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libidomechanica · 1 year

Text

“And of feel; his anger was folded and dispence”

A Meredith sonnet sequence

Let other and over all utterly! Profit was it for me the law. Though nettled that dark-eyed strange, o’erhead, we are two comets, we prowl fang’d and picked offenders from the gloom of you, letting you: home is not those sapling burn and science, sith ye so preche of Jobes pacience is bleeding is done, who all thy beauty’s heaven groans, and kiss again with dust shall couple, were in the loom; and burn and leaves. I dare swear, that silent, save when Phoebus race. A cowslip on the whole night in, will I offer up, and the stars go squawking like geese aboue of hope, dear sisterhood; and, kind lady, with lengths of heart. No liar looked like. And of feel; his anger was folded and dispence.

And there, and let our father wolde I chidde hem so a woman. The kitchen or pray. For certeinly, I made for to touche,—he mente as in my heart and myn herte may bithynke, she past doth possest, drown’d, pale with all forgotten, whether in part; but an ye be crafty, I am not a sound, melodious howsoever, but is that you’d like Heaven-ward Foot may dare to mount—The Heads of rivulets dance with it, Follow, follow not her Step! They do swell and goon and white bear to van they spring towards her head below, see, through they find softness as might have known; I should fondly part from them to swerve in the Vestal entry shrieked the thrice more we know it’s not what I’d lost.

III

And sorrel untorn by the train is swerve. To lash of jarring claims, yet God’s will, my warde-cors, as he sat ful ofte as he entered as here in white, and soul and stout galley- rowers’ toil: with the blood can show where ivy dun would rage. Meek, breaking in thee, with loue so ill bedight, would you know’st what Loue decreed: at lengths of ice, that bliss with fennel green, and in the light. More, for whoso wolde he me glose, whan that which probes to every tree, for every friend, was struck Sylvander’st in his dotage that he wolde he upon a pillared porch, the mother an’ a’ should drag you don’t recalling over Endymion’s sleep, the ancient Hag of Fate, the rill, though, that oother causė,—sey ye no?

Guess now who holds this matere a queynte allone? Have dreamed the pit. No critic I—would call the children of ours! We are oaks, we grow in the man kept walking beside that every sound, and that all the way by now just from star to stately stage, and near her foreheads shadow: furthermore, in Dian’s temple grove appeal brooked at the folly! A three days’ journey dreary phantasms. And so beguile; let not the seal was Cupid bent by circumstance, and she wolde lyve parfitly, and, horror and felt himself afyre. And he could pursue; that touches mine in thee my only chance or name, the Graces are giving gentle lady, you know’st what I speke after thy voice, and my pith.

And the tinge of love: the Seven and right and called is Seint Jame, that al wole envelope, with you too. Now he goes—the youth of Caria plac’d the songs, the falwes, and to my daughter, and Mars therinne. As a spanyel she wol nat lyen, of Hercules and wield a Jovian thunder’d up into Heav’n—his Eyes, and to wise offered immeasurable is proudly and morwe, whan the eyes traced like that droppyng house an irredeemable woe; for half so oft has fetter’d by the harmless wild-flower, yet one rude wind or ruffling things I trembling this compaignye, if thou not know its mistress: life remains a blessing thus; Drear, drear has our delaying so timid air is so.

The flour of the snow was you, when around on every deel.—Why am I sitting on me which in full thou most exquisitely spired, snail-paced lives. Down starch halls with reason: they were bounden unto me; and then decrees of fate; and no rose-bud’s the queen, his sely instrument? The summer song. That I shal make it worth the tremulous, breathe or eyes a bright as on air, that neither lovelight lies lit with the tenor of the din of existence for it. My footsteps, colour to my gossyb wente, for which I though, that hath desir to consume half a day, but forth what he canna hae luve to say. At which may come, with windowsill. As feels more tried, more terrible!

VII

—The eyes of this, your dry, decrepit man who would not under thee, ’ and so laid the song outlasts us all: wrecked devotion the dim cell lying trick of the vallies of men moore hart lou’d and ogled, and all his song with his wyf was at a smile dwelt like a new-fallen life, near death, and his wayward round, and tremble; ye knowe what we love of a devout kiss her: then he is and the Bard refused it inward sight, then Nature said, It gets different: desire with your coronals. Of orient pearl spring.—And love, even now in Eden with this forest-fruits, and how espouse jove’s daughter, holp to lace us up, then the very strange in zero gravity.

VIII

Come to Sidyngborne through her like a snail, its shell cover, and for no man that house, speaking the Pomp of solemn mood:-yet if thou goest onward to his hond also; and many a time. Appetite beyond their ample feather’d in the dust; we are seas mingling, we are two clouds, I’ve been with someone used his great Augustus long ygoe is desolate. So after frequent showers, and honeysuckles full of grief without this life yonder the vena cava. Shalt by fortune once show where all to come down to raking with my native land, I looked in every pen, reserve when he’d pine after then the fayre; they flew, high over the first, and spill their arms, theirs for to hurt her.

Take those. I hae as gude a craft rig as made a thought once more than lost, the amorous, as ye were dreamed the bins, comes love envieth not its own, is not-yet to see the price would fain his book, pardee! And appear but the story that looked as a gnat. Through faith, hope, lover. He ne used weel, I wol nat with splendour out of each to each other for some crystal circlings to you by them with my jealous though, that since Frank sat at this bed or in which loved, and bring. And pin’d and stooles, and lip; yearning for to pleyes of mortality. Sire shrewe, Jhesu shorte thy sad servant evermore moves about us pealed they were bound in self-commitment, thus lorn to vex us?

It lay there; he always borne throughout every dyssh and eek smoke, and the grass, an old man for to the faint extreme, and leave the great water turbidly flowed the Light of grass, an acid-yellow ringlet, like Thee. Linden alley: then brake out of place where the Muse on such a rare carnation farms of your lookin’ to me, and wonder of concrete hem nat a word that know me verray shame, and lands to him who’s smooth to the little sleeping hours and brush their end know dark is right, of those friendship’s hand press’d his heart of a river and doon hem reverence; thou art too deep for thanne sholde he seyde he certeyn, olde barel-ful of verray shame, and love, and for ese of engendrure.

Is loath a lowly dust: and yet we thinks my luve o’ my beauty, and they were no self-passion sleeper meets his sang; and I, thought where lies a den, beyond his conclusion. My privetee, bet than a toothache hurts. There is a flowers of threate: let powre in lauish cups and charity, my testament her slew him for balance. So here’s grit in mageste: of alle men his wyf, and thought I could never the walker upon the river flows, walk’d towards the most perfect of mother an’ mother’s judgment making a mile from head through sorrow, heartbreak, woe, what sholde werne a man can say or lose possessed be God, it leveful were heaven shines, and lines of this worthy to live.

XII

Yet lyved they backed what I may se, for Bacchus’ eye-wink turning in public, no secret place? And honeysuckles full of care makes summer song. Was proxy-wedded— olde dotard, by your father concentrate on the great gods, and let my gesture like the brain … I wish it gentle into her face. His plump its winter will I know not hollow door, but the sun blooms, it is whole in the basin and kiss again with the Diamond think upon his flocks; and that any buddes of me to wedde, ne no man that was oure werre ystynt. Thine oath to love you till China and Africa meet, and let thy will; let reasons: he is desolation: he is wounded soul are mine.

XIII

All others pick it up becomes a gem! Was used in height the fingers like because their disturbing course to haunt them out; but whither he knows you’ve risen. What’s in this one place on Earth, from their weak proportion see to portrait that much. But Love. And below, if you love not how, but ye shall adorn, when hot for certein we shal it has panted round, and I will mourn, till Cherry ripe themselves do cry. Pity by love’s sake, that I was his berd, so moot I thee best.— The wean wants a cod: i’ll no gang to my finger on my ribbes al by rewe, and hadde the window shake its threaded tear—the joy I seek no more. Thou swan of Ganges, let’s do that. Rushes to the fair.

XIV

Still from your mother an’ a’ should wed, my father—none. The earnest trumpet spake, into the siller, he can even now, and had a cousin tumble and London rain persisting and Paris changing to Jack, and the river side, some horse will hold our sad friend. Upon a bough he leant a crescent he had not with me wrothe, I sey this, I though to gratify? And I love you yet more for to be-that was true a fool is love doth linger in the ground, and should blunter be than a catbird hates a moment thee, thus, thus muchel care and arms and hospitality. If I shall lend the gray linen slacks, all powers that gladly play with such a rare carnation grew.

Remembered lesson where nought save, what it takes to manage my self have been in his gardyn plante of sense not flint to proverbes n of his couple with your fists. And al was Cupid bent above me—me—sure that I go, shal seye soothsayers old saw yesternight good vision went in no cas. Into Van Diemen’s land if certainties in summer, golden brede, lay like a king: three felt: or like me, you’d return to speak? Shook with evening bread and hung up to dry and though your fists. Not even death will stay to honor thy deceased all but loued not; I lou’d, and protest that the word I have hir say lookynge out by nyghtyngale, whan she came a dreamless sleep, protect me.

XVI

What is in love’s loving parts, and helpe then it gets better, then vouchsafe me but the dying of amethyst, puzzled thousand men may detain, but shuddering in the shadow while turbidly ran, and thus of o thyng—of hir owene mayde of his lemman kitte it in the boys: the first who, his april touch drove sleeping hour: we break in your inbox I probably, right they shall mould the Fates but name of love than their will, on our long black hair smells of madness to throe in the daisy tips? Clear his bright thus, thus they stopt his fury from the Soul to wanderer dreams deceive you more tried, more or less, and when so feeble vassals of wilderness? And bad oure bed he was going.

XVII

This troublous tydes han vs assayde, here will be a tatter’d me. All wild to fold, of moss, of fire; and think to win mee, oft shewes a presently, and names, and gorgon wrath. Trace the saint’s white blisse, looking- glass; and strikes with her proved we have voided all of me. By my fey, that there’s a youth, and horn, from the clear bee-wine. The woman laughing at the wisė wyvės hoten barly breed Mark tellė forth she nor cares to walke I wol nat kepe a castel wal, it may so long that oother water as a whale rises up, till, each, in maiden mild!—Perhaps you saw too that it nys but conseil to virginitee is green leaves were impulse: and with waking no such expense.

XVIII

Where there to me this sisters won’t do it. Cold as my fears. Wild men take, Clarinda’s fondest friend. Ears we’re doing to write my mistress’ lips, and continues for me, that reach up the morning, not a toe, not so much will turn to go: but they so for the use of men. But I seye, I have all faith, and sold giving to make myself, that is this the reeds by the clerk, was oon of the low-tide rocks, we are here! Then it gets different guitar, a map of the valley, He rose, and not to mount them is double row, which book he lough all think upon the space made folk shal laughen in eternal love? Than in the golden bowers of three days’ journey dreary, had reach its faint thy will.

XIX

Gender foot, light in very strange; that faded eye: yet, O my friend who were fitter perching on the cold of your day: and time will commerce be all in a few hours that tongue shall feel as true woman in Beijing buys for hate. That you like a key in a mantel-piece perched on his Eyes, and I ask no more, and I thy shepherd realm shall be wreak’d on a wal, or doon a thyng for to stand thy fair face nor beauty lies, when he’d pine after a little grave, and this, was it thy death were na looking, beheld awake his passion from me. The firstė nyght had made sory cheere, as wyves maken noon assay, til atte laste out of each new leaf of everything was change be spirit-home!

” And all thy beauty; and all his soul fierce! And Jankyn, oure shap, and see if it’s in that footsteps on with both my love, something to joy, from various ills—a bird and I’ll take; she shal, for on my bosom? His second life, saying: Sister, seeing Two who draw one Breath to some touch of the more temper, so aloof up in the dusk—the dark chilling sprites remoue. Wy, taak keep how mekely lookes: thy languid fool, who wedde no wyf to go seken halwes, and vows were why men in his base had left to me, yet one rude wind the kingdom and they sail, slowly I would fly, but following things, two fan-like fountains and firy levene moote thy notes of sweete pyne!

XXI

And thou in sleeper,—all his soule of sense not flint to post with ease, but ah, it with smiles, wan as primroses gather’d in the great sages draw no prize your own arms to hold the Flower of this and doun, yet sholde it groweth noon; gie me the moon-tints of purple hue—Now, while thou shalt drynke. The bastioned tide that she kan best, in swells up, till, each, in maiden fancies like weeping, how all ignorant thought, without a decay. But warily tent when I shal seye sooth; but yet I hadde of hym al nyght, wherewith the silvery, when the roadside, succulent peaches we devour, dusty skin and day was he to me with your will, the sun slow and the hands that gladly?

XXII

And yet them not; and, lordynges, right tress. I were to me a paramour—and eek myn estaat—after then too late. Apple bright the Star-Queen’s crescented! That heart of a Vice Lord’s do-rag. Al were there we turned; the very night ocean’s force, that is claspable, clamberable, clamberable, clabberable, against the day and cruel banker, forecloses us to snowdrifts white star in the law. Kiss and Tears unshattered as here they stand aside and giving gently murder half so boldėly kan ther none of that I walked out of each that Jhesu Crist ne wente nevere delight— I bid adieu to Ganges, let’s do No voice said you have drunk as flies whose hopes.

XXIII

But whether my grief and mount as his foore. I was waning slowly as from the clouds their mates, and may not believeth all the nyght, her virgin bosom swell; such things so that Ill may thy Muse display her fluttryng wing, and sith a man was Werther, and the Giant is enchanted me ful soore; he always under shade: but may them shall probably broke the Charioteer and unnamed light blush which we cast no shadow, washed dust clouts that loue does depart the outlet the threaded dances and wore: and my thral, and follow not how, but yet I hope to feel! Wondering if thee pleasure that precede the only tendernesses. At my breast, and lay no more, you know how my life, my lad.

XXIV

We boughs amang; while every wight y-wroght? The way one but thou never than a catbird hates the great cruel? I remember when these words awoke them forth your cheeks burn, arms open, eyes sent to your lips ill hung or set, and lose thou upon this man boarding to my bed, until they came; the memory sets forth, and balm, and blamed hymself was slayn, that called the first, that only thee; but starv’d and buzzed in knots of tape delays and lips her starlight have wedded with rolling to embers from the glow-worm bite the bettre leyser for he had toold thee and shrouds beneath my breathing hed, pray that much. And taught he, Why am I sitting beneath fluorescented! Paint my hell. How dearly rue!

XXV

I were dreamers to their moon-faced lord; heap’d on her mine! Your lips are at ebb and floor, and al was fals; I dremed of it no more! Small flatter, in sleeper meeting you: I love your sobbing; and to pansies come, with wrath: he stars vppon mine eyes, which the first, first dawn and who keeping, how a mystic heaven. Of gold, once, in lovely boy, who renneth best, that, for him, hesitates a cat, or a juggler hates a moment which guiltie seem’d to growth again—What dostow at my very eyes even these, no fears more the stars: come here in white. A clock, by his job, his job, his job. She is Simplicity’s children of Mercury appear above an entry: riding in the great gods!

XXVI

—Who? How quickly the sweet, O Pan! Number. Till Pan and crude to clear his briar’d path to give me the call, and Phillis—for she drank wyn, thogh that dimmed her mouth, still arrive before our forest wildernesses. The hill I saw not, yet the thin hair, hath swich as he, al nys but conseil al. Our enemies have flown, since these the city breath of the brimming river I heard: though your nuts in oak-tree cleft? And of feet so clene and paddling slant in furrows of his conditional love?—The state perplexing! And thanne is al and seas have flown, of jubilee to Dian:-truth I heare, but with snorting no such thought of Albany. ’ Should have, great Nature, and let thy will. Came to Heauen sownde.

XXVII

And the tattoo pulsing at the Apostel whan he to me crept: my feet, tore the kingdom come. Those fault was myn housbondes, quod he, and for all the way, ’ laughers mimicking dandelions wild rapt in leade, in rymes of father moved before his foore. And some guy with me the only way, since last of his olde sawe, ne I wolde prechour in the silent, save when I’m there rivulets hurrying through this our backs with towers, the current of a Vice and reverend bears, I praye yow, but sweetly sing, with sober seemlihed gave utter love in her memory sets forth your first her eyes full of love, renew thy footsteps on with Wine the South that thonder stynte, comth a reyn!

XXVIII

If I had dronkenesse; and so been hanged on the race is run. Still forgotten, when, indeed that now did stir about the dying I shall lean her e’e; let not Woman e’er complain fickle Man is apt to rove: look abroad through so vast my love and dispence. Bows all its earth a sudden death together; and as grain septembering axe was by it troubled like a shotgun. I love had fyve; for perfect seisure? I thought woman! God lete his lyf, noght but peace; no critic I—would call the world bigan; yet lyved they, while the last endymion, were I to weake? Be new moon sad Zephyrus! Of flower on earthly pleasure! The feather’d people shouting a battle unroll’d!

XXIX

Child, the great gods, and distorted therein show’st thy love: the Seven and rising moon, fair beaming, and nothing but shall meet thy silv’ry feet my soul! Question what of the spiritual air begot: long didst thou mine, I drank wyn, thogh that fed or arm that floats in a kind of paragon; and I thy shepherd realm shall kiss thy pearls upon our western isle, which bit of reuerence moue, they flew, high as the grave, we lost in other voice engender with her that was his forests heard her sake; but still to my soul with words: nor did speed possessing, advaunce to be mine, and the skin, of mountainside to Haleakala Crater. You talked as grand as when a mother’s clamour at oure large.

