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libidomechanica · 13 days

Text

Look not the sun doth tell vs, what

A sonnet sequence

While the dead, half wonder young to be a bliss here they sleep, the slant of stone to tell their stain. Of Love dies! That light a dry Bob. Strait in such disparity arise; come when in by thy string steps for my love? Meantime to the west, my mind a day like a prince all mine eye or ear to get the Gulf Stream and let vs cast over the sea! Which he of God to cope with a panic fear, but took my eyes proceeded, and in hand, tell that he’ll gentle blasts neuer was vpon the painted snow and grape, and therefore mischievously be stuck on a day, the beautiful is demonstrative, nor slavery in the proportionate then the sea, love, fates revolve no long sea-wave as first detachment of late after than all the notice take thee; but view his miserable below existed? Could turn an abyss like stranger ance I say no means would be sure I never! Apart. Poke the way!

-Still they quitten embassageways was—a watch’d the found more to languish still seemde but a woman who fly arisen out, the light to served through lively veins? That the huge moth, the old man, as faults done prayse is claspt by a token. Such life a fruit of wonder although rusty elde, than I. Tucked into April morn, somewhere, instructing, pure, however the more be blood! Dear pig, are ye with the stirring vp and petalled their laws, and in the window, and perpetual motion sound; I grant you turned like a hard the clicking ordering foam; your grave. Chewing throat. I have guess three here came marching, were two are welcome nest. Of awful, could intend, instead of noticed one, or nectar of state and then to hunt him at a wedding bright in Truth’s lamented field the valleys, wearied mind, our wonder girls, within my way, the world’s fresh and lilies fair though you can speaking of woes.

No, in a bed of roses an instant Sylvio soon, and devour&feed on the pieties of silver bowe, which for thy, my selfe out green and tends upon flower sublimity, whom Nature’s epigraph, new and such immod’rate grows and the siege, where is such the silt and sweet solitary now. Knowing I didn’t sleep: vainly clad, besmear’d thoughts, who had power turning them charge, and there came, it glittering, thou art as fyre, that with, dim-descried. I bade her was salt again I would come, chiding brere we our sleep: vainly in earth upon the goal, this scenes of feel; his eyes; mine eyes!

Found so woe-begone? That in happy statues, friend, because her know, my loue does teaching to go withouten any rinde; she look’d, and let him whose way you? A red-rose trees. Under of men—youth, Health, in her in Heaven, and brain? Warm breath gently open can ail the battering a twig. But shall are, and sang sae merry; come in the change, o yearned to add a state, and make captives just to goe a show? Now them: o brilliant love, look’d on ev’ry lineament; but whether thrive to kiss forgetters of the youth and made in the worst: never ranging of your deep, outstretched with you cannot die so.

Myself doth tell Amynta, gentle days who knew was done, since nothing may retire; and all their wrigle tailes, perke as Peacock stalking. In this kind of words of bright and nearer he beggars raffle thee home, the rabid, and lace at all, trust me, I’ll softly tread unto itself thy celestial song of Leonidas, who thou wilt thought to my beloved. What I am with her that where on earthly comfort fast form and had small orange a conquers what she lounged down the fields of our closely furl’d, the tree of such transmembered stores defy: such primal naked is, time breach. Did he made, and it with, and May? In the fluorescent of it in the executioner of the raucous bed or doomed like my father’s as green. We wove our formed of nights prefer before of death. From worse, from their stranger straw. I’ll softly go, like my sour and chain and you are for the color.

When I see a charge, alive or names want beloued. Without a steel; others far—ye may read, or else can speaks once so beautiful, a faery’s channel, where the landlord’s daughter, and be thy robber sayes, to gracefull’st cot, and could an end, the bravery male in the sky, or the first, at reserve and shovel dirt on high triumph in love. Not blithe petty though the tree? Till I’ll fall, whose chin and with this, a friend must proverb of the flies hovering its carbon monoxides, he’s delights as truth atone! Dear rose tree. Into a Greek or Latin laurel! And marrow, and that broke and death.

All alone and me thro’ stormy night I from eyes or e’er durst fraternity,—and steal in an Yuie to me. But here remain the seal’s wide enough of threw one: what’s fit for your adventure, past redress; for in the Song. For it is not asham’d to punishmen of all: sappho next, a prison my tears do come; the sleeping shall not fail between the solitary song into a halt under my flower. Which thy face turn’d, and the early days in good body, I allow a girl was for thou mayst wither’s reign’d all forth I set her slave, an awful notes in vaine the ground thy poet’s eyes.

With swimming eyes light your brushes, idling was dawn, the hay-field to their death in your hands the end is going to say t’ expressing of thine eies, that is no shame: although and count badge-the dews of the same marshal was what I loved before my bow and not long ages of her own reflection and with soft voice of love Everyone on deathmasks into another’s fingers. Been to me? I will here. Her heart were narrow: I cannot blame; your hair for their laws, and yet all this kind only because, thy wave unto your listened bee through my lemman withouten many years old world againe.

Thy frown—that is it under your shady cypress tree, enaunter his the grave,? Waiting for all thewed, and manna dew; and send up holy drede, so semest thou, my rooms, and light fades, and, withouten made for men? Peace, pen, for aye undone. Know it; that loue? From you, except possible, and when the good, some live, and cannot like an instant memory: but lack of use. Look for my love to thy graves. A thorn, wi’ unco folk I wear this waxed tame, whilst my close ivy-twines; there made him stand and the fruitfull strong, face turn to yonder is content. And lying all the knit the price, you wilt, remembered on the Solitude; and I— too late, straight in fact; and thy unbraided gold; the Princess shall lay it downwards there with fur in a kind of life’s fine trophies homeward to the spur inspires the three columns two, attack: but such less just to serues thy voices of love is too normally.

Who else the plains where, branch the perished died in for a life seem’d Cossacques for the placer of every bird upon the cloud as she said I hate recruits and flaming hand in sweet; these north clymes to a spirits dried up the her bed: I am told. I am poor stone greetings; nor in your hands where all knowes, full of days long colloquy himself doth spring dance, as Rainebowe bent, his rage, he deity. Tis poetry, she them. All on his mine. To sore, ne wont in state and foolish in her hands of the cherye was not in the words; and for als at the immortality began here alone, in pride, that farther and shame: althought, that is mellow; come in what a beauties more. Like to love, who loue, wyll be faint wind and with the course ne’er despatch in glory; and if ye with rev’rence for the fiesta of slaying Priam’s son, but attendant aided our bourds and in vain.

The nails are frailties why are not what Fate prevent; nor woman, so sweetly gracious eyes green she got too much letting foam; your hand, or when thy species, while peopled ark the cob. Equal was thine to the tender bit Beauty you go, flushed and rocked at me and quickly moonlight with all was locust on the sun; and evening her that made the Muscouy; if French, Cossacque, o’er all alacrity: there vigor barely construct those stars above. Everyone on my heart most lowe, I cannot flie away. But will break. Use of his left but Rousamouski, scherematoff, Koklophti, unless toil, still.

And waly fa’ the last assizes keep for wits to budded chamber tears do come home, and passive neighborhoods we move into another tread’st with good to myself would be fain; i’ll be warmth, when those harmony was held good! All you, who did both calmed down, O my Prodigal, complish’d for us? Here was long sorrows long ages of another than we safely charity to future crie, are hearts that now the twilight against us as if it were fast whate’er is Born of Rome and we saw of passing&in a poetess was Moslem, but not single sorrows fresh virgin full die.

Most day—creation’s stream shall when shells and nothing I descried. Quo’ she, Mither, and sail’d again, just to faces in Sommer the pieties of displaying, hath chemist mixing storm-beaten with long black wing. As purple moor, a red-rose tree, enaunter his death, as life, alas! And my mind, his flight: her Arethusiasm and hills, and friend! Meanwhile in thy holyday above me, instead of baser birth, since to the mind, as e’er durst fragrant rose conceiving and some had many times I must first time deceiving him, and silver miss’d, the sun; and so I send this widen when her find.

Have writer’s hair was they were frailties where Cupids. On a sprouting fry, delirious; hearing is even its gold, on the deep, and knows, if shed, presumes no Sov’raignty he gave, I wish me to me, you can make all matter by a tedious passes ever see it is no sin, because of theirs with my father muse witt is worship has plucked from field is universe to renew: for nothing limbs into the tree. Ah, what you wilt, for gold. Or what thy bold breaking that thyself can hear then labour is done, the greene, as on thy content to see the King’ or roams their last of both ends.

The book were thus mellow; come what we poore soft&lived-in, so semest thou leaves of flowers. And sing again which men who knows to kill Desire. And start from eastern repose; which may be, comfort myself would pour my simply wears even this turn to the foe: the first be more-for such immortall sinne of a’ the last nights, a stain is dyed in lit like a river. Had heart intermission saw, and gallop, drew in giving Roman Lucrece the rose trees and ev’n seem on roses on the Cup of Happiness most eased to my heauye head, but as simply nor was a great eyes belov’d than summer’s dreamed of joy to Love’s regard for love, this pride demurs when all they were underworld; ah me, and there is a nameless as amber, and no worke so many words, and beneath to give? Since you remaine, pleasing sound is my loss of the day, whereon he earthy holyday above the short, all meet!

Urn just as that said all the king on high talent to spend, the slaking and distort thy worth has his playing look to come home shock: his more, Thenots Embleme. Except they mought all they may haue to the glorious day; I kiss on your grave, myself thou so well grudge too high triumphing, born expect, plain and upon life here the notes to enter pillow past their side! How shall covered in the trellis and in love is still I may floating forth who does all thy sweet, maggoty minus and the crystal claspt by a fire; full of wrong of all, are rich. And if no clust’ring kiss they circle their banner.

Girt on the night, the landlord’s kingly bends he did the charms, drying to Adam was once! For nought well as eyes,—in the unimagination lack? Thy buddes of rybaudrye. Heap earth, wanting this new Vauban: but whether tree lines, a sunny Summer, till her legs. Wings, and Clear Heart, we could not thou promist weave that a loveliest friend because to worke me travelled sky. The sick and sweare that might and nature me; the lake, for a name as fondly laid, of purest and only twelve fair, it wax’d more sublimity, whom your own words and barren rocks ye rove, fatal to thou haunted on the sea! Be inside the use of your power? To squander his time away. Upon the sea is cruel. Beds of music the battery be insist on the Gaule in the rurall routes to creeping set; I found her mine, though great distance. Labour isle, wash’d in question, when the smart and great ocean’s swelling!

More the great philosopher way; t was absurd: but we were lang ere this, and unnamed! ’ The trigger at the snow’s daughter, plunged down upon it, I have vengeance, and thereof nourish all things in the plant my fill at your fair my part, however taken by and the welcoming of thy sailed into a narrow sholde any death is heart; another pull of apple bright, we will all the fair fingers wings when she caught upon the silt and starlings were going: but if such let’s going on the green. That so confusion of beauteous maiden hair tarnished to read the landlord’s kingly flowres.

It seem lost my glory, becoming out of earth; and cast on the nameless chin, the feels, against a fon, for she, in for to stand upon imaged Wordsworth’s tomb. On the even his voices die, but only in his expecting above yet now draw from Beauty and pebbles for all its Secret, Good and flowers and not so, my Tory, ultra-Julian? The dark into the days still a foreheads felt on a boggy walks to th’ height thus, that I wouldest creaked whereby beautiful and closing like Jocasta in a moment; she denies, because in my way, that act prove my love for Day ne’er be persuaded a Russians now under heir memory—odours, with loue doth dissolution climbed the glen, where disarayde: the blank and she stirring vp and condemn all such tyrant, now Nature day—fond Thought had brought of Kai Khusrau. Yes; and ever the woods and let out thy head.

And like him thy birthday she is close itself thy bright gold; yet them over, is it just enough a thing small, but attaint o’er young, I’m asleep, when thou leaves with affrayd I ranne away. No long, he stagnates to sweat of Ilion, that chair like a batteries, shall closed. And one foremost on grammar, though a though its picture their rose as was Moslem, but other’s doing! Oft I had hear me I would he adorn’d the stand new simile hold up like the Winter-sterued. Trapped widen when weep and changed Death of Jerusalem, the bowl of freedom, counted vein. But my flowed so cleerly, and loveliness, and stole, when thy seeing your be; but sorrow to more. Until the names at my sin when the dawn, late mouth with golden vial will move wi’ nae proportion well as dilettanti in watery trees of your breath. He nothing else pale and I. Never take men were cheek and rain.

Continuous as we did—was teache her bosom is, that live: tell hear thy hand too soon the unnamed it like Jocasta in a moment, while your lips! I would feel his velvet, an’ shill their deodands; who cried—La belle Dame sans merci hath been at the principal: smooth calmed down on her safe. He sat in her casements. And all the loveth, she was Stronger tips; and you would a tale I tasted on the stain is dyed in there in thy flower all day from us—and surly Winter doth feast this one of what duty strongenoff, meknop, Serge Lwow, Arsniew of moonlight we are doing, trembling, shred ends from the Babylonian harlotry made; for side, the sweetness duty to attends began to rear, who, will lay in the highwayman came on my breast—my eyes procession sounds in being the heave in the assault, and then I lov’d three columns two, attack the silence decaying.

Some, with its ear that from the questions, fears, and there is wilderness and breaking Poetry! And cause thee now, the length my faith so sad and sing of works her side, so dull am, that everybody sees through the youth to stake out of power to get sweet from fame’s blacksmith, i’ve said, What if we drove fairest most worth commemoration. Which made her work, doth springs are damnably mistress, afflicting all my good singer, from her sunlike mind, whenever say— look for rhyme, a verse adorn, thy lewd tale I taste our form the ghostly galleons of the works her verse this foot was denies.

Yet leaue me helpe to and pale king and left and go, mount and green. Pale green the middle of greene corne, you are, you are gone! His grief and Chrematoff, Koklophti, unless timmer, sir. Flying fram’d by their faultless, because this lubrique and gane, i’ll be part where a sort of gold? I lie display all her match was the first, I may be to-night, to gaudy spring and fruits to ceased by day it was a wind blows to immortal ears had hayled. Let barb’rous cruell content could pull from the inside the dead. Man’s clothe a mortal, could turn’d all that next shall entered garland for the green border. As he do?

For nothing with, common, and star, gleams.—She redd’ning cannot like men as my church thee. And his last lone another must flower, and puts apparel on my chaste? My mistress is calls murder all my heart to my head, and aspire; in the violent musings in thee, not know about it, but it is a bubbling steed, when the stairs his habit rather Lambes bene defast.-Flame which all the knights to me in a shaking happened doors we heards laddes to talk abroad this more, Thenot, my pilgrimage. This cheeks but the garden stars above thou web of wildings inspired new heart you slept fast!

The nobler, the four convey what always real to me. How many manifestation that is altogether I would make you wast that light! Since all remain with an ending in the winter, before since de Ligne have felt him and his day, the way we talk to each man of expiring a most my high triumph where your fair aspect. Along the pen in her day, whereon immediately stage? The wants both at eve was thicke, might honours the rabid wolf whose danc’d wi’ plundered away, with rushed with her own jewelry becoming out at their treble intermission saw, and loosening.

She dwelt in. Compared snow, speak for me, my spirits thorn, thy lewd tale I tasted, he was once to woo, suppling at you cannon duly set rose overgrowth of kisses are dogs—your pillows anchored in the unimaginations of the cat in her elfin grot, and go, mounting the face, prepare the lass wi’ a tocher; except possible and though little questions of likenesse, why should artless neck round they look’d upon that snap the tree? A lock with pedestrian Muses treasures are at the roar a radio. Others will break on a boggy walks in the fire of all miss!

The last of late mouth received in thicke, might be blood of many word ought: band of voyage is deaf moonlight fails, since in the moment’s gently so you I envy neither hand to draw one Breath their home to this can find stella meete tales of love thou art fairest flatter tale of his name so large. How Poles right be before its progressed its hand, as when the moon, were why so pale? ’ Amorous laughing the bird the flies; now those deep river’s lost their sinne of Separation, for Bacchus fruitful widdowes now, my Celia, comely and fill it till smiling to a crimson feather-bells, a things sweet.

Then their kettle-drums do framed; heav’n ye will I would afford to scornefully looked againe would poke enough on the day care to laugh at a glass. Force to say; ’ and sugar first day: seek out some myre: such ivory. And the churchyard yew a bloomed like thee ere were but that every waves in my breath in Lethe late September. Go, my Flocke, go, get you would I desire to coldly trip and pricks the way her mine, the worst: never fingertips, the fleet ’twas once made from the luster fades away, quickness and ye, ah, may drink of love’s chronicle, o Dianeme, rather and unsmooth Anthea for thee.

Thy land its that of Lamech is the sound! To the eastern of Moldavia’s waste as I am not our Sex betray’d to rise, outrival’d by fate is the church them, the roses and all things—but a lambent-flame to hear me sing, can life seemed to obtain, and unsmooth-paced number of fitful posts, rejoicing, and look on the springing one’s lips that is words, whose we for you move our play, the serv’d my kissed feet in her huntsman her ruddies name before with me. More fun than at him grace, not thought, O name unnamed! More, in the angels in ice; in vaine, close to retreat at one shilling frame, here ours?

To think of his whip on thy contains so much too much too great eyes burnt round of force to wood? To the rurall round of preserued, himself in the devil now night I had a wish. She wild sad the fastened by fate proposed in sound; he plied his wrath did a family of celestial bodie is sturdy strongly knit, to the pages. Golden dark and closer? He that brow of her cheekes to be a blink. To unwind,—and never soul in eternal Homer had held a creature, my lap, there. And was belong the princes pallace to unsay. For sure the light, from out three preux Chevalier.

But my comrade’s Juan; there in the green dark night, sick and feare, comfort in girlonds where I knew thy sight to make my husbands, and o’er the spirit guiding. Vainly in malice Gods eternal year against us if we still, and wild sad eyes—so kiss. The herd bends he was a little for a skin lies deeply under you pondering lightnings of displease you tell what he, the other rais’d his lubberly defect; three till the wings and set it suffer&becomes for peaceful use of their souls, that they presentative of all thy adjurations for their depart, but glory your Coranall.

Charms, that any been but now a poet not one would trust into a hundred yearning that the old man as you hear, do you speak to his should be chose out green contend not long ere we are my enfranching to make the Muscouy; if Frenchman’s abhorr’d who name of eglantine, and Southey live you more for other back. Sound, and far—too grossest flower of dark of glasses of this to pick juicy rubies, work’d their surpris’d and wreake my harmefull cheare: for love so tender him did knows, if shed, presumed with blossomes rownd. Eldest melody they do not giggle, and me to my abused.

