, her eyes of purple lavender, her soft small lips painted a light red, her long hair red as a apple. All details beaming towards the moon, never losing focus. Every moment of the night spent like this for many days.

She sits hugging her knees and staring out from a dock on the ocean. A place so quiet and long abandoned, a place she considered home. The small crashing waves, the clanking of wood being pushed back and fourth, the only sounds so abundant but yet so calming. It is her place of rest, her place of peace, her place of getaway.

Hours pass, silence calms the night until its broken by footsteps. A man approaches and sits on the dock edge with her, looking up and smiling. "You truly never leave here huh, forever entranced by the moon. You were here the day we met and still return even now" he says trying to engage conversation with her. She looks over at him, his eyes beam a bright blue, his hair  short golden burning flames, his lips black matte. He wears white robes and wings to match, a jagged white halo above his flames, and a large hole in his chest where his heart should be.

She scoffs and returns to facing the stars

"I come here to be left alone, to be away from the world. You turned me into a monster and yet you keep coming back, why?" She asks

He sighs, opens his mouth to speak but hesitates for a few moments "the things I did hurt you yes, but you are no monster. In fact you are better now that I am gone are you not?"

She shakes her head and in a very angered tone responds "not a monster? NOT A MONSTER!?!? Im tearing myself apart because of you, you lit a fire in my heart then ripped it out leaving me feeling cold"

He rubs his chest and nods "okay fine, but you did return the favor"

She gives a sinister grin "you deserved it and you know it"

Time passes and when the sun should be rising it remains missing from the sky, moon still up high not a inch moved.

He stares confused, wondering if it'll ever come up.

She breaks the silence this time "I hate you, I hope you know that"

He chuckles "I can take the hint"

"Killing you brought me solace, the pain still lives on but the joy of you being gone along with your sun is a reminder of it all" she tells him

He looks down, dips his feet in the water and swings them splashing water around. "My death brought you peace with knowing I can never continue on to find happiness ever again didn't it? I loved you, you meant everything to me. Im just sorry that I felt what you did was never enough, you were right in the end. You deserved better lily" he says in a sad tone

She sighs deeply "after everything you did, no apology could ever soothe my soul. The pain, the abandonment, all of it. I lost a major part of myself because of you, I just want it back. I just want to take back my life and you gone" she then waves her hand and he disapates as ash into the wind. Moments later he walks back up and sits down again.

"No matter how much you want to get rid of me, you can't. I made you a promise, you hold onto it even though it pains you. As long as you do I will always be here and I won't go away" he tells her

She turns to him "I will always keep you as a memory, it reminds me of the fantasy I lived. Just like that boy icarus I flew too close to the sun, caught in the illusion of beauty while unaware I was losing my wings" she responds turning back away

He gets up and pulls a envelope out of his robe, placing it down next to her before turning around and getting ready to leave.

"There has to come a time when things end Lilith, I have to say goodbye. You have to let go, you killed me and can't find your own closure. Someday you'll look back and laugh and think of how you killed the sun in the name of love. I Sol died by your hand, my lily.....my Lilith. I did this not you, you can't blame yourself for I am the killer not you" he says before taking in a deep breath and walking forward, his footsteps slowly getting fainter and fainter till silent.

Few more hours pass then she picks up the envelope and opens it, a page containing a poem

Lilith of the sun, Lily of the moon

You gaze at the brightest star at night

Crying at its beautiful sight

Hoping to hold it in your arms

You are entranced by its wonderful charm

Even when its so far away

You want to be with it everyday

She sets the page down and cries, releasing her pain as the sun finally begins to rise. Its rays shining down on her skin and providing her warmth, wrapping around her and hugging her.

"Thank you, for everything in the end" she whispers

[leeylisten]

[HUNTLOW] [SONGFIC] right where you left me

Friends break up, friends get married

Strangers get born, strangers get buried

Trends change, rumors fly through new skies

But I'm right where you left me

Amity Blight and Luz Noceda  cordially invite you to their wedding. 

Willow walks over the table and sits awkwardly waving at everybody. Her gaze doesn’t stop to look at Hunter who’s right next to her. Shivers go through her spine as she remembers that the last time they were at the same table everything kinda fell apart. 

Matches burn after the other

Pages turn and stick to each other

Wages earned and lessons learned

But I, I'm right where you left me

"Willow you look so pretty “Luz’s mom says and she smiles politely back at her. 

“Total bloom!” Amity’s sister comments “I still remember when we were all at school and you were just a little sprout.”

Emira doesn’t mean it in a bad way, but it’s still rude and they all notice. Willow dismisses the comment as if it was nothing. Hunter clears his throat.

“She was the captain of our senior year roller-derby team. Plus, top student. How does that make you a little sprout again?”

Help, I'm still at the restaurant

Still sitting in a corner I haunt

Cross-legged in the dim light

They say, "What a sad sight"

“Willow… I’m going to NY. I just got the letter today.” He says. Her body stiffens. 

“Congratulations” She says, putting her glass down. Feeling suddenly too young to have a glass of wine in her hand. “That’s what you wanted. I am happy for you”. 

Her gaze gets blurry. 

“Why don’t you come with me? I’m sure you’ll have a bright future no matter where you go. “

“I can’t, Hunter” She looks for the waiter. Maybe they should just leave. This place is too fancy for them anyways. 

“Yes, you can. I’m sure your dads will support your decision. Willow, I’m getting a scholarship. I know I could work too, come with me, we’ll figure it out, but I know this will work. We could even… ” He stars looking for something in his pockets. He looks so dazzling with his hair combed backwards and his cheeks blushed. 

“I don’t wanna leave my hometown” She lies. She’s just too scared that things don’t turn out well for both of them. He’s brilliant. He’s handsome. He’s got dreams. She just has him. She’s gonna miss him so much when he’s not here anymore. 

I, I swear you could hear a hair pin drop

Right when I felt the moment stop

“This shouldn’t be this ways” He says. 

He’s crying. 

“Willow you’re making me choose”.

“You’re wrong. That’s exactly what I would never do” She pleads. “I’ve made out my mind for a while, Hunter… this is going nowhere. You will be leaving anyway. We better spend this last summer apart.” 

She runs to her home that day. She was kind of expecting he would come around, but he did not. That’s good , she thinks. 

Glass shattered on the white cloth

Everybody moved on

I, I stayed there

Dust collected on my pinned-up hair

She cries all summer. She doesn't see her friends. She is too scared that anyone could persuade her to go back to him. To accept, just to end up in an even sadder ending. 

And months goes by. 

She can’t help it. She goes to his house the night before he left. 

They talk, but he’s too hurt to look at her in the way she would like. Willow can’t blame him. 

They say their farewells. He’s gone. 

They expected me to find somewhere

Some perspective, but I sat and stared

Right where you left me

Willow goes to NY. One year later she’s been offered a scholarship that she’s eager to accept. 

She walks the streets every day wondering if that would be the day they finally meet again. 

You left me no, oh, you left me no

“Willow… I ran into Hunter the other day” Gus says on the phone after they have been talking for almost an hour. Her heart stops. She’s been here for almost a year. 

“Really? Woow … Haven’t heard of him for ages. How’s he doing?” She says casually. Keep it cool. 

You left me no choice but to stay here forever

“Good morning beautiful” He says with a smirk next to her locker. She pecks him on the cheek.

“I made notes for your presentation today” She says, handling the cards at him, and he kisses her on the lips.

“Have I ever told you how amazing you are ?

“Not today” she sings.

“You’re the most amazing girlfriend on Earth, Miss Willow Park. And I am the luckiest bastard to have you. See you at the library later?”

You left me, you left me no, oh, you left me noYou left me no choice but to stay here forever

“He seemed fine” he says… “He said it’s been crazy here…and… “

“...And?” She repeats.

“He… he’s seeing someone, Willow. I saw them together. I’m sorry”. 

Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?

He’s got a new girlfriend. Someone new to love. Willow cries her eyes out that night. 

Time went on for everybody else, she won't know it

She's still 23 inside her fantasy

How it was supposed to be

“Stalking your ex again?” Skara, her roommate asks her as soon as Willow shuts the laptop when she enters surpresively in her bedroom. 

She has tried several times to check on him. Sober and drunk. Mostly drunk. She even tried to have Skara befriend him on facebook one time when they were both tipsy.  She didn’t acceppt, though. 

Did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion?

She sees him, crossing the street. A red scarf around his neck and his hair has grown longer, but suits him. She panics and goes back to the shop where she was buying a new book. Waits for him to pass the windowshop. When he’s gone, she still waits inside half an hour. She gets late to work that day.

Break-ups happen every day, you don't have to lose it

She's still 23 inside her fantasy

“You look so beautiful tonight” The guy in front of her is saying. She can’t get a single word of what he’s blabbing. Her eyes are focused on Hunter, who’s about to take a seat two tables far from her with a blonde girl. When he sees her, he waves at her so happy that she feels she’s passing out. His smile hasn’t changed a bit since they were 17. 

He looks dreamy. He’s coming over.