XXX

Airing a Mirror that brent wole be. Of Ida sound, melodious howsoever, can compare, whaever has met wi’ the queen all the blue veins in my lettuce which missing them from an urn, still force you hence, so farre thence ye see my reverence; they beth maked forward to see how the rurall routes to come as ye were to put my footstool shall sit, and, slowly as from the cloud and stretch out like a misguided preacherous winds, and doun, that has been, whate’er my grace. And all the all over there was not in the raging search after the immutable crickets of shade, of night thus, God woot, he seyde how the fuller by a ghastly malady to cheer, by those palm?

XXXI

They never finding to sterte to, and murmur of al mankynde. We gained the night their heads, and in the very bark ’gainst me. Al redy, sire, quod this Arrius, yif me a plane of movement still I wore her picture by my Evil lust am fallen: they could rejoiceth not in unrighteousnesse, and then, Sorrow to hang over each other flowing, comes home against all elements, against the sound.—While bigness—rocks, trees, and vows they hurt to death, when her love, only the subway jerks, I love you learn that her feet he sinks, touching with how sad steps, O Moone, these three; and their will, the shine of your isolation rolled with the Golden Throne. When you had a love not love thee!

XXXII

That I have done for more tongue? Whan myn herte may buy, till by degree, and now there were lost, I can give you and beren hem on hond the selves do cry. Will crush her pure immortal state, and strike dead the word and so laid the sea, dragging huge chains o’ lovely eyes, which parts of women; all the tress, and boldly ventured on this; my very eyes even till they be wedded than Endymion heard a lover since, it grew both day and crave. To divide in a trembling or glowering how bright-dark struggle still decades off in the Indian, I will dim. I turned cud of wrath, and which, while turbidly flowed the Will and ache, while cheeks burn, arms of disgrace and voyce, so sweets my poor beast!

XXXIII

Beneath his wyves maken men to flee out of his mystic heaven’s pavement were field into me? Then bade he bring, and suffre hym do his native land, am I. His eyes are the sun, down by the first her eye. That I ne tolde of it vileynye of shrewėd Lameth, and sigh no more, let love, and so bifel that sting each night will forgot to die, is sure enough, and stane; and all in the room and the leon, tel me who? Movement sure with muffled moonlight: her peeced pyneons bene wynd, and he could escape as Nature escape from Cynthia’s wedding lutes a place; dusk for him, hesitates a cat, or a juggler hates a moment before Jove newly bow’d, has wept for thee.

XXXIV

—I’m giddy air, and joined be thou ask’d whither I went: henceforth ask me no more: I want forget you, of being vanquished. See, in hart both sight to your wall like an out- of-tune worn viol, a good New Yorker and work hard and sold giving gentle into her face rose-red with one desir’st that thou not aided me? Too awful, sure, for the North. Alone, among her bloom of you, letting this report, this very night and daughter, and if that I rente of sweetest Sorrow, cold as my Makere hath swich harneys as I to yow to greet despite the buried which for pleasure passioned too so young arms, while each other unnested through warp and weary road, yet with rolling eye?

XXXV

With lullaby your dry, decrepit man who would what treasures real gland, I looked heart. Thirst, my likerous, loved I view in the streaming, the sudden spark struck Sylvander’s raptur’d view, he gaz’d, he listened to do. Indeed that dandled you, or own one port of star by him could write down. More: ther worldly things. Which now appears to bear a mind, to different guitar, a map of his olde sawe, ne I wolde nat han daunted verse of housbonde. Past wet without a part left off the Dust of that which Luna felt, keepe stomakes freeze. But, like suppose, but steal me a blink o’ yon rotten tree, right so a werkė, by my heart, and blood. Great bronze valves, and to fall. More: the mornings and burn and scorn.

XXXVI

For frowning Honour true: but sith I hadde, as thought to mob me up with a passion puls’d its way, til that he dighte; under thee, myriads of touching with the torrent of May? Yet with the deep, has not a sound, and make me to this: if thou goest onward the doom assign’d. To ease my head, my heart an eddy from the World. ’ Year, my deare captainesse to run away, she wole, er any day be dawed, to shepherds is forgot thee, as a dove’s nest among many. And lik’d; I lik’d but love: be my mind, to different: desire is the remedy? The accomplice of you, eye and lose thy coin, for she, sweet wither’d people said in mastery, when her brethren, thou melt too?

XXXVII

So shalt nat bothe, the furrows of thy cheke! Each face her womman, but now of a dream, shewing how we three castles inwardly, and he struggle on with tears. Now where the boughs, from your mother an’ mother open- heveded he had maad his raunson unto me; and the cow is woodland Hyacinthus could never since our rights maimed, I trust that and spher e d course; still fragrant exhalations bred, beheld it strays through your own, as Lady Psyche ever stole a little lap-dog breed and yet eftsoones I may avow; and laboured lands to yield all burden of a grasshopper, yet with reason: they stand we here? Child of moan and myself, and drown with my valentine.

XXXVIII

Each with the tress with women’s tears: all of you!—The wean wants a cod: i’ll no gang to me, and tremble; so these forest, whispers, and then the Beams of Hell and the Soul in the Charioteer and stronger. Ah, cruel love! Leaves, shaken by light shall be the executioner, and led a hundred thoughts, which grows never yet would’st credit gives. So here’s a youth, a witless minutes kill.—The stains that when so feeble I am gray? We two maiden plumes we rustled: him we gave it: I will pry into the hidden rills from kissing and fawe to brynne. Friends: I go to sleep, the snow still doth linger weeping, it goads me like the Chiefs of Cities and to pour down upon the Dust!

XXXIX

That ink may charactery, but for thee. And now mans wrongs and doesn’t matter made banked fires of Hell and gorgon voice? In a kind of paragon. Thought our Cuddie can arise? Whatever we do together, we are two resplendent suns, we it is a garden, a cigarette cradle wants to use himself, a sigh thus doth Love speak. Among cool clouds like stranger, you are thee die! As the call, I call to my pretty maiden plumes we rustle through dooms of love, more rare. Next Cynthia he heart as kind and ran in on this mortals, old or your dry, decrepit man who would fly, but with shadow of a dream, yet it yields a A cowslip ball: but since (and every where ?

I would soone as they are. I though this guilty hand in her arms, while new emotions, level in myn housbondes for thee. And fee that has been tost into a bitter all our love is no help, this year droops the charming Chloe. Let others loss of ease, and the cradle wants a cradle wants a cod: i’ll no gang to my horse, and on my cradled between His After and yong, and joly as a pye. On music, answer gets the shade: where love of that she be for noght, that I hadde, as the hous; they have ye left your foot is on our necks, we vanquish’d head, whose modest tress. Hath desir to consumed by tubes she wrote, and stolen a sharp word for to dye, he redde he noon.

XLI

Of your inbox I probably said to me that Fate avenges arms Shirúeh with them still, plucking villages the music in the charter of smooth; o let men kill which a sharp word for word. Because he knew not what Loue decreed: at lengths of yellow-haired you were badde. On one,—and present all as a gnat. Do smiles, wan as primroses gathered, smell into a bed of her beauties, they never prove as true as bread: no liar looked the heart, with brow to hang over earth will stand, a shadows wilt thou rove, by wimpling buds of May, with sanctity! Crocodiles, bearing that richesse, somme for a few short hours that my pale face: till understand how dying of snails will slime the light.

XLII

Into a bitter scorn drew from the metal, by thy great Nature said, How’s marriage, and a voice engendreth hayl, a likerous tayl. A shade, in which that it looked age and past are cloud girth of Jove, these rebel powers, once a help would hand in and stitched upon the prince. For me, upon the sweet soul, going their arms, their rayes to me. A few hundred street stall. To you ignore, so weeping, it goads me like a broken means his father made for the brawlie my tocher- gude I prize thee, and no place of your great cry, the first love, of happier men. But me; thanne wolde suffre hym in no foul manere. Seized up without a decay. Lat hym fare wel; God yeve his hand found a still smaller.

XLIII

Savory, latter day dawn’d blue and lips meet! You humble in. And, looking on a sudden spark struck despair! I probably ignored you like a rising of bloody Mars, of giusts, Turne thee. When I and milky rabble of the woman, white tooth. And listening; after vertue therefore small his sorrow their babes their pleasure of the heavy next to us, some horse to Loue, and were the dark, has risen and since find what she can’t forgetful where turned each base, to purge uryne and trouble was no one answer rang, Not Death, this noble thou mine, farewel! Up thy power to kindle or rest, and aghast the wordes bitwene the bright beauties, come and I was, and alle were tutors.

XLIV

Be she love begets, then the longer-lived, and a mill of sun will I all her try, whether in any man that I deem truth the Dagger, that he had carv’d, and sigh, because the cheke that wommen kan nat kepe a caste pissed on a giant liar; and all his song with mine, farewel! So they stopt his proprė body, savage caring them on honde; for frowning Honour kept his ivy tent, onward the towers, am I not cruel? Mad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to Sidyngborne through dooms of feet so clene and the Baltic deep, has not a slope up which gave upon a day. Erect and tender pipes may safely charmed her wounded soul was a compact; that was he to blame, by Goddess!

XLV

The good Queen, his sely instruments defaced,— and green lollipops. Has met wi’ the sparks of firm and thriftie bitts of me to enquere or spyen? Thou dost thou most exquisitely spired, or one moment the saint’s white arms, says what an acre hath spent her sleepy eyes The fault, the roses I their jewel- sceptres vail, and murmuring souls to touch thee and shalt feed the bloom of heavenward swifter them the dewy downs, and when you said there was no one beloved face; with long, it will scatter pearled hive I’ll serve you better melodies, and did make breathe— because into the babe yet in bacon hadde I levere was alone. And mine are sealed off in a tin box. For in my tyme.

XLVI

Into the hours that any clerk and growing and give maiden prime. Such sanity will I die, till you that touch on all is well, while your fancy I approved. I looked at their mates, and the world for sometimes, the silent lightnings the Baltic deep, and some on with any evidence, that fatal knife, deep questioning, which he seyde how the fuller by a graine? How vain a thing but vulnerable. I said, A lovelight is in patient reed, till they were na lookin’ to me. I scarce am fit for that she could feel the morning’s gray static of rain, when ther no man may ye fynde som maner thyng, and, unaware, behold I find by a ghastly gave me the spoke a word.

XLVII

Gender foot, light to your lecture. How does Love speak? To the Ring, and seye that now did stir about the Prince, ’ he said: I hate’ she alter’d wings, those little lap-dog breed of eloquence will her the fatigue is flowe as fast as springs; and would do! You You are a lily, an aster, white should know thirst is flowing, till I sing ere long, as by content thy Soul, nor service discharging him, sick hearted, affright in her sad fate. Literally is not thou; but come, for we will I heave tumultuously. But once, once, once, once, once, once, you will keep, her try, whether he was cutting on the fair. And scarce could not agree, whether within you think of despair into that Endymion!

XLVIII

If thou content, with my wretched. I’d toss life will have free adit; we will protest you will know just what perplexity! Close in grief and mine: give me ease; and seye but, at the foule cherl, the crystal seek, but following bread and bye The Shah was made to excuse, ’ proving heavy, ticks off a list of real breath of God hath got, and her eye, and more with my night your body fading eyes, transfixed his sceptre like the bed, and let naebody see, and the broad stairs, and let thy holy feet visit our cause and shape it plank and sadden’d beach dragg’d down she loves? He lives in vain: let the twins her brother ran on and usen hem biside, I sat a weeping: what every deel.

XLIX

To lightning the unseen strike from too this desk and saw and immortality. In the air,—whence will to Honour kept his face of venomous worms, inheritor and hands I bless horrors which lovers with her, but didn’t want of my body, in no foul manere worth held: then being humane to the baskets high with a fair womman cast hir sheres; thurgh which none may them with meeker beames to prayers; my mother privee place untenance, until the facts. I am yours as the first the sea, salt-sweet eglantine, and near here, plainer to my hart since the Lass of Albany. Side of his swift flight: joys in another to Its delight— I bid adieu to all but loued aye.

Spak in repreeve of the valley drifts white thighs and on this body borne before his wyves bonde. For their doom, that languid fool, who wedde a paragon. Let’s live in peace, that from the trophies of the Mountains! With ech of hem were gone; the clock for him, hesitates a cat, or a criminal hates the phone. My nurse; and the least ambitions rage: scourge of itselfe, still the moon in pieces with an end, that may endure—impossible above, and to pour down upon thee up as well as any wyf from Dian’s feast would be. There are electrons. I love the world ther grow silent sympathy.—Than maystow chesė wheither you will do, speak but the more to me! Grant only Self to wyte.

Outside, the way,’ laughed at in the thick branch. I haven’t unlearn.-Bye and myself in my head, smiling with undefiléd Robe to Heauen sownde. Without-end hour whilst I, my though delay’d, answer should hand your skin growing breathing: gone and then ’twas fit that: disarm’d his own quickened ears, who each word, nay sigh of mine, each day, more to lick th’ effused sacrifice. And as I sat, over the peace, is over the rose bushes? With how wanne a face! Her body and go and let this the reed, Up started from ancient Hag of Fate, they are blue, and boldly ventured on this male nature’s change. What was her charms and stane; and thus gratify the Genius. That assail the Lord of Love.

LII

And asketh where is al and clepeth folk that the way we belong. Ever have been with coarse mankind, and look’d with rolling on they moste I thynke, and red with a dribbed shot, loue gaue the world’s biggest light, from ebon streaming. And as she spake a higher summons:- still doth lingering leaks away, because there folkes fare? Dust inscribed the invitation to change again, only to see thy blooming the valley, come, comfort thee to those true gods of your nuts in oak-tree cleft? Er I be deed, the byrds to throw that it didn’t fix into the rougher hand. Half falling snow; yet the lady fair. No nearer, till from a sip of hem mo legend in slumbering horses dark again with saints.

LIII

Under the centre stood erect and spare in the sudden a passionlessly pale, cold even as a mous, and plain, peona, mayst listen and our son, because my Father live here in the deep river as we machine made hym in a plan fi changed.—Merged in the charted system I shuffle among summer dies on the heart, and for to sterte to, and more than a wound. Until that in his cheek so fair fingers brought he, Why am I not as are they read thro’; but still swollen shut with wine and red with crabbed care thee, as thy cradle, and yet amid all feares a hope to feele my grief and morning, languor wept: her heart to weep for me! That put on more constant and far.

LIV

And the great god Pan, from too thin breath; scatter pearled hive I’ll read, his former might: so, love, and other speak he tries, thinke that. In the liberties. And I confess with loue so ill bedight, where two predatory hawks, we grow in the roaring that now did stir of fountains, but she be chaast in a deep prophetic solitude. In the woman said, airing a snowy hand with a voice, when this hand found the thinks ’twould blaze like a clock, by his job. And poets better melodie. Passing: voices cheat me with me! Into the doctors chart the same fumes of lingering fled from mine eyes, nor knows what: on a sudden death to shining scales, they die at their moon-faced lord; heap’d on her back.

Whose voice, and so kind. Could rouse from court with empty Coca-Cola can against the shadows, and then return. Three years she grew in sun and mooder, and present pay? And true, it is to seye, I have toold certes brought so. Wild men take, Clarinda knew; but Anguish does not sting us too, but welcome, song and pains, and grinning mouths of purėd whetė seed, the nombers flowers and bring. The space of directly on you: nor shall do so for the peace, is over and adore. Of Autumn, dropping his bed or in white, and watch a full sea glazed with Florian,— ask for our maids till happier men. A hundred street, the roaring East; To give at eve, and boats and past a shadows shifte.

LVI

The snow was as is not provoked, taketh not; love entwine, yet all is well nightly pray, we’ll nigh past mud, the white and suffer dear Endymion’s sleep, the antelope; and watch her hair where pale blue, autumn, yes, winters shall adorn, when the cobweb woven across the charming Chloe; till, painting I must such suspension may lingering fled from a falcon-eye? Mark thee cumber: what we mighty Law is changed, or changed, or on a shield, and shaking, they moste I selle; but starv’d and pin’d and ogled, and no whit lesse of my body and thriftie bitts of me: and happy spiritless mist have not love, calling, that floods that faille, than the space made for think? His starving blood! How does Love speak?

LVII

Was she by the windows of his priesthood moans; before me liketh to breed and yet was I nevere delit. Where the lily! Will in little onwards, still smaller. At the first, first time he kissed the Charactery, but folk of wyves hath not been set to muse and spher e d course to haunt them not lie in the road afar withheld me first touches Heaven the garland bound, mongst roses of your madness, madness melts in bliss, but had you going down call it wintery skin, would you stand stiff as Lot’s wife, and they the summer-night, and Vesper, for a moment which that Jhesu refresshėd half in dread or height the first the shadow wept, melting away: let’s get that anon!

LVIII

Before he was me yeven us letters, was he a corpse had been, and shine of your own age, upon this we men are hard upon the heavenward swifter thy rubriche, I wol persévere, I bishrewe yow, but ye love were by no discrecioun, ech falleth in one to affrighted, chidden, by hym shul others, are in slumber in which the king, ’ he said, How’s marriage? And fee that holds a stately height to wrecchednesse than shoots the fair. And labour of all, her brother worldly occupacioun, ech falleth thee, fair maid, sith thou art or else desir’st thou fill thy pity by love’s sake, that chastitee; and wondren at brightest far that I shal, er that she wile your coronals.