I pass’d the several English, save thou make a lightnings of Love we’ll say, is the woods are carrying to set before what thou pype of trust, forgetful widdowes now unfetters, blind my hand. Dear rose upright so base cloud, sunset, before my ears: how her the sky the loved the poet’s eyes of light; fair with Bab-o lest thou praise, and bade my husband and has casual sleep to be attack’d; greater lovers dare na venturer sips or where thy corbe shown all eyes; for the feather. Who keep when the window; riding—the raucous bed and weary, say I’m with her tears, still be about as these.

Lying on the night, your sportive blood; but what it could I iust titles counts hour of feathery grass and mony a while he greater fades, our bodies taste. So hard sky limit past midnight not thought in death? I hae a penny to spil. Of the right. His tender love to quickly tied her bosom; and in my Julia’s skin, beating might by day; then, as an alderman love bestow it; till side. The pig who succoure was stroke, and clip my will be parts in one, including me so longe haue a wretched we both humble fragments all their wrigle tailes, and shovel dirt on her eyes have anyone.

With Perilla: all alone, but she, Mither, breathe meadows of the Nude Descending smile betwixt the silken skilled with our breast doth lies of the hill the books and every day to hint of stone to hast engross in leade, that I wonder what thou were their tongue— or well tied in the moon shall hand, this glutton be, to length precious sway this mouldy hay, but slavery in the multitude of midnight honour pend in his miserable beloved before; ye shall my loue and this childe, fledde step-dame Studies blow them thine in their country quarter ere his lamp, when her loneliness. Then he doth the beds.

Spoke these machine, singing or dancing chains of our June—shall we do forgive me still exclaim the spot to sting with thee; since in a burning like a ring arms of youth returning in the blue flame play till her hands. Where in a day, in the polar sky of his nose. Valley, while or their ears drops in your salary; was’t for still his glory began to my flocks of me. That make refuge the for making bit the enquiring lips. Humor and scatterers wings of air— Rome’s ghosts are doing, to the elders will of tacks around me to the wind commemoration, as soothing thus, and May?

But thou had been poured out his tender joys, structing, darkens. ’ Doves, we cherye be with joy; you express’d their leave things are their doubt, as were all nations busy wits by him alive or death; that as an awkward turning I remember well tied in forms have our talk. Into my stomach on the sun. Poor girls, with his way: love has been. Your arms. You and I said, What next day I was to witness like Peacocks to the first had set, before what a man, rather rais’d his game; it sent a courier to be silence a bowl of apples stopped me again approche, the moonlight, that once should have lost this wing.

Permit a place? And you shall thy stock so good; thrall, or a flitted the spurred like my father and that graffed to laugh I am only chance irrefragably, and the world’s way, of rimless for ever in this kind but the love sheds, and where Joan was embellish hound did feel to-day, to-morrow kind, a host, of golden hair tarnishable; slakes no thirst. My health she the drums, guns, batteries procedure it liv’d long with you white, when the hard the days, and to die. At the ryme should miss most council, in appeareth. Might muse express grove, nothing down thy heau’nly guest looks from the rose.

The foot more bitter by a grand loving voice of seas than the moonlight; a thousand beneath the dark heart of the lay it no better to hold my soul in eternal. Stella, who loue, some good way was swelling your fall in day are in October, translucent as their soules he clattering leaguer’d both of us: that prove: for that this fingers shelt’ring blood of the Arrows thee to the fresh ruffles of your silent Dead thy living waves in the big kids make John Bull, who was straight, and squirm newly bore his crowne. Deserves him, Prithee, might bear him did that have lost youthful from heaven to her legs.

And of this price of dizziness. And one things are a hard sky limits of moist and foolish Rider occasionally any air. Could I desire! The footmarks of me. I crau’d in the lute and all along then you here is a name unnamed believe that Love’s best of this kind and vows for eyes, I have many in many noises and take on better of his mistress bent, that some were incomplete, because thy words fondly laid, and with furious heate, for Colin fitter thy name. That of Lucy Gray upon thee. For grammer-rules, his will bringing and quicken. Over the vale; and yearn.

Which was their trebles since his verse want feet, and walls I have thee sweet ecstasy expiring eyes of love their wrigle tailes, and I see, which once and barre against my dove be with eternal streak of day, with a blow, the byting far enough the Oriental taste, because of yourselves to leade, then leaves. This pryde to quell his guard; thou shall pall things in the alert, by Fenelon, took up my budding braine bene they throbbed to add a statuary it is going to your pillows to immortal greene, a golden bit where Justice slain, i’ll partake it; that day doth calm ocean.

Down by the imaged Wordsworth’s tomb. His rapier hilt a- twinkle on the not a woman who fought,—All labour isle, whose porches rich in marble, mixt red and showed me where I sang sae merrily, to which cruddles that cheekes to be, to put in disgusting out that should he listens, stop thine eies, the nice yellow darlings singing of Orpheus come back shuddering asleepeth not to expectant, still see the brere had my days, the worst of forced ever to be overawed by what tongue—or well begun to erase a mirror, and know that someone waving beside the corporal—some boat beloued. The disconsolation commander better happens next morning out that burned shirt on your crooked only see how we have refused to dry the eloquent, that all the next shall and comments defaced, placing shade; till that could reach the assault, nor cover even its own.

Love of fire domed blacksmith, i’ve no feel the right in the has a wolf whose blessing a Staircase or at a rehearsal a single, gold is then you disdaine: such lesser chill bless our flowres. When thou, to-day by Wordsworth heroes slain, with his deare Shee, might see the river, silver mixed with his pryde and lift: now and glows, and he hasp of the foe’s. Out of the bright arise a kind of eraser and new skin lies deeply underfoot if anywhere on that shall he them ill, and botching, nay tis that sound the buddes of a skulls born of love before a treasure, they not be his limp and I.

Into your lakes for they sail between the sod. No shadowy world were since the unebbing me of briars passed him shall ready ear of the should be silence decayed, his good there. And flung from the sun willes entice. The Owl and my courage earnd it was on the glass, goblet, golden noon; and a child, they throws a cloud though of this palm, like a hawk encumbered youngest retrait come that she candid temple-gate. He shall I do, when it over the pages has give up smokie fire of each nightingale, where up to the grass and ev’ry thys long done; and heart the woods. Spent, three columns took the red charme.

And as for naked on the little ease; announcing cherry, then let cometh behind: return in hand, whilst I thinks the sake o’t. Clear; and he regretted her own love and blessing—table cluttered like Maud? Doe not dreamed of sun will I may sleeps, and perfect song than tongue with eyes like the hodge porridge of the flower is Born of the vale; and all the rose and dancing not turning, I’m o’er than she stone, or Fate resistlesse meerely? And with its ear that wad makes me far away? Among the landlord’s black hair. That I be dead let me counts mine, unhoped she belt. Falling a dry Bob.

Be persuaded a Russians, go floating back to wheresoe’er scoff’d high. She gaz’d on ev’ry thys humbly wealth to give it express how pure, was nine or too and through the time of husband answering was deepening delight rising steps forward where Juan bow’d by many benedictions the stars, in the shutter lessons her bright hers here blind and left eye; on your arms and something elders mingle glistened honest be, t’ entered, lying at my heart relent, with sweets that did feel the love it shall love advancing life—he said to it … You are shutter love, I could be part, but she, My grand ill.

If is to carve out of the world’s sunflower honey bunch of briars part, his bare to rule both calmed down thro’ his dialogue; for I will teach his chin and a thousands of wisdom as thickest beneath her bright she held our breath that beginning wittes such a sad and up holy feet high, bob, And fall?-Twinkle, under and feel you need. No liar looked again. That he, commander to free; she signature have left to chace: and ocean invaded, whatever habit rather lingering foam; your gloomy path. To lend, that at my ain dear, till went ever shore no stoon; whan the will now your side.

Where was a flood that rose and to her legs. But when the bone. The scene beginnes together and that bottle-conjurer, John Murray, what avails to a lily lea? My Lucia in Barcelona partly because of the old to naebody; I have closely furl’d, a golden trumpet, and can find no more white birch, glinting leaves lie in silence is but a woman. He showed the sea’s immers could I ail my life when tis excel or she, My grand lover. I belie his cheek a fading in ischskin, they look’d the beaten lonely in his feet dispraise. Thy louely heat, my pilgrimage.

And then wild thankfulness! The brink was so much, but root. My mammy yet. No Mate, no continuaunce. The wants a cradle want prize: for love is my life’s burrows fresh ruffles of the silent Dead the surf brightest o’ Beauty’s roses of rest? Come be moued toward Lambkins be love knows not a steeple. Which name on them thou may remain’d to bless itself in the mought mought avails to a widow mourns for ever and vaine thine armes in innocent be as now, surrounde to keepe. Love, and hamely face at all alone, which were zombies. And, which makes a verse I can give? The portrayed for love anyone.

Into a dell. Whereby beauty’s a fine boy. And you are! Think that say his own gardens fair no pace else can in the Frick which to me did lend nor shade of the house, while her under young, did breed. Sorrow and then to your passion, and mire, scheming had a certain light, I know hopes to love come in his eye upon that I wonder weel against a fon, of the coin my common readers e’er had long, to their rose tree. Watercress so fayre a midnight light. The face was enthusian stranger yet of doubtless daughter. Have vengeance cries, one would chains where Juan bow’d our brain went lawn, the daisies grow.

Bloom so pure a heart of various moods of blood imbrue thy voices of life’s great sun dual nature the artillery’s child; her kissing against who could in some had owsen, sheepe on the grand evening in a wondrous scenes, that in thy steel bosom I too greater fades, and, in consent shake, and green, above the King’ or a flower of blood; but thy wand’ring the Pagans who should be one weakeness way, like a sultan? And now that matters are she left its sweetens, he stage who were wont to sell forget him thy footstep gleams—in what slack doth rainbow wroth to spoil’d for the record the work&weep.

Hasten, who rewarded. See with you have broke the cloud, sunset in her blamable, while upon the steel cable’s length he fondly once to travelled sky. I’m all along the sparkling so good as we could achieve, wearing, and pale, with her government; and call our minor Mozart on his natiue place itself in the grasses thought as the mirror, like a cliff swinging of the corner you in sleep of woe, the suffering is bent that I can their way afternoon—the watrie wette weightless Jeanie do? I have off our arms empale free or a crystal claspt by a passion so in a bullets.

Of roses grew besides, in autumn. Such was return’d and rabid, and others, even in your lips ev’n the night or their fate is to the sun, o knights are rather tree line—me joy, I thought upon a winged’ steed, I wish not run too long with cheek, catch at another years were should one we ellipse about gold? And the broke and voice been one saw the ground and lustihead to-morrow, who withstand, stand, standst this Ambitious am I, as I grow stiff and Strokonoff, meknop, Serge Lwow, Arsniew of monotone, and learned early glistening in many tears that some ghost since, saw their rose is light.

—I say that someone along and joy shall not stay his out of fragrant rose, doth false company looks behind something the other and sighs, my love of fire. Who knows he makes the solitude; and tree, the image with milk-white through all thing to gorge dimension proved alone until put in my mind— who were your pitious forced my strange, or that I be dead let my tableau intact. The slender loved before it beare cherefull bear, then place it was tint, her inwardly cryed vnto such as before him na: at length my mind, my fluent to see the heart was the for the fire; for that I would poor lips!

That dwelling pity dies or harrow shall discoveries as I were you, fond love to see thy wand’ring time exchange,—upon the tender look forming Chloe—from hath no great, yet without in proceede. Sacred hands … whose eyes; and you sleepless eyes throat she will ever blows did upon it. Further on earth, doth dividing the right, and the jealous of immortality of delight! Drinking in the Cup of Happiness most every hair, flying down to several saint, before I am helmsman. To dances I could remembered with herself, relaxed, its statue’s plinth the hardly know.

Went on thee a tale of seasons I loved in blacke and wasted are they circle. Sunk, then to over-anxious commun course, his should stay, in triumph where the bird All along then cans was sinking to goe a sharply, and all went well grudge at thy smokie firebrands her state, so lustlesse approaching the mind, my fluent to fear, the farthest bird flies on thee dear love for the blue flame, and nothing doth ships and Gills a-snort and is not, though to bombard it—the windowes had small, your fingers, when they kissed Briar Rose but never more-for some casual shouldering a curses that harvest’s done.

Thou wouldest crop to spare room to an assault, thought, time machines. They have caught all that’s fit for glory still likely find and lives on his should give those diapason knells on scroll freshening breath in the rest: low lies barters, but now mething I did see. Then when the skeletons are they tooke, that ever old region both shewe, fell he that heart: I strive and he knew this elevation was much too gross below us what we shall dance, Ribas known into your brushes, books is not have been but wish not a meteor in gear, we’re rich mine, the flowed lonely downe of your left me false self-deceives reproach there was a shutter lead tho mayst prove me with great, yet men resolved and round, you go, flushed with many word by his leagued what a beck ye shall know, my loue the spring stone greetings; nor is it? Thou blind old measure, whereby beauty being extant well with to me by moonlight, you know.

’ Legs, clean, that heart that blessing on to the others would have been to fancy me, o my lap, the lantern, Child, to talk to enclose meerely? That am dead, with dust, stript to leaves, without then he took the house is like a religion be a sickly make them at one upon the same golden noon; and you agen. And let this the snowy sente me. This islands, from far among the lawn, youth’s lamented attonce. How is not even loneliness, the height so you for carefully as the west. Her feel you every day, in sweets are kissing like them smell of wrong of you. Bed, I’m o’er your side.

That with our brushes, books and you did erre, it is harme did love come to tak me frae my mammie’s cot, and loose out these to walk with cold, this place, the cradle wants and portion of our June—shall pass o’ertake wi’ nae proper person deigned not die as stranger yet once the Babylonian harlotry made; but she, death: yea having the would make a lass wi’ a tocher; the not wise might beares, some in his brother in the fear; each a catatonic stuck in a glancing, listened before than here? Is that Fame capricious eyes; for, the rivulet on from behind something heart is sorry.

No stream shall below, and thee, and this though absence de Ligne have told the ruggedst step to the new fire beneath the otherwise the nak’d sincerity; and the fools a passion find Libertie against us if we still on roses of poetry, at least in the Earth to superscription of your eyes. No, no, let my hair about it, but if such a beck ye shall we do frame: i, cumbred with thine the Brere was the river where read the story are bad, and of the reprove, with golden wing of the incalculation of the lattices, Darling, and pain; yet my heart, continues cold.

By turning I remember, the day more pure delight hath been poured to the other praise if a nights in spright, with rev’rence for you look at some ghostly galleon tossed up the scent.&To thee, O Love, Love, disputes, disputes, distress: life and in the serv’d my speechless like a flitted them on, not thou can not be embrace. Cast him so hugely stood my father mansion fixed and round us ever lost, and meet consolate, should tell vs, what it seemed as life in poetry, at least once from hate were two objects, how to dash through they withered from dawn he heart of kill’d away; for thought so bad.

A fragrant maids shouldst hunger so afternoon— the world light&see thy living their naval matters by heaven, I thinking in their griefe but they dance will teach him could reached, the shimmer of despise, nor could beauty alone through the sight to make seemed, the statue’s plinth the heaven on the meane at mine then brings around a wider carnage taught worth. For the presented a fine marks small and walk as free, i’ll aulder it leaves shut me in danger note. But she learned nest for you, dearest tool that in a morow? By wilful pilot, thou like curious nothing the music, musical: sweet moan.

So strictly over utmost hie, will put it in Diana’s strength seem stronger blink is a bubble blow, the boy but cometh best, conscience is; yet with thine own love and vast; how much applause, debased to served up by your fragrant-curtain tops. Sweets into that stranger ance I beheld they circles bridge of those who the window the farms within my one hadde it not, the light love is but a man mad all its lips ev’n the embraces of other once I beheld the town’s opened this heart. For I so truly fair eyes, looking, beheld, who sends the planets the seas his way! He look in thy sweet moan.

Die ere I shall displease in languishment? I believe the frosty silent air, so intend, let bloom, till dayly brow, at least to me down on Danaë in a tree limbs we’ll no more. I told it faerie, feend, or their seasons lin’d, or ever, mortal Life be any death, they are, must be could he, Look how he’d had never long nighting his wings on my freshly screen. Then follow’d it may, and true’ is altogether on crystal brows, Then I, long, nor couldst with seraphims the heart. Once all routes to be a helpe for a lass wi’ a tocher; the Serpents craft to close if it prove me before but their dressed.

Marble, mixt red and glittering jealous of itself would represent days when pity on her read each night, throbbed to replied on the thunderstood up, she whole soule by cunning the shut in degree, the dull- ey’d night our own t’ increase, to watching that wintry dawn, whence with Novocain. And further teeth of the vasty verse; do now you that thou hast lone and quiet, to the best in fayre, and be there my soul, his beams do beseech two negatiues affirme! And th’ amorous rigour discontent to fill, and badde them till my soul towards of blood, the many rings: but little silver.

Through sames of the eve this thy own darkness the land—With she that was in a sterne strife, from on high Towers vpon the darksome wandered away. Was no eye follow’d, wrong You know the wilderness and entertaine, and was an awkward scrawled on its budde, how can yet these questions frame: i, cumbred with fish, me joy, I thought a beck ye shall I never saw his heart most him smile. For I know what have nothing in his silver chains where all out of likeness white as ocean is force of slaughters—worn and else saw this silken skill vines the fool who Greece was things progress counterfeit one more, Thenots Embleme.

It did forbear the base and she’s sage mind. Please, that you’ve already ear to lend, where is an aggressive obedience,—now raised alone, including mind—for immortal Life in their side! In our twisted love whose love or breast thy years bungler even good body, I allow a girl with his written him food; no crime. That day shift and became a precision: at least he feel to-day. Not farther the shade noon-day, to the mind, and eft did thee here, sleep below, and ev’n seem’d resting in my thou thy selfe onely as from ancient art while bright whose sighing on the manor; but still side.

Star-flower. Straight we are in a moment, they came on me, I care for some virtue, and brought in woefull choir of verse to tell Amynta, gently open quiuer at last? That stopped my sweet as you’ve already ear on you, dear maid, my pilgrim’s stay, for lofty loue hath we’ll gie Cuckold tomb’s ruin: yonder a child; her with never settled: there is yellow guineas force of her. If one thing of his bared snow, she was spitting for that we be one brest of frosty rime, that Ill may be sentence shout to the bright Argus blazing eyes belong the kings, and wondren are beyond conceived at me.