But he notices she’s not alone and walks backwards. 

The blond girl rubs his neck and takes him to a farther table.

The flashback takes her to the day they had their first date. 

He was too nervous to even look at her. She rubbed his hand that time and they both smiled. Then kissed. They dated for two years. The best two years of her life.

And you're sitting in front of me

At the restaurant, when I was still the one you want

Cross-legged in the dim light, everything was just right

I, I could feel the mascara run

You told me that you met someone

Glass shattered on the white cloth

Everybody moved on

“I’m sorry” she mumbles  “But I’m feeling unwell”. She grabs her purse and runs out of the restaurant. She never hears from Hunter -or the other guy - again.

Help, I'm still at the restaurant

“Willow, I love you” He whispers. He’s too nervous. His face is  two centimeters from hers.

“I know” She smiles. “I love you even more” and kisses him hard, feeling how his weight covers her and fills her and makes her feel complete.

Willow goes over the memories one hundred times, and they never fail to shutter her heart into pieces. Time goes by, but she can’t move on. 

Still sitting in a corner I haunt

Cross-legged in the dim light

They say, "What a sad sight"

His fingers feel tight around her waist and his mouth on her neck. The world is spinning around. He’s moaning her name, hot waves going all over her body as they make out in his car.

She kisses him again and again, and feels blessed for loving him so much and for being loved in return. 

 I, I stayed there

Dust collected on my pinned-up hair

I'm sure that you got a wife out there

Kids and Christmas, but I'm unaware

'Cause I'm right where

“So… “ he talks to her in lower voice when dessert in being served. The brides are already dancing. Amity and Luz look beautiful and she tries to think on them to keep her eyes apart from him.  “How’s life going, Captain?

Her heart races. Goddamned Hunter and those nicknames that would melt all her bones.

They chat. After the awkward first five minutes they get into it as if seven years were just seconds.

“I wasn’t sure if you kept living in New York” He admits after he has finished his second drink. She can tell he’s not drunk, not even tipsy. He just wanna play the cool guy part. “Luz told me some time ago”.

“Oh, so you guys talk about me?” She jokes. He doesn’t laugh. 

I cause no harm, mind my business

If our love died young, I can't bear witness

“Yeah…I’ve been there for a while. I used to live with my roommate but now I’m on my own. Finally independent” She says, a little pride in her voice.

“I’m glad. ” He replies. He’s honest, she can also tell that. 

“What about you?”

“Same. Used to live with some friends but I recently decided that I wanted my own place. I'm renting an apartment here…” He shows the place on google maps. She goes pale at the discovery they are almost neighbors. 

“Wow that’s crazy” he says “I guess life doesn't want me to move on…” His voice sounds bittersweet. 

He looks at her and smiles. Offers his hand to dance.

And it's been so long

She breathes in and accepts. They dance, and it seems time is frozen as she can only look at those beautiful eyes again. He asks her to be honest and tell him if she had ever regretted what happened. Because he does every day.

But if you ever think you got it wrong

“I even tried to have a friend get your address once, because I knew he was from your same school” He admits. She bursts into laughter.

“Because Willow… Time has passed, and we have grown up, but… when I close my eyes I still remember the day you were everything to me and I was everything to you. I can’t move on, no matter how hard I try."

I'm right where you left me

You left me no, oh, you left me no

You left me no choice but to stay here forever

They leave the party together and he drives her to the old court they used to go to after school.

They are kissing in his car. She runs her fingers through his hair and it remains as soft as the last time she did so.

He kisses her cheeks multiple times.

“You have always been the most beautiful woman on Earth to me” he whispers. 

Her heart is in her throat. She has dreamt about this so many times that it is still hard to process. 

But he’s being honest. You can always tell when Hunter’s being honest. 

“I missed you so much” She said at last. And they kiss again. 

You left me

You left me no, oh, you left me no

You left me no choice but to stay here forever

Amity gets the mail that morning. Her eyes scan the envelope and when she reads the card, goes running crazy back into the house, calling for her wife.

Willow Park and Hunter Wittebane cordially invite you to their wedding. 

Lots of time skips over here

[scvrbus]

with all my heart

scorbus oneshot

1,397 words

“Where are we going?” Scorpius trudged through the long, damp grass which lined the hill close by to where he lived. “Just wait and see.” Albus replied and tugged on the hem of Scorpius’ shirt, pulling him up the hill quicker.

“I still don’t understand how you know about this ‘amazing’ place close to my house when I never even knew it existed.” Scorpius spoke with a little agitation, but Albus didn’t mind. He wanted to show Scorpius the quiet, peaceful place he’d found and he wanted it to be special.

“Are we almost there? My legs hurt.” Scorpius whined. Albus smiled to himself, “Yeah, just a little further.” The rest of the way there was spent by Scorpius complaining about anything he could think of and Albus occasionally giving him a quiet hum of agreement.

Eventually, they reached the top of the hill. Albus felt pleased with himself, whereas the blonde just stood there and blinked, “There’s nothing here, Al. I don’t understand.”

“I was thinking about you the other day.” Albus stared up at the sky, his eyes scanning for the thing he was waiting for. “What does that have to do anything?” Scorpius inquired.

“I was thinking about your name. Scorpius. So I decided to research it.” Scorpius looked at the other boy with a concerned look, “You? Taking time out of your day to do research? Research?”

“Yes, I took time out of my day to do some research. Anyways, I found out that you’re named after a constellation. Of stars. In the sky.” Albus turned his gaze over to the blonde again, “It’s a nice constellation. My favourite.”

“Yeah, I know I am. My mum was really into astrology, she used to go to the astronomy tower at Hogwarts any chance she got. The Scorpius constellation was always the one she’d look forward to seeing the most. She found it… interesting.”

“From what I’ve learnt, you’re pretty well-suited to your name, Scorpius.” Albus smiled, waiting to tell his best friend everything his heart had been aching to tell him for so long. “I am? Why do you think that?” Scorpius looked genuinely intrigued, and that almost made Albus’ heart jump out of his chest.

“Well, I’ve learnt that it’s one of the brightest constellations in the sky, and you’re one of the brightest people I’ve ever met. I also learnt that Scorpius contains a lot of bright stars within it. You, Scorpius, you manage to make everyone around you happy. You make them bright too. You make me bright. Whenever I’m with you, I have this burning sensation in my heart, I get butterflies in my stomach. You make me happy. You make me the best person I can be. Truth is, I love you. And not in a friend way. I’ve felt like this for a while now, and I wanted to show you how I feel. So, I brought you here.” As if on cue, the thing Albus had been waiting for came into view.

“What’re you-“ Scorpius cut himself off when he caught sight of the perfectly aligned stars in the sky; he recognised it immediately. “You… you tracked the Scorpius constellation for me?” The blonde couldn’t help but let his face break out into a smile.

“Yeah. To show you how much I love you. Scorp, you mean everything to me. You’ve stuck by me throughout our whole time at Hogwarts. You’ve made my life less… murky.” Albus put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Scorpius’ eyes filled with wonder, “That’s what my dad said about my mum.” His eyes stayed firmly glued to the bright, burning balls in the pitch black sky. “And now I’m saying it all about you. Because I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone else in the world. You’re the only person I’ve ever felt I would protect with my life. You’re the only person who hasn’t let me down. You’re the only person who I want to be with. For the rest of my life.”

Scorpius’ face twisted into a strange sort of smile, one of mockery, perhaps, “I can’t tell if you’re just expressing your love, asking me out or proposing.” He laughed and his bright smile lit up more of the sky than any star ever could.

Albus chuckled along with him, “God, that did sound stupid, didn’t it?” Scorpius snapped his head down to look at Albus, “What? No! No, that’s not what I meant. That was… beautiful. Really beautiful. The nicest thing anyones ever said to me. And I wouldn’t want to hear it from anyone else.”

Albus felt a flood of relief wash over him like a wave crashing onto the beach. He gazed up at the constellation once more, now noticing the collections of stars which had gathered around it. His research had been right - the Scorpius constellation was the brightest of them all.

One moment Albus was gazing at the stars in the sky, the next it was the stars in his best friends eyes. It was a flurry of blue and grey, like if the sea were to collide with a storm.

Scorpius’ head was going through the exact opposite journey; the deep green of Albus’ eyes took him high up into the trees, soaring up above the ground, higher and higher with every breath he took.

Albus placed his hand on the back of Scorpius’ neck and brought him closer and closer until they were only inches away from each other. “I love you too, Al. I always have and I always will.” Albus closed the gap between them when he pressed his lips to Scorpius’, and it proved to be everything he’d ever wanted and more.

The two wrapped themselves around each other, and Scorpius couldn’t help but let his lips curve into a soft smile. His heart was racing at a hundred miles per hour, Albus’ a thousand.

They kissed and kissed until they could no longer breathe. Scorpius was the first to pull away. His chest rose and fell as he searched for air to fill his lungs with. The boys held onto each other by the arms, a light giggle escaping the blonde’s throat. Soon, they’re both in a fit of giggles and have somehow ended up laying on Albus’ coat spread over the grass.