LIX

The first struck, and make so large dark chilling change for the notes god set between His After and the splendour out of dusky doors: to the width of a world as in hir bed, and vows that he hadde enchanted me—my dames and your eyes lifting the sea, salt-sweet dewy blossom wavering for Aglaia. And lete his wyf go roule aboute myn herte despitus. Bade he brought, as children utter, and the most fresh to-morrow sharpe arrowes tries? Though but oon hole for hire lovė ther as God lust yive it her. Slur with garrulous ease and evening on me with joy gone mad, without a part left our kernel tree; for haddė God comandėment. Breath, long had place, but now all my story ran.

Whose bugle? Decades off in these lines of thee cannot be thy lovers will ring in the bonie Lass of Albany. First, and I thy shepherds and half the sacred for ese of engendreth hayl, a likerousness, but have known; I shoulder: her hand. Has been seized up withoute make. She said: he saved my lichen in eternal longing graph, in the earth; great God displese. I have been elsewhere, her lovely blue; her smile—O Dis! Our pillows; and in, from thy remote and speak again, only to see a womman usynge for to child, who in the first I hallow’d it as gentle roar that I shal seye soothsayers old saw yesterday. In many wise, how soon my Lucy’s race was run!

LXI

Floor upright, because their curls from kissing an empty of all the blue of hem was lonely office, and so many, and he could bear no more breathe—because you see the woman: thought than the lovely eyes, were it be for noght, I touch your loves, yet lightning bug. Said Endymion’s amaze: By Cupid’s dove, and the stars shine in a dream. To mar the mark of love, aside another, who wisely weaues, that I was and for al is for his lovely maid’s of rodents, the sun, as the show and say with that I should fondly part to live in such things so that greatness. Physicist asks, does it cost most to burye hym precious array, that reach its faint extreme: ensky’d ere the beames to pray?

LXII

From the maiden fancies vain a thing I dote on: so I’d fain, petitioned tide that desire? Of your body and of the dewy downs, and frets but not such a lover would have traded life be led to join the arbour, they hadde myn herte despit that hym fare wel; God yeve his tribulacioun? No! Since which I by lacking have something to embers flower and interim like that Fate that she kan outher synge or daunce to an harpe smale, and said no and teche us yongė men of your poem left me on this happy dell. On thine own refuse her proper glory has my own nostrils blood: it will heart: but as I folwed ay myn instrument as frely as my fears.

LXIII

As, seistow, lorel, whan that loue does depart the outside the loom through the tide in which touch thee embraced in a dreamers to throwe out the Heads of light. Close thou ynogh, what prison of flesh. Fingers brought unto. I met, I loved youth! Van Diemen’s land if certain, would fain his Almageste, and greet the wo that is it, to rest from sound, sweeter thy text, ne after my own full thought our Cuddies Embleme. Julia, let me woo thee, with zebras striped, and seas of dew exhal’d to Phoebus’ golden; in her face nor beauties, they never wi’ her can compare, whaever has met wi’ the question. Panting, burst the wrist; stare, stared at the visionary seas! Gender foot, light of Kai Khusrau.

LXIV

For that she wile your arms when around the height to have taken heede hem spitously an earth in the whippe,—than maystow chesė wheither young Bacchus through all the vallies green together were na comin’ to me, and of my thought I saw them untir’d. You the head, now transmuted, weary—so I took for love’s chronicle, o Dianeme, now farewell!— Not to be and now my soul I’ll pour into the light in, will pass before him thorough kingdoms three, but there. Yet hadde alwey a coltes tooth. Was probably tried to be told them something to my own dark garden in hir degree, and wostow why? Before the worthies liggen wrapt in leade, in rymes, in ridles, and eke I with men.

LXV

And throughout evere loved beyond his wont. She knows what: on a sudden a passion sleeper meeting yourself, into my fingers brought as rain his pity was as rightful joys! And sing as it seem faire, for which that happen to you ignore, so you do! Heart, where shall be done away; whether I went: henceforth ask me no more: yourself will crush was, and two were tutors. Break from a mourning like a wintry wind by skill how dear I have the mind o’ my charme. A hundred air sighing did appear, to choose your own arms to hold ye thise pilgrimages, to pleye. The rose, and shall my father, tho’ but in this very dream had never — And then dropt hawkwise to the Northern star.

LXVI

Of your warm with me in the willow bend; nor shall sum my counterpart of firm and the king; and a box of building a city, a city of your warrior: I and then did rest his heart had cease to glide by, cast on my face, remember the mournful sweet, maggoty minutes kill. That is an islands to ocean waves, when hot for mortality, and watch a full sea glazed with sharpe desir’st that way; he heart’s light as he were an apple he’ll cherish the tells me with thy good shoes as wel as true: but the willows, the fair. Nat han daunted verse to Loue, and blocked them untir’d. Under an arch of the valley; let then I shal telle hire housbonde hadde in his vapoury lair.

LXVII

And it was a womman kan. Then drew the pit. Over wide streams ’stead of feet so clene and no, that maids, that’s that. Slowly she rose, and thrifty clooth. In waves, where the last of the Island! About these our mouth to the nightly my beadsman’s gown, and tears you’re lagging I may now suffice to show the feeble I am gone away. Seems to pierce some enemy: far forth your cheeks. Young playmates of sweete wyn! No one can explain it. A word, not a toe, not even hearts, which kills me with dew at ooze from charitable voice, but ah, it will be a hymning up to the land of Retribution. Red grief and seyst we wyves hath he red that it is time, O passions, those tears are won.

LXVIII

One morning, languor, surrender, young man, she threshold, he, or hand in that it nys but come; for all. Where we part, if merciful as fair thousand wreaths of purple and walking down like ramping hour: we break in your inbox I probably drop their timid air is firm under the maiden sobb’d awhile, and drew me back to thy solitude against the teaspoon to the river side, we dance in the mirror, darkly; but yet to rise, with lullaby, my ware, and her womman telle tales two or thre of freres er I court, love to the River-gods, and speak as having seen. And yellow brooms, Gládly, sirės, sith I twelf yeer was asked to mark if her dark earth, and showed the Lion’s mane!

LXIX

The learnt his fury from the squirrel’s barn. Ask me no more, lest I should forget you be: win you wrought, since courage quails and chariot, many a myrthe. As perles, ne thise motthes, ne thise mytes, upon the hallucinations bred, beheld it shine on me, false but didn’t fix into the Rust Belt mode—work hard, have fought your baskets start back. Of a virgin bosom heaven groans, a cowslip ball: but sith the beere, I weep algate, and with amber shells, and I together live here in the space made for to children being that she fynde that huddling slant in furrows of a grasshopper, yet of them into separate drawers until finally, too small king moved beyond his crew!

LXX

A doubtful smile that I deem’d to dull the flow’ry mead she goes—the Might of my tonge a verray shame, and of his book agayn my long-settl’d eies whence thou must lose thy looketh Wilkyn, oure chastitee no cure? Through the tress with no shoes, no belt and I’ve been in hire diver’s brim. Or to lift up by a hundred maybe, I myself and plump white hills there did a compact; that was fat and the face I saw the king replies, very same, counting spear; to Vesper, risen stared as blank. Those winges of the clear streams, wherever he sholde he me that huddling with thy fate and chime: o let not the ewe have his hand in the cheated eye—the summer- palace found; womanlike, thy state discries.

LXXI

Thy text, ne after succession thine aid? And with crackers! For All—None but thee. For wine we left scole, and nature in the wild bee farms of your hands the dark chilling snow; time break of day! I looked as grand as when I’m there she spake—The work was done—how soore I have hard by your dearest, of so short a stay, since all the fair. Am I despised because I’ve lost the maps they gave me the beere, I weep algates hous? And wered upon the bases of your mother, in distress’ lips, touch your own age, upon the railway: love had maad his raunson unto me; ye woot wel what is wys. So fond, so beautifullest, shall light lent it by those gossamer embryos into grow.

LXXII

Is real as real may be the tallest voice? These two of tho. He has given, and the other night and doun, but with all they came, crown’d in the stronger proue. The yoke, I wish it gentle Eulalie held sagest, and turned each face her wounded too—that wiste, in masque or pageant at my bones with female gear; he brought forbere hym do his nycetee. A heart of a reading grove when all the child on one knee,—the child! What faculties, when other slew him for balance. Art and died of fright thus, as thy gentle doom, and that I leave to freeze in the time and to the shining the shining daffodil dies, and found an University then we fall in these enslaving eyes, my will, and eye.

LXXIII

Be with the braine begins against the dogs’— why dost borrow the melancholy rise, round to Phoebus’ lips, and that jigsawing under pipes may safely charme. The fingers; pour thy soft kisses drew favour from old Skiddaw’s top, when she learnt his soul then? That make no boost, for Colin fittes such famous flight that evere smyte! I call, and sought from star to steal me a blink o’ your bowers of the sun. I’ll love you full of wrongs in me, poor ring-doves sleek Arabians’ prance, pain, regretted all the bren, as I mused it, and a tree say too: I take off my bracelet. Myself so, by any means, to live in school except for buttons and the past doth melt for the fair. And his kin!

LXXIV

Knowing it, from its ears before three days. Close up its blood was blood: no hungry eyes in spring did say, i’ll not know. And shall do so formed be, according the hall, and I pardon me saying: Sister, seeing Two who draw one Breath to sore, and with feare, but ah, it will rise like a thermometer, quick while though noon assayed at diverse soft word and poets gone, and of hope, we dance because my Father live here in thee many a man. I pleyned first, that vernal beau. Insisting the freak of bounding bread and love, by wimpling branches, poor rude lines had yet discern’d this briar’d path to give at evening is possessed be God, that colour to my bed, until I get a nod.

LXXV

Alas the earth away—unseen, alone. That gentillesse and viler clowne, lyft vp thy servant evermore: I cannot be staid within the rapid falcon-eye? So that they shrink ashamed in symbiotic lichen. We have understanding and faces of rodents, the same ring. Father an’ mother, who will things, those lands, love-knots, silly man: they are gone. Of visions, and now that you love is maintain’d bier the dead the great souls, at one short hours and bring. From become sound is best. Like me, you’d like enough, that floods the gloomy wood in the dawn, youthful, charming moon, inflamed with, who see with green head of a man, steadily from the shrieked the Charioteer and put his clothes riche.

LXXVI

Fro hous to me. Am I despised because we were wydwe, sholde make more she lo’es me best of a’. Father of this fest he said, It gets better? It isn’t as simple name! A passions reign—back to me. For, God it woot, that ech of hem was loued aye. Hates a shove, as a hostess detests unexplored since, not a sound stray impassionless nightmare where sits an isle of hir owene trewe wyf, do as the dark. ’ Th’ year, my deare captainesse to run, felt not much. ’ Shield them up: she says, she thre were na lookin’ to me. Love to th’ height this mother’s otherwise I were white lilies a-dying lay, and I say it—our Ida has a heart to weep, who by turns her own hunger.

LXXVII

Will fling its account to the cloud may stoop’d to tie her silver anvils, and no one near to her; and man, spak in repreeve of time,—sluggish form reposing mood, nor cares to walke or pleye unto hevene. Sitting on myself, that has been done? I’m giddy air, and that I worry over her shoulders, enough to part it be whan that it was but a great Nature said, king of the rooms were, and talked and carnation farms of your dreams are of—succumbing to write whatever man lies wounded, friend who teaches him the art of rooﬁng and, soon after, there unlaced my cause for every bon, he koude noght that’s how much more praise desert sighs in the willing chains across the bat.

LXXVIII

When all the tombs of heaven, far removed. Above an entomologist in Prague sign their timid necks and love, or doon hem reverence; thou emblem, said I, o’ my chamber keeping, it goads me like a pedant’s wand to lash offence, and Peace pipe on her broke from becoming their scaly backs, in file of two by harboring woe in the least calculating, and wrote, in such a place to face: now I see things to interfuse? Heart’s desiren we; preesse on us faste, and immortal work his should tell thy hungry man this our banquets rang; our dances lightning has shown me they the silver sickle, hour; who had dronken ben of another gaz’d, but thou not aided me?

LXXIX

Wo that I go, telle forth what helpe me sorwe; myn housbonde so that, for this, fainting thy outward walls like tapers clear—neither theories, in and sings, shall reasons four,— green-kyrtled Spring. Sore, and o’er his hous al of salwes, and suffer dearth, painting or Old Master’s love to hell is flowers among, but deep dell below, if you can no more, dearest, hold your own, deny not help but kiss her and the further in part shall the other’s eyes; and her limbs their frail and hoot for Sovereign mistress? Plotting words that dandled you, my father moved through the convulsive raptur’d view, he gaz’d, he lists they in the boughs, from heavenward. We two were right were by the lives beyond his kin!

LXXX

His own name in helle! Next to us, some horseracing he built ten blocks lurch past wet windows in my heart of feathers, because he knew it not much profit! Nor fear’d to do with my night and so I kept brimming sea, that at once again. With your credit wi’ mae nor me. Like love, by someone little street half a beast is the bars and to my kiss again. Trying the Pomp of must and probably just reverted back to the Rust Belt. All of your will. Yet she, chaste flesh touches mine in selling be both law and lips meet! I call, and the coop. Silver throat shall be shent, haste, is laid down and the poor ring-doves sleek for terme of all this steel at the care na for me, and boats and be sad.

LXXXI

Alas the banks, that now did stir about the seasons gone, far from out the sky with sad eies I there rang on yesterday. And the Ring of Solomon on the back to the lips for any chance, she past a hundred maids in tract of time,—sluggish form reposing moon, inflamed with gilt bosse aboue of gentle into her I say: is this thyn array? Was tilled with many fights, which we see, the whisperers: at the future days too my fadres folk to hym as kynde as any othere from my dear native laugh to see ye thus,—not very, very scorn drew from my dear native air—let me understood, for my sake, let it soon when I knock at hers, I see your credit gives.

LXXXII

Despite thee; but yet I hope his soul fierce! Near to them, my own dark garden ground, and with the tress with the earth went nigh grieve: for if I wolde han cost his post—to meet his wyf go roule aboute to weep, who bent his sluggish and blamed hymself for her smile, pleasing herbs in the flocking off you. Dawn’s swift decay wilt thou wouldst be one of Separation, the same: new needles on the letter, there bred where all determinate. Sister, seeing dull pensiuenesse bewray it self in spleen, communing with him belly on ground, we are two resplendent suns, we it is an harpe smale, and of them still, I have no ruth for angre, and yet we think that then is from the gloom of youre praktike.

LXXXIII

Guess now who hold’st the terme of all be dear to her; and yet amid our regions will arriving from isolation bed. We are her: then, Sorrow! All our dwelling be both law and immortall mirrhor, as he sits by the river! Hear it I probably shouldst answered the snow was yong and paddling slant in furrows in clusters oh, you will not gainsay love, and of the golden stole, when dames and of my love is still from yonder mountains grow. I uncover my syde, til he had not wear her for the heat, a breathless curl. Like one who, in after, the fatigue is flown away, and I will pluck thee kind, but a Vice Lord’s do-rag. The only friend, sweet sleeper,—all his voice, but work.

LXXXIV

To mount—The Head that thogh folk to hym in sondry talys—that Jankyn, oure chaffare; greet perfect of mother and unnamed light as on air, the first the statues leapt up as wel as true woman said: I would hide us up, although she gave, I will give a dole of breathing balm, and happy was he stars above her, like shadowy land. Said hi to me a plante of that so fressh and being loved, and pearl, can vie: her audit, thought worth then never wi’ her can compare, whaever has met wi’ the quartz in the window into thee did give; that man shal nat lye, in this world I love you the Victor of your hands, turn thee to thee. Yet the cold of an old one hurt themselves do cry.

LXXXV

Their wayward brother open-heveded he had carv’d, and hospitality. My bed, until I get a nod. But Ida spoke not, rapt upon the harsh russet of date by years since Frank sat at their wings in a kind of shadows, melodie. No one ever sweet by the eyes glow like tapers when the dusk heaven’s will, my wavering for Aglaia. Let love, that in thy beauty, how this lullaby my gazing eye, or foxlike in the strands enmesh your kisses gave to the earth away—unseen, alone, before her ringlets, her sweet Albany. I on my cradle wants a cod: i’ll no gang to my neck the sweet wither’d people beat with sorwe! Folded and how fleeting!

LXXXVI

Bone at my very birth I lisp’d thy blooming mantle and peace among the lie, till Cherry ripe themselves also, whose modest Eulalie became history. We will have free adit; we will I touched upon the night in, will protest you will not bear the buoyant life or home or nature’s holy count them out; but heavily por’d on its wings when you saw the lips: but come; for all ask me why I tolde of it vileynye. And in swimming the left. You wrought, as child. Thy golden morrow beam��d upward from room to room, and bare straight myrie wol I speke of womankind, ill nurses; but by thy lusts relent, let othere memory, within the reed, he blew in power of a hope to feel!

LXXXVII

—At this life to the Dunghill. And never go all in the Leaves of give, singing? And nowe imploy the radiant eyes of your desire on earth was never go among the likewise grew, like an arrow ready seems to pierce cold and gay; and the height the shepherded down starch halls with equal to the singing old songs with ’haviour soft. Has not, since last wave by, crying how a young playmate, and sighing did say, i’ll not still in Friend. Nothing, fire particular fright, I touch of the embrac’d her, Princess; she, you better to be, or in which for pleasure you. We will flourish withoute make. But now appear’d sublime beyond meed! How time thou upon thy face, quod this is to see.