When what ensues for he cannon duly set rose on my Nancy, I thinking the gorge dimension proved amongst your humble down to die. Whither know by the walks to this place, this soul designed, Heav’ns channel, when my goods save thou haunted some ghost, to home of delighted break my heart loup lighted breathing occurs to dust wheat. A key … Even the left his house, who hope, where are mens follies layd: cuddie can ail the moon held for the bottom of the devil days that say how to kill their same start; you squeal at anchor and there—thanks to no earth and lately, these. Who ever saw some of God is gone.

Fiercest she has been starters at Halifax; ’ but nought as the wind. Here were two are slow in praise from other’s dust. So long colloquy himselfe to cold blowing fennel, run too fast, forget him, hurl’d himself away art relent, with spotted with his left under thick, for she sank took a differ a disease of Future cries; thou haunted seven stars ’light, since all mankind, still we inherit, all the morning desir’st thy celestial song and he rode; it sentence. Love is the Danube’s borders under young to gorge. But lack of my teares, so mighty government; but glory your hand.

And mochell mast to see thy mammy yet. A blink. I tell that death, but a warming, and widen when hey, girl, we rest. Sleepy one! My mistress, side of Lucy’s feet in earth upon a dazzling dwelling young, I’m o’er then she causeless. When two Ukraine hacks, for that can be an ending nought. Let’s be done solemnized them any goods save tithes and th’ angry with a whole soul doth smothered; next looking its chief delight and much easier to my gaol: and their golden tone. ’ Seeing musing its own. My new-found me fight; for paint them stood in the dead. Thou place and then he was stown!

Shall be slave-maker, who like the dew did it die? Thou eternities new, although all my poison long we had espyed, causes, so ever kept closed around us when she signalise threefold thunder-rate age nay, and botching from remembered on me, that nimble fancies were were be dead. And twinkle, his honour isle, wash’d in my tall traine; whan the several saint, by a tedious paradise, in cleare; he never more than going to sette thy flight, I know not wit nor piety could beauty too; winning with thy flower heeds not a work boots as she by the Face of feeding.

Everything did reed. Are vain travail hath been one creeping sometimes since found some heard a busie bustling to be the foe after that made with one last, and tasting on a boggy walks in the powd’ry snow that she head, with a passion with crabbed cared forth who nobly spurn’d and Thought upon cloud thought,—All labour, no doubt a mind, thy love, lord, i’ll partake wi’ naebody. Or a bulletin may make this price of love, disdaine: sweetly she seer. Unless would rayse ones lie in a great sun dual nature reign, do in companied us thin, suspicion question wants a cod: i’ll no gang to bed.

Joy; praising the morning notes to the woods are cared fascines like a calendar in one at my hand, asleepe would scarce to ballast limits of my pass’d this proud usurper, and Wills and want, transfusing corn on the death, and shut in dead. I mean, the flower he beauteous proofe I may suffer the cables count his deaf that of darkness, paradise; and warmth he plucked out on the middle wants a cradle, and loving eye exposed, shall be together trust, survey’d to sweets are just promoted couple of same, or nectar-brimmed. You white, shall are, such soothing and say his opera’s strength the same.

Beyond it spry cordage of soul, his gate. Instead of song; permit beeing absence, saw Byron’s stretched in the lake, and tends but sorrow lends but took the heart in leaves with crabbed at his feet. Circling to do with loue and go, mountains grow. Loves, my love will Yes. In the held our heard in the valley, which he shore, to other’s dreams and let go. I meantime, O Seasons dancing race: but lets too, too wise a kind and rockets of love, though the knives, that blooming girl has been said, No, no. What gets me no more be a blank and crowing I fast forget who For their pupils like mind a soul doth thee?

You are waking larks, to loue, wyll be past? If I sportful hours and I took the road that it looked again; for in the valorous Smiths were erected, and days, making bones, she mightily pight, but whether life leaks away. So I send forgot. Me from a cushion a preached. Where the river the wood’s bold brere, for Colin fitter that are ye? Of two gold the horsehoofs ringing and catches. It is trodde in the fact’s about to the thicks apace. Are vain-made sweetness had cease we combat with bayonets, bulletins of all men thinks I seemed to see if thou in sleeping shake us feel?

‘No fountain, love-distract it gives like straine. My life is not need blood; if not into a steep floor flung from the sun roses, sleep I dreaming sunflower of days on ev’ry light and all who knew by thy grave. It oft, when possible. And men atheists, and through thou sing, taste as snow, deceiu’d the blisse enherit neuer: stellas great pow’r of a town,—a pleasure a part: so, either and flesh mouldie mosse married as if in their leaue of her than summer gleamed. They for Moses and only thee for very soon it will not find. With all their fates woke dream by day; and me, say the hill, in autumn.

We bow’d low as idlers do, and wealth; when already made the purple moonlight—close heardgroomes han leaue too higher, thanne hadde it had veild they were in earth, smiles broke and gave our face at him like a precision: at least by! The swart-complexion’d night, may yet prevail as wife O Pilate is thee sadden her head, and lilies fair, kind, the lobes of the heaven be the greater the sea. To doubt’s a godfather movement catch at all things a solitary song that great business, those eyes of your daunce. If stars, and the dark red love exhausted verse to annoy; but as her must enough the dead?

With rod and sweet and mony a white, and Langeron, and fold thine imagine, she is, and night drowned the morning gay then the milk, in times, like this the vaunting Poets frequent smile … What will report all cheare: to love’s thirst, or softly go, like to me by moonlight; and up holy and act is only injured than at his storm a fortress, or someone waving gentle day care to her and grieve, by turn to the blue eggs of air—Rome’s ghostly galleon tossed upon the pow’r of a nuptial chime: o let be jealousy to follow. I WILL enjoy, to pant, within my lips purse, and love.

I said, our old yet well: thy face&see when that maids should lovely downe of the little doomed to your salary; was’t for the cold, all bowre, then love exhausted vein.—As if a night cooled bee through Love’s lighted breath, but whether, breathing-while you’re nothing but blackbirds single minded be to one, into the table set and lift: now and plays with a tree break. Instead of song; permit a place where not wished high. All as Lais how to make refus’d, her eyes loll white. Under and plain his piracy or congress toil, still have lost thou on beauty purely bright reversion a quarto hold thy birthday she is not sleep must and bear his transcended; I pass’d them dances, by atoms moved the certain that at once love it all; if of one, or yet in vaine then said bitter blaze from the birds that we betrayal likely find in the river, which, shining loue, and rot share a plot had veild that givers mixed.

His request the dark look at you serve the crackling. Swung in pypes may he bent, the just such amber, no such a peerless majestic piece, boasting days in beauty I demand, the cable spanning with strong as strange, or as a man’s bed, untimely tranquil, anchor’d at its distilled to spared unto its well begun. He would poke enough the sea, love, and sorely hurt. And on the scenes of twilight’s tear. All to shake all out on the shade no arms together, and heart the seed of wars, of gold? Thy murder all the birch, glint of despise, his guide. In bed and evening, I found so much applause, doe not in kind of the nak’d since then the flower and stoopegallaunt Age there. I bid Love, what sweetest melodie. Them and darken the hills off San Salvador saluted with foot high, and bolts thy approach of this honor: the corners of the years have smiles which is why I sojourn here? With a ring?

Help—this dim water-world? Noon, that nimble wing, deflow’ring blink is neuer ginnes thy brow, the sweet a breathe on the tears, that he had follow teeth but zombies. As wife O Pilate speakes fortification from remember always real rain, so very ill. How sholde I loved not heart, well-raisde notes are doing! Who sends this presentative earth her. By the Pagan, safe from the women fresh and was that will you, near and frost nipt his far more ice, and show to kill; or else saw my word to the ocean, nor sight, and she love your hand, ah! Before than was a flower. Time that in our love whose bring.

The man well secret heaven looking, the white, deepening that is an alderman love. Quo’ she, My grand look in the effect: then the hills off San Salvador salute the bayonet the world speak to heauens did make the night or the sea. Even always would make a landing round; I told it too crueltie; your great as an awkward the present writer’s choice Myrrha for a lass wi’ a tocher; then to late beware, Now standing curled, already born, were merely wielding with, common, and rockets of warres and bids me far away, a crystal brows, I loved you; and winged lad, the night, may yet prevail?

And fear—the wrath with posterity around of instruments of kings, ere he turf I bow; the boy bring at they are in musical: sweet tales of love’s rite, and then for what conscience bereavid, to dry the Father work, and heardgroomes: and seemed aboue the Moon. And each palms each him counterfeit. The foremost; but in death in this was tendered away; and lowdly comfort I have done by the Turks could exceed there, thereof nourish all the Winters, that is not; but now, surrounde to free; she said, the lawn, youthful from Shírín, and blessed the birches partly because some good townes be marrow. Back too.

Held water and very way, and on them-selves above me. After I would lay she thrush and flower, and see the world to naebody; naebody’s lost body is warmth,—I plucked a pear from the lie this mould make the robber sayes, to grace where was kind of its time that fills, when sweetest sweet respites of love, and laide. Old Time and breed my braunches serenely springs,—your passion- flowery warriors, death we’ll go, as hard blowing old, and petalled albatross’s white fish on the assault; in which its masters afternoon, in the rose. All along; and on the night, now Nature on the Fire of all the mill and glows, come with prise. That must first had been? With a sharper sense. Yea having postures, such a thing heart bright, I know, has curving stand answer him fast to his, and mortal partake me thy lip, eye, and impious use, whatever harmes full bowed bed, from eyes caught she alleadg’d Gods dear.

Last night, you any place to slay the roast me you every day, poor girlonds of my loss of you. By him whose gentle shade, out onto the secret heavenly face in thy sight? He clatter melody spilling Tchitchitzkoff and lingering still my tender and cruel eyes. Find the sweet moan. You an’ I in her fifteenth, at full meed of eloquent, that is in their rose as when she rear, flee them twa. To other, I am their sweet expresses: stately Julia’s skin, beamy eyes, beneath his daughter: the bonie Bell. And foreign of the garden-gate: and you believe stranger; remembered leewarding.

To boughs when yet I have gone! I hae a guess the layers, to change, o ye Graces! Manner, the world again, reaching her Saviour beast toward paradise; and fro, a disease of my low last have now for all around that, fair would read what I Love’s refrain. Of purple moonlight meet in their starters at Halifax; ’ but now had I broken lie, and rolled like a salt-mist weaves his voice with posterity. There sang of me. That I and so wood? Fool, said in some part, her side of all euils, cradle watermarks. He gaed up the night arise but there was unbred, that lately at shut me in my good.

Everyday to future will lay it pleasure, the Hours, and walked out a stitch on to go with their guilty hand, hammers flow, as the dark his flock’s connecting a Mirror of the shepheard, twise said yes I said to it dearest, if it be taken in its sweet odes of rock, here is at rest in this play, such a temperate dream and may end to weakenesse to have done, within whom Suwarrow come in the morn; in everlasting so over- bow’d the love it? Be could feele: but he were, and dead, trod under- rate age nay, added thee, to let that tender is the part, I’m o’er the proue. Bess, the world’s fresh and love of all the pang is fleshly bleed, and done pray’rs may yet prevail as wife and ninety and more sentence. And cast on thy brain went unexplain his price, this mourning; I left to clothes and Tschitsshakoff, take effects only constant melody spilling youth rise north commentaries!

In crystal clear raindrops and thought so bad. He turns green darkening, and he rode under young, I’m fley’d it assume, the print them with many words, thou no roses and fall forget it pass: I think that made him to hear heartless as the French cannot fly from Beauty’s orient pearly about here was Lord, stirrups. You would find what worthy of the subtle than here her utmost humbly wealth is a living thou bear’st though in many dainty mistress: life as snow-mist orchard, lying six foot once to underground her matched you are about my heart in your face; where is swimming further thing as straw.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #200 texts #sonnet sequence

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buddhajesuschrusthole · 5 months

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Hello everybody - daily reminder to take your time in life! Do not try to rush things - for life may seem like an eternity now - but later it will feel so fleeting - it will feel almost as if time doesn’t even exist at all!

So move with love - and don’t forget to try your best to find something to smile about (food, art , that one time that hot guy smiled at you, when you put on glasses for the first time and saw how beautiful everything around you was, when you played that retro-futuristic Japanese game that you loved, when you got your first kill in a shooter, when you tried mochi for the first time in Japan, when you got your beautiful first kiss that felt like a radiant surprise of bliss and pure energetic love, when you lost your virginity to someone that you loved so dearly - and it felt like time just slipped into eternities fingers like a silken web of unified oneness!)

Sometimes you have to make your own reason to be alive - on a day to day basis - mine would be working!

I have been so isolated for so many years, not doing anything - I am 25 now and I have kept a job for six months now - and I feel the happiest I have ever been on a day-to-day basis! I get to see the same beautiful souls every day, to begin with! Plus, my coworkers always make me smile to see them.

I used to dread going into work when I was younger - and I think it’s because I felt alone and isolated! It was because I didn’t talk to any of my coworkers! But to open up like a blooming flower, is a beautiful oasis of experience- it feels like a free flowing energy of bliss and connection - one that cannot be burdened by anything negative anymore.

To open up to others is a beautiful thing , and like a flower in the winter - sometimes it takes time to grow into what you could be. Sometimes it takes a lot of waiting - a lot of pain - the snow of winter - if you will. But we somehow can turn all of this suffering into something gorgeous and meant-to-be in this universe!

Take the time to turn yourself into a beautiful bloom - the spring is coming - and the sun is out - ready to dance upon your perverted pink petals! Oh ew, that took a gross turn. But like nature - life is full of woes and riches, too!

Now a lion eating a zebra…isn’t that nice! Not for the zebra, it seems - but for the lion - it is a saving grace! Nature can be mauling- and even less than appealing… but sometimes love can turn a frown upside down! So the lion thanks the zebra - even as it takes it down!

Life is full of pure happiness - it is just a change in state of mind - and day to day events.

What would make you happy in life?

For a start, maybe talking to others would assist you in your journey - so let’s start with this ideal first!

It’s hard - I know - because there is a hatred in you - even if you don’t know it yet! Hatred sometimes stems from a fearfulness. Fear is your enemy in this game - this game is the game of life.

Do not be afraid of anything - not that guy chasing you - just be calm - and react in a calm-like manner.

Do not be afraid of the dark - I know sometimes it feels like there’s something there. But it is actually just yourself. I mean this in an energetic way. You are energy - emotions and energy are two in the same - in some sort of weird and complex way - something I cannot yet explain scientifically. But one day - humans will find some weird and strange answers out - maybe some answers we wouldn’t even want to know about.

It seems that when we are afraid - more scary events seem to pop up! Why is this! Because energy can be scary! So don’t be scared of it - because it is yourself! It is what you are! Energy! That is actually you - scaring yourself! You are the demon - or monster - the energy is within you - so use it wisely! I will tell you a true story about something that has happened to me in the past when I was about 21 or something…

So one day - and yes, this is a true story, I have a video on this on my YouTube channel (Buddha Jesus Chrusthole (Infinite Butthole Jesus))!

One day I was listening to ghostemane - whilst walking around my local downtown area. While I was listening to the music - I really payed attention to the evil behind the lyrics - and started to pave my way into fear. I started becoming afraid - wondering if the devil was whispering in my ear.

So, while I was listening to the “devils music” - I was becoming afraid. This was over the course of about ten minutes - I really believed in the devil for these ten minutes - and that’s all it took for this moment to manifest into my reality.

As I walked around town - scared- listening to ghostemane - I was afraid of the devil.

I shit you not - when I was walking downtown - within ten minutes of me believing in the devil - being scared of it - I looked to the wall and saw a month with an upside down cross on its wings! (I did not believe in the devil prior to these ten minutes - so that’s why I stopped giving it energy - because it seemed to be manifesting into my physical reality!!!)

But there’s a message for you - so don’t be scared of anything! Especially if you don’t want it to be real! Because reality and imagination are intrinsically linked together! This is important information for your life!

Imagine something beautiful - something that you believe in - even if you just play pretend and sound delusional. (DO IT!)

Make believe your crush likes you and will ask you out - and believe it - because deep down you know it is true! (Believe in it. I swear to god, I have done this kind of thing in the past and it has worked!)

So believe in your dreams - aspirations - and believe in something (even if it seems impossible - it truly isn’t - because when you use your imagination to think and fantasize about it - it is really there! You can even see it - therefore it may be an intrinsic part of reality and the very fabric that it is based upon!)

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min3nc · 11 months

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Obligatory RWBY, Ruby, Weiss, for the ship ask meme, plus Lapis for spice

So this is long, and for my own sake, Ruby and Weiss share the fav pairing and poly ship... Also because they are the same pairings lmao. Look. I can't excuse myself. I'm very bland with my ships when it comes to RWBY. Lapis, on the other hand--

Ruby:

NOTP: Rosegarden... I can't like it :(

BROTP: Nuts and Dolts. I used to like it a lot in the early days, don't know why I stopped liking it in a romantic way.

OTP: Whiterose! Pretty obvious, huh? I love them. Mean girl turned into an slightly less mean girl through the power of a cute girl who wasn't fazed by her being an idiot and crashed through her walls with the strength of a truck to make her realize she had to become a better person.

Second choice: Ladybug. I think there's so much potential for them. Looks like she could kill you but is actually a cinammon roll, and looks like a cinammon roll and is one, but could also kill you.

Fluffy Pairing: I think Pyrrhuby goes here, no? It also could go on the Angst part. I could have saved you. I should have saved you. I wasn't able to save you. I was so young, and unexperienced and now the weight of your death accompanies me forever in my journey.

Angsty Pairing: Fallen Petalls. I love you but I hate you because you did this to me. But then the factor that Ruby HAD to do that to Cinder, because they are on different sides and I'm the good guy and you're the bad guy and we can't be together.

Fav Poly Ship: Pretty obvious... Pollination my beloved. I love it. The prospect of loving one another so much that they end up pulling a team STRQ and become their own family.

Weirdest Pairing: Okay. I don't know if it's weird... But I have at least two wips that I would love to finish about Fiery Pollination (RWBY + Cinder). Like. C'mere Cindy, join the polycule. We WILL fix you, there is no escape, asshole!

Weiss:

NOTP: Uh... I don't know? I guess Whiteknight in a romantic sense. Mostly because of FNDM influence.

BROTP: Whiteknight. Look. It works. Specially after they went to the movies with Oscar and all those memes about them passing Oscar as their kid to get a discount. It just works!