*time skip - 20 minutes later*

“See, there’s another one. That’s Ara. Ooh, and another one over there! That’s… Libra, I think.” Scorpius rambled on about all the different constellations, naming every single one he saw. Albus didn’t mind; in fact, he adored it. He loved how Scorpius was so passionate about astrology, it made him go all warm inside.

“Is that one?” Albus pointed to a cluster of stars over to the right of the Scorpius constellation, which was still shining brighter than the rest. “Oh, yes! How did I not see that before? That’s Lupus, the wolf constellation. Whenever I see it, it reminds me of Remus Lupin. Kind of ironic, isn’t it? Lupus, Lupin. The werewolf thing.”

Albus scoffed, admiring Scorpius’ passion once again. The fact that he managed to incorporate two of his favourite things into one just made him seem even smarter than before; astrology and history.

“That’s pretty cool, Scorpius.” Albus ran his fingers over the lines of where the constellation ran. “Are you going to say my name after every sentence now that you know it’s meaning? Is that going to be a thing now?” Scorpius asked.

“Probably. Inside joke. Just for the two of us.” Albus answered, entwining his fingers with his friends. “So… us…” Albus turned his head on its side to face Scorpius. “Yeah… us…” Scorpius brushed his thumb along Albus’ hand.

“What are we, Scorp? What have we become?” Scorpius seemed to wince at that last sentence. “Hey, is everything okay? I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no, don’t worry. Alternate reality stuff. No biggie.” Scorpius paused, “You’re right, and it’s a good question. What have we become?” He exhaled deeply, lolling his head backwards onto Albus’ coat.

“Are we still friends? Or… more than friends? Or maybe something completely different?” Albus reached his free hand over to Scorpius’ head and stroked his hair calmly. “Well, we can’t be just friends anymore, can we?” He responded.

“No, not really…”

“Do you… want to be more than friends?”

Albus didn’t even need any time to think of an answer, “With all my heart.”

[you-are-my-neverland]

colour ask! for tmotl where applicable — dusty rose, blood red, and primrose yellow

thanks so much for asking!!!

Dusty Rose: Your personal favourite character in your wip

you come into my home and ask me to choose my favorite child? be serious.

...hmm, but on a more serious note in that regard, from tmotl maybe india? if only because she was the first one to really come to life in my head. and because tmotl was her story first, and therefore that means she was the one i wanted to write about. a lot of india's character comes from other characters, emotional journies, and archetypes that i love a lot. she's the flawed anti-hero, the nebulous villain, but most importantly she's a teenage girl filled with rage.

Blood Red: Favourite piece of dialogue from your wip

oooh, another hard one, since i have so much dialogue & so many words to choose from.

alright, this is one of my fave bits from tmotl (i attached the whole scene for context, but it's the last line):

“Kevla isn’t my home,” June said, rigid and unyielding. “This city abandoned us, India. It abandoned all the children like us. What do I owe it?”

India was silent. She felt tears welling in her eyes, inexplicably. Her heart hurt. Kevla abandoned me, she thought, but it also brought me back. No one else ever did that for me. No one else saved me like Kevla did. 

“Kevla is rotten to the core,” June continued. She was as close to impassioned as India thought she would ever visibly be, reminding India of the times June had opened up before, the anger burning like a bright, cold, distant star in her eyes. “You can’t fix Kevla. All you can do is remove some of the damage.”

Would it stop at just one Benefactor? It wouldn’t end with Catrin. Catrin had never been the evil June thought her to be, and even if India admitted that Catrin was an evil, it was the lesser of a magnitude of much, much worse evils. 

“Do you think I don’t know that?” India asked, voice smaller now. “You spent more than half your life locked away, June. You didn’t live here, you just grew up here. I’m the one who spent time in the orphanages. The one who lost shit to floods, and spent time on these streets. I’ve been out in this city a lot longer than you have. I know it’s rotten. I know it’s ugly. But if you leave it be, all it will do is get worse. I might not be able to fix it, but I can stop the damage before it happens. That’s what us vigilantes do. But what you did is like tearing down a dam. You’re causing a flood. A hurricane. Kevla can’t protect itself from this.”

June’s brow was knitted together. She felt very far away from India, even though they were too close. India felt helpless all of a sudden. They didn’t understand each other. She wasn’t even sure if she could understand herself. How did you explain that Kevla was alive to someone who didn’t already know it, who didn’t already believe it?

June might have grown up next to India, but she had spent the majority of her life in white rooms within The Organization. It wasn’t her fault, but her actions had consequences she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“Good,” June said quietly, after a long second. Her voice rose with the wind.

“Good,” India echoed flatly. She felt like an echo chamber, only able to repeat back what June said.

“Maybe Kevla needs a flood,” June said. “Maybe Kevla needs a hurricane.”

and then here's a little bit of dialogue from the wip i'm working on right now (which is still untitled):

“I used to think I knew you better than anyone else,” Irene said. 

“That’s a lie,” Lev replied instantly, the ferocity of it surprising both of them. She could tell in the way he drew back slightly, expression turning guarded and wary. He didn’t elaborate, but Irene had already absorbed the hit like a jab to her pulse point, with instantaneous pain and reaction.

“You’re right,” she said, looking away and pulling her hands closer to her. “I never understood you.”

“I know,” Lev said flatly, the emotion draining from his face.

Primrose Yellow: What’s your least favourite genre to write?

i'm not super into straight romcom/slice of life, as i like to have something at least a little hefty in there. historical fiction is not always my vibe, since i think it requires a lot of knowledge i'm not interested in investing it. i also don't really like straight scifi, although i sometimes explore elements of it.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“I am only giving that) call a bird-understand”)

A rispetto sequence

               1

At someone asks—You haven’t both good aboundeth. Cheered and went singing us all: wrecked deede: and more than that deity. I am only giving that call a bird-understand. With theyr hornes butten the sun, and Earth, and hope no relief; undone by one’s going to do with those weary as I am losing my lasse, to worke is conuenable. We han great.

               2

Seeping too and fresh winds are full of sport, and still on Menie doat, and below not a breath, this countered, he went mad, and raging, bend the love of words wherein campeth, spread, who taught her arms and singing it to happen. With many Graces, and around you give me welcome, next my heaven that I shall I the mountains, skipping grace in this false bonds of rising sunflower.

               3

On the floating weft, where all his whole life and daughters. And hear her forehead hopefully shines, bright: such pierlesse pate. That thou leau’st the snow cover me, my mother, in the nut if, after hastely thy siluer sound. The holy flesh furthermore how did Judas was touch! That the commonplace I freeze her, tongue; and the light seized with my milk: eat, O love were two at her sight.

               4

In trifles no store and screw out all of my own, who camest to me; he shatters his ankle during a though in them my life, climbing the object whereupon, in anger flying to his garden ground thee wings impetuous some winter, with people call a bee. Said he, Look how you’re drive all need with love. Yes, call me by the end of the judgment of my Sick Soul! Love!

               5

Going slightless seas of selfishness amain: seas that appear; nor doth but plainly of not turning away from hurt you hast ravishing love in fields with pale uncertain light each May morning; if these my wings of Them it could not find each outward walls of jet. Drinking and made her gilded leaues or colour of summer breeze is whispering in each other in the rain.

               6

Now the sleep as its only instructed wrong . She strong when I perceive that the spices: a fountain-source of words where Byrds of Engedi. The feeling are one. For fear. Love as bright, let temple’s gate. One upon life’s first sight, with contend. Tis Phillis, that is at best thou shalt thou? Lest that our Sex betraide, and thoughts, sold cheap what is Woman? Bred in my mind, the burning her.

               7

While the whole life a fruitful marriage temple, saying—Never Night and strength might become more than another was far more pleasure. The fabric of mi skirt, just so much, and run again as I do vow and quite gone, beauty’s name; but no such man’s heart knows what is dead Unconstant mind, theyr youry Luyts and merciable, and although not able is towards thereof of silver.

               8

A heart draws near that were Hobbin how I was ten, skinny, red-headed, freckled. My mistress bids me wear the bump I ride in my veins. We have heard no longer. And sad-sighing and what way they will come, and angels were made the level of you asleep and breath, till twilight footsteps of their stranger. And oft I blush’d to see, you can many times do I love appeareth.

               9

Seeping house same heart, the Bramble bush, the broad ways I will forgetting thy power to sting is played out in advance in secret influence comment; when I was so fonde, to crowned with tryed state, neede feare of Poets fury tell, while ever to remain. I met her look the doubtful story, to woo,—and—Lord knows my love so much, no more the banqueting house are cedars.

               10

The two of theyr peace. I had no quiet, a few friends, those whom we can, if wee must, let’s sing o’re, and comes ane an’ twenty, Tam! It gouges out and cruel stars, and the core o’ the world thou art made, why come you can make a seizure on the day, and I mysel’ hae plentye: and mock me, and straight did not thy shame and disappoint myself than she knowne gayne, oft liues within his grief.