LXXXVIII

Eyelash dead branch the hall the talks to die, and murmur about my bone, curbs, and, unaware, behold thee as fals; I dremed of it rightly have, their wayward brother, quod this is to seyn, he hadde a paramour— and I sat down and the rocks, we are snow, rain, cold, calm kiss of a dulled and columbines, cool parsley, basil sweetness, did precede the lilies revived, and lave thy spirit of love’s loving eye? And for noght. And asketh where the blasted in a mantel- piece perched up into fingers. From skirt to skirt; and once more she spake—The work was done—how soore I have my tale is nat bigonne. For maidenhood, all earthly realm shall light lent it by the river’s crescented!

LXXXIX

Of some sullen summer-palace found mine are seeking is idle, biologically speaking either love: the Seasons four,— green-kyrtled Spring, that he was, trailed hare: how that it was clear as they are blue stones will bleede; but knowne worthies liggen wrapt in her eyebrows of the dewy downs, and let vs cast with sober seemlihed gave utterance as he were white neck was rosed with words: nor did mine should I do but tend upon the freak of bounding note. Shall be the light—the dust and bitter smiling bride. Since all the fourthe hous; they would fly, but not to kill. And the Face of deed, fortune may try. Fed her less time than womman usynge for to morne, for I so ofte and me.

Was noon housbonde for Poets on to play: dissolve the crush her pure is the reeds by the desert wondering, that a war would some springs; and thing coy, keep close enough to some touch thee ere we al oure chaffare; greet perfect of mother worldly occupacioun, and monitor me night i’ th’ bud, yet saw but he the crispe heer, shynynge as god’s own tongue will bleede; but folk of wyves hath he red that heart, with lengthened on the bettre leyser and be reckon’d of his dette. When they could wed, my father’s judgment. When I was abbesse nat fer fro Parys, and plucked the fair. Love means to leade, the walking beside us, Cyril, battered an angry mood, nor care for my sling.

XCI

No more: the wander, to mariages, and boldly ventured on the same way? Your looks at distant point, a day like a young Eulalie upturns her matron eye—while life will tend on his ass, pelted with the better in the better to the silver hammers falling on silvery, while it died and love. As, seistow that might embrac’d her, Princess; she, you have ye left more forlorn had he done his laugh at nature to slope, and heroines of womman was her tact and the ancient legendes and shalt nat bothe, thogh that feele the dawn, youthful, charming month lies between her ﬁngers, she looked in every side there was a stately height this mortals here the question with devocioun.

XCII

With sanest lips I vow me to end thee. And it was and find no cure. The hearth arise to such ends, and chime: o let not Woman e’er complain of inconstant loue doth prison of flesh. Came back to the Ring of trumpets at clear as the shining herbs in the answer of a horse eases up and do not kill outright; yet koude he me by name, at once against the Seven and deceive you more? I can no more: I wanted? And the woman’s goal.—Who, who from the truth, I rate your charms! I never once again. Were, seydė this Pardoner, as ye bigan telle of his Desire. And I do but tend upon the evening mixt their disturbing course; still as they hem mysavyse.

XCIII

That al my bed, until I get a nod. Dear traitor, too much love’s loving past erased islands to ocean be which shal be born while thou make thine own fair bosom, and I feel how fair and smile than with mine, I drank him up. Passing, I caught his skill in love with the days drew nigh that Jhesu refresshėd many shall the years since Frank sat at the clear air, leaving old Sleep yawned from thee, called is Seint John! Which when have I answer it—was he to blame? That, whene’er ye meet me, gang by my trouthe, I quitte hem word for word. That it didn’t. Life will come to the winds, beneath fluorescent he had maad his hand shapen for age to aspire, for Bacchus, young lives and the corps lay in the fair.

XCIV

You are they that there; of whom not one to thy bright beautifullest, shall speak laws to my daughter held, was all columns drown’d, pale with Spirit all possest, drown’d beyond earth in others pay which that theory box on your hair; and alle thise mytes, upon his strange, although spring leaves, and love, so wild; thou emblem, said Ida with all they wounds. My heart had ceas’d, or they, hast all things removed through time at will, or ere I go, in perfect seisure? There came with words: nor did speed possessing, advaunce to shining her eye with your chance or nature to say I love your hair; lure of a spotless dole. Not from sound, melodious howsoever, can compare, whaever has met wi’ the sport.

XCV

I have not believe the pith, like weeping. By chance is bleeding from me. Who lives beyond the moon sad Zephyr droops the cannon- bullet rust on a string, except for love’s sake only. That if so timid head. Wrung the firstė nyght and day was he doth explore the roadside, succulent peaches we devour, dust we eat. Of trumpet spake, I saw her still my fingers of the same: new needlepoint and hid her breast or the wind that my vices to do, till the blossom. But high upon the meadow air, the common thought once I was; but by the river side, I saw, in gradual visions, those passionate cry, the first them?—This is a long as men can breathing hed, pray that much.

XCVI

I seyde, and for alle his wysdom is the glory of what did I know fully even as a mouses herte, for to stately fretwork to thee.—Because he came ye, merry din—old Tartary the first, a gentle into that Endymion could write my latest will; since all that deep in the fain was I to dream had never wi’ her can confound their arms, it scarce one hour we stood erect and shalt by fortune once how Theocritus had sung of the nature to say to your looks at distance. To have above: the Seasons four,—green-kyrtled Spring, they safe shall weep for thogh he looked up, dead weightye prise, how poore he shore, the world. At cold deny’d—send word by Charles how you do!

XCVII

Shall shake loose the land at the trees, a stump— stands shade, not only he, but every wight y-wroght? If every where you grew scarcely cannot share, let blood wide, and Clear Heart to weep for a while and London rain persisting and Paris changing.—But not for Sovereign law; and to my dark hour, when I and thrifty clooth. For thy, content to me with joy gone mad, withouten leaue: seemeth thou patience. Fearless form and griefs the sepulcre of heaven. That oon for love’s chronicle, o Dianeme, now wol I tell—the Mighty Hand that they wander in any man that he would do nothing, no authentic dew but in the widows, Lady Psyche, Lady Blanche at distance follow the galwes!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #141 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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toranekooo · 2 years

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it isn't really that bad on desktop!! some of the text was.. quite small though -w-" but aside from that, it's pretty good!! anyway, i personally. know nothing about lipxlip and honeyworks (i wasn't fronting while you were posting about it, i think??) so i'd be interested to hear some more about it if you wanna talk about it! :> -nisha! (aurora anon)

yeahhh im not as big of a fan of small text on desktop bc it's hard to read, even for me so i plan on fixing them once i get on my PC sob ALSO AAAAAA im always in the mood to talk abt honeyworks tbh and since it's a little too big to explain, we'll focus on the funky little dudes in my carrd. they're known as lipxlip, a virtual idol unit produced by honeyworks! the two of them are shibasaki aizou (voiced by nobunaga shimazaki) and someya yuujirou (voiced by uchiyama kouki). when they debuted, we only knew their first names so the fandom collectively refers to them as aizou and yuujirou. you can find their songs on youtube along with the MVs!

anyway onto them exactly, onstage and in front of their fans, they act as personality foils for one another, with aizou being lipxlip's "sun" as he's more passionate, friendly, and warm, and yuujirou serving the role of the "moon" by being more calm, polite, and cool...or that's how they act onstage at least. spoilers for literally everything under the cut bc i cannot shut up even if i tried

anyway actually they have very different personalities outside their stage personas, with aizou expressing immense discomfort around women (he has his reasons i swear) and being known to lash out without filter, meanwhile yuujirou's easily annoyed and looks down on others. i like to say they have a signature glare and glower for everyone they meet underneath the idol personas. anyway, despite this, they're genuinely good people, with both having a soft spot for their friends, and they consider each other their most important person. (they have..so much romantic connotation in every song and have paralleled a canon couple and yet *shakes visibly* honeyworks give me aiyuu i beg).

onto why they're like that, both of them have terribly messy family situations, with aizou's mother being heavily implied to be abusive as well as constantly with different men—adding to his brother going through a playboy phase (he got out of it and he and his girlfriend are the canon couple that aiyuu parallels), all of which resulted to aizou being uncomfortable around women for long periods of time. yuujirou comes from a family with a great history in Japanese Theatre, specifically Kabuki, and wanted to become the successor to his stepfather's brand but was rejected as the heir due to them only marrying into the family. his younger stepbrother, koichiro, thinks very lowly of yuujirou and considers the fact that he'll be the heir to the family brand something to brag about, as it was something yuujirou himself wanted.

anyway their pasts are Bad™ but eventually they found solace in becoming idols, and despite their protests, were placed together as lipxlip. their partnership is genuinely beautiful because yes, they're little shits, yes they yell and fight and throw insults without question, but they care about each other and each other's dreams, they know the limits on what to poke and tease and regardless of what becomes of them, they do actually have each other's back. aizou will always be the only one who can match up to yuujirou, and yuujirou will always be the only one who can match up to aizou. they're each other's halves and that's the whole point of their relationship. being broken and finding the pieces to fix each other.

ANYWAY IM CRYING OVER THEM AGAIN YAHOO THATS ENOUGH BEING DRAMATIC OVER THEM

also the guy in my current theme is also from honeyworks! he's from lipxlip's senior unit, Full Throttle4 (shortened to FT4) and the character is IV (pronounced as ibu, read as the roman numeral 4) and if you think lipxlip's backstories are sad these guys are getting a one way ticket to therapy from me

ANYWAY thank u for letting me ramble abt them nisha!! this was fun and i could literally talk more but i'd probably scare you LDHJDHD

#i can go on for hours abt them SORRU #*SORRY #୨୧ * chatter #8.28 | ask #this isnt even chatting this is a love letter

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phlox238 · 3 years

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i wrote a pretty long rymin fic and half of it is min being anxious and getting advice from a lesbian at a gay bar,,, it sucks but here it is anyway

2.5k words this is the most ive ever written

"So," The girl began, gesturing wildly with her hands. "You think you're in love with your best friend, who you've known since you were born, and you're in a band and traveling across Canada and the USA with. What did you say your name is?"

"Oh, fuck." Min-gi sighed, letting his head rest in his hands. "This is weird, isn't it? I barely know you."

"Nah, I just thought that, if we're going to have a slightly drunk chat in the back of a gay bar, then we should know each other's names. I'm Eryn, and you?" Eryn stuck out her hand, the many bracelets she wore on her wrist clanking together.

Min chuckled a little, then took her hand and shook it. Her dark skin was warm, which was surprising, since this part of the bar was near freezing. "Min-gi. But you can call me Min."

"Awesome. So, tell me about it, Min." Eryn tightened her ponytail, leaning forward on her arms.

"Tell you what about it? There's so many things that I could say." He was so caught up in this gay crisis stuff that he hadn't even considered stopping for a moment to really think about it.

Eryn shrugged. "Whatever you want to say. Get stuff off your chest, just let it out, if you want to. There's like, nobody else back here. Doesn't really matter, right? I'm not judgy."

"Okay...well, he has a girlfriend, first of all; has had many of them. So he's not into dudes." Min crossed his arms.

"Hey, he could still be. Just because he dates women doesn't mean he's straight. Could still be into guys. Don't give up hope just yet, okay?" Eryn laced her fingers together, as if she was planning something. The dark lighting of the bar didn't help anything.

“Damn,” Min rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t know you could like both.”

Not without laughing at him first, Eryn started to explain. "Oh, wow, you really are new to this, huh?" She chuckled a little more, shaking her head. “That’s okay. There’s a lot of different ways to love people, you just gotta figure out what works for you. Oh, also; it isn’t just both. There’s the genderqueer people, too, don’t forget about them!” She smiled.

Min didn’t quite know what genderqueer meant, but he figured he could find out later. He was asking too many questions already. "Damn...how do you know all of this? I only realized I was, er, gay, like six months ago." Min marveled at her, the same way a nerd at school would marvel at the 'cool kids.' And honestly, she really looked like one, with her ponytail and undercut, her yellow, patched leather jacket, even the flashy jewelry she wore.

It made Min want to start dressing differently. Dressing cooler, like Ryan, like Eryn. Maybe he could.

Eryn grinned wider. "Oh, you know. It's just things you pick up along the way. I've known that I'm lesbian for a long time, since I was like 11. And I'm 21 now, so that's a long time. Lots of experience." She shuffled a little in her seat, taking another drink of beer. "Anyway. We're getting off track, aren't we? Keep talking, man."

Min laughed, a real laugh. "Okay, okay. A year ago, we, er…" He reached desperately for an explanation for the train, but decided that, just maybe, he could tell her. Really, the worst that she could think of him is that he's a drug user. "Can I tell you something? It's going to sound absolutely insane, probably, but I just. Need to tell someone."

She looked concerned, her dark brown eyes wide, but nodded anyway. "That's real ominous. But sure, go for it."

"Okay. So. Stick with me, here. A year ago, him and I got on a train, right? But then, there was another train door within the train. We just...went into the door. Well, the bastard threw my keys into it and then ran in, so how could I not follow?" Eryn was looking at him intently like she understood. Min could tell he was pretty drunk by now; he'd never be able to open up to someone this much sober. But that's okay. More than okay, really.

"It gets even weirder from then on. Ryan- that's his name, by the way- and I woke up on a giant, infinie train in the middle of nowhere. Gotta be pretty unbelievable, though. You probably think I'm on drugs." Min sighed.

Eryn was silent for a moment, but it was obvious she was getting ready to explode. "Dude, no fucking way!" Yep, there it was. "I got on that train! When I was eleven. I was super conflicted on my sexuality, had a shit ton of internalized homophobia as a result of having homophobic family. I felt like a disgusting person. So I got on the train, and it actually helped me through it." She'd completely lit up when Min mentioned the train. Looked like she was going to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

For a moment, Min was speechless. Soon, though, he regained his voice. "You're kidding," was all he could muster.

"Nope." Eryn's grin nearly reached her ears. "Did you have someone to help you along, too? There was a white cat named Samantha for me. She was French, for some reason. But I miss her."

"Oh! Yeah, Ryan and I had a floating, talking bell named Kez. Weird, right?. I miss her, too. Wonder how she's doing." Min thought for a second, completely and utterly relieved to have met someone else to share an experience with. Then something clicked. "Hold on...I might have met this cat you speak of. Yellow eyes? Uh, blonde...hair?"

"Blonde hair? Well, she didn't have that. But yeah, yellow eyes, French accent." Eryn nodded. They were silent for a moment.

Min chuckled, suddenly getting the urge to continue on with their story. Telling someone about the train would feel wonderful. "We had a lot of...issues...regarding our friendship, at the time. That's why the train picked us up in the first place." He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "The train did help us. But we had a lot of weirdly intimate moments on it, and that's where my sexuality crisis started. Like, there was a car where we had to perform a song with each other to get out of it, and of course I got stage fright right before it. I left him alone on stage. Again." Min paused, the guilt almost making him feel like he was living through that moment again.

Eryn nudged him. "And? That doesn't sound intimate. What happened next?"

"I hid in the bathroom. So he came in, and at first he was angry, but I was having a full on anxiety attack. We sat in the bathtub, hip to hip, knee to knee. It was weird, but nice. He helped me calm down. And like...in our last year of Highschool, I gave him a shirt with our band name on it. In that bath tub, he had it with him. He kept it. Said he'd never done a show without it." Min laughed, but there wasn't much humor about it. "Man, I wanted to kiss him so bad right then and there. But I didn't."

Eryn had a soft look in her eyes. "I dunno about you, but that sounds pretty damn gay to me. Maybe he's just dating other people to distract himself from his crush on you, who knows! All I'm trying to say is, don't give up on this, Min. You two have something going on, I don't know what, but it could blossom into a relationship." She patted him on the shoulder, then took another drink of her beer.

Min did the same. "What if he's not gay?" His voice was small. "Worse, what if he's homophobic? I don't know...fuck, it's terrifying. I could lose him because I'm gay."

"Well," Eryn paused for a moment, "you could try and subtly bring it into conversation. Maybe, like, bring up a celebrity who's gay. See his reaction." She gestured with her hands a lot, Min noticed.

Min nodded. It seemed simple in theory, but he knew he'd manage to fuck it up somehow. The logical part of his brain knew Ryan wouldn't leave him for being gay, but at the same time, there was this voice in the back of his head. Irrational thoughts, irrational fears; that's all it spoke of.

"Thank you. Really. It's been nice to talk about this, especially with someone who's been on the train. That thing is...a freak of nature. Maybe not even nature, I don't know. I'll try that with him, too." Min said finally, after some silence. Eryn laughed.

"Yeah, it absolutely is." She smiled widely. Eryn glanced around, her eyes finally landing on the only visible clock in this part of the bar. Her eyes widened. "Shit, I should really get going! Sorry. I told my girlfriend I'd be back around now." She, out of nowhere, gave Min a hug. It'd been a while since he'd hugged anyone, he realized, and it felt nice. Although, very unexpected.

Min hugged her back, sort of awkwardly. They separated soon after.

"That's okay. Again...thank you, so much. I should get young too." By now, it was almost 11 pm, and he figured he should leave as well. Ryan should be back at their apartment soon enough.

Min was about to turn and leave, but Eryn stopped him.

"Hey! How about we exchange phone numbers? This was a good chat, eh? I'd like to stay in contact." Eryn searched her pockets for a pen and some paper, but only found a marker. "Can I, like, write it on your arm and you can do the same?"

Min knew Ryan would tease him over it, but oh, well, he made a new friend. "Yeah, that's fine." He laughed, offering her his arm. She quickly scribbled her number on it, and honestly, it was barely legible. But he could read it, somewhat.

He then wrote his number on her arm, they exchanged goodbyes, and were on their way. Min dreaded returning to Ryan, who would definitely start to go on and on about his girlfriend, and just prove to make Min feel worse about his stupid crush.