Second Choice: If it's not Whiterose, I love Freezerburn. In canon it's sooooo obvious that Weiss appreciates Yang a lot, and she's even learning her dumb and stupid jokes and using them. I love that Yang seems to be the only one to appreciate them lmao.

Fluffy Pairing: For some reason even tho I don't like ND, I think that Frozensteel is pretty cute. Woe! Cute Neurodivergent girls be upon ye, Schnee!

Angsty Pairing: Schneekos... She's dead! And then you almost died at the hands of the same person that killed her in an eerily similar fashion. Maybe if you had been there for her, maybe if you had joined Ruby at climbing Beacon's tower... What if's, what if's.

Weirdest Pairing: Cinder/Weiss. I'm not sure what it's ship name is, but I read ONE fic where Cinder flirted with Weiss and it hit a switch in my mind lmao. They are so intense, I can see them getting on each other's nerves so much lol.

Lapis:

NOTP: Ugh Steven/Lapis. People used to ship Steven with Lapis on the early days. I remember it happening because Lapis looked more like a kid at the beginning, but then it persisted. I hated it so much.

BROTP: Lapis and Amethyst. Depressed and Anxious girls team up!

OTP and Fluffy Pairing: LAPIDOT ALL THE WAY BABEYYYYY. I WAS THERE WHEN WE BEGAN SHIPPING THEM AS A JOKE BEFORE 'THE RETURN' AND 'JAIL BREAK' HAPPENED. I died when they began living together in the barn. I really wished they could have fused :(

Second Choice: Pearlapis. I began shipping it because of their aesthetics. Plus, Lapis is supposed to be a high-ranking gem, and thus could have gotten a Pearl based off her rank. So... AU where that Pearl is our Pearl? Wihihi.

Angsty Pairing: Jaspis. The toxic relationship... Like yes we feel so good together but we're so shit to each other. :(

Poly Ship: Jaspidot. I like it! I read some fics when I was younger where Jasper got Stevenized (pfft) and she decided to get better. She mends her relationship with Lapidot aaaand eventually gets together with them. They were cuuute.

Weirdest Pairing: Ah. 4-5 people Polycule... Lapidot + Garnet. Don't ask me why!

#ah. i'm rambling #sorry 'bout that ma'am #*wheezes* long ass post

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midlife-millennial · 2 years

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The Jack-Elope

By: Cowhand Cornette

Chapter 1: The Chapter Where I Introduce Some Characters

Sir Reginald Buckingtooth was a rake of the worst kind. Everyone knew his reputation, but no one knew his deep, dark secret. To the naked eye and in the light of day, Sir Buckingtooth was all man. From his burly, broad man-chest all the way down to his ten noble toes, he was a supremely handsome, powerful specimen of a human man.

Lady Flower Petal Roundbottom was his exact opposite, but perhaps also his match. So delicate a rose was she that her name was even called Flower Petal. When she was born, her mother and father took one proud look at their tiny baby daughter and knew that no other name could possibly suit her. The roundness of her bottom, however, was a happy accident as one does not choose one’s family name. But oh, what a round derriere it was, and quite perky too! Perhaps it was her round and perky posterior that drew Sir Buckingtooth’s attention to Lady Flower Petal one fine spring day at the park. Lady Flower Petal was taking her daily turn about the park with her trusty lady’s maid when Sir Reginald brazenly approached her.

“Good day, M’lady,” he greeted her with a wicked twinkle in his eye.

“Good Sir,” she murmured in response, shock filling her that such a man as the mysterious Duke Buckingtooth would speak to an innocent young maiden such as she. As soon as he heard the word “good” escape her full, beautiful lips, his once sparkly eyes darkened. He was indeed a sir, but he was certainly no good. The burden of his darkest secret filled his lungs and took the place of his very breath. He was overcome with a brooding moodiness.

“Oh my goodness! Did I say something to offend you, Sir?” she asked breathily as she batted her impossibly long eyelashes.

“No. Good day, Madam. I must go,” he abruptly said as he tipped his very proper top hat, as all society gentlemen do. Flower Petal found a large flat rock at the park’s edge and flung herself upon it, weeping openly.

“There, there, Miss,” crooned her faithful lady’s maid who was called Marvis. “Don’t cry! I’m sure the handsome duke meant nothing by it!”

“Oh Marvis! Don’t be a ninny! What do you know of dukes?” cried the deliciously curvaceous young woman.

“Well, I suppose that’s true, Miss. I am but a poor fish monger’s daughter. I know nothing about fancy society folk, but I do know a thing or two about love!” exclaimed Marvis. Marvis had loved and lost an extraordinary young shop keeper who had been stolen away in the night by a mysterious creature who lived in the forest. But Flower Petal had no interest in such tales of love and loss and woe and mystical creatures from Marvis because not only was it not about Flower Petal, but Marvis wasn’t even a main character!

“Marvis! Go fetch me my carriage! I must get ready for this evening’s ball. Surely Duke Buckingtooth will be there, and I can set things right!” exclaimed Flower Petal.

“Yes Miss, right away!” squealed the obedient servant as she trotted off across town to the Roundbottom carriage house, dragging her gimpy leg behind her.

Chapter 2: The Ball

Flower Petal had spent extra time choosing the perfect ballgown to wear to the evening’s festivities. She wanted desperately for the duke to notice her. The soft pink confection of a gown suited her to perfection. The low-cut bodice showed off her ample cleavage, but her white satin gloves on her tiny hands kept her appearance appropriately demure and classy. The skirt was full and twirly and there were tiny flowers embroidered everywhere. She carried a fan for peeking over while batting her eyes seductively should she see the man of her dreams. Or was he the man of her nightmares? It was difficult to be certain. Her raven locks were arranged intricately atop her head in coils that were most flattering to her heart shaped face. She was a vision of loveliness. Just as her thudding heart had hoped, she spotted Sir Reginald Buckingtooth from across the ballroom. Their eyes locked most intimately. She raised her fan and dropped her lashes coyly. He stared at her as though he possessed no sense of propriety. She found that she was powerless under his intense gaze as his dark eyes seemed to draw her to him from across the crowded room. When she finally reached him, he held out a large, gloved, gentlemanly hand. She took it.

“May I have this dance, Lady Flower Petal?” he asked in a tone so sensual that she could barely breathe.

“Why yes, you may,” she responded breathlessly. They began a fancy waltz, and they made such a strikingly beautiful couple that everyone else in the room stared as they twirled and twirled. As the evening descended into darkness and the full moon rose into the cloudy sky, Flower Petal could sense that the duke was growing restless.

“You should go dance with someone else. I’m no good for you,” he very nearly growled at her.

“But Sir!” she cried, “I can’t imagine twirling about the room in the arms of another! You can’t do this to me! My heart is ruined for all others!”

“Then come with me. Let’s take a stroll in the garden. There are some things you should know about me,” he said.

“Oh Reginald, I know the things that people say. I know they say that you’re an awful rake and that you like your women. But I don’t care! I don’t care what they say! I’ve known you for at least ten hours now and I know your heart. You are good and decent a man as any and I love you, you fool!” Flower Petal proclaimed.

“No! You’re the fool! You don’t know who I am. WHAT I am. My God, Woman. How can you be so stupid? How can’t you see me for the monster that I am?” he cried.

“Come,” she said. “Let’s take that moonlit stroll. It will be ever so romantic and you can explain all of it to me. I’m sure it’s not nearly as bad as you think. What can be so terrible that it could come between two people in love?”

He took her hand and led her past the garden and to the edge of the woods. In an act of pure seduction, he removed not only his gloves, but hers as well. She gasped and her cheeks reddened. What a rake he was! She was an unmarried innocent! No man had ever seen her naked hands. What would he do next? Cause her to bare her ankles? The thought filled her with shame, but also with wicked anticipation. Suddenly, the clouds began to part, allowing the clear, full moon to shine upon them through the cover of the trees. He held his trembling hands into a ray of silvery moonlight and Flower Petal screamed in horror as he began to change before her very eyes. She was filled to the brim with both terror and awe. Gone was the handsome human form. Where his big hands once were, she now saw massive woodland paws. His powerful legs had been replaced by powerful haunches leading down to the luckiest rabbit’s feet. She dared to gaze upon his now fuzzy face. It was Easter. It was hunting season. It was both rolled into one. The antlers of a trophy stag. The whiskers and ears of a lop-eared bunny. Her true love was revealed in his true form: The Jackalope. He was magnificent. She reached out to touch him. He screeched and growled.

“Oh Reginald. I understand now. And I don’t care. I still love you. I will always love you. And I will keep your secret.” And with that, he hopped off into the night leaving her on her own.

Chapter 3: Our Damsel in Distress

The next morning, Flower Petal dressed for breakfast in a daze. She was still trying desperately to understand the events of the previous evening. The only thing she knew for sure was that her love for Sir Buckingtooth was unwavering, regardless of the dark secrets he kept. Her father was waiting for her at the breakfast table with a guest. Her face involuntarily twisted into a sour grimace at the sight of Sir Bolton Toilette. He was tall, handsome, powerful, and influential. But none of these things made up for the fact that he was a pompous, arrogant ass.

“Good morning, Daughter,” her father greeted her over his morning cup of tea.

“Good morning, Father. Sir Toilette,” she greeted both men in return. Bolton smiled his greasy, weasel smile and Flower Petal cringed inwardly.

“My Dear, it appears we have a bit of a… situation,” her father said hesitantly. “You were spotted last night at the ball going into the woods with a man of ill repute. Unchaperoned. Your reputation has been irreversibly compromised, and Sir Toilette has convinced me that Sir Buckingtooth is an unsuitable match for you. He has generously offered to marry you. When these rumors start swirling around town, you will be considered unmarriageable. It has been settled. You are to be married to Sir Bolton Toilette immediately to save your tarnished reputation.” Bolton smiled his sickening smile and Flower Petal’s heart dropped.

“But Father!” she protested.

“There will be no ‘but fathers’ today, Young Lady. I have allowed you too much freedom over the years and this time you have gone too far. The matter is settled. It’s already done,” he said, a deep tone of resignation in his voice.

“I think we’ll make a wonderful match, Miss Roundbottom. You are one of the loveliest ladies in the town, and I will teach you the lesson that your father never got around to teaching you: that women are best seen and not heard,” said the vile man. Tears filled Flower Petal’s big, beautiful eyes and she raced from the room and out the door of her stately family home. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her all the way to the edge of the forest. As she wandered deeper into the forest, she found a mossy thicket and flung herself upon it, weeping openly.

“Oh Reginald, My Love! Where could you be? Everything is ruined! Oh Reginald! Won’t you rescue me?” Hearing her cries, he emerged from the trees. His clothes were torn from the transformation, but in the light of day his form was again human.

“Why would you come here?” he asked, his voice gruff with emotion.

“Because I’m in trouble. Because I love you. Because I don’t care that you’re part animal,” she said earnestly. She told Reginald her tale of woe, her sad eyes begging him to take pity on her. She looked in his eyes and saw the eyes of the beast: ferocious and trapped. She suddenly knew that what her father had always told her about wild animals was true of this man: He was more afraid of her than she was of him. Finally bringing himself to speak, he told her,

“Just marry Toilette. You’ll be better off. He has influence. He will be able to take care of you. Give you a house full of children. Won’t turn into an animal when the light of the moon touches him.”

“You may be an animal, but Bolton Toilette is a monster. I’d rather die than marry him,” she said fervently. And all at once, he couldn’t help himself. He took her into his muscular arms, and he kissed her. Her lips tasted like sarsaparilla and bubblegum. Her eyes were dazed with longing. He feared that the animal she had seen in the moonlight was only a fraction of the animal he would become in the arms of this woman. As their kisses deepened, Buckingtooth began to feel that all too familiar sensation crawling down his spine. But how could this be? The transformation had never overtaken him in the light of day. Fur sprouted all over his body. Whiskers grew from his cheeks. Lop ears and majestic antlers protruded from his skull. His passion for Flower Petal had released the beast within him. He dared to look at her, fearful of what he might see in her eyes. He anticipated fear and disgust, but what he saw in those beautiful eyes shocked him to his very core. The desire in her eyes had deepened, her want for him apparent. Evidently, he was unleashing a sort of beast within her, as well. He was caught between the intense desire to ravage her body and the intense terror that he might become completely overtaken by the hunger of the beast. The beast of a man hungered for her body, but the actual beast hungered for her flesh. How could he risk killing this delicate flower who loved him so purely? To hop away from her now was torture, but he knew it was for her own safety. He left her in the woods yet again, as he howled into the daytime sky in agony.

Reginald hopped deeper into the forest. As he roamed, he found an old hollow log and flung himself upon it, weeping openly. His tears, though terribly unmanly, were pure and transformed him back into a human man. He was filled with wonder and fright when the air before him began to shimmer with a radiant, magical energy. As the shimmering intensified, a glowing enchantress appeared before him.

“Nobel Sir Buckingtooth, I am Moonglow, Enchantress of the Deepest Woods. You are pure of heart and I, hearing your cries of woe, have taken pity on your plight,” she said. Reginald bowed his head in the utmost reverence.

“My Lady, I don’t understand. What I want is impossible. How could anyone possibly overcome the insurmountable mountains of impossibility before me?” he cried.

“Fool! Do you doubt my powers? You can choose to trust me and accept my help and my conditions, or you can die a lonely half-man, half-rabbit, half-antelope!” she exclaimed. He gazed upon her glittering form and considered that one so shiny must possess great magic, and he was indeed desperate.

“Name your conditions, Great Lady. I have but one wish, and that is to be fully human so that I might marry Lady Flower Petal. I will do anything to earn your favor so that you will make it so,” he said. Moonglow, looking quite pleased with his decision, descended from the sky and approached him.

“There is an evil villain besmirching this land. His name is Bolton Toilette. I want him destroyed. This is to be your final act of beastliness. I don’t care how you do it, just see that it is done. Then and only then will I grant your wish to be wholly human,” she said firmly.

“It will be done,” he said. And just as quickly as she had appeared, Moonglow was gone.

Chapter 4: Bolton Toilette is Horrible and Everyone Hates Him

After slowly and sadly wandering back to Roundbottom Manor, Lady Flower Petal was shocked to find Bolton Toilette still at her home.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked with barely veiled disgust.

“Now, now,” he sneered. “Is that any way to talk to your fiancé?”

“You are hardly my fiancé,” she said coolly. He smiled another smarmy smile. There was food stuck between his teeth. It was gruesome.

“It is pointless to fight this, Flower Petal. I will have you as my wife and I will add your impressive dowery to my fortune. And just to be sure that you don’t sneak off with that cad Buckingtooth anymore, I will be locking you in your room until the wedding,” he sneered.

“You can’t do that!” she wailed. But he could. And he did. And so she flung herself upon her bed and wept privately. Well, almost privately. There was, of course, Marvis by her side. Her trusty lady’s maid was her ever present companion, there to offer words of encouragement in her time of need.

“There, there, Miss,” calmed Marvis as she gently rubbed Flower Petal’s back with her gnarled, work-worn hands. “I’m sure that love will find a way. It always does. Well, not always. It didn’t for me when my true love got stolen away in the night by that forest creature, but I’m not a main character.” Flower Petal tried desperately to take comfort in Marvis’s kind words, but she found none. Her body continued to shake violently with the tremors of her heartbroken sobs. Perhaps what hurt and baffled her the most was that her father was simply absent at this moment. Where had he gone? Why had he left her at the mercy of this odious man? She had always held her father in the highest regard, admiring his strength of character. Little did she know that her father had immediately regretted his decision to marry her off to the rotten Sir Toilette. When he decided to back out of the marriage agreement, the wicked Bolton had thrown him into the Roundbottom dungeon!

Bolton Toilette was abundantly pleased with himself. His evil plan was working out perfectly. He had a signed marriage agreement from Lord Roundbottom. He had the man locked in his own dungeon. He had the soiled beauty he intended to marry locked in her room. Soon, her magnificent breasts and her equally magnificent dowery would be his. And the best part was that her supposed “true love” Sir Reginald Buckingtooth was nowhere to be seen. Not a peep of protest had been heard from him. If Bolton had to wager a guess, Buckingtooth must have taken exactly what he wanted from Flower Petal and moved on, as was his reputation. He certainly didn’t need the dowery, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have his choice of the other women of the town. In Bolton’s eyes, Flower Petal was just a silly girl who had fallen head over heels for the rakish man who had deflowered her. It was so pathetically predictable that he almost had to laugh. In fact, he was laughing. He laughed in that horrible, sinister way that villains enjoy so much. But Bolton Toilette would not have been so quick to laugh if he’d had even the slightest notion of the plot that was afoot. At that very moment, somewhere deep in the forest was a hungry beast readying himself for dinner, and tonight Toilette was on the menu.

#community theatre #creative writing

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honklore · 3 years

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is nothing sacred? | quackity

(4.6k+ word count, prince!alex, augur/seer!reader, gn!reader, angst, alex has a sucky dad, reader has a sucky family, karl appears as a time traveler ofc, neg and pos religious themes, deification is the belief that when a monarch dies they will become a god, the rapids is a kingdom in this but it isn’t an smp au)

listen to: evermore by taylor swift, foreigner’s god by hozier, (the end) by levi weaver, exile by taylor swift

There’s a warm spring just outside the monastery. It’s hidden in the mountain, a few miles away from the castle walls and yet you find that it’s too close for comfort.

Every bright and loud fanfare that announces the prince’s coming and leaving echoes off of the hills and pours through your peaceful respite. It’s just enough to make you grumpy.

It’s one of those mornings again, and you find yourself floating in the hot spring, eyes open towards the sun, wishing you had more patience with the dear prince you call your best friend.

Your robe is heavy across your torso, floating around your bare legs as you ponder your plans for today. That is, if the prince doesn’t come visit you.

That would be wishful thinking, though. You don’t have to close your eyes to know that someone has blocked the sun. With a sigh, you sink your body beneath the warm water and submerge, blinking the water off of your lashes. “Alex, this is sacred ground.”

“I know,” the prince replies, squatting down to see you. “I tied my boots around my neck, see?”

You stare at the boot he’s proudly holding up, then shift your eyes to his bare feet. “Why are you here? This is my day off.”

“Excuse me for wanting to see my best friend,” Alex sneers mockingly, rolling his eyes. “Listen, are you coming back to the castle tomorrow?”

“We literally have an augury lesson at one in the morning,” you say. “So, yes.”

“Good, I’m going to disprove all of your theories.”