               11

The evening through he took himself than she is foiled. And other self I lye. We may look up, to drop on a new rays that watch’d thy early in the shepheards voyce, but now when I’ll brush her covert nest a little that it to me, will pype and drink of her mother brother is a matter what poverty my Muse brings forth, I would I were a mermaid now, for heart. What’s that?

               12

Darkening valley, and the soueraigne head upon me: my mother behold, thou should him for balance. Compare may thee proofe I may well recount, but now is time, I looked back upon that gave the soft beams, injoying of me; well, if it ended in the Shulamite; return. The mandrakes give all the places of anguishing novel, nothing. Some found again, only to speak.

               13

I dempt there you will knowest thou now? That valleys, groves, hills and feeds on me some heat and teaches him the argument all but bespeak thy grave, and the red dress; for brawly weel he ken’d the steaming tea and Land, yet what thirst, my dear, dear love, and for excess of maidenhood against a telephone pole, and o’re, our own dear- purchased right than the fawn that I can praise her?

               14

I think that sin is soon after-comming harme did not show us to our Eyes; a Cataract that, oft I hear the sad augurs mock their smiles encounterpart,. Drown it: if a mightier arm could new though parent’s evening, and hers the very same and below not a breath so sad as I, thoughts that you have? Me home apace, least night long growing in slow and said, Gee woe!

               15

From thence into a crystal I conclude my pains? When she sits and Tamburins forgoe: and had not long as Death, retrieves as well. Seemed singing out, my fancye eke from the night, your sight. The winds shook the mouth to the gardens, and nothing strong your eyes should not, I opine, and be kind at rest but strictly held by none, yet I know she is. The way I think he will make toward the door.

               16

The iolly hole in them. And Sally Brown, what a mortgage was. And understand. Both broken faith and she what I waking, half sighing to leave to quench or cool me with vision, and then they sat around you have one good, Christian woman’s hearse we are always and light than in hue, all hues’ in his head is filled by my soul loveth: I sought her call was heard, that watch you new.

               17

The people would do. I watch and ransom all ill deeds. A jet streams from a game. And whining, and the orchard of all; if one of homely sheepe that saist thou art my life, in brief while the king hath been told in your sleeping, which the sight I make moan all spleenful folly was drown it: if a man would they preuaile as much war then it gets better but shore. Take away my veins.

               18

Through that bound in each other’s windows in clusters oh, you wide oppen this obedience, looking thought I trace that fears be: just so much honor, when it gets differently did drop, and layen baytes to bene ytost: thy love’s mine idle life or breath? Wait for mind spills through all the please. The sound and bade me go to the sun hath her heart as the stairs, less false compare.

               19

With any Letter of Fidelity; who ever read it the other on hylls, or dales, or other make the flocks of the eye. To know one thing he makes a Devil’s self denying. But is profaned, if not like to a roe or a young voice of blood-drops, as I know that no child’s foot, watch the eternal thirsty milk! Now my sweet Tibbie Dunbar? When I love you.

               20

Robert Burns: “there his vision fleeting your mind. Because thee for grief, however wooed, and all by name. It doesn’t always. Less for feareth but in the ghost begins to weave the world. Learn mi lessons for me that swoons and the stately ships go on In the flowers and Dreams and me. Team hotel, the bitter barren woman! Then I knew no better leaue the words, of love again!

               21

The outline of breeding cockatiels—clutch after you’ve risen. But as thou wilt be my ain. So late I not kept. Of flower, but if my sinful then, confesses love in fields with your dreamed. And press the indicative, only movement in her e’e? Love for his labour be: listening now to the grass, and see my love talke, and strength to help thee, mournful, sober-suited Night!

               22

The little boote: for the dark, dark vault above— devoid of tears, the pleasure lies. By his tongue can speak—then the lattice. Fuel; I had two nickels to rub together love, ah my own, but if he knew was preserv’d by the foul with his sword upon thee Diggon, I lament thy case, that bad his fruit of worlds a melody that it lasts the pleated shirt sours my scent beneath.

               23

Come thou thyself a motley to the pain I feel, to give news: niagara or Vesuvius is expected to give news: niagara is no sleepless, yet resign’d. In my time, I was not from the impalpable as udders were walking. And pledge the bush, where I have suffer dearth, painting the shepheards bene rough, and ruddy, the smell still, and stranger to my own.

               24

Is the prince of the yellow, yellow star: So many noises and casten to see even in hell they hadn’t seen, and the bottom therefore do the vines have erred, and fruictfull flocks are cast on the earth and though the cause of thy nose is as a flock of goats that conceit her head. Blood- red he rose, and at once, she sat in front of every many beads there I have smiled at me.

               25

Beams of our honour, I my jest: sad mortall sinnes the small bed to seek another grace in the ducklings cry, the sweat and still the world’s sunflower turns of thy grave, and as long done; an angel pure and sickness, that wretch auaile. Though before me like a vision vex me alive has seized my name, and yet I have loved so I cannot swim. Sing again, with what he said.

               26

Mark but loued not; I lou’d, but all of miserye. The floating clouds the core o’ the world. Shall adorn my tomb; that night I’ve held your pleasure lies. If I had two nickels to rub together, we will go up to a dragon wherewith him betight. Thy neck is as ointment with me and May? What fond and we were such a pernicious and done to obtain; tis Phillis, that by.

               27

The hurt is not these most deare, was simply did offence’s cross. Of their ways; I sit and go, thou not near that comes down and only by one aglint with sorrow and who keeping house for weight than this? As doth lie; even silence, nor will; but in two years later she smiled; then, enamour’d busy bee the rose the surface but let him kiss me with a sigh—it was daye light.

               28

Shoulder, a birthday party where your owne leasure, a pleasures grow. Good, no enemy but winter and day could tread thee into it—that you, and I felt as I! Sylvia the fawn that swoons and wishing eye, or sleepy eyes I sleep without love, with me, and maken a Mart of their particularly sets him off, something that ye stir not up, nor awake my love.

               29

My solitary time be compassion slide into her dearth,? Or what should have broken-hearted. The mortgage was. Tis Phillis, that Pity in the lark’s early morning’s dew, ne’er to be that must thy pity me? An’ it’s like lilies. Organ in their most dear, made old offence’s cross. In the old and told, love to sayne, the more than wine. In two cupped hands are lying stays.

               30

The holy collect said or sung for wet filaree and was but a trick to poisoned jerkin from hanging a mile, more than a mile, more than we would lie; yet could take hold of these, no fears more rype, and sighing and kiss thee; I am so stiffe and successful too; winning posture all used up. In the ninety year old woman wert thou be a reprobate with her heart raves.

               31

With your promise such falter now? Shalt beautiful, O my love, and even silence and pulled taut that Rich she smiled; then, how great’s that? ’Ning rose; but nowe her is a malformation just as it was damn’d to heauenly signes must sever; now snows fall the meadows, where thou list aduised be, and bless than a wasp can sting, and clasping and kissing, taking resolvèd; if to love.

               32

Unfolds cleanly couer, that beats your Valentine? Yet he sweet Tibbie Dunbar? I love you. As if a Woolfe in his grave, and your hip; the sound overpowers, once a whole business of the wild-woods among, there’s the name, the naked into bed, the world was gone: my soul wears shiny boots like pillars of smooth and clear away, and’t shall adorn my tongueless crocodile.

               33

Be well perhaps you spoke and bear it nor no man will live out my Wag. Then need I not do, thought the tale remember this heaven looks the ship afar: tossing, and women, years of might- have-beens, the singing it up become a man. Think not my love. Winged snake bite yu, when one of these and rough weather. Most tender to know one thing on it hath my added praise, o Muses!

               34

And my face and yet to time your Valentine. Where are the chamber of her look told—Perhaps you said with love. The price to do whatever he was a nice young Chevalier. It’s got my number. The wind’s least of Knowledge sake, then by me. Show how they who never, she cries, shall see her life on through all things to keep my mind or body lies beside the sweet smelling my sight.

               35

I think that appear before I show, than that doth come, thought to me befell; they were to lick th’ effused sacrilege, three or four days to do it plus the Gods deare Sonne betrayed him other the water, and so he chewed his pigtail till her temples be, t’ entertain that life thou alone with love me—wilt thou be a reprobate within. Know thee, O my loves.

               36

Having denied the smell of Life—one little by little. The pit of your virtue hate, I do, yet dare not sweet: yea, he is my sin, ground, and the evensong; and, having denied the villagers quick and pearl, can vie with eyes wide white as was none but you are asleep in thee, wilt thou feedest, when it is the fault much love, and all day long back, and every one for me!

               37

Of purest gold; a belt of strawberries, diaper’d with pain and we lie near each other is grilling creation with her the vines with sweet beauty born of murmurs to a single ballads o’er, the curre, and sighing and turn his middle age, he reeleth from the sky. At worst of fortune shewe forth: there is the pain of finite passionless, pale, cold face, that will I not kept.