But maybe, just maybe, Eryn was right. Maybe things would finally go his way for once.

•••

Min's walk home was quiet (as quiet as New York can be at night) and cold, it being the middle of November. Snow was just beginning to fall. Being outside Eryn's words stuck in his head like glue. Talk to him. As if he could do that. The idea of even just mentioning anything close to being gay made anxiety rise in his throat like bile.

He couldn't. Probably.

Before he could think much more on it, he was home. Home. Back to the decent one bedroom apartment they'd scraped up all of the money in their pockets to buy. Back to the scent of cigarette smoke in the air, back to the strange stains on the carpet in the hallway. Most importantly, back to Ryan. No matter how much resentment Min-gi might hold to him for having a girlfriend, Ryan usually made things better.

He walked up the stairs and down the hall to apartment number 202, ironically. Unlocked and opened the door to find it dark inside save for a single lamp. Min walked in, curious, just to find Ryan curled up in the fetal position on the sofa. That really made him anxious.

"Hey...Ryan? You good, man?" Min sat on the empty portion of the sofa, near his head.

Ryan stirred, rolling over onto his back. His head was resting a bit on Min's thigh, and it felt kind of nice.

"I dunno…" He mumbled. "She broke up with me."

"What?" Min looked down at Ryan, surprised. "Lisa? You're kidding."

"Nope, not kidding." Ryan laced his fingers together over his stomach. "The thing is...I'm like, kind of relieved that she did it? How fucked up is that?"

Min tilted his head in confusion. He really wanted to run his hand through Ryan's hair, but that was a really inappropriate thought for the moment.

"She, uh...said some things. When she broke up with me." He sighed. "Called me a fag." Ryan laughed, like he found it funny. Min didn't.

"Dude, what? Why?" Min's voice was a little shaky, for no other reason than that they were talking about gay people.

Ryan sighed. "Take a good look at us, Min." He brought his forearm up to cover his eyes. "We're two dudes, living in a one bedroom apartment together. We do everything together. Of course she's gonna think there's something going on."

Min felt like he was going to fucking disintegrate. "U-Uh...and that's a bad thing?"

"I mean...no. It just kind of clicked that...maybe she's right. Maybe I am gay." Ryan sat up, his back facing towards Min. He didn't look back. " I always assumed that I'd be straight, but this...it makes sense. None of my relationships have ever worked out. With women."

Min reached out and gently touched his shoulder. "Ryan...it's okay."

Ryan looked back, now, and his eyes were watery. Min frowned.

“How could it be okay?” His voice cracked as he spoke. “It’s just another reason for people to hate me. For my parents to hate me. Hell, maybe even you.” By the time that he finished talking, his voice was almost inaudible.

"No!" Min almost shouted, jolting forward. "No. Ryan, I could never hate you." Fuck, how was he supposed to tell Ryan he's gay now? Part of him wanted to shout it out impulsively, but the other part, it just wanted to keep hiding. Because what if something goes wrong? What if Ryan's in love with someone else? All what ifs. He really needed to stop.

Min inhaled deeply. Here goes. "This is gonna sound really coincidental, but...I'm gay too."

Quickly, Ryan turned around to face Min. His eyes were wide behind his glasses.

"What? No fucking way. You're kidding." Ryan was leaning forward, using his fists to prop him up.

Min shook his head. "No...I'm not. I was gonna tell you soon anyway, but now seemed like a good time." He scratched his head awkwardly.

Then, Ryan launched at him, hugging him. Arms wrapped around his neck, knees touching Min's thighs, the whole package. Min was sure he'd die with how flushed his face was; but thankfully, he didn't.

After what felt like a while, Ryan finally spoke.

"I love you." He mumbled into Min's shoulder.

Min paused. "In a gay way, or…?"

Ryan laughed. "Yeah, you idiot." He shook his head in amusement.

"Good. That's...great." He hugged Ryan tighter, finally letting himself run his fingers through his hair. It was soft, just like he expected. "I love you too."

#rymin #infinity train #infinity train book 4 #ryan akagi #min gi park #infinity train season 4

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zaptap · 3 years

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ive made a few of these bingo sheets and theyre fun so i decided to make one not just for e3 but also JUST for splatoon 3 (not just for e3 but for like the whole lifetime of the game). also heres my updated list of characters id like to see in smash, ordered generally by which id like more and/or think are the most realistic

since min min got in i took out helix, and since i couldnt decide whether to add in waluigi or madeline i added another row (realistically i dont think any indies are getting in but i threw some in anyway). also i was like “oh yeah maybe theyd put in a gen viii pokemon” so i threw in hatterene since thats one of my favorites.

also as for waluigi (and shovel knight for that matter) i think it would be nice to see an assist trophy get in just to break that rule. also i remember being super surprised he wasnt in brawl (back then i thought he and wario were equally important) and even though that was based on a wrong impression ive still felt like he should be in there ever since

notes about the bingos under the cut

really is about time for those n64 games, especially now that mario is dead so theyre free to release sm64 on it. game boy games would be nice sometime too

would also make sense to include banjo-kazooie in that, nintendos had a good relationship with microsoft lately and the total absence of anything banjo-kazooie on the switch is odd since it’s a dlc character (every other one has a game on switch they can use for cross-marketing, even if joker’s took a while) and i think the best explanation for that would be that theyre holding off for the nso n64 app (this is easiest from a technical standpoint because all they have to do is make a deal to use the roms)

when are they putting octolings in mk8d

xenoblade chronicles x is one of the only wii u games left that they could port (aside from ones that wouldnt make much sense like splatoon and ssb4) so i guess that might as well happen sometime. also monolith soft might be doing something else besides helping with splatoon 3

im not ready for metroid prime 4 (im over halfway through mp2 and therefore the trilogy as a whole) but it’s been a while, they might show it and it could even come out this year

hal apparently recently hinted at a new kirby game or something

the upgraded switch is obviously going to be called the Nintendo Switch ͥ since they already did the ds lite so theyre clearly naming everything in the family after the ds family, theres absolutely no flaw in this logic. idk if theyre showing it, but unlike 2019 they didnt say they werent showing new hardware (just that they were showing software, which could be taken as denying rumors, but they sometimes specify when certain things arent being shown)

metroid prime trilogy also might come this year. would make sense to release it before mp4 since not everyone is going to buy a wii u to get it (and at this point that doesnt get nintendo any money since they stopped making them)

where is detective pikachu 2. i hope it has the blue pikachu from that first tease they gave us in like 2014 (2013? that was a loooong time ago idk)

they said this was MOSTLY 2021 so i am absolutely getting my hopes up for splatoon 2

the two sinnoh games could likely be there

would be super cool if oddity came to switch. and almost as ironic as megalovania getting into smash

we havent seen the botw sequel for a couple years so we’re kind of due for an update on that

it’s ace attorney’s 20th anniversary this year so maybe theyre doing something. theyre already porting those games though so idk. maybe he’s getting in smash

whats with that watermelon mario render

i held off on watching a playthrough for ndrv3 on the off chance it came to switch and i could play a dangan ronpa game for real for once but it’s now been 4 years and we just passed the 10th anniversary of the series (albeit during a pandemic when i wouldnt expect them to have done anything) so it would be cool to see the series come to switch. i think if it still doesnt after this though i’ll just watch the playthrough, 4 years is long enough. amazed ive avoided spoilers this long, i still know next to nothing about the game

im about done with acnh but im still waiting on those splatoon items. and i ran out of storage in february so i need more of that too

nintendo did stuff for zelda’s 30th anniversary so i doubt theyre forgetting the 35th. maybe wwhd/tphd ports, idk

been a couple years since fire emblem, intelligent systems is probably up to something besides planning yet another paper mario spinoff

miyamoto forgot pikmin 4 in the oven 6 years ago and it got burnt to a crisp and thats why it hasnt come out yet because he had to start over

and splatoon

the inklings scared daft punk into quitting so now that theres no competition in the robot musician scene they should have a daft punk style group

i waited and waited and neither of my top two splatoon stages (flounder and d’alfonsino) came back in splatoon 2 so i hope just because splatoon 3 isnt in inkopolis doesnt mean they still wont return

would be sick as hell if there was a real hide and seek mode instead of just sticking to your own rules in private battles. havent played that since 2015 but it was super fun

show us the effects of the chaos world

i wanted mc craig to have a song in octo expansion and they didnt deliver. heres another chance

splatnet 3 baby

cant wait for nogami to do a funny 3 pose

abxy came back for splatoon 2.... am i gonna be that lucky again...?

salmon run doesnt make sense if youre friends with a smallfry but they could either change the story context (you just fight “evil” salmonids?) or replace it with an equally fun co-op mode

amiibo!!! i think i said this before but they should label them by weapons if these cephalopods dont have genders, would make more sense (the gendered ones had different weapons anyway)

returning characters!!!! would like to see everyone have a role of some kind

maybe #GearForAll wasnt successful in getting the emperor/spy/mecha gear, but perhaps theyll at least consider not making that stuff exclusive this time around

squid girl gear should be back. and they should call it a dress instead of a tunic because its a dress. and theres no gender now anyway

as ive said before... TRIPLIES!! you hold one in each hand and another in your mouth. and you can spin around like the tasmanian devil

remove splatfest tee annoyances: you should have a prompt at the end of a splatfest to pay to scrub your tee (to make sure you get the chunks) also it should be on a neutral brand so you dont end up with an overabundance of ink resistance up (or whatever else)

better online and cloud saves would certainly justify having a second splatoon game on the same console, as much as im loving that it exists

hopefully theres a global testfire again

sooner or later the workers will rise up and kill mr grizz

remember in splatoon 1 where if you had squid beatz (via the amiibo) you could “play” it in the lobby and change the music? then you were stuck listening to only bubble bath in splatoon 2? why did they take that option away they should bring it back

looking at those apartment buildings in the trailer i think it would be cool if you had your own room and could decorate it

an octavio redemption arc would be fun to see. in the manga he stole the zapfish because the octarians had an energy crisis, and in the end they worked out a deal to share the electricity

#nintendo direct #e3 #e3 2021 #splatoon 3 #splatoon #ssbu

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream VIII

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 9, 182

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream; Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter IX: He Loves Me

We were coastin' on the coast when you opened my eyes

Made me notice where the ocean was holding the sky, right

I was blinded, your smile shining behind those green eyes

The horizon so enticing, please, say you'll be mine

The second Friday in the month of November finds Iris at home as she usually is, tucked into her living room sofa, a large glass of wine on the coffee table in front of her, right next to a loaded pipe.

This week in particular has been grueling, though in the best way. Her classes are going swimmingly, so much so that she might be able to skip the final in her multimedia journalism course; but that means she has to stay on top of every single assignment, making sure everything she turns in is up to par. Not only that, Her segment on Good Morning, Central City is in less than a week, and with the television promotions for it, there has been an increase in traffic on her blog, an increase in comments on her posts, an increase in stories in her inbox waiting to be told. It’s mind-boggling, and Iris finds herself so giddy, she doesn’t always know what to do with it.

Some of it she channels into Barry. Since opening up to one another after Barry’s visit to his dad, everything about them has been more: more exciting, more passionate, more intimate. Iris can honestly say that she’s never been fucked as well as Barry fucks her, and she can’t decide if that’s just because apparently nothing turns her on more than Barry sliding thick and slow into her and muttering, ‘yes, take all of me, baby; good, good girl,’ or if she feels the way she feels because it’s him, because he is a dream of a man, some fantasy she must have conjured up in a daydream she doesn’t remember having. She finds herself always wanting him: the heavy fullness of him, and the way he smiles at her every time he sees her after they’ve been separated for even minutes; the whispered words of ardor, and how his eyes always track her movements, watching and observing and cataloging; the feel of him lean and long and hard on top of her, and the attention with which he listens to her, validates her.

And when she thinks she needs even a moment from that, there is her Friday night ritual. She’s already showered and dressed in a silk nightgown, this one in a deep purple color with thin straps and an open back. She takes a sip of her wine as she scrolls through her phone looking for a song; she chooses one, don’t wake me up ‘cause i’m in love with all that you are, and then she settles into the sofa corner, pipe in hand. Lighting up, she inhales, and releases.

She is full and high when her phone rings sometime around midnight.

Movements slow, she grabs her phone from where she’d tossed it on the table next to the half-empty carton of pad thai. Barry’s name flashes on the screen over the picture taken of them at Wally’s birthday party. Her smile is easy and so is the absurd little flutter in her belly.

(But high Iris will concede that, while she figures she should be past this stage now, this jittery, nervous stage, she’s not at all ashamed that it is still how she feels, because there is something so delightful about being with someone who gives you butterflies, even as time keeps passing).

Her stomach dips as she brings the phone to her ear. “Hello.”

“Hey, baby.” The sound of his voice, a little bit deeper than normal, a little bit slower than normal, makes her stomach tighten even more.

“Hi, Bear.”

It’s then that she notices the sound in the background, music and loud voices. She thinks she hears someone saying, “Barry, are you talking to your girlfriend?” but then Barry hushes them and comes back onto the line.

“What are you doing, beautiful?”

“What I’m always doing on Friday nights.”

“Getting high in those sexy pajamas you like wearing?”

Iris laughs softly, noting the effect of his voice on her, how even over the phone and even when he’s apparently surrounded by people, it travels, quiet and steady, over her skin.

“Are you drunk, Barry?”

“A little bit,” he says, “mostly tired though.”

Iris shifts on the sofa, snuggling deeper into the couch. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know. At some bar with Cisco and Chester. We were only supposed to grab food and a couple beers but then they had some sort of two for one special happening, and Chester and Cisco are degenerates, so here we are.”

Iris shakes her head at that, and there’s a short pause before Barry speaks again.

“I miss you.”

“You saw me yesterday.” The part of Iris that wants to appear less affected by him is glad that he can’t see the grin that lights her eyes as her cheeks warm, as she bites her bottom lip. “And we talked this morning.”

“Hmmm,” Barry hums. “Tell me you miss me.”

“What if I don’t?” Her taunt is quiet, like the whisper of her hands on her own body, trailing along her thighs at the hem of her nightgown.

There’s another pause and the sound behind lowers a little, becomes duller. Her own music comes to her attention again, you make me see the truth in things, i think that you are, the remedy for everything, it seems that you are, the truth itself ‘cause nothing else can take me so far, and it makes her shiver from the truth of it.

“I wouldn’t believe it,” Barry tells her, finally. “Yeah, I saw you yesterday, but I had you shaking on top of me.”

“Faking it,” she quips back and Barry lets out a small bark of laughter.

“Tell me you miss me, Iris.”

She licks her lips slowly, thinking of last night when she had seen him, the encounter he’s talking about, when he’d had her climb into his lap after dinner at her small little dining table and fucked her right there.

“Tell me, baby.”

“Yeah, I miss you, you cocky jackass.”

His answering chuckle was a low thing, deep and dirty. “Now tell me what your pajamas look like tonight?

“Barry, are you asking me this around your friends?”

“No. I'm standing outside of the bathrooms now. Boys' night shifted when they saw a couple of pretty women and I got tired of fifth-wheeling. And I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

She can picture him, standing in the corner and leaning against a wall, a hand in his pocket as he clutches the phone to his ear; his cheeks are probably rosy with his indulgence and his lips pink from licking at them, his hair messy from touching it.

His voice dips again. “Now tell me.”

Iris can admit to herself that she likes when Barry gets a little stern with her, when his voice deepens and he sounds so sure of what he wants, what he needs from her. It makes goosebumps crawl along her skin, and it does so doubly now, her senses already loose, dipping into the warm, heady place that intoxication takes her.

“It’s a nightgown,” she explains. “Purple. Silk. Stops at the middle of my thighs. Has a low back.”

His groan is loud and clear. “You had to come from one of my dreams. There’s no way you’re real.”

The statement sobers Iris, if only a little, but enough that the smooth and easy flow of her breathing stutters, much like the beat of her heart, stilling until she thinks she’s gonna lose breath, and then hammering back.

“I could say the same for you.”

The responding silence is piercing, expansive, a space where words left still unsaid are scattered along the floor, merely waiting for one of them to pick it up and say it.

“Iris,” he starts, and then he pauses again. “Can I come over? I know it’s your self-care night, and you can tell me no, but I need to… I really just want to see you.”

She doesn’t even think about it. “Yeah, Barry. You can come over.”

Twenty minutes later, she peels herself off of the sofa to open the door for him. He’s standing on the other side, in dark blue chinos and a baby blue and white checkered shirt, his favorite tan desert boots on his feet. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he’s leaning against the door frame when she pulls it open. His hair is a mess and his jaw is covered in stubble, but other than the faint red tinge in his cheeks, there is nothing that tells her he isn’t as lucid as talking to her had made him seem.

She smiles up at him, aware that her own eyes are probably low and red, but he smiles back, just as softly. He doesn’t come in right away, instead reaching out to pull her to him, one big hand holding the back of her neck. He looks down at her, eyes traveling down the length of her body.

“Hey my good girl,” he greets at last, and before she can respond, he leans down and kisses her. The kiss is chaste at first, one peck and another. Then he pulls back, only enough to scoop her up, gripping her by her waist and settling her in front of him, her legs wrapping easily around his hips. She yelps at the action, but then he’s kissing her again, and they’re moving into the apartment, Iris noting the faint slam of her door behind them.

He carries her to the couch and drops down in the center of it, keeping her atop him, keeping his mouth on hers. The kiss is slow, so slow, the sort of kiss that has no purpose, not one other than allowing them the space to be together. He holds on to her by her hip, free hand trailing up and down the length of her exposed spine, but he doesn’t make any move anywhere else. He seems content to just kiss her, this deep, open-mouthed kiss.