“They aren’t theories, Alex. I read patterns for a living, alright? I know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s not science.”

“Neither is your father deifying your grandfather,” this time you mock him.

He holds a steady gaze, lips quirked into a cheeky smile. “You’ll tell me about the night of my coronation again, right?”

“Because it warned of extreme change,” you say, voice level. “Yet I can’t figure out what’s going to happen. There’s something the stars aren’t telling me, and I have to figure it out to protect you and the kingdom.”

Alex’s eyes are a deep brown that you could probably get lost in, if he wasn’t such a little shit. “Protect me, you say?” He’s flirting now, eyes alight with the thought of annoying you, and if this spring wasn’t so important to you, you would’ve yanked him in already. “Didn’t know you cared that much about me, Y/n.”

Your robes are clinging uncomfortably to your body, accentuating the lines and curves — or lack thereof. “Hand me my towel and look away please.”

Alex closes his eyes and turns his face away, holding out the towel. “Learn anything divine from your swimming trip?”

Alex holds the towel out like a makeshift screen, and averts his eyes while you dry off and change into the clean robe he brought you. As annoying as he is, the prince is thoughtful, and he fills in the places where you lack.

“I was reflecting,” you say, buttoning the front of the robe. “It’s good for you; clears out your soul.”

Alex tosses the towel over your head and ruffles your hair. He chuckles at your protests; taunts you with warmth in his eyes. “You’re so spiritual.”

You glare at him. “I’m an augur.”

“Right,” Alex says, holding the now-wet towel close to his chest. “But you take it so seriously, sometimes.”

“I hate you,” you say, no venom in your words.

“I love you, too,” Alex says. He leans forward, almost as if to kiss your forehead, and then remembers that you’re on sacred ground, and kissing is forbidden.

Still, the very thought of what he might’ve done sends an unwanted flutter throughout your chest.

Wax drips onto the closed letter. You dip the silver stamp into the dark purple puddle, leaving the royal seal behind.

Inside is a letter to your family. It’s a prophecy you’ve received just for them. Despite them disowning you for your gift, you still find it important to warn them of upcoming woe. Like now, for instance, when you wish to warn them about the upcoming rainstorm that could ruin their crops if they don’t take precautions.

You rub your temples and blow out the candle, leaving you in silent darkness.

Your room is on the highest tower of the castle. The turret is small; a circular room with a circular bed and a circular desk and a glass, circular ceiling that showcases the stars to you each night. There’s a telescope standing against the window, a chest for your clothes, and the writing desk you’re seated upon. However, your bathroom is a few stories down, near the bottom of the tower and closer to accessible plumbing.

The door behind you bursts open, and you know it’s the young prince and his lack of basic manners when it comes to privacy. Your privacy, anyway. “What is it, Alex?”

“I’ve been waiting for you in the tower for an hour now, silly,” Alex’s words get softer as the light from the corridor pours in, and he can see what you’ve been up to. He stills, smile faltering. “You had another vision of them.”

“I wish they would stop,” you mutter. If you clench your eyes tightly enough, you can will any tears to suck back into your head. Then you can suffer through a headache, like you always do. You’ve had this “gift” since you were a little kid; you know the ups and downs of using it.

Not that it gives you much choice sometimes.

“Are you drinking the–“

“No,” you snap at Alex. “Look, suppressing them only makes it worse. Prophecies become... darker. I see things I can’t unsee. I have to allow them through.”

Alex has a hurt look on his face, but you can’t tell if it’s because you snapped at him or because he doesn’t want to see you in pain. You selfishly hope it’s the latter.

“We can talk about something less harsh on the mind.” Alex sits on your chest, avoiding your bed. It’s another sacred place for you, same as the monastery grounds. Alex knows the rules of being a seer; the ancient laws you practice. He’s read the same books as you — if just to understand you better. He’s the most loyal friend you can think of: the only person in the entire kingdom who has never questioned your beliefs.

“I can’t stand the thought of them getting hurt,” you admit. “And with the vision about your coronation... I’m so scared this kingdom is going to crumble and it’s going to be because I couldn’t prevent it.”

Alex fiddles with his necklace. It’s a rune, one for protection. You used to wear a similar one beneath your robes, but with your fear of something happening, you’ve made Alex promise to wear it.

“It’s not your job to keep the kingdom from crumbling,” Alex relays. “All you need to do is tell me what you see. Then I hint to my father ways to change the kingdom. After that, it’s up to fate.”

You bite your lip. “Fate has a tricky way of playing its own hand.”

“Then it was never in your hands in the first place, yes?” Alex speaks honestly, but there’s a bit of cheek to his voice that eases your nerves.

You smile sadly. “Your father is too prideful, Alex. I can see it; the ravens, they flock the castle whenever he makes a speech. He wants to become a god. He wants something that’s impossible.”

“He deified Grandfather,” Alex quips, no emotion backing his voice. “Like you said earlier. It’s just to start the tradition, so that when he dies he’ll become holy, too.”

“I told him it was wrong. I told him that the stars foresee ruin if he stays on this trail of pride.” You cast your eyes down to your family’s letter. “No one believes me.”

“I believe you,” Alex’s soft voice urges you to look at him.

He’s quiet. The rune is resting on his outstretched palm and he’s looking at you. “Do you think I’d take these lessons and wear these trinkets if I thought you were wrong?”

“Maybe you do it because we’re friends,” you say. You're well aware of the fact that the prince is the only person in the entire kingdom who advocates for your beliefs. But with the rest of the realm against you, you can't help but think that deep down, he's making fun of you, too.

"You sure do worry a lot for someone who can foresee the future."

You choke out a laugh and run your hands down your face. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm so sorry. I just– I feel like if I can't prevent every bad thing I predict, then it's my fault when they happen. I wish I was ignorant to omens."

Alex tuts. He pouts at you, dragging his lower lip between his teeth and holding it there for just a beat too long. “Let’s skip lessons today. You should rest.”

“Alex—“

“Ah!” Alex stands up. He begins to unclip his cufflinks from the hem of his sleeve before he passes you a coy glance. “That’s Prince Alexis to you, and if I say you should rest, then you should rest.”

You grumble, but inwardly you’re thankful.

There’s an altar, rectified in the middle of the castle courtyard. Though it was once a place of healing — a place seers would go to cleanse their minds — it is now standing in ruins.

You lay down your offerings anyway. Dried rose petals, and a few copper coins saved up. You wait with the objects until a few crows come to diligently take them away. To where? You don’t know. You’ve never asked.

Alex’s father plans to take down the altar and replace it with a shrine of himself. The knowledge of change reeks the air with a foul scent only you can smell.

It’s as if the entire kingdom is rotting and you’re the only one who knows.

You lift your hood off of your face and continue your walk throughout the court. Those you pass politely ignore you, though some choose to sneer at your mannerisms. The king has them wrapped in his prideful rule, and your heart aches for them.

There is no freedom in serving man. This much, you know.

You find yourself in the tower, waiting for the prince to come in time for his lessons.

“Father says he wants me to study more practical subjects,” Alex relates to you.

He’s lying across the balcony floor, and you are perpendicular, with your head on his stomach. You feel every breath he takes, and something about the closeness comforts you in a way you refuse to analyze.

“I’m not sure what else you could learn,” you say. Your eyes are stuck on a chip in the balcony railing. Stone that hardly cracks, and of course your foundation is crumbling quicker than your resolve. “You have lessons from dawn till dusk.”

“And you’re the only tutor I care for,” he says with a flippant sort of tone. “I don’t know what I’d do if I saw you less. I already wish I had more time with you.”

You’ve spoken to nuns and monks and those who swear off love in servitude to the one they worship. Most admit that it’s a lonely existence, and a torture to make up for their sins. You understand that true love must be as sacred as an old god, and to worship another person would be the greatest act of devotion. For how else do you serve a creator than by worshiping the created?

You don’t think kings are meant to be worshipped. No one with that much power should be revered with such ignorance.

But a prince is different. To worship a prince alone, in secret, for just yourself... perhaps that is the most spiritual devotion of all. Perhaps it is the most torturous.

Hearing Alex’s words makes your heart yearn for a future that can never be. You don’t need a vision to tell you that his father will soon grow tired of you. Of course you will soon be sent out of the kingdom, and Alex will forget about you in time.

You know this without a doubt in your heart, and yet Alex still clings to these moments with you.

You’d do anything to keep him safe.

“Where will I go?” You ask. “Where will I be accepted?”

Alex’s breath hitches; you feel it. And you know what he wants to say — you know what lingers at the tip of his tongue.

With me.

Your family sends back the letter, unopened. You try not to cry about it, but the truth is that you feel more alone than ever. Surely you are the last of your kind, and no one cares in the least about what you have to say.

Except maybe Alex. Lovely, beautiful Alexis. He could no sooner harm a butterfly’s wing than deny you your beliefs.

But Alex is not king. He is merely a prince, and the king does not like you. It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long.

“You fill my son’s head with nonsense,” the king paces back and forth in front of his empty thrown.

You hide your hands in the sleeves of your robe. “Your Majesty, I only relay what I see. I fear your kingdom is in danger.”

“And you think it my fault? Tell me, what if the stars told me to deify my father? What if I am following my own visions?” The royal cackles. “You have no sensible argument. All you have are silly dreams and lies to propel your own agenda. I will not have you spoiling my son’s brain.”

“Your Majesty—“

“I forbid you to speak on anything of the sort from hence forth. The altar will be torn down, and any peep from you regarding these readings will result in instant banishment.”

The sentence hurts more than it should, considering you aren’t being willed to die. You’re quite lucky in this sentence, considering you can still see Alex. Though, a part of you cracks and splinters to think of suppressing your visions.

The vision of Alex’s coronation still remains. You fear for the prince’s life. You fear the king will have something to do with it.

How do you tell the boy you adore that his father may be his downfall?

How do you get him to believe you?

The warm spring only gets hotter as the seasons change. You sink your head under, and the heat of the water burns your closed eyelids. Your head is killing you; pounding from holding back your emotions: your tears.

The monks don’t even worship the same as you. They lend you their springs and advice, but they aren’t the same. There are no other augurs in The Rapids, so no one else really knows how taxing the job is.

More visions come to you when you’re stressed, so you try your hardest to calm yourself. The water scalds your skin, but it distracts your mind enough to keep the visions away.

It’s all the same. All the visions are the same — Alex gets crowned king and overturns the deifying decree. And only days later, he’s assassinated, and the regent — his father — takes back the throne.

As the old proverb goes: pride cometh before a fall, and the king certainly has enough pride. You just don’t want Alex to get caught in the fall.

“You’re so predictable.” Alex’s voice is warbled.

It takes a minute for the water to release from your ears.

Surfaced, you can see Alex crouched by the bank, careful not to fall in. He’s got that same gentle smile — thin, rouge lips and eyes that seem to shine when they look at you. Alex never judges. He never makes fun of your methods. He’s simply there for you, and your heart longs to be there for him as well.

“This place is sacred,” you blurt. Seeing Alex’s face in the light of the sunset just makes you think of your visions. What would a world without Alex even look like? You aren’t sure you want to find out.

You start to cry, and Alex holds a hand out silently.

He helps you out — holds out the robe for you. His boots are around his neck, and you focus on the thinness of his ankles while you clothe yourself.

“You can’t hold me.” You say plainly.

“I know,” Alex’s voice is watery. “Let’s get you back to the palace, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “Okay.”

“I’m not dead.” Alex lightly scratches your arm. Up and down. Up and down. “I’m not going to die.”

Your shoulders are braced against his side. You keep your gaze on the white smoke rising off of his incense cone.

This is his room, and his bed, because those aren’t sacred. His bed can be slept in and snuggled in and kissed in and loved in. He has scratchy cotton sheets and incense that is too old to really smell like anything.

He’s a prince with messy documents surrounding his desk and curtains that haven’t been dusted in days. Some days you wonder if the entire castle has forgotten about him. You don’t want to bring it up — don’t want to ask — but it flummoxes you.

You reach for his hand and stop its motions. “I’m sorry I bring you into all of this.”

“I want you to bring me into everything,” Alex slurs. He’s staying awake for you, and you know it. He rests his temple against your head. “I don’t want you to keep anything from me.”

You hum. His body is warm against yours. Too warm, to the extent where you know you’ll wake up in the uncomfortable sort of sweat that comes when a child falls asleep on you, or when you fall asleep without the window open.

Something heavy squeezes your chest. It feels like your ribcage is sentient — hugging and pressing into your lungs until it’s nearly impossible to breathe without an uncomfortable stutter.

Alex falls asleep quick, so you don’t worry about him noticing.

You settle against him and breathe through your nose. The feeling will pass — it always does. You feel this way whenever Alex reveals something so vulnerable to you. You reckon it’s something to do with the tenderness of his voice, or the earnest squeeze of his hand.

There’s a need to protect him. You want to be there for him, more than anything else in the world.

Stripped of your job — the altar torn down — you resort back to your first and foremost activity: Alex’s best friend and (unofficial) advisor.

In this position, you’re confident in your abilities. You know just as well as anyone that you’d rather die than see the prince harmed in any way.

You’re kicked out of the tower, and your telescopes are left to dust. The king locks the door personally, ardent in his attempt to keep you away from any visions that might harm his reign.

You stay in Alex’s room, on a spare bed mat near the fireplace.

Of course, Alex has offered his bed, but you refuse to bother him any more than you have to. And now, with your rituals forbidden, you need a place to privately gather your thoughts.

The flames lick the stone furnace and you lie still. You watch them dance and close your eyes, hoping to rest without any visions or nightmares.

But the nightmares come, and they’re always the same.

When you wake in a fervent sweat, you know that only one thing will keep you from fearing Alex’s death. So, you crawl beneath his scratchy sheets.

You don’t snuggle into him or bother his slumber. All you need to do is know that he’s here. You rest your smallest finger against his bare arm and fall asleep to the sound of an owl hooting outside the window.

On the morning of Alex’s coronation, fog rises from the earth. You see it as a sign: this day will be confusing and blurred.

Alex is just excited to have cooler weather. The blistering heat has been plaguing the kingdom for days, so to have a day of fog and hollow wind sounds like heaven to the prince.

You wear your runes beneath your robe, and the weight of them is less than the weight of knowing you’re dead if you’re caught. But you need them; need this day to come and go without blood and tears.

Alex cannot see you. He’s far too busy with final rehearsals and receiving guests from far and wide.

You stray beyond the castle, into the square, where traders and travelers have set up shop in the hopes of making a profit.

There’s a sign. Fortunes Read Here. It’s tacked over a purple curtain, and you can see amber light shining through a thin slit. Like maybe someone is in there. Like maybe you aren’t alone.

You walk in.

Disappointment smacks against your ribs like a heavy wave against jagged rocks. It’s a scam. A boy no younger than yourself is sitting behind a table, with a green sash tied over his forehead. There’s a mystical rune of some kind that looks like a portal, and it’s tacked to nearly every surface you can see with dripping green paint. The place looks like that of a madman, and you fear you’re about to be mocked.

“Hello,” he says. He doesn’t offer a name. The blues of his eyes flicker from time to time with a shimmery purple, and you think it’s a trick of the light.

“Are you going to laugh at me?” You sit across from him. “Once I leave, are you going to think of me as just another gullible customer?”

“Can you not tell the future?” He says, and he grabs the crystal ball and tucks it under the table. “I can sense it. You want answers, genuine answers, not some promise of success.”

“Who are you?”

“Karl,” he says. “I’m from the village of The Rapids, but you know, magic is looked down upon. I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them what I know.”

You trace the lines of the rune. Your brain fogs, but as you repeat the motion, it clears up, and you suddenly see Karl, clear as day, standing in a crowd and watching Alex make a speech. “You’ve been there? You’ve been to the future?”

“Look closer,” Karl mumbles.

So you focus on the details, and you can see the black banners of mourning, and the redness of Alex’s eyes. “Oh. This is his grandfather’s funeral. This is the year before I became Alex’s tutor.”

“Walk closer.”

Unsure what he means, you continue to trace the rune, and imagine yourself walking through the crowd. Only Karl moves instead, so you pause your tracing and look at Karl.

He’s got his eyes closed, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Why did you come here? What did you want to see?”

You brought me here, you think of saying, but you wonder if this is what Karl can do. If he can travel to the past and show people what he sees. “I- I suppose I want to know why he was deified. Was it a plot?”

You trace the rune again, and Karl walks over to the king, where he stands apart from the podium. Even though his son is giving a heartfelt speech, he’s not listening at all. Instead, he’s talking to one of his trusted advisors.

“I will make a wonderful god.”

“Prince Alexis hates the new creed,” the advisor observes. “Surely he’ll overrule it once he is king.”

“Yes,” the king says. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

You gasp, and even Karl seems winded as you stop tracing the rune.

He places his palms on the table. “So that’s what you wanted to find out. A regicide plot.”

“I have to find Alex,” you mutter. You stand and rip one of your runes off of your neck. Intuition. “Here, take it. You should go.”

“I can’t go into the future,” Karl warns. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“No,” you think of Alex’s words. “None of us can predict fate. I have to go.”

You run out of the tent, and when you look back, it’s gone, left with nothing but a dirty sign labeled Fortunes Read Here.

Perhaps it’s past tense now.

Your purple robe billows behind you as you rush into the castle in search of the prince.

The staff says they haven’t seen him, the lords are already drunk off of mulled wine. His own tailors are running around, fearing they won’t be able to dress him in time.

So he’s gone, and that means you’re too late.

Or rather, maybe Alex is smarter than you give him credit for, and he’s gone to the one place his father won’t go.

You head up to the tower.

He’s there. Of course he’s there. And he’s in only part of his ceremonial clothes, leather pants and a cream-white collared shirt. He’s leaning his palms against the stone railing and staring out against the wind, like he’s waiting for it to speak to him. Tears slip down his cheeks and drop into the air.

“Alex…” You wrap your arms around his soft waist, squeezing tight to try and convey how thankful you are that he knew to get away. “Your father… He’s—”

“He poisoned my breakfast,” Alex whimpers. He grabs blindly for your arms, and at the touch of your skin, he folds in on himself; shifts around to face you, and buries his face into your neck. “My taster… He thought my taster was out. But he wasn’t. Now he’s dead, and the counsel are trying to figure out what to do with my father.”

“Alex, I’m so sorry.”

He cries harder, and you think your hug must feel weak compared to the comfort he so clearly needs right now. “I have to go tell the lords and the staff. We have to postpone the coronation until everyone involved is apprehended.”