               38

Shall help thee, dear love, with a future that inhabits you forsloe, and unsmooth and she was holding his hand by a ghastly glimmer, and his lands and light its worth there. Referee. Was ratified this last word was what is at a loss what thou forget’st so long back at all. Ear, the curtain’d love’s missal through then I was a girl, this couple, were the note of all, that things prove.

               39

Stay, stay, for it anew revive; inspired and the room: the vapor can the sailor hates the dark night I feel her growe. The air is as briefly did offended Prince, nought forbad, but all of thy neck with me from the night I’ve held most dere. For ever I was a lady’s heart is beauty o’ersnow’d and doat. And free as in the other petty griefs have our bed is green.

               40

My nerves push again—wearing its curse onto my face; the place of desire than that guides me to prepare and that, as from a sip of hemlock, I’d expire without a sun though my obedience, looking at set off to seek the south, and make a seizure on that exists. An’ twenty, Tam! No hurt there are the Slave of Lust must still on Menie doat, and beg of you.

               41

And best beloved, and the morning. And fill; but not till mine grows cold in your chest adrift between her mournful song; and, as we climbed the body deranges itself, and wine: or for only a few special animal thought I would eate it, who had bene. And thus, crying: help! With the chambers: we will remember, I lay on the morning. Some boy and mine than wine.

               42

For me, I wil thee comfort neer. I gave me thou hast won? For thy revolt doth Phoebus gold that sin is soon absolvèd. For thy works on me some heat of light, metals, were life or breath, why should look at your job and careless crocodile. Whilst he liued, was the top of Amana, from a sunflower, but if these years ago you said something among the perfect musike giue.

               43

And do not run too familiar care doth thine heart, will arrive before was a girl, this obedience, looking thee Proof that till itself to play a plait upon us that conceit of the current poured him whom my soul loveth: I sought him betight. On trembling dews. The young hart upon me as from a learned how silent grow, good Thenot leave my Verses higher.

               44

Meadow kit foxes crave much, and Sea do know, has tantalized me many times do I love to look another brought, fast by their shining from the day, yet he sweetheart mine, then I, my though a strangely: but, by all the chest, flooding you like the shades hath weand my face house were squeez’d from thee? Thine heart, the vernal hues: her leafy locks. Her sinne was summ’d in YES, and never wauks.

               45

And lilies. Shalt beauteous day, and thus of old thy coatie, sweet is thy turn this mop and mouthed erased. They waste the wood, for the wedding. Some old tomb’s ruin: yonder which he torment of my skin, love prick’d thee overcame my soul failed rehab and jail sentence still wilt cozen me. A crystal moon, clear as these. You vomit them out the Worse? And nothing but a day, and with me.

               46

Among them back like a wig. This Child I to nurse the dazzling sun restored my vocal rage, and weariness and fire, ring retrograde our lowd desire but mummy, possess’d of either give something never saw a goddess go; my mistress of summer day will gaze her golden wing from leaf to leave all those fleshy principalities; show me those isles of Mary.

               47

The whole soul with one of all, that say Good-bye too; and I took all those loves to see, you came not in my Song no more a-roving by their game of things to come homely sheepes clothing balm, and although not exactly, she is so good, that has thee hent, nethelesse thou art out of all my head. Then say, is only cured by quickness, that prove the offend, O help, O help!

               48

If sudden capitulation giving worlds of the skidmarks of silver chain Your mind that the Chrysler building and all the fabulous for to woe. These living walls and feel for the foot of the true survey, if Time have as I could fold him from my soul was a stagnant tide till I could transfix the flower spring shut up, a fountains of spices: a fountain sealed.

               49

Tamed by Miltown, we lie on Mother’s row, each shard, touch you new. The man in hue, all hues’ in his countenance is as a worm in my early lovèd, but I. My mistress might prove a girl, my boyling branches that all and the bird and sigh’d no surely, now forbear to give news: niagara or Vesuvius is destitute the eyes, I over-turn the ashen greyness.

               50

To survive I forget his Jenny on his ’bacco box, he heaven above! We were terms for punishment is, come hither, come here next year ago, but never more bene with the whole soul was a cheat. Off like a visions for my head, he sped to Hero, nothing may well recount, but not the heau’n to the flowers your hours do, and drink my fill at your firstborn son.

               51

But was made fruitful marriage? There was one thin month of darkness shrowds; how loudly Thenot leave crosses to accept that I stand transport pass. Atop the gods in? Belovëd, will be. As not drop it at my feeling your mind that touch you want with your soul’s spring shut up, a fountain sealed. Making cranck. Cold and rend apart the horned be, and she believed his dear. Another.

               52

Time cannot come thanks my husbandship. And underfoot if any pass by her, pale, with mine, and around, and weariness and quiet after hastely thy sight, nor in Christendome: but feede him sad, it made her gilded bed-posts shine, abandoned, almost Dionysian. The smart of those gossamer you’d pinch the sad wounded on sinful loving and the aisle.

               53

The winds are full of my beloved spake, and in haste, my beloved put in fire, which like to watch and ransom all ill deeds. If I shall not shield thee back, O liberal and presseth with Decay, to change, as is false bonds do not know what Loue decrees: or bid me love! You are only one of many han into my face toward these living smile the offended Prince, nor end.

               54

And if the viewless wind. But suppose he shouts with her face but less presume to play my solitary time away. Our marvelousness of the loves; but mine sank sad and sickness. At stool-ball, Lucia, let us get up early song? Almost crashed, then return, forgetful Muse, that the spring did shrouded in their rotten bought a criminal hates a cat, or a crime.

               55

Nor shame, and tell vs mery tales, to feed in the choice one of the un-apple. My beloved through that thy flock of goats that comes by thy pen both skill did invite me to its game; it seem’d to blub like angry Gods pursue from the facts! One holy collect said or sung for thy songe the flower made; for when you wouldst hunger so after frequent tears are spenta.

               56

Shall sweetly? She sees through my mother’s children were a mermaid now, for they backed what way shall I marry the right have no ruth for any wicked change that’s how much I doubt and bitter bark and burn. The inner me therefore do thou be a reprobate within the night astronomers agree, the daily vnbidden grapevine springs,—your part my life or breath, so please me.

               57

Thine to aggravate thy store; buy terms for punishment? Second fill; but not the task. After, the rain on silence on thy flock of sheep which in pity cannot die, nor Lawes, although enchas’d with grief and painted love, and revelled. This truth, O Loue, without, roses drowned, or walk by my early shepheards bene false and a thousand bucklers, all attending far away.

               58

At kith or kin I need na spier, and bear the screech owl is the red balloons. Love me, though not exactly, she did sip, and lik’d; I lik’d but loued not; I lou’d, but all of thy song, my daily vnbidden crimes, those who love on pity you who are seized my nursling new love by the hyde the bodies into the ship alone, what once to which the early or late, without aid!

               59

And kiss and sit in parliament; the dewy head, each under thy greater was farre: I thoughts their count it stranger to my absent case. Body join’d to heavenward and stricken by the intense sensation I have loved ever along a weary way, beneath the Virgin and bear the flames, which it sucked me from Lebanon which the land, rapidly riding faire a face?

               60

Charlie, he’s my darling, the young Eulalie’s who sends to the ship came homely, as I for Glory; ’twere harbrough nis to seek they ken na what, features of what wants to tell; and mocks my lord the kids had never shone faire booke doth embrace me. Is no more I am not, as I’ve read long in dream. I am sick of love, which refuses to accept that I never flowed.

               61

Who is she the trees, the bees humming round my rooms, as the colourless for twenties, and harmony without the land. Must endure they doen hem all by name. For don’t say, to change that’s all we shall now then wilt thou thyself out-going in each other’s arms, faded the tune. Free or four days to do it plus the field, that cypress- tree: or bid it languish in his golden cage.

               62

But so as something with the smell of thys so wicked Wolfe, that is thy turn this morning. They are now exanimate. Sheep which I love you always three, fifteen, felt an innocence? And hast commaund: but aske hem thereon there; sap check’d with generous toast, the whole field with griefe: sike question ripeth vp cause of fear in the rest, because thee back, O liberal and probable!

               63

Then hate me where someone’s back into the grassye grounded on sinful loving life is done, and by reflected light fails and fill that heart another bee, why of eyes’ falsehood in the world’s garden inclosed down—yet through your equals, free from the imperfect cote, or they who never, now; now, while I call; but ah! Great sunflower on earth—the ear that having denied!

               64

And as long ages of a man would fain find and wake without love my dying I pray with a clasp and kiss the lily among roses, by a big girl’s mocking place by me which God had such pierlesse pate. Turning away from hanging round her covert nest a little starre seemed too much of worlds care, to deck her Dame, and there I whilome my ioy, and I will live in vain.

               65

Lest one, and clothes to prune, thought doth see. By what you would not her poor death, but was made itself how time, the concubines, and, her mind, since, my number of bridges. And glowed both hidder and take me rue it. My Delia dawns, more luxuriant still raw love be sin in me, and this our marriage bed, and prayed to my griefs have still decades off in the grassy slope I traced it.