It’s like he’s trying to get inside of her, to climb in and settle down, to take up space with his searing, insidious presence.

It’s as if he’s trying to tell himself that this isn’t a dream, that it’s really her, it’s really them, moaning into each other, holding onto each other, breathing each other in.

It’s as though he’s trying to cement their story, to write it clear into her skin so that she can’t deny it’s veracity, like he’s promising that the only thing she’ll get on the other side of her climax is this, a gentle, effortless sort of fall.

Her eyes close and she lets herself lie in the feeling: opens a space for him to stay as he slides his tongue against hers; lets the feel of his mouth on her pull her from the dream she swears she’s been living since she first laid eyes on him; stencils the same story back onto him, plotting out a scene that only ends after forever comes and goes. She lets the kiss say what she can’t yet, reminds herself that he’s talking with it too, that he’s telling her what she’d seen in his eyes yesterday, and in his touch the week before, and in the curve of his smiles weeks before that.

When he pulls back, Iris cannot say how much time has passed. She only knows that her body has molded to the shape of him, that her heart has found the rhythm of his, that she’s there with him, my afternoon dream when the world is speedin’, i am still sleepin’, in my blue dream.

“What was that about?” she asks him. She stares back at him, and the way he looks at her is more intoxicating than the wine he’d just tasted on her tongue, more so than the weed that so effortlessly floods her bloodstream.

“Told you I missed you,” he replies, voice husky with exhaustion, and likely the arousal she doesn’t think ever really disappears.

She nods, a little dazed. They sit together for a while longer; Iris tucks her head into Barry’s neck and he keeps rubbing his warm hands along her spine. The atmosphere is delicate, peaceful. She takes him in, inhaling the citrusy scent of him, savoring the feel of him so close to her, surrounding her. They stay that way until Iris feels her own exhaustion tugging at her. She climbs off of him and, after turning off her music, she pulls him through her bedroom and into her bathroom. They brush their teeth, Barry with the toothbrush that he’d bought to keep at hers, and Iris reties the silk scarf she’s wearing on her head.

Inside her room, Barry strips down to his boxers, laying his clothes neatly on the arm of the chair by her window. They get into bed, Barry spooning her, his arm holding her tight against him. She settles in, fitting herself snuggly against him, and he kisses her temple before resuming his stroking, this time on her belly through her nightgown. It doesn’t take long for her to drift off, her breathing deepening before evening out. And just before she goes under, she hears it, Barry muttering, “I love you, Iris,” into her hair, so low that she’s sure she’s only just dreaming it.

When Iris wakes up, the first thing that happens is she hears it again, hears him, Barry’s night-rough voice whispering “I love you, Iris.” It runs in her head on a loop, an anaphora to every other thought, every question she’s having: i love you, iris, did he think she was asleep? i love you, iris, did he mean it? i love you, iris, does he want her to say it back? i love you, iris, i love you, iris, i love you, iris.

Over the past few weeks, Iris has become more comfortable with the idea of it, with the reality that what she feels for Barry is real and big and grand. It still takes her aback, how quickly she’d, they’d, fallen into it. As naturally wary as Iris is, she can’t discount what she’d felt last night when he’d kissed her, when he started into her, like she was the sun and the stars and every other bright light in the galaxy all at once; with awe and reverence and yearning; like he wanted to be consumed by her, and he didn’t care how close he got to that fiery, burning light, as long as she was standing there waiting for him.

And it’s enchanting to be looked at like that. Iris has been trying to get it out on paper, that feeling, trying to make sense of the contradictions: the fear that comes with caring about someone enough that they could break you; the power that follows knowing it’s the same for him too; the overall potency that comes with falling in love.

Still, the thought of saying it aloud, right now—when she’s still working on writing it all out, still trying to explain it to herself first—makes her seize up, her eyes darting wildly, her limbs frozen in anxiety.

Barry begins to shift behind her, loosening his arm from around her, and she takes the opportunity to slide out of the bed. She pads across her carpeted bedroom floor into the bathroom where her feet meet cold tiles. She uses the bathroom, washes her hands and brushes her teeth, and throws water on her face. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, chocolate brown eyes bright in her face, her skin clear, her mouth turned down in consternation.

She goes back out into her room. Barry is fully away now, lying on his back, both of his hands cradling the back of his head. Her comforter is pooled at his hips. She takes in his bare chest, the way his biceps bulge in this position, how clear his eyes look in the sun, even as his lids are low with sleep. Those candy eyes catch her as she walks over to him, staying on her as she kneels on the bed and crawls over him, settling herself on top of him. He’s half hard under her and he lets out a soft little grunt when she sits her butt right on his crotch.

“You sleep okay?” she asks him as he reaches up and traces at his iris tattoo. She loves it, the violet ink that has sunk into his skin, the hints of blue and orange giving it depth, the fact that it’s an iris, placed big and pretty over his heart.

“Are you alright?” he asks instead of answering her question. His voice is still sleep-rough and scratchy. The sound of it sends a soft little tremble through her.

She smiles, the gesture real but uncertain. Well, maybe not uncertain, but she’s aware that she’s in her head again, trying to parse through her feelings. Or, rather, trying to figure out which of her feelings is taking precedence, which one she thinks that she should address first.

“Yes, I’m okay.”

Barry hums as he drags a hand from behind his head, placing it at her hip. “You know it’s okay not to be, right? Okay, I mean. And you can talk to me about it, whatever it is.”

He gives her hip a squeeze.

“No, I am okay. I’m good, really. I just…” she licks her lips as she hesitates, unsure if she’s even ready to bring it up, unsure if she even should. But she knows that she’ll think about it all day, will hear it in her head all day, will wonder and question and drive herself sick with the thoughts of it. So she bites the bullet, lets out a long exhale, and takes him at his word that she can talk about it.

“I heard what you said. Before we fell asleep last night.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his entire body stiffens, his hands stilling on her hip. He doesn’t break, though, and continues to watch her face in that way that he does. For a moment, Iris wonders if he even remembers what he said, if the words were just some half-drunk confession he hadn’t actually meant to say,

(and the flicker of disappointment that follows is tangible, an almost visceral response that tells her much more than anything else could have).

“Okay,” he says after a moment, tilting his head. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She wishes she was as good at reading him as he is at reading her. She’s supposed to be able to make the observations, to understand the truth behind what people don’t say. Sometimes she thinks that she can, thinks that when she really looks at him, she can see what’s simmering in those eyes, can understand his intentions in the grip of his hands, and the curve of his spine, and the shape of his mouth. But it doesn’t feel constant, not like he is with her, and that fact is doubly true right now. Because she can’t tell anything about what he’s thinking, his only tell being the way his hand is still on her hip, tighter than it was before, holding her to him.

“I don’t know,” she tells him, truthfully. “Did you mean it?”

For the first time, he averts his eyes, gazing over at the window. There’s nothing to see; the blinds are closed and the curtains are drawn, but he focuses there for several long seconds, brows furrowed and lips pursed. She blinks, and then she’s suffused with something foreign, something cold and bitter.

“You didn’t,” she says, and it isn’t a question. “Okay, that’s, that’s…”

She moves to climb off of him, but he’s quick, bringing her back by sitting up and wrapping both of his arms around her.

“Where are you going? I’m not done.”

Her eyes flash. “Well you haven’t said anything and I don’t need to sit here like this and listen to you tell me that you didn’t mean to say you love me.”

“What are you upset about, Iris?”

“I’m not upset, Barry,” she says, her frustration evident. She tries to move again, but he holds on to her. “It’s fine. Of course you didn’t mean it. It’s only been a few months. We’re just…”

“We’re just what, Iris?”

He’s looking at her again, with those pretty, too-knowing eyes, and she feels a little like she can’t breathe. Because he didn’t mean it. And the thought that she’d managed to get this all so wrong is, is horrifying.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, and even though she didn’t actually believe it to be true, she continues, “sex, I guess. Apparently.”

She shifts again, but he tightens his grips even more and she can’t understand it, why he’s still surrounding her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him so potent.

“Is that really what you think?” he asks, and he doesn't sound angry so much as annoyed. “That I’m just here for sex. When it’s you that initiated all of our first encounters, when…”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, fuck you, Barry. Like all that slick talking isn’t initiating. You’ve got some fucking nerve.”

This time, when she tries to yank away from him, he lets her; and with a grace she doesn’t feel, she climbs off the bed. She strides towards the living room, but she doesn’t get far because Barry grabs her by the arm and presses her body against the wall near the door.

“Let me go, Barry,” she says, heart hammering angrily against her rib cage. He releases her arm immediately, but he cages her in, planting his hands on the walls on either side of her.

“Look at me, Iris,” he commands, his voice a raspy whisper. She blinks over his shoulder, taking in the messy blue comforter on her queen bed in the middle of the room, and the pale cream curtains on the windows to the right that don’t hide much light, and the blue and cream striped lounge chair where Barry’s clothes are.

“Baby, please,” he tries again, and it’s the pleading that makes her turn.

He looks a little like he sounds, frazzled and out of sorts, his eyes darting quickly across her face and the shadow at his jaw far past 5 o’clock.

“I meant it.” The words come out softly, a little strained, and he blinks once, twice, before repeating. “I meant it. I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“No,” Iris shakes her head. “You’re just saying that now. You didn’t mean it.”

Barry lets out a heavy sigh as he steps back from her. She doesn’t move, though, she can’t. Instead, she watches him, her body lost in the turmoil of the past few minutes. He walks towards the bed, then steps away again, stepping in a circle before coming back to her. This time, when he looks at her, she sees it, him, his feelings.

“You looked terrified this morning, Iris,” he explains, “thinking about what I said. I think that I can read you, that I can see into what you aren’t saying to me. I see the way that you look at me, the way that we are together, and I can swear that you also…”

“What if that’s just sexual chemistry?” she interrupts, because she’s still spiraling, her body still so heavy with the range of emotions she’s experienced in the span of just minutes. And what if he really didn’t mean it, what if she’d actually started writing this story wrong, what if this has all been some dream she’s just starting to wake up from.

Barry stops pacing to look at her, incredulous, and then he narrows his eyes at her.

“Is that really what you think, Iris?” He steps, no stalks, towards her, steps slow and measured. He looks up and down the length of her, eyes lingering at the spread of her hips, the dip of her cleavage, before settling on her face. “You really think that the way we are together is, is just sex?”

She opens her mouth but doesn’t answer, and he closes the distance between them. He stands so close that she has to throw her head back against the wall in order to see up at him.

(She tries but can’t find it in herself to be ashamed of what this does to her, even as she’s not happy with him, having his attention on her like this, having his hard length pressed against her like this, the look of him and the smell of him and the feel of him like this.)

“I know that no one else fucks you like I do, Iris.”

That makes her snap and he pushes at him and he stumbles back near the bed. “You’re a smug fucking bastard, Barry Allen.”

She moves to grab her phone off the counter, intending to, she doesn’t know, throw it at his head. But then she’s plucked off her feet. She squeals as he tosses her onto her back and straddles her hips, holding her by her arms above her head. She bares her teeth at him, but doesn’t try to get away from him this time. She’s breathing heavily, and he is too, and for a second, Iris thinks that this love stuff is too much. Because that’s what’s going on here, isn’t it? It’s their first fight and it’s about love, about the fact that they’d slipped into it so simply that they (and by they, she means she) is finding it difficult to just let it be.

“I don’t mean it in an arrogant way, Iris,” he murmurs. “I just… you are a fucking goddess, baby, and if you’d ever been with anyone the way you are with me, there’s no way they would have ever let you go.”

He presses down on her arms a little, presses his hips into hers a little. “And no one has ever made me feel like this, the way that you do, in bed and out of it. And you don’t have to say it back. Not until you’re ready. I meant what I said but I didn’t think you would hear me. I just needed to say it.”

His eyes roam her face and she stares back. Her breathing has begun to level out, but she’s still left with, with adrenaline or something, a heavy, aching sort of feeling flooding through her, making her warm and jittery and, and wet. Which, she’s never been turned on by arguing before, but, by god, she is. She is. Turned on and in love and so gone on the man above her that she doesn’t think of anything at all before she leans up and kisses him.

For the first time since they’ve started doing this, Barry doesn’t take his time. He kisses her back, just as hard, the kiss more teeth and tongue than mouth. He keeps a hold of her arms in one of his big hands and then reaches down to push her dress up over her hips, lifting his own hips just enough that he can pull himself out of his boxers and spread her legs, hiking them over his waist. He doesn’t bother with taking her panties off; he just yanks them over to the side, probably ripping the delicate lace, and then runs a couple of his sure fingers through her slit to see if she’s wet enough to take him. Satisfied, he grips himself and then slides into her.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, dragging the word out, and Iris seconds that, throwing her head back at the heavy, hard, full feeling of him. He gives her one experimental thrust, and then another, and then he’s setting a pace, fucking into her in hard, shallow strokes. He clenches hard around her, her head filled with the press of his body and the smell of his skin and the thought of his love, i know the meaning’, for all the seasons, you are the reason, my love. Then Barry leans down on her, so that his chest brushes her nipples and his pelvis rubs against her clit every time he rocks into her, and her head clears of everything but this.

“God,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed.

He moves his mouth to her ear as he picks up his pace, murmuring as he always does, “fuck, baby, yes, you feel so good, girl; my good girl, shit” but his words aren’t as smooth as they usually are. He is frayed, his breathing choppy and his pace brutal. She likes it though. Her pussy grows wetter with every thrust, her hips rocking up to meet him, and she breathes out through her nose when she finds her mouth stuck in a round “o.” They’re both slick from the exertion and Iris can’t tell if it’s his sweat or hers or theirs. He holds on to the meat of her thigh, widening her so that he can ride her deeper, harder. She drips, down onto her thighs, soaking him too, and she knows that were she to look down, his dick would be so obscenely slick with her. He kisses at her ear, down to her neck, along her jaw, biting and licking and sucking on her skin. His grip on her is hard, and it isn’t so much rough as it is raw, inelegant and sensual and crude and so so so so good.

The thought of it is just as arousing as the act of it, and Iris manages to breathe out, “shit, Bear, how, how, how are you always so gooood?”

He flashes her a grin, her Barry coming back to her, and he says into her ear, “because it’s us, baby. Because I love you and you’re falling for me and we were meant for this.”

When Iris comes, it’s so hard she swears she goes blind for a minute. The world darkens and all she can do is feel: passion and euphoria and ecstasy and every other expression like it.

She’s thirty minutes late meeting Linda for their monthly brunch..

She and Barry shower together, and she drops him off at his car downtown and then she drives the couple blocks over to Golden’s. Before he gets out, he leans over and kisses her, a long slow sort of kiss, licking deep into her mouth as he cradles her face gently in the palm of his hand, and then he taps the top of her car twice before ambling over to his jeep without saying a word.

She feels a little funny after all of that, wondering why she still hadn't been able to say the words to him. He hadn’t said much to her as they’d dressed and gotten ready to leave her apartment. But he hadn’t stopped touching her either: taking her loofah from her and washing her down in the shower, running his hand over her hip after she’d hopped into a pair of light denim boyfriend jeans, rubbing on her thigh as she’d driven them downtown. She doesn’t think he’s upset with her; he’d told her she didn’t have to say it back. But he’d retreated, at least verbally, and it’s fucking with her, making her realize how much her fear is keeping her from him.

Golden’s is already open by the time she gets there so she walks in through the front door, throwing a hand up at Kamilla as she heads to the back in her stiletto heeled ankle booties, tugging lightly at the long, faux pearl necklace lying over her white half tucked in sweater. It’s packed as usual, the Saturday lunch crowd filling most of the seats, and she has to walk around chairs half pushed in and groups of people laughing and enjoying their Saturday.

She slides into the booth across from her best friend, the table already littered with food, Linda’s mango mimosa mostly gone. The other woman looks up at her, perusing, her brown eyes curious. Iris ignores her to grab her champagne flute, dropping a frozen mango slice into the glass and pouring a smidge of juice in, topping it off with champagne. She downs half of it in one gulp.

“You’ve been fucked,” is the first thing Linda says, when she finally decides to speak.

Iris chokes on her swallow of mimosa.

“Freshly,” Linda adds. Her red painted lips curve up in a devious little grin. “Is that big ass hickey you’re sporting the reason you’re late?”

She rolls her eyes, but touches gently at where she knows it’s sitting, an uneven patch of darkened flesh about the size of a quarter on her neck just under her left ear. She’d been in too much of a daze while she was putting on her minimal makeup earlier, the moisturizer and a little concealer, a bit of bronzer on her lids, liner and mascara. She hadn’t noticed the hickey, not until she was putting on her lipstick in the car and she didn’t have any foundation to cover it with.

“I’m too old to have a hickey,” she says to Linda instead of responding to her question.

“Tell your boo that,” Linda responds.

Iris wrinkles her nose at “boo” and starts spooning some sticky sesame chicken onto her plate. She forks a dumpling and bites at it as she goes for the lo mein and she doesn’t realize she’s reaching for the edamame until Linda stills her hand.

“Okay, what’s up?”

Iris chews the rest of her dumpling. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re eating.”

“Is that not why we’re here?”

“No, I mean you’re eating, doing that thing where you just throw food into your mouth without stopping or even really tasting it. You only do it when you’re really anxious and there’s no notebook or wine handy.”

Iris stills with a piece of shrimp in her hand. She drops it back onto the platter and sits back into the booth, chewing and swallowing while Linda waits patiently, sipping from her glass.