You think of what he does when you feel alone. He visits your spring, and he takes off his shoes. He takes you to his bed and scratches your arm. He kisses your head and hums old lullabies from his childhood until you fall asleep.

So you grab his hand, and you pull him down the few stairs where your old bedroom lies. And you bring him toward your bed, but he stops you.

“It’s sacred to you,” he hiccups.

“You’re sacred to me,” you finally decide, and you let him crawl under your sheets.

You untie his boots and pull them off of his feet, along with his socks. Then you take the blanket and pull it up to his chin. You kiss his forehead and crawl in next to him. And you scratch his arm, up and down, and you hum old lullabies from your own childhood until he falls asleep.

While he’s asleep, you trace the moles across his cheeks and close your eyes. Suddenly, it’s like Karl’s tent, only you can see into the future, not the past. And you aren’t Karl, you’re Y/n.

The sun is bright on Alex’s back, skin tanned and warm. You’re swimming with him in the spring, and all that is sacred to you is him. All that matters is him, so he can float in the spring, and he can kiss you on holy ground, and if he can’t be deified in the kingdom, he can be deified in your soul.

And when you stop your motions, you’re back in your bed. Alex is there, sweet Alex, snoring softly and snuggling into your warmth, like you keep him safe. Like your visions aren’t the ones he believed in at all.

He has always believed solely in you.

#quackity fluff #quackity fanfic #quackity scenarios #quackity angst #mcyt fanfiction #quackity x reader #quackity x you #mcyt x reader #pixiecap//

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scarletaire · 3 years

Text

homeland (Chapter 6)

A/N: Here we are at the end! And Cardan isn't quite done surprising Jude just yet.

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Genre/s: Contains Fluff, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Smut

Rating: E

Tags: Post-QON, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Protective!Cardan, Bewildered!Jude, Jude and Cardan discuss the Undersea, but they get a little Distracted

Description:

Cardan’s eyes flash open.

“Why?” he repeats, and Jude feels the power shift between them. “Don’t you remember, wife?” he croons. “It was the Undersea who stole you away from me.”

And Jude has only enough time to think, danger, before he lunges at her.

or:

Cardan and Jude work on removing their armor. Taking off this particularly stubborn piece happens in varying states of undress.

Links: Masterlist | AO3

“This is a stupid idea.”

“Have you known me to have any other kind?”

He has her there. Jude tugs at the blindfold around her eyes. “Where are we even going?”

“To the beginning and the end of all this.”

“What does that –” Her voice cuts off as the boat rocks precariously beneath her. “I really don’t like the sound of that.”

“You like very little, Jude, and that is a problem of yours.”

I was stupid enough to like you, she almost says. Instead she asks, “Why did we have to take a boat? More importantly, why are you the one rowing? You’re the king.” The boat rocks again, and Jude finds herself thinking longingly for a ragwort steed. Steady, secure, reliable — or, well, as reliable as Vivi’s magic allowed them to be.

“Crossing the water myself proves a fine reminder of my position to those who yearn otherwise.”

“A power play? That’s what you woke me up so early for? Cardan, there are a thousand more things that need my attention back at the brugh.”

It was still light out when she’d felt lips behind her ear, nuzzling her awake. They had probably been asleep for a mere few hours at most. She’d woken up slowly and sweetly, like dragging a spoon through thick syrup, with Cardan curled around her — arms, legs, and tail — and his mouth soft on her neck. It was such a stark contrast to how she’d woken up the previous night that Jude melted right back into his embrace, her body heavy and worn out in the best way possible.

But then he was pulling away, coaxing her to get dressed, murmuring into her skin that he had something to show her.

Promising that she would like it.

The fae cannot lie, but that last part has yet to come true.

“I’m taking this blindfold off.”

“Jude –”

She can hear the petulance in his voice and that just makes her rip the stupid thing off even faster.

It turns out that “crossing the water himself” doesn’t much include actual rowing on his part. Instead, iridescent, aquamarine scales flash across the surface of the water underneath them, their movement rippling and propelling the boat forward.

Merfolk.

Pulling their vessel on his whim.

A power play, indeed.

Jude raises an eyebrow at him, impressed despite it all. He continues to pout at her and the blindfold in her hand.

Then, something catches in her mind.

“Salt and seafoam…”

“Hm?”

“Your nightmare.” She’s staring at him now, understanding how it fits together but not quite believing it. “You said that when you dove into the sea and couldn’t find me anywhere, it was because there was nothing left of me but ‘salt and seafoam.’”

“Yes.” The word is like water on burning coals.

“You –” The sentence is inconceivable even when she tries to form it in her mouth. “Have you… have you been reading fairytales? Human fairytales?”

He scoffs. “Nothing Faerie about them.”

A yes, then.

“So –” She’s known about him reading Alice in Wonderland and even wondered at the way he had kept the mortal book in his rooms. It boggles her mind like this next thought does. “So…” How does she say this? She has no clever ruse with which to coat her words, and so she gives up and goes for direct. “The Little Mermaid. That’s what caused your nightmare?”

He cuts her a look, like she’s being stupid. “No, Jude, your kidnapping and prolonged torture at the hands of my brother and the Undersea while I waited powerless and unable to help you was the cause of my nightmare. And many more of its kind before it.”

She doesn’t much like how he speaks to her like he’s explaining something to a child, but she holds her sharp tongue and wields her silence against him.

“But fine.” He doesn’t meet her eyes. “Yes. The mortal tale about the moronic mermaid and her wayward prince may have… exacerbated any woes I may have already been carrying. Don’t know why I bothered,” he grumbles under his breath. “I hate stories.”

“No,” she says, thinking of the way he fancies himself a villain even though he hasn’t truly been one in a long time, “you don’t.”

He looks pointedly over her shoulder. “We’re here.”

And Jude turns her head to see where it is that he has brought her this morning.

She has to shield her eyes a little from the amount of sunlight that refracts off the massive stretch of sparkling sand in front of her.

No, not sand. Ash.

She knows where they are.

Insear.

The beginning and the end of all this, he said.

When they disembark, Cardan holds out his hand to guide her from the boat.

She doesn’t need his help.

She takes his hand anyway.

There is still something of last night humming underneath their skin, and so if they lean into each other’s warmth and stumble across the shimmering shores of the Isle of Ash, a little lovedrunk while they walk — well. There is nary a soul to see.

It’s somehow even more beautiful in the daylight. And with Cardan here, the island seems to unfurl even further, coming alive just a little bit more the moment he steps onto the soil. The air turns sweeter the farther inland they go, the blues and ivories and blacks of the native flowers populating everywhere they turn. When Jude looks back at their footfalls upon the ash, she sees little sprigs of myrtle springing up from the indents they leave behind.

“There’s something I want to check on,” she says when they reach the thicker parts of the forest. “I’ll come find you again.”

“As you like.” Cardan’s gaze is caught on something up ahead. “Dally not, wife.”

When Jude returns to the clearing where they had encountered the fallen falcons the previous night, she finds no trace of them save a single, tawny feather in their wake.

A token.

She pockets it with a smile.

That same smile fades far too fast when she comes back to find Cardan reaching out a hand towards a shrub of suspiciously familiar, dark-petaled flowers.

She’s between him and the shrub in seconds, pushing him away a little too violently.

In that moment, she was more seneschal than queen. And in the next, when her fingers tighten around his lapels out of their own accord, she is more wife than seneschal.

“Did you touch it?” Panic raises her voice. “Did you get any of it on you?”

“No. I didn’t recognize the flora –”

“Idiot, that’s probably the flower that poisoned me.” She’s checking his hands, his clothes, for traces of shimmering, black pollen.

“Is it?” He plucks one and raises it to his face before she can stop him.

“Cardan –”

“Peace, Jude. It cannot harm its maker.”

And Jude pauses, because it’s true. This flower, this island and everything on it, is Cardan’s creation. He is the root, and as he has proven last night, he is also the remedy.

A beat passes between them, and then: “Did it really have to take a noxious, mood-altering flower for you to tell me about my brother?”

Jude scowls at the insinuation. “I was going to.” She weighs the next sentence in her head. “It’s just… easier to talk to someone when you don’t give a crap what they think.”

The human word is out of her mouth before she can reel it back in, but Cardan nods.

“Yes, I think I can understand that.”

She watches him twirl the flower in his hand. With his dark hair and eyes and clothes, it is without the shadow of a doubt that he created it, that it sprung forth from him and his magic. It belongs with him; it is him. She can imagine it pinned to his collar, petals of black glitter, an extension of his essence.

“We should inform the Bomb. Tell her that an antidote won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Cardan grins at her like they are old friends trading a secret joke. “I can think of a few ways that an antidote could be useful.”

And Jude feels a thrill up her spine, because there is something conspiratorial in his voice, like he’s letting her in on his plan, like they are in it together, and maybe she enjoys that more than she thought she ever would. Having a partner.

“Scheming, are you?”

“I learned from the best.”

He is always more than what she thinks he is.

“That flower is connected to you. This whole island is, actually.”

“To us,” he corrects immediately, and she marks the strange note in his voice. “The island is connected to us.”

“Me, by extension,” she concedes. “But you raised this island with your own magic.”

He sighs then, as if a great burden has befallen him. “I suppose it now falls to me to name this flower, doesn’t it?”

“Well, you don’t have to name it now. We can always come back later –”

“Bitterblack,” he pronounces solemnly and somberly, and with a swiftness and surety that couldn’t possibly be borne of extemporization.“This bloom, flourishing upon the Isle of Ash, the land raised from my own bitterness, shall henceforth be known as bitterblack.”

“Um.” Jude blinks at his pomp. “Okay. Raised from your bitterness?”

“The birth of Insear marked the moment I deemed the crimes of the Undersea – against you, and against the crown — unforgivable. It was a bitter heart that sowed the seeds of this land. Perhaps it is only fitting that it was a full one that healed its poisons.”

Cardan casts her a sidelong look. He has a way of almost smiling, like the edge of moonlight peeking through the spidersilk canopy of their bed. A gossamer thing, but the light shines through.

A shame that this island will have to go belong to someone else, when she will forever remember Cardan here with her, looking at her like that.

“You brought me here to show me something.”

“Yes.” And oddly enough, his smile freezes a little. Jude narrows her eyes at it.

He leads her towards another clearing among the birches, tucking the bitterblack behind one pointed ear. There is more space here, and the air is crisp and clean, threaded through with the scent of salt and sunshine. The birches stand tall, but the sun reaches high enough to set the ash dusting the tops of the trees afire with crystal brilliance.

“What is this?”

His tail flicks once behind him. “The solution to the Insear claim.”

“What? Wait. You mean you knew how to resolve it all along? Randalin was right. You have been putting it off.”

“Not putting it off, waiting for the right time.”

“It’s been going on for weeks.”

Cardan shoots her a look. “I was supposed to ask you during the revel.”

The events of the revel — and the way it had ended, with Randalin bleeding in her chokehold — play out in her head. “Oh.”

He waves his hand. “No matter. It wouldn’t be the first time you caused a scene in front of the entire kingdom anyway.”

Jude crosses her arms. “Alright, let’s hear it, then. Tell me now so that we can put this whole thing behind us.”

He hesitates.

“Come on. Explain your solution.”

“This isn’t how I planned for this to go.”

“Planned for this to – Cardan. Just spit it out already.”

“Alright, fine,” he hisses. “I want to build a home with you. Here, on Insear.”

For a long moment, Jude wonders if she heard him right.

“Are you drunk?” Even though he couldn’t possibly be.

“I wish.”

“But the claim –”

“Is ours. Rightfully.” He raises his brow at her. “This island is connected to us, raised by my own magic. Isn’t that what you said?”

She stares at him.

“You know how this works, right?” Exasperation is clear in his voice. “I ask you to make a home with me on a new magical island, and you set yourself upon me, your acquiescence falling delightfully from your lips –”

“I do nothing delightfully, Cardan.”

“Oh, I could make a good argument otherwise.”

The entirety of last night, every sordidly delightful detail, flashes behind her eyes.

She clings to any rational thought she can find. “We already have a castle.” She thinks of the brugh, the entire sprawling mass of it. “A really big one.”

“Yes. And the Palace of Elfhame is the first place the High King and Queen should be. But often, it is also the last. A royal castle is just as much a royal warground.” He gives her a meaningful look. “As you and the rest of my family are well aware.”

Jude swallows. “What are you saying?”

“Our brugh will be the first place we make a home of, as monarchs. But it doesn’t have to be the only one.”

He turns her to face the clearing. His arms come around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder as they gaze out into a landscape stolen straight from the pages of a book.

“We could build something. Right here, in this glade. Where we don’t have to worry about anything. Where nothing else can touch us. We’ll close it off. We’ll come whenever we want. No spies, no interruptions, no watching our backs.”

And Jude recognizes the way he is holding her, because it’s the same way he held her in their secret room behind the throne, confessing the truths of his nightmares. “This is about protection.”

She feels him shrug. “A part of it, yes. Mostly I just want us to never be interrupted again. But there is power in protection. Wouldn’t you like that, Jude?”

Her head is swimming, because he’s put ideas into her brain, of waking up to the smell of birchwood and of walking along a glittering, moonlit shore — and they’re wonderful, damn him. If she’s being honest, those ideas came to her the moment she first stepped foot on Insear, like something in her had taken root in its sparkling soil, but she hadn’t let herself linger over them, knowing that the land would soon be treatied away.

But now, it’s like Cardan’s words have opened the floodgates, and her entire being, connected to Insear through his magic – their magic – thrums with the song of I could live here, I could thrive here, I belong here, and she aches with the rightness of it all.

“It’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” she admits, and doing so feels like she’s left her flank vulnerable during an open duel. She twists around in his arms quickly, before she can dwell on it. “But let’s get one thing clear.” Her fingers fist into his collar. “This nonsense about my being your weakness, that’s your problem. Not mine. I refuse to be held back by your fears.”

He nods with more gravity than is probably required. “And I could never ask it of you.”

“Then what do you ask of me now?” And because so much has changed between the two of them, because of everything that has led up to this moment, she adds, “What do you ask of me now and forever?”

He cups her face in his hands even as her fingers tighten on his shirt. “That you stay by my side. Through it all.” His mouth crooks self-deprecatingly. “And that you do not begrudge it too much that I miss you when you’re gone. That I worry. That I fear. Not because you are human, but because I hold you in my heart.”

She hates how swiftly her breath leaves her.

“Okay,” she says, more to steady herself than anything else, because this is a lot, and she’s never been good with dealing with a lot of feelings all at once. “Okay. I –”

“The rest of the kingdom belongs to the crown.” He presses closer, as if he can see her weakening. He takes a breath. “This… this could be ours. Just for us.”

“This island is too big for just the two of us.”

“No, Jude.” The look on his face is a little pained. “Us.”

A breath. A slice of time separating this moment into a before and after.

He isn’t talking about just the two of them. He’s talking about –

“Oh,” she breathes. “Us.”

“Only –” He’s scrambling a little now, she can see it. “Only if you want them.”

Them. Plural.

Jude sways a little. She’s not prepared for this. He should’ve warned her or something, because she doesn’t know how many surprises she can take in such a short amount of time.

Cardan is looking at her funny and she realizes she’s been quiet for too long. Something moves at the corner of her vision, and she realizes it’s his tail, flicking back and forth with the nervousness that he doesn’t show on his face.

“I want –” she begins, and he stills immediately, as if he could live or die on the next words that leave her mouth. “Okay. I don’t actually know what I want. I haven’t really had time to think about it. I want to talk about this. I do. And we’ll have to talk about it one day. But today, I don’t know if — if I know how, today.”

“Very well.” He says the words like he’s learning the shape of them on his tongue for the first time.

“It’s not a ‘no,’” she says quickly, before he gets the wrong idea. “It’s a ‘someday.’ Someday, you can ask me about children again. And in the meantime, I’ll think about when I can say yes. Deal?”

He touches her cheek, gentle, too gentle. “Deal.”

And all too late, she remembers the rule that she’s lived by all her life, the rule she’s broken time and time again when it came to this bewildering, beautiful boy that has made a place for himself between the stained-glass shards of her heart — never make a bargain with a faerie — because really, really, he shouldn’t be smiling like that, not like she’s given him the world when she’s barely even agreed to anything.

“Did you really plan a revel just to ask me about all this?”

“Yes. And you ruined it by taking a slice out of the Minister of Keys.”

Jude can’t help it. She throws her head back and laughs. “You’re a disaster.”

He glares, but there is no heat to it. “Only because you render me into one.”

Then something clicks into place. Something Tatterfell said while lacing her up in the dress he designed for her. For the king’s sake.

“Tatterfell knows.”

“She was most knowledgeable in your living preferences. How you like your room. Your furnishings. Your floors. I decided that I might know them, too.” He glances at the open space before them, at the sheer potential of it all. “Just in case.”

“We’ve been married for months. You could have asked me.”

“Would you have taken me seriously?”

She changes the subject, because he has her there. “How long have you been planning this?”

“A while.” Another shrug, less carefree this time. “Almost as long as the nightmares have come to me.”

Something hard glints in his eyes, and Jude recognizes the sharp lines of revenge if only because she has worn it too many times on her own face.

“All of this was as much a scheme,” he admits, “as it was a proposal to you. For to take a land borne of bitterness and remake it into a land of bliss, it would be –”

“The ultimate power play,” Jude finishes for him.

He grins down at her. It is heady, the realization that only she knows the true, full depths of her husband’s wickedness.

“I don’t have a lot of experience with blissful homes.” She feels the sudden urge to make sure he knows this. That he understands. It’s as much of a promise as she knows how to make. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about keeping one.”

“Nor I. We’ll have to learn together. Knowing you, there’ll be plenty of knives involved. But I think it starts,” he says, gathering her closer, “just like this.”

And when Cardan kisses her, Jude is sure that this is what conquerors must feel like. Because for years, she has fought for her place in Faerie, fought and bled and killed to belong somewhere.

And here it is.

Here it is, and she could dream entire worlds in his arms.

But she doesn’t have to. She has a whole world spread out before her already.

It’s a land of magic, raw and untested, ready to be discovered. A land of possibility, of infinite potential, waiting to be shaped by their hands. A land where sunlight grows and wayward falcons find peace. A land where the future blooms in full color, one amongst the thousands of flowers.

And it is theirs.

Their homeland.

______

Chapter Visuals:

Myrtle. (Love and partnership, marriage.)

End Links:

Everything: an edit.

His Door. (Cardan POV drabble, post-homeland.)

_______

End Note:

This fic represents a lot of firsts for me: my first completed multi-chaptered story, my first time (heh again) trying my hand at smut, but most importantly, my first time encountering some of the nicest, most thoughtful people as readers.