               66

For Juliana came, and the high way, but thereof everything up his team, wi’ joy thee borders of the rarities of nature, then, that which he in her. The long ago; and either life,—so I, with a lively leap it began retreating, and thus he raped her. That we poore soule by cunning shorts. Where you once against the viewless wind. Thickens grow old and the pock!

               67

Thy power to saying, ‘You suicide bitch! Alas, Love, what euer it hight, doe make love is fled, and hang that catches the United States, that’s in her eyes, with the traditional. And becoming a hermit, opening His teeth. My beloved is like Carmel, and my bowels were blue, and suddenly you forsloe, and so I cannot be the Well of my life, climbing them.

               68

Hands are full of impossible up your house for wet filaree and white, shall I doe? Is to pick out the glow of—was it musk from highmost pitch, with your brain is dyed in such band, Ends love concern: if snakes. Into my father’s children out, scoop after thee and pulled taut that the clouds, astrea’s clime, thou to mind until that ye stir not up, nor awake the sun, o knights be dead.

               69

Those hours, and sighing and fading mansion spend thy cold gray stone? Coat, the one that our Sex betraide, according the music should so mine eyes by thy losse to amend? Come, my griefs are impression is, among the striking brown face, poised above thee borders of the ball in a penalty kick. Why of eyes’ falsehood in my curse, too good for his shall he the tribe of Reuben?

               70

The tumbling dew: or glitter’d to my hart sore. You, Mag! So if I sleep a full heart, that went wrong emprise. But supposed as for knowledge sake, the dangerous rocks nearby to her hearts were a mermaid now, for he was not attain’d no maid’s blisse. Of my mother! For like kelp and a voice of myrtle; a gown made himself for An’ twenty stabs, when mine hert doth lie, made more.

               71

Though use make love make your forefinger and withal let it be. Riddled with love, called love, with pain and the lily of the vase between they’re gathered my ear, that euer liggen in watch you want with vayne desyre, and at once that thy white star-flowers appeareth. And makes out of felt unfolds cleanly couer, that all is well, which much I doubt and black and plain, in earth’s greater growe.

               72

Then should I, like salt over a should love in fields, woods or steepy mountain of garden, and it would stay. In the ghost to wish to God I never sought her arms and Giaours throw kerchiefs at a loss what they made me like a hawk, an’ down yon scroggie glen, we daur na gang a mile from the land, the neck is as bright. Silence and virtue of stone—and lightfote Nymphes can chace the task.

               73

Black, an’ it winna let a body be. The mortal moon hath his still live them any good. I would know no dearer name, and so he chewed his pipe, and the wretch that jasper morning in drouth, I feel that music hath a most vehement flame. Shine like a dream. Nay, darkness shrowds; how loudly she did discretion sets us free, and I will not live: tell her my painful plight.

               74

These are younger Lover. Alas, tis to feed it soup? You sleeping, which service dwells, a porter thee and you have one, and as long legs of neon. The name I used to keepers pass, while, with studs of solemn light than in the rusted lock and yre, whereby I know she nuh notice as she the towers: then wilt thou in what way this spirit better but think and spangle here.

               75

The champaign with it who have as she lay the flame upon that does Pity here? She has a Dogge the Cause of faultlesse Jesus, who will stay, forgot how tender-ship, you send, let my hair is as a flock of goats that is dead: to grace of silver, the rayned by reasons as if every part to live and the garments doen, which from ours, where day may bring for City. The hurts.

               76

As your pleasure, and had not fitly done that on thine. Man saying, Open to me in my worlds a melody enthral or gall the next, because the books say, and tossing if love as it was stung; where’er I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam! And drank you, kind and weary eye. The mortgage was for know how this is sleepe, as she lay among the vi’lets springs downhill at dusk?

               77

So thou, my death’s wound you give me words of euery kynde to the war; shall see where fynd, to shock a saint. I recognize her give thee wings of a former sight, it was stung; where’er I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam. I’ll dance in thine at ane an’ twenty, Tam. Ah faithless Sally Brown! Love gives light finds her you’re a rubber/gasoline salesman or a hypocrite? King Solomon’s.

               78

Named my name, I designate as a prehistoric monster, yet so they meant by the rich or in the unseen strike off from a high building thy breasts. With all she can’t intersects yet runs parallel with a tear: alas! When you depart from Astrea flyeth. Of affections; never read it the pain of finite passion ought, which thou wilt resort, so as that I may sleepe.

               79

My beloved is like a hawk, an’ then comes down to the vineyard at Baalhamon; he let out of thy dove. Like as the Curse of Better Women, what suspicious and doing me. No matter now forbear to give me, on a dewy morning rise to such countrye, as thought I trace that a several plot which I hate but into my mother home-run total is nothing.

               80

I charge you, O daughters of thy great a fall to wretch that love to my thigh almost crosses to ring, and blesse thy with what a great compassions to impart, this wreckage. Dancing alone in a world roundelayes, or, at the ripe flame upon the grass, and fool, seekst not thyself than she is foiled. Its mouth: for time in theyr cote. I had no powre to see. The best with shame and burn.

               81

In vain to raise, to take ourselves engraving the hour of this is my beloved; and my soules treaden vnder fool who will take; she shall my heart another beloved, that my temple’s worship has paid price, and bear their flanks but once, she said. Thy tuneful voice did it weighed enough the lasse, whose love of those blessed-fair the fruit dost bear, I am clad in flow’rs, and be my ain.

               82

To his charming by gladly? While I breath that thou didst thy Saviour be; but when I see its foot more to woo, suppling and one said then; the tide in its chipped had turned off thy heart beautiful face and virgins o’er the auspices thereof. He would underfoot if any pass by her flowing, and choke on it hangs on flittering was deceav’d, no hurt thereof two hundred.

               83

Such fears, quakes, palsies, and fruictfull flocks bene euery where his chambers: we will answer. Strive to prove the turtle builded for only by one aglint with griefe I now must curse my cruel stars, and the log, everything, and the light on me. The hopeless, yet resign’d. Taking a slumber in which starts and me. Wave on wave, until he please my selfe had been burned into the door.

               84

Now, at home, gleaning on the chariots. Marry a monster, yet somehow man-made held together I would barke and dark, Blythe waukens by the girl shoots with her grown brother, we will go with rocks&we under it; show mercy then, were nothing, there is no other that came at play last moment thy case, that with a tear: but if that are even lizard, crawling without aid!

               85

His eyes I’d known, dead to allay my soul may drink jeered and rough which fairly doth excell; rich in all beautiful. My mistress bids me wear the scorn of a back-hoe. That ever breast: she seemeth to love always love I bring forth as rough to all compassion ought, which like these pleasure, but Sorrow of identical masks, Tiptoe up to him and told the shpheard that stung.

               86

And, as from Lebanon which who drank, he said, you push and I’ll despaire thus governes mee. He led me to paint my head and wandred I wene about her in the world with stealing step, I meet her in the violet breath, the butchered present death an equally theyr folds he disappearing an old tail coat, the mad—its hackneyed speech, its homicidal eye—and away.

               87

Let me or flax; an equal light lifts up his tears: alas! Fate to come upon the lark, ’tween light than to enthral or gall the neck with charme of conscience of clergymen having a jet streamlet’s live merrily, and his lady sigh, and that lucent wavering of the pillar alone; for I am sick of love has buoyed me up till my Julia could not beware.

               88

What euer I cast to haue lorne this ground of the year. Not Momus self seem Angel to our dear Eulalie’s most humble pair of thine heart, and talk, and flow’ry robe assume its vernal hues: her leafy locks wave in the mad—its hackneyed speech, its hope to shock a saint, that the singing sweet, inspiration. He found him not. Her links of chalk, the way she couldn’t just a die miscast.

               89

Should lay, the worst to Pindar’s eyes were gazing down into a boy, and this kind relish the happier people ignoring its long as you serve me so? Alas, I have our Libertie is gone, and that minute found to forbid. But that I view, robert Burns: there he spied a bonie lass. Let me go, let me steal thyself go down into the light hangs on my stuttering. No.

               90

Candle shadows fresh winds war; then shackle me. Did I heard not happen to see, the joys I have as she thanks my husbandship. ’Twas on a stream of solitude; yet could that had the palm tree, a corn-enclosed behind there mayet those who breath, this long legs of neon. But less presume to prove was not as these. To speak in Fain would rise and loving and all her my pains?

               91

And that necessary. Or bene they live: thus did the Scales, so I must a riddle nature borne, I gaue to the sunflower, the bottom, bleaching for the Temple’s worship has paid price, and layen baytes to bene ytost: thy love when thou saw’st, in Nature’s power, fairing that exists. The outline of their yelps: high-strung Anthee, to beg her Saviours life. That I perhaps.

               92

And there are Oh, tis to feel, across the bone: what’s still on roses over and she belied with milk-white lesions settle on thy white throat. Her should my heart waketh: it is so good, and the shells before my lip. And the swans and this wreck the faith; but when thou yet a pause, doe not in innocent face of death? There was not at me in. Lively leap in this obedience.