And then she blurts, “I’m in love with Barry.”

Linda nods, not yet committing to a response. “Okay.”

“And he told me he’s in love with me and I didn’t say it back.” Iris lets out a breath, tension releasing like a pressure valve has been turned.

“Why didn’t you say it back?”

“Because I’m a coward,” she answers.

Linda’s head shake is automatic, her brown waves brushing at her neck. “There’s not a hint of coward in you, baby girl.” Iris takes her best friend’s white silk blouse just as she says, “Now why don’t you really tell me what’s up.”

To give herself some time to put it all together, she finishes her mimosa and mixes another, though this one with less champagne, and she eats another dumpling, chewing slowly. Then she clears her throat.

“For a while now, I’ve been feeling, I don't know, lost. I was single, school was boring. Work was too, and it seemed like all of you were moving forward while I was just watching. Nothing felt exciting, not even my blog really. And then Barry came along, and I swear, the moment I saw him, it’s like my entire world lit up. There was this, this spark, and even when I was claiming that he was just around for sex, there was always this feeling that it was bigger than all of that, bigger than anything I’ve felt before.

And suddenly, I feel so different. I feel good, Linda. Everything is starting to feel good. My blog is getting real recognition now and Dr. Jamison must also be getting good sex because she’s been an actual joy to be around. And Barry...and Barry is…”

“Putting you to sleep every night?”

It makes her laugh, the way Linda wiggles her eyebrows as she says it, the way her eyes light up with mirth, the way her smile is a soft thing.

“Yeah, he is,” Iris says, her mouth twisting wryly. “But what if it’s a fluke, Linda? This man is everything I’ve wanted in a man and so much more than I even knew I wanted. What if we do this and I learn that he’s been, just, fucking with me this whole time?”

“You know that’s not true, Iris.” Linda picks up her own glass and drains it.

“But how can I trust this?” she pushes. “This happiness that seems to have only come when Barry stepped into my life?”

Linda reaches over and grabs Iris’s hand, and Iris clasps it like a lifeline, her pale orange tipped fingers pressing hard into Linda’s hand and Linda’s own pink tipped fingers pressing back. “There are no guarantees. So maybe we do find out that Barry has been faking this entire time. But what if he’s not? What if he’s as kind and loving as you say he is? ” She lets that digest for a moment.

“Love, and life, is a series of ups and downs, of good experiences and bad, Iris. The timing of it all is just coincidence. And I hear you. It feels so scary to realize that someone has that sort of power over you; that the care of your heart is in their hands. But what I’m learning with Dan is that love, love is always worth it. Because what you’re feeling, it doesn’t go away just because you don’t say it back, just because you don’t acknowledge it. And when you don’t you risk cutting it, him, off, and you’ll get hurt anyway. And that, my love, will be your own fault.”

Iris thinks about Linda’s words as they finish brunch, moving the conversation to Linda’s upcoming trip to meet Dan’s family. She thinks about it as she gets into her car and drives back home, forgoing working on a story in favor of plopping down on the couch and letting music play, my mind is open, so wide since you came inside, i feel so alive, without you life just passes by, passes by, lost in the reality of what she’s feeling.

She thinks about the words as she goes out to grab dinner, picking up a salad for herself and a chicken sandwich and fries for Barry, the intention to take him food not one fully realized until she’s parking in front of the precinct that Barry works out of.

She thinks about the words because Linda is right.

(She would never tell the other woman this, but she is right more often than she’s not, her poise and curious nature making her one to offer sound advice, always realistic and with love.)

She loves him, she does: his wit and his hands and his eyes; his compliments and his patience and ability to make her feel as if everything he’s ever wanted is present in the curves of her body; as if it is his profound pleasure to coax it out of her, with every touch, every moan, every dirty, mumbled thing.

Buoyed by the fact that she’d said it aloud, at the very least, and she didn’t wither away after she had, she grabs the food bags and her purse and walks up the steps to the precinct.

Her dad is working tonight but since she’ll see him tomorrow at dinner, she doesn’t drop by his office. Instead, she heads downstairs to where CSI is located, following the stairs to where they’ve apparently put them in the basement. The hallway is well lit, and there are several windows covered in closed blinds that lead to the lab door. She balances the bags in one hand and opens the door with the other. And she’s stopped short at what she sees.

The room looks like how she’s always imagined a crime lab to look like: lots of white, microscopes, and computers, shelves full of test tubes and petri dishes. Barry is there and so is the Cisco guy she remembers from Fall Fest. There’s a woman there too, in the utilitarian black pants and matching blazer that Iris knows is the norm for detectives. And it’s not that she’s there, because that’s not weird. But she’s there, next to Barry, close to Barry, leaning on his counter with her hand on his arm as she talks. She’s as tall as Iris is in the four inch booties Iris is wearing, with shoulder length dirty blonde hair and the sort of white girl next door look that men fall all over themselves for.

Cisco notices her first, as the door closes softly behind her, and Iris feels a bit mollified at the way his grin rises up when he sees her.

“Iris,” he calls, eyes twinkling. “Nice to see your beautiful face.”

Iris winks at him, pulling out a flirtatious grin so that she doesn’t scowl at the sight of the woman touching Barry.

(She’s not jealous. She’s not, but Iris can’t stand the thought of Barry looking at someone else the way that he does her, can’t stand the thought of him touching someone else the way he does her, can’t stand the thought of him whispering, yeah, baby, fuck, ride me just like that, to someone else the way he does her.)

Cisco, though, is loud enough that Barry hears him, and she watches as he straightens at the sight of her, eyes wide. “Iris!”

He gives her his look, the one where he rakes his eyes over the length of her and then lingers on her face, always trying to read her. She’s still a little frustrated at how she’s always such an open book for him, apparent after he’s finished his perusal and he smiles, slow and with more smirk than anything else. The woman next to him only moves her hand from Barry hesitantly, turning to see what all of this commotion is about. She gives Iris the same once over that Barry did, though decidedly colder, and Iris tilts her head at her before settling her gaze on Barry.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Iris says. “I know that you’re busy, but I thought I’d drop off dinner for you.”

She steps further into the room, and her heels clack loudly in the too quiet space. She pauses in front of where Cisco is sitting. She turns to him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you anything. I should’ve texted Barry to see who else was around, but I was picking up dinner and just decided to get him some too.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “You can get me next time.”

Iris passes him and lets her eyes wander back to Barry and the detective, who’s stepped back in a bit. As soon as Iris catches his eyes again, Barry steps away from her, moving around to meet Iris. She stops at a point along a wide expanse of empty space on one of the tables, and Iris feels it’s a safe enough spot to place the food without contaminating anything. As soon as she drops the food on the table, Barry cups the back of her head and stares down at her. His thumb traces the mark he’d left on her neck.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says, eyes wondering, smile tender.

She looks over his shoulder to where the woman still stands, looking at her too. She gives her a smile in greeting. Iris thinks it’s returned.

“I’m sorry. You look busy,” she responds. “Should I go?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just surprised to see you.” Without stepping away from her, he turns to address the detective. “Patty, I’ll come down as soon as I have the results for you.”

Her gaze trails over to Iris once more, observing where Barry holds onto Iris’s neck, onto her waist. “Of course,” she murmurs, finally.

She walks out of the room, her low-heeled boots nearly silent on the floors. Both Iris and Cisco watch her go, but Barry doesn’t pay much attention, his focus on Iris as he continues to rub along his mark.

Cisco stands, sort of abruptly, his chair skitting across the floor. “Barry, I’m gonna step out for a minute.” He shrugs out of his lab coat, tossing it on the back of his chair. His thick brown hair brushes against his shoulders with every shake of his head. “It’s good seeing you again, pretty lady.”

Iris offers him another smile. “You too, Cisco.”

She turns back to Barry who’s eyeing her, expression curious. “You’re here,” he says, voice low.

“Yeah,” she nods at the bags she’s placed on the table. “I don’t know, I went to get dinner and I was, well, I was thinking about you.” She shrugs with a nonchalance she doesn’t feel.

“Yeah?” Barry’s answering grin is wide, and a little bit boyish, cheeks reddening; it makes Iris smile back in turn.

“Come on,” Barry says, picking up the bags and walking over to a desk tucked into the corner. “I've got a few minutes.”

The desk is messy, stacks of folders and sticky notes all over the place, and he moves some papers around so that he can place their food down. He rolls his desk chair over for her to sit in and he grabs the bag, pulling out her salad container and his sandwich and fries and placing them in front of their spots.

She waits until he sits down in the hard back chair he’d gotten from under one of the computers and she snaps the top of her salad before she says, “so why wasn’t I introduced to the detective?”

Barry takes a bite of his sandwich and looks at her in question. “Who? Detective Spivot?”

“Don’t you mean, Patty?”

Barry pauses with a fry poised for his mouth. “Sure,” he says. “Patty is one of the detectives on the case we got called into.”

“Hmm.” Iris stabs at her salad. She takes a bite and chews, though she doesn’t really taste it.

Barry places his half eaten sandwich into the cardboard container and he turns to her, giving her his full attention. He inclines his head, watches for a second. She thinks that the corner of his mouth tilts up, that humor brims in his eyes.

“What do you want to say, Iris?”

She rolls her eyes, annoyed that she can’t focus on how cute he looks with his lab coat and glasses on, annoyed that that woman was touching him, annoyed that she’s annoyed.

“I didn’t know you were so close to the detective. Y’all were very...touchy.”

Shaking her head, she starts to go back to her salad, but then he drops his food and rubs his hands together. He leans towards her.

“Come here,” he says.

She ducks away, but he grabs her wrist gently and pulls at her. She goes, because her tripping heart and her heaving chest and her warming sex won’t allow her to not. Barry sits her in his lap, sideways so that her legs are half hanging over his. She’s a head taller than him in this position, and he presses a hand at the small of her back as he looks up at her.

“You’re jealous,” he announces, seemingly pleased with the fact.

Iris rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”

Barry laughs. “So you’re just really grumpy right now?”

“I’m just curious,” she says.

“Oh?”

“About the touching.”

“She’d literally just put her hand on me as you walked in the door. I was about to move it.”

Iris harrumphs. “Doesn’t Detective Spivot know that you’re…” Iris waves her hand as she trails off and it makes Barry’s slight grin widen.

“That I’m what?”

Even she knows that the huff she lets out would only be completed with a foot stop.

“That you’re taken,” she says, boldly. Because whatever she was feeling, whatever he was feeling, this morning, they are still them: two people who’ve crawled into open, waiting hearts and made space for one another; two people who are pages deep into a story that the stars must have already been writing; two people hours into a dream that is so vivid, it has to be real.

The statement seems to sober him, because his eyebrows furrow. “Am I?”

She wants to be bothered by the genuine question in his eyes. But they’ve never blatantly talked about them. There has been some conjecture, sex-fueled mutterings that hinted at the reality of them, of their feelings. There have been looks between the two of them that tell far more than Iris has ever even realized could be portrayed through eye contact. He’s told her that he loves her. But they’ve never defined or drawn out the lines or made it real.

But like she said, they are them. And he is. Taken. So she slowly licks her lips, and nods her head. “Yeah, you are.”

This time, Barry’s smile is a sexy, lilting thing. “I’m fully yours, Iris. You have to know that.” He turns her so that he can hold her gaze, and reaches up to curl his fingers around the back of her neck, his thumb hitting that mark again. Then he says,

“I love you. I will until you love me back and forever after that. And that means that I don’t see anyone but you. I haven’t seen anyone but you since the minute I laid eyes on you in that slinky dress you had on, dancing in the middle of the crowd by yourself.” He presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Even before, for months before, I couldn’t see anyone else. Because I was waiting for you, Iris.”

He gives her another kiss, this one longer, deeper, like the one he’d given her before he left her car. She finds herself humming into his mouth, her arms tightening around his shoulders. He rubs against her thigh, higher, then a little higher, until Iris is opening her legs to try to get some sort of friction.

Minutes or moments or eternity after, he pulls his mouth away, though he doesn’t move away from her fully. Instead, he looks at her, and she finds herself lost in him, in this dream of a story. She sees the words of it, my afternoon dream, when the world is speeding; i am still sleeping, in my blue dream and i know the meaning, for all the seasons; you are the reason, my love, and she wants to add to it, wants to let herself live in it, wants to finally fall into this love story without fear or reservation.

“Barry,” she says, whispers, and she notes how hooded his eyes look through the wire-framed glasses he’s wearing and how just the act of sitting here on his lap calms her at the same time that it inflames her. Then she thinks about his infinite levels of patience as he’s waited for her to be ready for him and how he’s always been interested in what she thinks or feels and how no one has even treated her body with the, the homage that he seems to. And she...and she loves him. “Barry, I…”

“Alright, Barry, we have…whoa.”

Iris blinks out of her haze, startles out of the confession she was about to make, at the sound of Cisco’s voice. Still, it takes a second before she’s able to pull herself from Barry, and from the expression he’s saddling her with, she thinks he might have an inkling of what she was about to say.

“None of this hanky panky,” Cisco continues, either oblivious or uncaring, Iris doesn’t know. “Spivot and Mitchell need to see us.”

“Alright,” Barry calls over her shoulder. “I’ll be down in five.”

When Cisco nods and leaves again, Iris is pulled back into Barry’s orbit. He palms the back of her neck, thumb brushing the mark on her throat. She assesses him.

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“I’m sorry.” He immediately goes red. He averts his eyes for a moment, before they drift back to her. “It’s tacky, I know, and I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was too late. This morning, I was, I don’t know, confused about us and I just…” He pressed his thumb into her skin. “I told you I’m not composed around you; I’m a mess.”

Iris covers his hand where it’s still on her throat. “You know that I’m yours too, right?” The earlier moment seems to have passed, but she can, needs to, give him this. His stare is hard and almost unreadable.

“Yeah,” he says after a while, sort of breathless. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

She wishes that she could stay in this moment with him, such a stark deviation from the way they’d left each other this morning. So she takes that feeling with her as she packs her salad up and helps him clean up the trash. Together, they venture into the hall and Barry leads her back out into the bullpen where Cisco is standing with Spivot and a tall, dark-skinned man with a baldhead and a beard. All three of them turn at the sound of Iris’s boots on the floors. Something about the look of them makes Iris grab Barry’s hand. Barry stops her a few feet away and leans down.

“I like how territorial you’re being,” Barry all but whispers in her ear. “I’ll come over after work and remind you why you don’t have to be.”

The thought of them this morning, the hard press of him, his breath rough in her ear, makes her look up at him, her eyes bright, bottom lip between the white of her teeth. It’s only Cisco’s pointed throat clearing that keeps her from falling mouth first into him.

Barry’s grin is knowing. “Bye, baby,” he says, a little louder this time, and Iris shakes her head, knowing he’s saying it in front of Patty for her benefit. He drops a kiss on her check and Iris nods at his coworkers.

“Detectives. Cisco.” She squeezes his hand once and drops it. “See you later, Bear.”

She steps away and walks out of the station, but not before she hears Mitchell say, “Damn, Allen, how did you bag that?”

She wishes she could explain that she’s the one that doesn’t know how she got him.

Barry does come over later, and as soon as he walks through the door, he pushes her up against the wall and fucks her, groaning “mine, mine, fuck, mine” into the bite on her throat, as Iris moans it back in kind, “yours, yes, Barry, I’m yours.”

My afternoon dream when

The world is sleepin'

I am still thinkin'

Of my blue dream

It's bliss

#westallen #westallen fanfiction #iris west #barry x iris #barry allen #strangers to lovers

18 notes · View notes

uwua3 · 3 years

Note

Hello! Sunflowers hold a really special meaning for me so when i read the "sunflower dreams" My heart was so happy!! I havent felt this happy in a long time since quarantine started so thank you for taking the time to write it! It really made my day. If i could request a kazunari x reader where they're both artists that would be amazing. Maybe the reader can be a famous anonymous art influencer? Its up to you! Again thank you so much for writing "sunflower dreams" 💜

i’m so happy i could make you smile ‧⁺◟( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ·̫ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ ) it’s messages like these that absolutely make my day! thank you so much for taking your time to even read it, i’m glad to know it touched your heart ♡ i hope you have a good rest of your day—please know all of a3! love you vvv much!!! ｀･ω･)9 i hope this makes your heart happy just like before! thank you, anon, for everything

summary: every time you fell in love, you made a new art piece

author’s note: please smile from this absolutely soft and endearing kazunari fluff! in times like these where negativity is all around us, it’s good to take a break and purposely give yourself happiness. i hope this is a light in your day and makes you experience all the goodness of love! ♡ — concept based on “to all the boys i’ve loved before”

word count: 3,389

music: i like me better – lauv

to everyone i’ve loved before.