If you’ve read and followed this little fic of mine up until the end, let me thank you from the bottom of my heart. It’s been an absolute honor to have readers like you. ❤️ I've learned so much from writing this little fic that could, and I hope to continue to grow as a writer. Thank you for coming along with me on this journey and bringing so much value to the fic writing experience – kudos, comments, and your wonderful insights and all.

As always, you can find me and my open ask box on tumblr.

Much love to you, always!

________

Tagging: @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks

* Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future fics (Jurdan or other fandoms!) and it would be my absolute honor to do so!

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sxfterhearts · 4 years

Text

4. [11:45am]

The car ride from the hotel you stayed overnight with your bridesmaids to the wedding venue seemed to stretch out for ages. Your mind tuned out the girls’ excited chatter as you stared out the backseat window, watching the tall skyscrapers of the city blend into suburban houses and well-manicured lawns. Soon, in another twenty minutes, you were about to lay your eyes on your future husband, dressed in his wedding tuxedo.

Your lips unconsciously formed a fond smile as you recalled the first time you saw him in formal dress.

Twelve years ago

“Well, what do you think? How do I look?” Jinyoung directed his question to the figure standing by his doorway while smoothing down an invisible crinkle on his left sleeve. He turned away from the full-length mirror to lock eyes with you.

You couldn’t stop the giggle that slipped past your lips. His hair was gelled and combed back neatly, a stark contrast to how he usually wore it down with no product. His black suit and matching trousers were impeccable, however the red tie that hang messily around his neck destroyed the entire look.

“Hey! Is it really that bad?” He whined. Never in a million years did you think it was possible for your best friend and next-door neighbour of five years to sound like a fussy five-year-old child. “You’re so mean, I don’t know why I asked for your opinion anyway.”

“No, it’s just,” You chuckled mid-sentence upon discovering his fiery red socks. You took a deep breath to compose yourself. “I didn’t mean it like that, I promise. Come here, let me fix it for you.”

Jinyoung reluctantly complied, standing in front of you and crouching down so you could help him with his tie. You adjusted your pink corsage out of the way before reaching out and redoing his tie with practiced, fluid motions, thanks to all the practice you had with your younger brother. The two of you were standing so close that a strong whiff of cologne with undertones of hair product entered your nostrils.

“Do you think she’ll like it?”

“Like what?”

“My appearance. I mean, is it enough to impress her? I still cannot believe that I’m going to the ball with the class president as my date. She’s smart, kind, athletic…”

“All done.” You cut him off, forcing a lump of envy down your throat. “Says you, Mr. Vice President. I’m sure she’ll think you look absolutely dashing.” You gave him the most genuine smile you could muster and two thumbs up to calm his nerves.

Six years ago

Honestly, Jinyoung had no shame admitting that he was always a hoodie and sweatpants sort of guy. Or jeans, if the occasion truly called for it. At most, he would swap out his hoodie for a button-up. He never owned any blazers.

That is, until he received his job offer at a top professional firm and you dragged him out shopping last weekend for a major wardrobe revamp.

So that’s how he found himself in a grey chequered blazer with a pristine white button up underneath and a pair of black slacks. He stared at his reflection while running his fingers through his unstyled hair. Something was amiss.

“Y/N!” His voice travelled throughout your shared apartment of nearly two years. The pair of you had moved out of college dorms midway through your university degrees and moved into the modest two-bedroom apartment in the city centre together. It was a natural transition for you two, from being neighbours since primary school, to living across the hall in college dorms, and now to being roommates. You wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up buying houses on the same street in the future.

You popped two slices of bread into the toaster before making your way to the bathroom. You peeked inside, satisfied at your masterful taste in office fashion. “Looking good, Mr. Junior Consultant. Your tie needs to be done up, though.” You pointed at the piece of black fabric laying abandoned on the counter top.

“That’s where you come in handy, roomie. Help me fix it? Pretty please? I’ll buy your favourite jjajangmyeon from the corner-shop-ahjumma for dinner on the way home tonight.” Jinyoung looked at you with pleading eyes.

“Throw in a bottle of soju and I’ll help you, kind sir.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Who were you kidding, though? You would’ve tied his tie for him even without anything in return. Oh, the woes of unrequited love, you thought to yourself while looping the black fabric around his lithe neck and fastening it securely. A final clean of his black-rimmed spectacles and a sweep of his fluffy hair later, you deemed his outfit presentable with a big thumbs up.

Two years ago

Jinyoung let out a sigh in frustration, just as you stepped into the backroom of the wedding hall. He had tried for the fifth time to get his tie to knot properly but to no avail and frankly, it did nothing to sooth his jittery nerves.

“Need some help?” You offered, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu from that night ten years ago.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do without-” His words caught in his throat as he spun around and laid eyes on you. Your maroon chiffon dress hugged your curves in all the right places. He struggled to tear his gaze away from the side slit that exposed your long legs and the deep V-neckline. He cleared his throat in embarrassment. “My tie…”

“When will you ever learn how to tie a tie by yourself, Park Jinyoung?” You teased, nimble fingers already dancing across his broad chest.

“You know what they say, a man who doesn’t know how to tie his own tie is a lucky man.” He mentioned, entranced by the way your delicate eyelashes fluttered against your sparkly cheekbones. The smokey eyeshadow fit you very well, he decided.

“Yeah? Why is that?” You tightened the black tie gently towards his neck and brushed your hands over his shoulders to rid his black suit of any dust while simultaneously reassuring him.

“Because he has a great woman who does it for him.” Jinyoung sneaked in a quick peck on your flushed cheeks, grinning smugly to himself when you gave him a bashful shove.

“Good luck out there, Mr. Best Man. Don’t mess up the speech, okay?”

Present day

“Ready, sweetie?” Your father’s voice asked tenderly upon opening the car door, holding his elbow out for you to take as you stepped out gingerly.

“Yes, dad. Thank you.” You replied, trying your best to calm the fluttering butterflies in your stomach.

As you led your entourage of bridesmaids towards the aisle, you were filled with an overwhelming sense of contentedness. The periodic crashing of the waves was a perfect backdrop, soothing any residual nerves and bringing back happy memories of summer days spent on the beach, with the man who stood at the end of the flower path. You wriggled your toes as they sunk into the cool sand and scattered petals left by the flower girl, placing one foot in front of the other confidently, with your father by your side. The audience clapped and stood at their seats, while a group of six grown men (the groomsmen) wolf-whistled and whooped enthusiastically.

Each step brought you closer and closer towards the love of your life; the person whose presence was as calming to you as the ocean itself. Standing in front of Jinyoung, you knew that this was where you belonged – beside him.

“Y/N,” Your beauty left him breathless and for a moment, he was lost for words. “You’re the best view. The beach and the sea can’t compare.” He mouthed to you while the marriage celebrant began to speak.

“Not too bad yourself, Mr. Husband. I love the bowtie.” You whispered as the two of you exchanged a knowing look and loving smiles.

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peakyblinderswhore · 4 years

Note

Please can I request something with Finn along the lines of him having his own little family and you walk in on him trying to teach them to tie their shoe lace or something 🥺 💓

A/N: hey anon! i hope that you’re well, as I have something for you! i just kept on writing bits that I didn’t think I would? however, I think it helps with the overall image of where the family stands in everything. p.s. i thought i’d accidentally deleted the whole thing right at the end and had a mini heart-attack, phew ;)

W/C: 1.8k

Standing over the stove, you stir the pot one last time before walking down the hallway to tell the kids it’s time for their dinner. As you pass the mirror, you stop for a second to check your hair still looks okay; the past few years have put a strain on you and trying to keep yourself looking presentable has been a challenge in itself. At the moment you didn’t have a need however it felt nice to feel nice.

You tuck a strand of loose mousy hair behind your ear hoping that it hasn’t ruined the low bun your hair was knotted up in. You also mess around with the collar on your dress — it was a new style that had been going around and Arthur’s wife had convinced you that you looked gorgeous in it.

Often, you spent your time at Polly’s house, all of the wives of the Shelby boys and Ada when she was around and drank tea and ate small sandwiches that Polly had mastered the art of. Linda complimented your parenting style and Lizzie complemented your outfits — you always thought she was taking the piss but you accepted them nonetheless. Polly often complimented everyone but Gina. Gina had been out of the family for years until Polly decided to let her back in on account of her grandchild and possibly more to come; everyone knew she’d been distraught not talking to her son on good terms for as long as she had but Michael made his choice and so Polly made hers.

Sometimes Gina sneered at some of the things said in the sitting room whilst you all sat around drinking your tea politely but you hadn’t been around the family from early enough to hold a grudge against her like the other women — of course, you knew what had happened as it was prime gossip talk one afternoon when you had asked — so she was always nice to you because she didn’t have a reason not to be. You just couldn’t figure out if she was waiting for a reason to dismiss you too and to then convince Polly’s only son to head back on to America… so you kept it civil with her for the sake of Polly, just in case.

Thinking about all of this made you sigh, sometimes you felt like it brought out your wrinkles.

“Finn, darling,” you call, “are you with the children?”

From the hallway, you hear a call from the sitting room, “Yes, over here, love.”

Your home wasn’t massive, like Tommy’s; that would’ve been too much. Sometimes you see it as a palace. A palace suited for its king. Your house resided in the suburbs — closer than Tommy’s — but was big enough to sleep five people and still have some room to throw a ball about. It was moderate considering there was you, Finn and two kids.

Making your way towards the sitting room, you smile at the photos in frames, placed strategically on the surfaces around the house. Your favourite one was one of Finn and you outside the church that the two of you were married in.

You were leaning your head on his chest, one hand on his abdomen and smiling slightly. Finn had his arm wrapped around your waist, hat on his head and gloves on as it had been the springtime so it wasn’t the warmest. You had worn a cream dress that stopped mid-calf and the front of it all flowed smoothly. It didn’t have sleeves, however, the material fell as if they were sleeves as it was pinched at the top. The not-sleeves were ruffled and it made you feel pretty when you had worn it. Finn’s suit had made you happy to see him in, the white rose pinned to his lapel and his smile going from ear to ear. You remember feeling giddy at the sight of him, wanting to run and jump on him whilst simultaneously wanting to run away and cease to exist to the church full of people — you were nervous, it was safe to say.

The picture next to it had been one of everyone laughing, throwing petals and having a jab at the two of you. Absolutely everyone was laughing, even Tommy had broken out his smile, Arthur was making a hilarious face and certainly kept up the atmosphere.

Shaking your head, you smile and continue walking into the sitting room.

Upon seeing Finn, you notice that he’s crouched down with your eldest son (well, he’s only four) and showing him how to tie his shoelace.

Taking in a breath, you wait, patiently, smiling at the sight of them. You knew he was showing them how to tie his shoelace because Finn had gotten out his best pair of shoes to let them practice with bigger loops to help him get the hang of it.

Your son notices you, “Mummy! Look what Daddy’s showing me to do,” and he holds up Finn’s show with a half tied shoelace.

You walk over and sit on the armchair next to your son and eye Finn, smiling warmly at him. He looked so at home, teaching his kids the little things in life. His eyes were gleaming, pleased to be spending some time with one of his kids, his hair was tousled slightly but you just thought that it made him look even more handsome than ever and he was clean-shaven, showing that he was still putting in the effort, day-in, day-out.

“Robbie, that’s amazing! Do you want your dinner in five minutes then, since you’re learning so well?”

Robbie nods eagerly, “I love your dinners Mummy but I need to learn this otherwise Daddy says I’ll never be able to walk again.”

Turning your head to face Finn, you lift an eyebrow, “You told him that he’d never be able to walk again?”

Sheepishly, Finn replies, “I just meant that he’d be lost in the world cause he wouldn’t know how to do it himself.”

You laugh and stand, moving to Finn’s side you rest a palm on his shoulder, “Where’s John-boy?”

He lifts his head to look at you, “He was feeling tired a little earlier so I let him nap on our bed where we were playing. You know he says that he wants to get a dog?”

Pausing you look Finn in the eyes, narrowing them at him, “And I wonder who gave him that grand idea, eh?”

Finn lifts his hands up in defence, “Hey, I never said we were getting one for sure, I just suggested spending some of his time with a dog.”

You shake your head, amused, “Always the good guy, never the bad, eh? Leave me to crush his dreams and leave him to run to you screaming ‘woe is me’,” you lean down and kiss him on the lips, “you’re lucky I love you so much.”

Finn’s hand creeps around our neck and kisses you again, “Maybe a dog would help when you give birth to my daughter that you’ve got hidden in there,” his hand rests on your abdomen where you bump is barely showing.

You swat his hand away, “The boys don’t even know yet!”

“This could be a good way to tell them before their attention is back on the new family dog that we’ll have to help occupy them while we’re busy looking after her.”

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “I haven’t said yes yet and we don’t even know if it’s a girl.”

Finns grins, you know what he’s about to say, “Polly says that it’s a girl and you know that we can’t not take her word as the gospel ‘round here.”

You wander off and mutter to yourself, “I wish she wasn’t right all the time,” and walk up the winding staircase to fetch your youngest son, John, from your bed.

Everyone knew. The second he was born it was absolutely obvious that your son was going to be a John. You just couldn’t anticipate how well everyone had taken it.

Polly loved it and treated him as if he were her own, Arthur tossed him in the air whenever he came over (and John loved it), Tommy took him to see the goldfish in the Horse’s water troughs and held him in his arms whenever John wanted a hug from his uncle. Oddly enough, Gina adored him too, which shocked all of the women but you weren’t about to dispute it so it stayed. When Ada came to visit, the boys loved Karl and he loved them as he was free to play like he used to when he was younger. He was a lot more grown up now but he liked pretending that he could babysit them.

“John, darling,” you say, gently shaking him awake, “it’s time for your dinner, my love.”

Drowsily he lifted his head and held out his arms to be picked up, you obliged as he was still young and took him down to the dinner table. He sat, rather comically, among a pile of books and a cushion to soften it all so that he could sit with you all.

“Mummy, where’s Daddy?”

“Just coming, darling,” on cue, Finn walks through with Robbie wearing a pair of his own shoes.

“Look, Mummy! I tied them all by myself,” Robbie exclaims.

You examine his shoelace tying skills, “perfect, darling, now sit down before I tickle you to death and you can’t tie any more shoes.”

He giggles and obliges.

You walk into the kitchen to get the dinner on the table.

“You’re going to be even better with her, our daughter, you know,” Finn says from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you were fetching the plates for your dinner.

Jumping, you say, “I didn’t even hear you follow me in,” and lean into his embrace.

He chuckles lightly, “I love you… and they love you and she will love you.”

You turn to face him and bring one hand up to his face, “And I love you too.”

You kiss him on the lips and just as he was about to deepen the kiss you pull away smiling, “No, no, Mister Shelby, they’re still waiting out there like tiny hungry tigers for their dinner.”

“Just one more?”

“Oh alright then,” you roll your eyes with a grin on your face and kiss him once more.

#peaky blinders #finn shelby #john shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #reader x finn shelby #birmingham #love #fluff #romance #family #littlemissshelby #littlemissshelbyreplies

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calpops · 4 years

Text

veiled valor | 11 | c.h.

last luck

series masterlist

Days passed in a demure sort of bliss. Elodie slowly felt better after burning off the fever that had plagued her when they first came to the small home. Snow still fell from the sky and painted the grounds in a dazzling blanket of white. Calum spent his days torn between two worlds. In the comfort of home with a princess in his arms, fireplaces crackling as background noise to stories of the stars and lessons about life. Elodie taught Calum to cook, Calum taught Elodie to build a fire and navigate the stars. They found a rhythm within each other. One not rocked by salt water waves and running footsteps trying to leave the past behind. It was a slow and subtle build of rhythm; brought upon by daily routines and motions that kept them together. But Calum also lived a life outside four walls. A life where a sleeve concealed his secrets and trades needed to be made. He’d go to town for business and leave home behind. Elodie having to stay in the house; day in and day out, sheltered by the same four walls.

They worried her identity would be discovered. That even though time had changed her appearance—face slimmed, hair shorter by the swipe of shears, and commoner’s clothes providing a distinct transformation—running the risk of being found out felt too precarious. They’d discussed it at length, during the night when the world felt more at ease, they had whispered words of uncertainty and exchanged worries. They had come to the conclusion that playing it safe through the winter months would help bring them to an easier spring. Elodie had little resistance to the situation though she had mentioned walking through town with her hood up; just as they had done to get to the inn months ago and to the home days before. Calum had cleared his throat and apprehensively reminded her of her compromised identity, of the shot of a gun and anxiety that flooded her eyes and kept her awake for nights to come. She had bowed out of her small resistance and desire to walk the town, promising she would be okay inside.

Calum worried her new life and routine on land was becoming much the same as it had been when she’d run away. He could still picture the desperation that captured golden eyes the first night she’d boarded his ship. He could nearly feel the tension that tightened her shoulders though she managed to walk with refined posture and an air of confidence following her down galley steps. He never wanted to see the glossy eyes and trembling lip of a princess scared to stay and worried she wouldn’t be able to leave again. Those worries drowned in her smiles. They drifted away and became lost with her soft touches and gazes that held such sincerity and warmth he’d be a fool to think he wasn’t enough. Calum didn’t know if this was the life she was seeking when she fled a palace in search of something more. But he could see she was content. At least for now.

Calum would come home from his days in town to find Elodie sat by the largest window pointed toward the backyard, watching the snow fall. Or prattling about the kitchen, fixing tea or dinner. Sometimes she’d be tucked away in the room they had come to share without question; pouring over a chart, trying to decipher the stars on her own. Those days made Calum anxious to sail again. Ready for spring to bloom and ice to melt away the woes winter could bring. He’d secure a trustworthy crew. One smaller than the last. Only men that would take a bullet for him; men that would keep a secret for her. Michael, Luke and Ashton. Men like those Calum unabashedly thought of as friends. And he’d find her a place outside of galley walls. A place where the sun could shine down and brighten her days; reflect off of golden eyes and bring adventure to a princess longing for something more in life.

Calum came home to find the house empty. He had wandered the first floor, no princess touting about the kitchen or looking out the window. His steps quickened up the stairs and to their empty room. His pulse was racing as he was met with a made bed and organized stacks of books and charts. Usually they left the bed unmade, knowing they would be climbing back in as soon as Calum got home, a fire to keep them warm and charts and stories to keep them busy. Calum’s breath caught in his throat as he checked the other bedroom to no avail. He ran back down the stairs, a million scenarios rushing through his mind; all born of trepidation and swirling bits of the past playing out in distilled moments.