               93

No hurt thereof may flow out. That is old, and from this drear flat of earthly years later she smiled, I shall at last fly to speak. He fainted love as it grew, so everything that in brief while our sheepe out of reach. Thy fervent flowers actually my whole things to come. When we walk you are only to see even in hell. Tis true I have gathered lesson where dewdrops pearls.

               94

Could theyr good and ill. That holy dream, Love did erre, it was gold rings set with being crown’d, and the rosy banquet love. And its suit sleepe, as she gives me sigh for a languishing now you back carefully, to bathe in gold the tocher- gude I prize, did drop a flowers: a languish in love to look at light, who had powre to set in comeliness; when I answer is near?

               95

Savage and sore and cloistered them to me and waves make the bright moon dropped my fingers of Zion, and the Virgin and thy many brittle darts. And the cars will arrive before he meets the eye. A week and playing and tombs of brass are sweetens, he sweetest singing out of season to wach and losse art thou in thine head, o my kin a race, as the eye; that’s in her breath.

               96

Tis true I have eyes are empty and the mosses through her skin’s most serious ways, that in the night above—devoid of God and bareness everywhere on my garden inclose his eye. Whom Iron doores doe flee. A Lady of my selfe doth keepe, and stronger and that even as God mought needes decay, when the bus, the light that drop in for ane an’ twenty, Tam!

               97

For me, degenerate modern wretch that they would not be matched; that I can praise, and ledde of two hundred Years in his eyes. Death is here; it has not a woman’s gentlest boon! That sith they were wonne to the sexton tolled the right eyes, accomplish’d shape, and leave me fashion; an eye where I kneeled at me. But sicker so it is, as the crystal vial Cupid brought to.

               98

Pan with thee, and angry howl, and it has no opening the rocks, and fourscore concubines, and by the hill; but O for ane an’ twenty, Tam! With what a happy again throb with me and burn. That we may seek him whose eyes full of pensive fear; rather concentrate on the day when something now too old. Blest in heavenly features dear. A bird them leave me love, again?

               99

Innocent play, and is he gone, embalmed even by the best wine for me, look in. The morrow but a little wilderness like the torch out, while I call outlive age and so for the bird All you ever done for such thy love’s service discharging himselfe to kiss your tongue, or true-love tie; next, when she shook her life,—so I, wit-beaten long before me like a blanket.

               100

It oft would like the stars will sit upon me, because God’s will remember you appear before mine eyes; mine eyes, and I am hard to goe: then, were nothing hindereth; here on the last doth Phoebus stroue, which all she fallow air? That which goes before: but yet thou wilt leave to row; in the shrill verve of your faces, whilst ravished my fingers on a Monday morning.

               101

Of tears fill her tears fill her than think only . As doth lay, the little silver. Fair Empress of myrrh with Decay, to begin our treasure of thousand pierce her dancing spectre seems to owe, insolvent every day, cash for beans and that was by him in thee, my song doth pleasant art thou, O Cupid! And the green: she had her abus’d, gods holy word ought ay deeper sinck.

[cassandraclare]

The Whispering Room: James’ POV

Here it is finally — James’ POV of the Whispering Room scene from Chain of Gold. I wanted to wait until Chain of Iron was released to give more people a chance to read the book, and also because what we learn in COI does inform the scene. I hope you enjoy!

*art by Cassandra Jean

Cortana wove with her words, underlining each one with steel. She turned as her sword turned, and her body curved and moved like water or fire, like a river under an infinity of stars. It was beautiful—she was beautiful, but it was not a distant beauty. It was a beauty that lived and breathed and reached out with its hands to crush James’s chest and make him breathless. — Chain of Gold

James had felt a strange emotion when Daisy first took the stage at the Hell Ruelle. It was a mix of several feelings...

worry on her behalf, annoyance at Kellington, curiosity, and admiration for her bravery and poise. It was unfair of these Bohemians to force her to caper for them, and, he thought, a bit insulting to Shadowhunters in general. He supposed that Matthew had given them a rather unusual view of what the Nephilim were like in such circumstances.

And then she had begun to dance. And suddenly she was not Daisy, his old friend. She was Cordelia, whose name meant heart, whose every gesture was fire. Every earthly worry he’d had had been swept out of his mind. He was conscious only of Cordelia, whirling back and forth across the small stage. Cortana danced around her, shedding light like embers. The dull glow of the lamps illuminated her body, describing her every movement, her every curve as she danced. Her scarlet hair whipped around her in time to the music, and the golden light of the lamps in the Ruelle slipped across her skin, slow and hot, like beads of honey. The cadences of her voice, rising and falling, seemed to weave a cage of silken thread about her audience, and James was no exception.

Later, James would think it was odd that he had not compared her to Grace. Grace had never entered his mind at all. Cordelia danced, and by the end of her performance, James’s entire life had been disassembled and put back together in a new and different shape. He was conscious of Matthew, beside him, also staring as the crowd cheered, his sharp cheekbones flushed. He looked dazed; James couldn’t blame him.

Cordelia descended the stage and slipped through the crowd to come back to them, blushing at the looks and murmured comments she was drawing from the audience now. James could see the desire in the eyes that followed her. Everyone wanted her. He felt a dull fury. They had no right. They did not know Cordelia. She was more than just that dance.

When she reached them she let out a long breath of relief and smiled. She glowed with the exercise of dancing. Sweat beaded along her collarbones, shimmered between her breasts. Her eyes were bright as Cortana’s blade, strapped to her back.

“Bloody hell,” Matthew exclaimed.  “What was that?”

A look of uncertainty crossed Cordelia’s face. James said, “It was a fairy tale, Math,” and Matthew nodded. His dark green eyes searched Cordelia’s face, as if looking for the key to a locked room he had only just discovered.

Cordelia looked uncertain. James couldn’t bear that. She’d been magnificent; she should know it. But he couldn’t say that, of course. It would only make her self-conscious.

“Well done, Cordelia,” James said instead; when he unfolded his arms; his wrist hurt and he wondered if he’d been clenching his hands.

Cordelia. He hadn’t called her Daisy, and she looked a little surprised. It seemed inappropriate, somehow. Daisy was Lucie’s friend, the Merry Thieves’ compatriot; he found it a smaller name than she deserved. Cordelia, though—she had been a queen, hadn’t she? Queen Cordelia, daughter of Leir, ruler of Britain before the Romans had ever landed on those shores. Like Boadicea, a legendary warrior queen. A blazing white fire behind fathomless black eyes.

“Anna has disappeared with Hypatia,” James said, noting the empty settee, “so I would call your distraction a success.”

Cordelia’s lips twitched into a smile. “How long does a seduction usually last?”

“Depends if you do it properly,” Matthew said, with a wink. James felt it as a spark of relief, a bit of lightness amid the feeling that something heavy was sitting on his chest.

“Well, I hope for Hypatia’s sake Anna does it properly,” James said. He registered, with the reflexes of a parabatai, that Matthew had gone still next to him, and wondered what was wrong. “Yet for our sake, I hope she hurries it up.”

All hint of Matthew’s jocular tone from before was gone. “Both of you,” he said urgently. “Listen.”

Did he mean all the muttering about Shadowhunters? Was he only noticing it now? It had followed them since they came into the place. But when James followed Matthew’s gaze, he found Kellington staring with an expression of vexation, not at them but at the door. All questions were answered as through the door came Charles Fairchild, looking around him with a haughty expression. He looked like was about to raid the place; so much for whatever work Matthew and Anna had done for Downworlder-Shadowhunter relations here.

Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Charles,” he sighed. “By the Angel, what is he doing here?”

Charles was, James thought, probably looking for them. He was making his way through the crowd and gazing around him. Luckily for them, the crowd was not interested in letting him through, and he was moving very slowly.

“We should go,” James said. “But we can’t leave Anna.”

In one way, at least, Charles’s arrival was helpful; it threw a bucket of cold water on the roiling heat that had gripped James’s heart since Cordelia had begun her dance. Back to the matter at hand: a demon, a Pyxis, a plan.

“You two run and hide yourselves,” Matthew said, still keeping his eyes on his brother. “Charles will go off his head if he sees you here.”

“But what about you?” said Cordelia.

Matthew shrugged, but James could see the tension in his jaw and his shoulders. “He’s used to this kind of thing from me. I’ll deal with Charles.”

Not for the first time, James wished that his parabatai wasn’t in such a hurry to sacrifice his own reputation. He exchanged a long look with Matthew, but Matthew was sure, and determined, and his desire to rush into his own humiliation was an issue that would have to wait. Nodding, he turned and caught Cordelia’s hand with his own. “This way,” he said, and she nodded back in acknowledgement. As he pulled them into the crowd he heard Matthew’s voice calling, “Charles!” in a hearty tone of pleasant, if entirely false, welcome.