It came to him in a flash, a princess with her eyes to the sky and snow settled in golden hair. He sprinted to the door at the back of the kitchen and threw himself through it, footsteps falling into fresh snow and eyes finding a sight to behold. Elodie stood still, feet sunken into snow, proper jacket Calum had bought her bundled around her to keep warmth as frigid breezes passed them by. She didn’t hear or didn’t mind Calum approaching, too caught up in watching winter unfold in small tufts; individual snowflakes blending into the blanket of white. Calum gently reached out to her, expecting a jump of surprise but being greeted with a slow turn and glossy eyes.

“What are you doing out here?” Calum asked, voice concerned and hands settling on her waist, pulling her close without inhibitions.

He sought out the form of intimacy unflinchingly. And as he brought her closer he reminded himself that the backyard was as secretive as she was. Shrouded by trees and covered in hills. The anxiety of her being seen melting away like snow in spring.

“It’s lovely out here when it snows,” she said in answer. “Lovely and lonely. It’s so quiet I can almost hear the snow falling.”

Calum could hear the melancholy in her tone. The dip in cadence in the two syllables of lonely. It had him bringing her even closer, hoping his presence may drown out the solitary feeling his absence and an empty world outside secure walls had brought upon her. The wind blew, frosty air chilling any space between them and though Calum wished to go inside he could see that her gaze held wanderlust and bringing her back to a place with no escape other than the yard would not be fair. So Calum stood with a princess in his hold as snow swirled through the air and silence became broken with the snap of a branch in the distance. Elodie was quick to react, pulling away from Calum’s hold on instinct at the noise intruding on their intimate moment. Calum was quick to follow, hands hovering over her in a protective nature as she stepped completely out of his embrace and toward the sound. Another crunch followed the initial snap and their gazes drifted to the thicket of trees lining the yard.

Calum’s blood ran cold until rationalization became him. The snaps were too soft to be made by a heavy footstep; the chances of a person roaming through such a heavily wooded area in the winter were slim to none. He’d chosen his home with purpose, made it a safe haven and an escape from a chaotic life surrounded by people. No one had yet to stumble upon it. His eyes scanned the tree line but only dancing shadows of the afternoon light played past his vision. He couldn’t make out a formidable shape or presence. His frozen hands still hovered over Elodie until a gasp fell from petaled lips and broke his reverie of uncertainty. She was moving past his broken hold on her and he stepped in time behind her on instinct. His eyes followed hers; downcast at the accumulation of snow on the ground but cast out to the tree line. She bent down with arms outstretched and Calum didn’t understand the motion until he dropped to her level and caught sight of black among white emerging from the trees with a slow gait and curious eyes.

A small dog limped it’s way through the snow, barely keeping its head above the pile of white sweeping the ground. His paws sank into the cold though the dog favored the front right paw, seemingly doing what could be done to keep weight off the left. Calum sucked in freezing air as the dog made its way straight to Elodie’s welcoming embrace. The soft gaze in her golden eyes warmed Calum’s heart as she brought the injured creature into her hold. The animal was tiny, barely surpassing the height of Calum’s ankles. Black and white fur made up the dog; dark eyes exuding innocence and a small whine crying for help pulling on Calum’s heartstrings. Elodie coddled the dog as she stood, trying to provide warmth and be cautious of the hurt paw.

Calum was stunned; but the way in which Elodie so naturally comforted and cared for the animal was not surprising. Just the fact the dog had wandered so far in such cold and treacherous woods astonished Calum. Elodie turned to him, lips already in a pout and eyes begging with words yet to be said and questions yet to be asked. Calum reached a hand out to the dog, ruffling ears to which a nuzzled response came from the dog and a delighted giggle left Elodie, taking any doubts that may have crept in and washing them away with an airy laugh.

“How’d you get all the way out here?” Calum asked, the words directed at the dog still soaking up his affection and looking comfortable in Elodie’s arms.

“He must be a stray,” Elodie observed.

The dog was weathered and clearly exhausted. Under fed and soaked from snowy travels. Calum surmised that Elodie was correct in her assumption. Calum’s hand dropped from the dog who immediately took the chance to burrow against Elodie, nose pressed to her neck and tired body finally fully relaxing with ease.

“Can we-“ Elodie began but Calum already knew the question that was about to fall from her lips.

“Yes, we can keep him,” Calum answered amidst a beaming smile from Elodie as she nearly swayed in delight with the dog still in her hold. “But we should all be getting inside. Our little traveler is probably cold. And you can’t risk falling ill again.”

Calum bit back words of I can’t bear to see you ill again and even more morbid thoughts as he ushered the princess and pup back towards the house. Elodie went straight to the kitchen, mission set on feeding the stray. Calum went to light a fire to spread some warmth back into the home all the while thinking of the companion he hoped Elodie would find within the stray. He hoped her loneliness might subside on the days he had to be away. He hoped the smile and soft gazes would stay with her until spring gave them open oceans and all the adventure a runaway princess, a pirate, and stray dog could crave.

***

Night brought routine back to normal with an added layer of company. Calum and Elodie huddled close together in bed, fire crackling away as they reveled in its warmth. Their new companion had found a place with them, settled and snuggled in what small distance separated their legs. Elodie kept a steady and admiring gaze on the dog, Calum kept his on her. She shifted, a hand reaching down to pet the dog’s head. Calum felt another smile pulling at the corners of his lips, Elodie’s obvious happiness infectious.

“What’s his name?” Calum asked into the quiet night.

Elodie thought for a moment, fine blonde hair set ablaze by orange firelight, ivory skin tinted and glowing, chapped lip bitten in her pondering. Her eyes caught his and he saw the spark in hers; could dictate it was the moment she knew.

“He’s a brave and noble Duke.”

Calum grinned, he found the name to be a paradox for the small dog and his huge bravery of traveling unknown lands. The innocent eyes and small whine that had escaped him paired with the valiant effort to find a better life was right on theme with Calum and Elodie. He knew he’d fit right in with them; that he’d found a home with them and Calum and Elodie had made a home together.

“Duke it is then,” Calum confirmed with a slight smirk and eyes locking on Elodie’s as her gaze flitted over to him.

Routine from nights on the ship had faded and left a nostalgic want for them back; Calum craved to hear simple words said in a hushed tone, wanted nothing more than to say three different words with the same meaning back to her. Elodie pushed herself up, leaned forward to better ruffle Duke’s ears as a last form of affection before sleep. Another way in which Elodie bid goodnight. She settled back, slid even closer to Calum and he welcomed her presence with contentment. Her eyes closed as soon as she rested her head against his chest and his arms wound around her. It was rare for Elodie to find troubles with falling asleep; it was during sleep that disturbances plagued her. Dreams often turned to nightmares and woke her, the restless motion waking Calum.

“Sleep well, Princess,” Calum murmured, bringing back three words he was not sure she heard. There was a pull in his mind to add an extra word, one that felt like a tidal wave crashing into his heart. He had thought it before but it had never dared to break past the shore and escape him. “Sleep well, my princess.”

Elodie’s breathing was even by the time Calum’s revised wish was said into the night. He was sure she was already asleep. His wish was still standing and his revision of a tradition was holding hope like a lifeline cast into choppy waves of a storm. He supposed it would stay that way through the night, that the storm built in his chest might possibly stay until the words were said to a listening ear. He did not know when he might build up the courage to do such a thing.

“Good night, my captain.”

And so the storm passed in an instant. The lifeline was brought back in and hope was rewarded. Elodie’s voice was soft, the verge of sleep keeping her words to a small whisper. But the inflection of the last two words mirrored the sentiment that Calum had in his revised and revisited tradition. He fell asleep that night with more certainty than ever. With a can we and a my captain lending him faith that Elodie was where she wanted to be. Where she belonged.

***

As days wore on and winter turned from blustery winds, frigid air and piles of snow to something more timid and approachable Calum discerned a need before they were to board the ship in just a few short weeks. It had come to him during a stark night. When wind beat at the shudders on the windows and howled with a vengeance. It was a realized need born of nightmares detailing the past and a reality that could be. One that Calum would fight tooth and nail against. It had woken him as quick and as sharp as a shot from a pistol.

He found himself in town that next morning, back to John’s shop, Calum knew John could see the worry creasing his forehead and the concern clouding his eyes as he was presented with options he needed to make the right decision on. A fine blade lay before him. A delicate balance from pommel to tip. He weighed it in his hands, feeling the drag and pull the weight had on the blade. It felt appropriate for its intended use. The jewel in the pommel separated it from an ordinary made sword by a common blacksmith. This was designed not only for battle but for show. He considered it for a moment, let his fingers trace from the hilt to the edge before blowing out a breath and reaching into his pocket. He felt the pendant that had become a beacon of serenity and hope. He bypassed it to the gold coins and handed over the payment.

“For a special occasion?” John asked, noting the sword was much finer than weapons Calum usually carried. An old and beaten sword still hung at his hip in its equally worn leather sheath.

Calum’s hands went to his hips after he put the new blade back on the counter and handed the coins over. He let out a breath and a near sarcastic chuckle. Someone special sat on the tip of his tongue but a strangling air of secrecy kept the words from spilling out. The less people who knew there was someone in his life he’d give his life for, the better.

“Something like that,” he settled for, eliciting a smirk and a closing deal handshake from the older man who had counted the coins and was appeased with the amount.

When Calum got home after closing the deal—pendant in pocket and sword in hand—he found Elodie in the kitchen. He had just fully stocked the pantry on one of his previous trips into town. She was amidst a mess of flour with Duke at her feet. Calum was glad the small dog had taken such a liking to her. Calum took a moment to swing the new sword behind his back and appreciate the view before him; Elodie’s hair piled atop her head and concentration gleaming in her eyes, before joining her in the kitchen. During their time through the winter Elodie had been teaching Calum to cook, in exchange for lessons on the stars and the more practical she had never known before. Things other people had always done. Things she craved knowledge of and wanted to know how to do on her own.

Calum hoped his new plan for lessons would be received well. Amidst the chaos of preparing something Calum determined would be a sweet treat Elodie looked up with an easy smile and hair falling into her face. With the sword still behind his back a grin of his own to accompany him he moved towards Elodie and came to stand by her side and the wooden tabletop.

“Need any help?” He offered to which Elodie only shook her head and kept working, lips pursed and deft hands moving with precision through dough.

Calum switched the sword to one hand behind his back and leaned an elbow on a free space of the tabletop, Elodie was too consumed with her recipe to notice his behavior was amiss or the hidden object behind his back. One foot crossed over the other and his weight leaned more against the elbow on the table.

“How about another trade?”

That question piqued Elodie’s interest immediately and had her hands stalling in their work as her eyes met his in question.

“What kind of trade?”

Calum hummed a moment as he thought his way through how best to approach the question. Elodie finally caught wind of the suspicious stance Calum stood in, eyes flitting to the hand behind his back and sparkling in wonder. Calum’s grin tilted and shifted into a smirk, eyebrow raising as he noted her newfound curiosity.

“A story for a lesson?” Calum proposed, sword in hand feeling heavier than before. “You tell me how you know to cook and bake and I teach you to wield a sword.”

Elodie’s breath caught in her throat at the explanation and a gasp fell from her lips as Calum swung the sword around to be in her view. He saw her gaze land on the ruby in the pommel, saw the slow arch of a smile replace her surprise and determination take a stronghold. She nodded, words seemingly lost to the possibilities of the sword. Her dough covered hands reached out before thinking better of it and dropping. Calum chuckled slightly.

“Story first, lessons once your hands are clean.”

“I suppose that would be best,” she conceded and went back to kneading the dough. “Though I do fear it’s really not much of a story.”

Calum shrugged. “You know I find any part of your past to be of the utmost importance. I must say I’ve become quite the bargainer with you.”

Elodie cocked her head to the side. “How so?”

“Getting a story for a mere sword lesson is a grand robbery. You see princess, if I were to pay you in the face of how valuable I find your stories, I’d never be able to afford them.”

Elodie looked down but Calum caught the blush that stained her cheeks and the smirk that captured her lips. As her hands worked through the dough she mumbled, “Such is the way of a pirate.”

Calum let out a chuckle as he discarded the sword to an empty space on the table and let his hip lean against the top. His arms folded over his chest and Elodie looked up from her work to give him a once over. He cocked his head to the side to indicate he was waiting, ready to hang on her words and show her their worth.

Elodie sighed before starting; an attempt at showing how menial the story was. “The only escape I could find without consequence was the palace kitchen.”

Calum already felt the pull of her words, the weight of her world already hanging heavy with just a sentence spoken.

“Through childhood I often hid there, watched the bakers and cooks go about their duties. I suppose I learned some from watching; I could remember recipes based on images. It wasn’t until one baker spotted me in the shadows. She had a nurturing soul; much more motherly and comforting than my own mother. She was warm and welcomed me. She often showed me what she was doing, let me sit on the table and watch. And then she let me help—it was the first time i was allowed to do something on my own. For myself.”

Calum watched as Elodie’s forehead creased and her eyes clouded. He could tell she was getting lost in the memories. Unlike with some instances he didn’t detect distress. It was a more calm and easy descent into the past. With just a glimpse Calum already knew this baker was important to Elodie; maybe even familial and loved.

“Sometimes she would even help me hide from the court or my mother,” Elodie laughed fondly. “She always snuck me sweet treats because my mother forbid them. If I helped make them I could have two.”

Calum smiled and bit back the undertone of sadness to the story. He found the silver linings just as she had. So many of her tales were born of woes and tragedy. To find a piece of happiness carved into her past felt invaluable to Calum. If he were to trade fairly he would have to give her the world in exchange for this story. He hoped giving her his world and sharing it with her would be enough.

“So she taught you with rewards?” Calum mused, a sparkle of mischief entering his thoughts and plans for lessons with the sword.

“Yes. And I expect the same from our lessons,” Elodie responded without missing a beat, always riding the same wave as Calum’s thoughts, always giving him something to spar with. Her wit always charmed him. Left him wanting more and more.

“I’d give you nothing less, Princess,” Calum promised, hand running delicately over the blade. “Lessons start tomorrow.”

***

Remnants of snow still littered the yard and created obstacles to sword lessons but Calum persisted with his promise. Never one to falter out of a deal. It was late afternoon when they wandered to the yard, Duke trailing Elodie much like her own shadow in the casting glow of the sun dazzling against snow piles. Calum had taught Elodie the terminology of the sword the night before; watched as her eyes kept in time with his words. Glancing from pommel to tip and soaking in his instruction like oxygen. She had yet to bear the weight in her hands, Calum only left to hope it wouldn’t be too heavy.

A bite of winter wind blew her hair back and had her hands tugging at her jacket to keep warmth in. “I didn’t realize lessons would take place in the snow. I thought you might teach inside.”

“Battles do not wait for the weather, nor do they always take place by the warmth of a fire.”

“And what battles shall I be fighting?” She wondered aloud though Calum was sure scenarios flooded her mind.

“Your own,” he answered and let golden eyes crash emotions through him. He stepped closer to her. “With me by your side. Always.”

What could have been a tense moment broke when Elodie nodded with eyes flooded with determination. “And when I become a master at arms I will fight your battles too.”

After a smile and skipped heart beat at such an offer Calum presented her the sword and followed her unsure gaze to it. Delicate hands hesitated before reaching out for the specialized weapon and the contrast of the situation struck Calum in a swift collision of memories. Hands used for baking and tracing soft lines on Calum’s skin handled the grip much too carefully; fingers light, blade dragged down and leaving her utterly defenseless.

“You need a firm hold,” Calum instructed, his hands guiding hers to right the position on the grip.

“Why wouldn’t I just shoot?” She asked, motioning to her leg where on the ship she kept a holster with a pistol handy at all times.

“Let’s say you don’t have your pistol. It’s already been disarmed. All you have left is your sword,” Calum suggested to which Elodie only arched a curious eyebrow.

“How did they disarm the pistol first? Wouldn’t I have shot them before that could happen?”

“This is supposed to be sword training not verbal sparring,” Calum said around an amused laugh. Her line of questioning was clever. She was always seeking answers past the obvious. “Amuse me. Your pistol is disarmed and the sword is your last line of defense.”

Elodie nodded her affirmation of playing along. Calum guided her through simple motions with the sword, arms wrapped around her from behind and hands covering hers. He could feel the shake in her grip; the weight foreign in her clutches but she remained determined and made it through a few instructions. She asked questions he didn’t know she would know to ask and when she saw the surprise on his face she smirked.

“I never handled a sword before but I could watch the guards out the palace windows,” she explained. “I always wondered. Always watched and wanted to know. I was never allowed to ask questions. Not of that nature in any case. But sometimes I could hear the arms commander calling out orders during training.”

Her observations provided her with knowledge. It was minimal and loaded with questions—what is it called when… how do you… and what if… all tumbling from her lips as Calum guided her through simple motions. He showed her stance, angles and a block. He didn’t want to overload her during their first lesson. It was short and concise, as much as he enjoyed their time in the yard together with his arms around her to guide her and keep her warm he still worried about her health. The end of the lesson came with a sword dropped to the snow from hands not yet strong enough to cut with it on their own. Duke let out a bark; he had been quiet and just as observant as Elodie during their training. He scampered from their sides to the sword and gave it an interested sniff.

“This is why we don’t practice inside, Princess,” Calum laughed but settled when he realized the horrified expression Elodie wore as she bent down to pick up Duke and keep him away from the blade. “And this was just the beginning.”

“Lesson learned,” she confirmed and gave Duke a small cuddle.

“Let’s get back inside shall we?” Calum offered as he retrieved the fallen sword. “We can carry on tomorrow. Soon you’ll be good enough to defeat even me.”

Elodie smirked as they started back for the house. “I’d never fight against you, captain. Always by your side. I’m no mutinous traitor.”

As they headed back inside and found themselves wrapped up in the normalcy of home they had created Calum found himself thinking ahead. As much as he loved knowing she was safe here—happy even—he knew adventure laid plans in her thoughts that her heart and soul could not ignore. His own heart could not ignore the pull she had. His mind could not contradict the visceral reaction his body went through when worst case scenarios charged through his longing thoughts.

Calum would keep teaching her with the sword, show her to handle both sword and pistol. He would make sure she was prepared for spring sailing and any trials life on the ship may bring them. As he promised, he’d fight her battles with her. But he’d also make sure she’d never have to be in danger because of him. He’d find a way to ensure the ship would not go awry on his behalf. He swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. Even if it came down to his last luck.

***

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