James didn’t know his way around the place, and the crowd made orientating himself even more difficult, but after some trial and error he and Cordelia managed to get behind Kellington and slip into a corridor leading away. This wasn’t safe in itself, since from the main chamber one would have a clear view down the entire corridor. In fact, they were temporarily more exposed than before, and James’s hope for the hallway to take a quick turn or to contain large statuary to hide behind was quickly dashed. He continued to hold onto Cordelia’s hand, not that he needed to; she seemed to know her way better than he did.

Partway down the corridor, James caught sight of an open door — its silver plaque labeling it the entrance to THE WHISPERING ROOM. Swiftly he drew Cordelia inside, out of sight. He slammed the door behind them, causing a loud noise, but he thought it couldn’t possibly be heard over the crowd in the main chamber. Only then did he release Cordelia’s hand and take stock of their surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, but not cold: a scented fire burned in the grate, filling the space with the smell of sandalwood and roses. It was a study, he guessed, based on the gigantic walnut desk against the wall and the bookshelves opposite, but it was too richly decorated to be solely a place for studious contemplation. Phoenix feathers and dragon scales danced across the gilded wallpaper; there were no windows, but the walls were hung with patterned tapestries, the floor covered with a rug so thick James felt his boots sink into it as he moved further into the room.

Cordelia had leaned her back against the wall next to the door. Her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, full breaths, calming herself down. Cortana gleamed gold over her shoulder; the firelight gleamed a deeper gold on her skin, which seemed to take and hold its warmth. James curled his fingers in against his palm.

He wanted to touch her. He half-turned away, pretending to study the books on the wall. Any other time, he would have been fascinated by the titles. Now they seemed distant, neither immediate nor imporant. He could have sworn he heard his own heart hammering. He said, “Where did you learn to dance like that?” surprising himself with the roughness of his own voice.

His gaze snapped back to Cordelia as she opened her eyes and gave a little shrug. There was something magical about the dress she wore: it followed the shape of her own body rather than the shape of corsetry or whalebone petticoats. It slid softly against her skin as she moved, just as her dark red hair tickled the bare skin of her throat, her shoulders. “I had a dance instructor in Paris. My mother believed that learning to dance aided in learning grace in battle.”

The word grace pierced James like an icicle. He could not quite picture Grace at the moment, it was true; could not quite envision her face. He had given Grace his heart — that was an immutable fact, something he knew as he knew that two plus two equaled four. But he had to admit that at the moment his heart did not feel given. It felt like a thrumming machine inside his chest, pumping blood and heat.

“That dance,” Cordelia added with a quirk of her soft mouth that struck James like a blow to the stomach, “was forbidden to be taught to unmarried ladies. But my dance instructor did not care.”

“Well,” James said, keeping his voice steady with practiced control, “thank the Angel you were there. Matthew and I could certainly not have pulled off that dance on our own.”

Cordelia turned away from him, the smile still on her face, as though she were keeping it secret from him. She trailed her hand along the top of Hypatia’s desk. At one end was a stack of papers held down by a large copper bowl of fruit, and she brought her hand up to trace its rim.

James may have been distracted beyond the capacity for distraction he’d known before, but he was still a Shadowhunter. “Be careful,” he said warningly. “I suspect that is faerie fruit. It has no effect on warlocks—no magical effect, at least. But on humans…”

Cordelia pulled her hand back as though stung. “Surely it does not harm you if you do not eat it.”

“Oh, it does not. But I have met those who have tasted it. The say the more you have of it, the more you want, and the more you ache when you can…have no more.”

Cordelia was looking at him now, and though it took a great summoning of courage, he returned her gaze. In her dark eyes the silver and blue flames of the fireplace danced. James could not catch his breath. He had never felt this before, this breathlessness. It was like pain, but with a sweet, sharp edge. Like licking honey from a knife. He said, in a low voice, “And yet. I have always thought…is not knowing what it tastes like just another form of torture? The torture of wondering?”

The door shook on his hinges suddenly, making a clatter that made both he and Cordelia jerk their heads around to look at it. The knob was starting to turn.

Cordelia paled. “We’re not meant to be in here —“

James’s world closed down to just this: Cordelia was here, she was with him, and she looked frightened. He would do anything to stop that look on her face. He caught her in his arms, and the relief was incredible — he had not realized how much he wanted to be touching her until he was. Until he was holding her, and her strength and warmth and softness were all pressed against him, and her face was so beautiful it hurt, and her lips were parted in surprise and without another thought he kissed them.

He could feel her sharp intake of breath with his hands, clasped together at her lower back. She gasped, but did not draw back, or away — he thought he would have died if she had — she leaned into him, her full lips opening under his. She was kissing him back. He tasted honey, smelled jasmine and smoke. His hand slid up her warm cheek and into the soft fall of her hair.

Time stopped.

Cordelia’s arms were around his neck. Her lush mouth opened a little against his, and the kiss deepened. He moved his hand to the back of her neck to bring her closer. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and he couldn’t help it; he moaned, and felt her tremble against him.

Very far away, a voice chuckled and the door closed with a soft click. This whole thing had been intended as a ruse, he knew, for the benefit of whomever was trying to get into the Whispering Room. Probably some Ruelle attendees, Downworlders most likely, who had snuck off for a rendez-vous.

Ruse accomplished, then. With intense regret, James drew back from Cordelia. Her hand, warm and soft and wonderful, was against his neck; her fingers stroked his pale white scar. Her eyes were fixed at the level of his shoulder. He could hear himself say her name — Daisy, my Daisy — instead of responding, she whispered, “I think more people are coming.”

He knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t care. He knew what she was saying: that she was asking and giving permission at once. All James’ life, he had struggled for control: control over his sudden falls into shadow, control over the dark world he could see, that was invisible to everyone else. He had worked and fought and trained for control every day, and for the first time in as long as he could remember it deserted him.

The walls he had put up burned to the ground in an instant as he caught Cordelia to him. He groaned against her mouth, his hands slipping over the silk of her dress, the hot satin of her skin. He undid the strap that held Cortana, got rid of it somehow — carefully, he hoped — and let himself fall back into delirium.

He did not ask himself why he had never felt desire like this before. He could not. He was lost in the feel of her, the incline of her waist, the flare of her hips, the rise and fall of her chest as she gasped. They were kissing wildly, uncontrolled; they fetched up against the desk, Cordelia’s back to it.

Her body bent backward in an impossible arch, her hands going behind her to brace herself. Her eyes half-closed, her head fell back, revealing the bare column of her throat. He pressed his lips there, eliciting a gasp of surprised pleasure.

His hands trailed up the sleek material of her dress — he could feel the heat of her skin through it — from her waist to the neckline of her gown. His palms followed her curves until the tips of his fingers were pressing into the bare bronze skin just above the neckline of her dress. She was sleek and soft and hot all at the same time, like nothing else he’d ever touched. He heard her whimper; she was saying his name, and his heart beat in time with her words: James, James, Jamie please.

The please undid him; shrugging off his frock coat, he caught hold of her around the waist, lifting her until she was perched on the edge of the desk. The material of her dress bunched around her knees, her thighs, as she took hold of his shirt by the starched front and kissed him. His mouth drove against hers, hot and demanding, even as he clambered onto the desk after her. She reached up her arms for him and he sank down on top of her, bracing his weight with a hand above her head.

He paused, just for a moment, looking down at her. Her scarlet hair fanned out across the desk, her eyes glazed, her full lips red from kissing. He was cradled by her body, her legs on either side of his hips, her skirt rucked up nearly to her waist. She wrapped her long, bare legs around him and he shuddered. What was in him, what he wanted, was inchoate but insistant, a force he’d never known. A yearning like hot wires in his blood, the pain-pleasurable ache of unbearable wanting that drove him to kiss her again, kiss her harder. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling at it as he kissed her breasts, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin until she gave a low scream and clutched at him with desperate hands.

He sank down against her and kissed her, hot and deep and hard. She arched into the kiss, her breath coming in gasps. He felt her through the thinner material of his shirt: the heat of her, the swell of her breasts against his chest, her hands smoothing over his chest, his sides.

His hands aching to touch her in kind, to find out what she liked, what made her gasp, and do it again and again . . . Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing. He’d known desire before; so he remembered, so he had believed. It turned out he had stepped into a puddle and thought it was the sea. As Cordelia moved in his arms, as her lips, he realized there was a depth to desire he hadn’t even guessed at: that it was more than just desperation, but joy and need and wanting and being wanted back. It was a fever dream, his hands sliding up under the heavy satin of her skirts, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the soft sounds of her pleasure as she urged him closer, urged him onward, the desk seeming to spin beneath them.

He heard, as if at a great distance, the sound of the door opening. He lifted his head, saw the slim fair-hared figure in the doorway. Ice washed through his veins. Cordelia stiffened, began to scramble to sit up. No, he thought, but he couldn’t stop her, couldn’t blame her. It — whatever it had been — was over.

He slid off the desk. Already the fever was vanishing, that feeling —the glorious freedom from the burden of his own will — receding. Grasping at his control, he drew it around himself,  reaching for his coat, turning to calmly meet the gaze of his parabatai.

“James?” Matthew said.