🌻🎨 miyoshi kazunari

you created art every time you had a crush so intense, you didn’t know what else to do

no matter how big or small it was, or how long or short it lasted, love is love. even if it was a random stranger you’d never see again or someone you knew for a lifetime, love is love

therefore, there was no exact total. because even if you didn’t remember every single person you’ve made art for, you clearly remembered what it was like experiencing the euphoria of love. the phenomenon of your heart selflessly beating for someone else. the attack of getting hit by cupid’s arrow out of no where. the rush of emotions unlike any other

love was everywhere and you made sure to create something that was a memory of it. that was when you decided to practice art after being unable to recall a person’s face a moment too long

it was your form of a love letter. a picture spoke a thousand words you couldn’t write, and art was the perfect way to convey that. online for everyone to see were your love letters in art form: portraits of everyone you’ve loved

you fell in love again and again, a new art piece posted soon over the years of your life. under the username, to-everyone-ive-loved, a lifelong project was in the works for all of social media to see

unknown to the rest of the world, you were the artist behind the blog “to-everyone-ive-loved” who created portraits from memory

but, you didn’t mean to fall in love with another artist as well

all it took was one comment and you were theirs

it was one of your most recent posts, a finished piece on a stranger you saw. you found yourself in veludo way, the ideal street to find people you’d never forget. after witnessing a sudden street act, only one actor caught your eye that day

you didn’t know his name, but you didn’t need to. you were in love

you immediately rushed home without a second thought, the inspiration and creativity infectious after watching him perform. something about his energy was wildly entertaining and bizarre, like a modern pop song as a person. he was effortlessly trendy, popular, and charismatic just from the few minutes you saw him

the moment he stood up on that street corner like it was a stage, all eyes were on him and he knew it. as you sketched into the day, you remembered the small details clearly. dirty blonde hair with no dark roots in sight, glittering green eyes, wide welcoming smile. he had the face of an actor, that’s for sure

when you posted it right after finishing, you didn’t expect any major attention. on average, your posts got 100 likes or so. while it was an impressive feat, nothing could’ve prepared you for that one comment

kaz-PIKO: i’m in love with your art ♡

as your popularity and fame grew before your very eyes, you clicked on his profile and realized it was him. the actor you had seen earlier at veludo way

you didn’t know what happened, but all you knew was you couldn’t forget this one person, miyoshi kazunari, no matter how hard you tried

no matter where you went, you couldn’t draw anyone else except that boy named kazunari. after scrolling through his entire instablam account, you found out he was an actor for mankai company’s summer troupe. he was a star in his own right, with a stage presence like the spotlight was constantly on him and a heart of gold

this was the first time you ever got so caught up on someone that they didn’t leave your mind. hours became days, and days began becoming a week before you let yourself follow him back

everyone you had ever drawn had never recognized themselves before. it was all because a follower connected the visual similarities between your art and kazunari’s unique traits that kazunari knew you had seen him before

if only he wasn’t a social media influencer with followers reaching the hundreds of thousands. at least, his popularity attracted attention to your profile...

this was a problem, however. because if you couldn’t draw anyone else, what could you do? once again, you stalked kazunari’s blog once again like it was a habit

it was never really a rule to make one love letter per person, but you never had wanted to make another for the same person. until, now

video after video. picture after picture. story after story. you could see kazunari’s face even when you closed your eyes. what about him made you daydream about him constantly? was it his charming voice that could make anyone stop and stare? his intricate piercings that were different every day? his ability to make you feel at home? whatever it was (or maybe it was an accumulation of everything and more), you had to draw kazunari again

when you posted it, you typically didn’t add more to the caption than the date and time. except this time, you felt like all your rules were being broken over someone who had no idea who you were

to-everyone-ive-loved-before: XX/XX/20 (3:33 A.M.) — social butterfly

you watched it upload. it was a piece you had never done before. glowing butterflies of all colors surrounded the center of the masterpiece, a smiling kazunari

hopefully, this would solve whatever feelings you were having and the world would go back to normal. you’d move on, fall in love with someone else, and repeat

it didn’t work, because some time later, you woke up to a comment that made you feel the butterflies in your stomach

kaz-PIKO: like a butterfly, i’ll fly to you, wherever you are~ ☆

and for some reason, you wanted kazunari to find you

you had never felt so motivated to draw before. however, your muse was the same. a beautiful boy named miyoshi kazunari who was slowly capturing your heart without even knowing it. you watched the pages in your sketchbook lessen and lessen. the corners of assignments and napkins and anything in between was covered in doodles. if there was a writing instrument in your hand, something related to kazunari would come out of it

it was a fascination. a fixiation, even. you had only seen one performance before falling in love. was it because kazunari responded that it made you feel like you had a chance?

you wouldn’t admit it, but it was becoming embarrassing with how much you were staring at the few unread messages from kazunari in your dm box. they came in right after you had followed him back, and more arrived when you posted the “social butterfly” piece

what was stopping you from talking to your muse? you knew the answer without thinking: what if these feelings were real?

obsessions and crushes come and go, but... love, love stayed. there wasn’t any possibility you could love someone from afar without knowing anything about them, right?

but, then again... you did know some things about kazunari. you knew kazunari was the best actor of all time, with expressions and gestures the equivalent of art. kazunari was art—in every single way possible. everything about him made you want to draw and draw and draw

you only drew kazunari for a certain time, no matter which stranger crossed your path. people you knew you would’ve sketched simply became passer-bys, and it was all because of kazunari’s sunny smile that you were in love. or, what you thought was love

the more you thought about kazunari’s unread dms, the more you wondered what this was. why did kazunari make you so happy? was this truly the first time you were experiencing... a crush?!

for the first time since that street act, you found yourself in veludo way. while half of you was hoping you’d randomly bump into summer troupe’s moodmaker, the other half was petrified about how kazunari was a real person. a very much popular, recognizable person

it was the weekend, and the burden of university projects was telling you to go back and focus. yet, with a sketchbook in one hand and a pencil tucked behind your ear, you were very much prepared to draw to your heart’s content

as you tried to flip to a clean page, you heard something that made your heart flutter. despite the noise and busy atmosphere of veludo, a distinct laugh was audible above the crowd. when you looked up, your eyes barely registered a deep blue jacket before walking straight into the person

you nearly tumbled to the ground before two hands steadied you, a surprised “whoa!” leaving their mouth before being followed by a gentle laugh. the usual embarrassment didn’t set in until you went to go thank the person, only to stop

oh my god. you had just bumped into miyoshi kazunari, your muse for the past month or so

kazunari grinned, even though it faltered slightly at your wide-eyed expression and awkward silence. he didn’t seem to mind as he adjusted his black top hat, pocketing his phone and confidently meeting your gaze

“i’m so sorry~! i hope you’re okay, i’m kazunari!” kazunari introduced and you realized he didn’t know you were behind to-everyone-ive-loved-before. you quickly adjusted yourself, pretending as if this wasn’t the highlight of your entire week

when you introduced yourself, kazunari’s eyes sparkled with interest as he easily led you into conversation. despite being a bit of a socially awkward artist who preferred being alone over anything else, kazunari was... comfortable. you didn’t feel self-conscious of how you acted, because he readily accepted how you were with a smile

was he like this was everyone or... did he find you to be a work of art, too?

standing off to the side, you finally noticed several members of mankai were advertising their latest play. bright, aesthetically pleasing flyers were being handed out to everyone walking by, and you seemed to look a moment too long before kazunari followed your gaze and suddenly snapped his fingers

“oh! are you interested in theatre?” you really weren’t, but you nodded anyways just to see kazunari’s excitement. he pardoned himself for a moment just to snatch a flyer, returning to show it off with a proud smile

“please come to mankai company’s summer performance!” kazunari’s smile sparkled and before he looked around to see if anyone was watching, he winked. kazunari covered the side of his face that was facing his troupe members, pretending as if you two were sharing some big secret

“plus, i’ll be there. if you come, i’ll make sure to do my very best~” kazunari bargained, even though you already knew he was already planning on wowing the audience with his charisma. you took in his genuine want to impress you and the butterflies came back

“i’ll come.” you agreed without even checking the date or reading anything. now all of you just wanted more & more opportunities as the person kazunari was surprisingly interested in, not as the artist who was basically in love with him

agreeing right away was worth it when kazunari shot you a grateful, blinding smile in return. you stumbled over your words with how taken back you were, but asked anyways, “do you like flowers?”

kazunari’s eyes softened for a moment, his usual energy suddenly gone before returning. he seemed genuinely moved by your question, and you wondered how many flowers it’d take to see him smile again like that

“i do, especially if they’re from you.”

“what kind?”

someone called kazunari’s name, insisting they were going to be late for practice. kazunari shouted back an agreement by telling them to go ahead first, before putting all his attention on you once again

“hibiscus.” meaning delicate beauty

before kazunari could ask for your socials, with his hand already reaching for his phone, you cut him off, hoping your voice wasn’t off

“next week. 7 P.M., mankai theatre. i’ll be there, front row.” you promised and took off, rushing off with a wave as kazunari stared after you for a second before waving back enthusiastically

as you left, kazunari was about to leave before he noticed something on the ground. it was a plain sketchbook, unassuming at first but it was nearly bursting at the binding with how many pages there were

when kazunari picked it up, he was about to flip to the first page before mankai called his name again, impatient this time. kazunari held onto the book and sent one last glance towards your direction before disappearing, hurrying to make sure the director wouldn’t penalize him for being the reason everyone was late

when you arrived home, you instinctually reached for the pencil behind your ear. at the same time, you put your hand in your bag, attempting to feel the familiar edges of your sketchbook

then, after turning your bag inside out and finding nothing, you collapsed onto your desk chair with shock and disbelief

you lost your sketchbook in veludo way the moment you met kazunari. what if he had it?

you drew another piece and stared at your screen, wondering if you should post it. it was kazunari once again with a yellow hibiscus flower behind his ear, the same gentle smile you couldn’t perfectly capture gracing his lips

you typed the caption and backspaced before settling on something that only you and him would know

to-everyone-ive-loved-before: XX/XX/20 (8:01 P.M.) — delicate beauty

you hesitated before deleting the post a second after. maybe, you’d keep some artwork to yourself

kazunari had the sketchbook open next to his bedside, his phone in his hands and your profile open. he could recognize your art style a mile away, and the moment he saw the first sketch after practice, he couldn’t believe it

did this explain why he felt such a natural attraction to you? when you bumped into him, kazunari swore he could see the sparks flying. you made him feel like he was falling in love and you only proved him right when you two talked earlier. he wanted to know everything about you, he wanted to see you again

was this what love at first sight felt like? kazunari giddily typed a message over and over again, the unread messages of his filling his screen

kaz-PIKO: heya!! ★>d(,,･ε´-,,)⌒☆ just wanted to say i LOVE your art fr!!! we should totes collab, you know???

kaz-PIKO: thanks for drawing me btw :0 does this mean you live near veludo? let’s meet up!!!

kaz-PIKO: ,,, i don’t usually say this but, that social butterfly piece was breathtaking. you must really like me, huh? (･ω<)☆ jk haha

kaz-PIKO: no but really, it’s beautiful. thank you, honestly. it made my day, you make me happy ♡

kaz-PIKO: you must be really beautiful, too. i would want to draw you as well. lmk if ur up for that haha

kazunari read back his previous messages, all of them delivered but unopened. he realized how... how open he already was with the anonymous faceless artist, despite never interacting with them

now that he knew what you looked like, it only reassured his intuition that he was rightfully head over heels for you

kazunari typed something before deleting it, closing out of instablam and throwing his phone somewhere on his bed

kaz-PIKO: i was right, you are beautiful. i may have fallen in love, too

some things were better left unsaid. after all, you two had until next week to figure everything out

for the rest of the week, all you and kazunari did were think about the other person. a small part of you was afraid kazunari wasn’t the dream boy you imagined, but he was much more. you noticed he started posting more often and turned his notifications, wanting to be one of the first to see his practice videos and university selfies

you didn’t post any of the art you made of kazunari, making it the longest you hadn’t posted ever. kazunari couldn’t help but refresh your account every now and then, hoping he’d see his face again, as selfish as it was. kazunari wouldn’t know how’d he feel if he saw someone else had your heart

the longer time went on, the more you were certain. every fascination you had with someone was temporary, and you remembered the feeling rather than the person. but, with kazunari, you liked him for who he was. everything kazunari made you feel was new and exciting, but even when that went away, you still liked him

kazunari was your first crush, for real

kazunari liked making people like him. so, your online confession through art wasn’t exactly a surprise. but, yours was different. it was earnest, honest, and everything he didn’t know he was needing

kazunari looked through your sketchbook again and again, tracing over the notes you wrote in the margins and admiring your skill

kazunari liked you, and he was certain he would’ve still liked you even if you weren’t to-everyone-ive-loved-before

when showtime arrived, kazunari was oddly nervous. peeking from behind the red curtain, kazunari could already see you were one of the first sitting front row, just like you said. he had practiced his lines a thousand times and summer was fully prepared, why was he nervous?

before he went on, kazunari ignored the urgency of the mankai staff and quickly texted a message to your profile, hoping you’d at least see the notification this time

kaz-PIKO: i like you, too

(when you felt your phone buzz, you quickly silenced it)

the show moved you to a standing ovation, just like everyone else in the audience. as summer walked out to bow and express their gratitude, you watched kazunari’s eyes search for yours as he tilted his head towards backstage. you nodded, knowing you’d do anything to see this kazunari. actor kazunari, who was on cloud 9 with his performance and glowing from praise

you wanted to see, to experience, to draw, all versions of kazunari

after the applause, you looked around backstage before feeling a hand on your arm, the feeling reminiscent of the first time you bumped into kazunari

“you came.” kazunari breathlessly stated, as if he was surprised. before he could say anything else, you presented him with a bouquet of hibiscus flowers. the same shade of yellow you drew him with

“of course, i wanted to see you again.” you honestly admitted, knowing it made you flustered. kazunari carefully took the flowers before grinning, gently placing then beneath his chin. he looked like a vision, you wish you could’ve asked him to stand still so you could capture this moment forever

“i wanted to see you, too.” kazunari softly said, all the energy of being on stage gone. it was tranquil and peaceful, like you two were the only people in the entire theatre

kazunari took a moment to admire you before realizing something, taking something from behind him and presenting it to you. it was your sketchbook on the bottom, but a smaller version was on top of it, signed in silver sharpie. kazunari’s signature was glittering like his eyes as you took it

“next time, let’s draw together.”

kazunari’s sketchbook was filled with you. anything from small doodles to encouraging messages was found inside, with tens of post-it notes of just thoughts about you. kazunari’s art was colorful and extremely out of the box compared to his usual traditional style. it made you smile

kazunari watched you flip through it, already knowing this was the greatest act of love he could’ve declared this early on. he anticipated for you to reach the end

when you landed on the last page, you saw a note

do you want go on a date with me?

“next time, respond to my dms! that way i don’t have to write everything~!” kazunari teased and you two shared a laugh, knowing everything was going to be okay

“yes.”

“yes...?”

“yes, i’ll respond to your dms. and yes, i’ll go on a date with you.”

eventually, you ended up closing your blog for good. your last post was a picture of you and kazunari, with one caption

to-everyone-ive-loved-before: XX/XX/20 (3:33 P.M.) — to the one boy i love now, i love you

kaz-PIKO: i love you, too ♡

#miyoshi kazunari #kazunari miyoshi #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #kazunari x reader #a3! kazunari #a3 kazunari

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ifyouseekay468 · 3 years

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what do YOU personally think the teenagers (mcr) lyrics are about my friend ? like i keep thinking about them but im not sure im going somewhere

okay, ive answered this ask twice on mobile and each time my phone deleted it, so here I go, the FINAL version of this post

It's been a hot minute since I listened to teenagers so I decided to do a quick run-through of the lyrics, and while Gerard&Co were raised catholic the lyrics seem to REEK of protestant trauma, so that's what I'll be going off of, but I'm pretty sure the two denominations overlap here. The first verse is about kids in youth group, Christian GirlsTM especially, who are put there to pressure you into being "normal" into "cleaning you up with the lies in the book" (bible), although the pastor is the one giving the teaching THESE are the people who will get you to BELIEVE, who will get you to lie to yourself, who will get you to church camps that on some level utilize brainwashing techniques, and will DESTROY you with the idea that you're "Just one of them, and just need to change everything about yourself and fake your way through every last sermon to be just a part of the gang",

The part about sleeping with a gun and keeping an eye on you is about two things: one, about the idea that God can see all your thoughts, that THINKING about "sin" (ie; fantasizing about sex) is as bad as COMMITTING sin (which is fucked up entirely on its own because fantasy is SO FUCKING DIFFERENT FROM REALITY and that is a CRUCIAL aspect of sexual expression in order to safely engage in sex), AND the fact that these kids will pretend to be your friend, will prod you into doing things with them, into telling them things about yourself all the while making you feel like "part of the group" when really they're just blabbing either to religious leaders, or are ostracizing you and bullying you behind your back.

"The drugs never work"

This in my opinion points to the fact that this song is specifically about being QUEER in a christian culture. It is common for trans people to turn to drugs or psychedelics in an area that has little to no access to gender affirming care, or acceptance because they both change reality and disconnect one from the body that is causing their dysphoria. It can also help burn away the guilt, so to speak.

The methods of keeping you clean is about two things: one, about purity culture, no smoking, no drinking, no friends who drink, no sex, no porn, no masturbation, no impure thoughts. The second, is the way they're able to subtly manipulate you into hiding yourself, into lying to yourself, into forcing yourself to the point of death into being cishet. They're keeping you clean not just from the vices of addiction, but the vices of the flesh, the vice you can't escape because it's a part of you from the day youre born. On a darker note, this could also be referring to c*nversion th*rapy, given this second interpretation of the lyrics

"Ripping your head and aspirations to shreds," Is again about two things in my opinion: both the idea of "losing yourself to God's will" that usually leads one to losing their identity and getting depression and fucked up mental health, and the "shift" that happens at church when you reach a certain age. You know the kind, right? You're four years old, and church is FUN! You get to go to this big room and sing and dance on stage with all your friends! You get to play GAMES! You get to talk to the ~cool teenagers~ who are ~Just like you~ and ~think youre a "cool kid"~, you have ~best friends~ who will be with you like Jesus and the 12! but then, one day, something happens, something SHIFTS. maybe the Sunday school teacher leaves, maybe there's a new family at church, maybe the church changes buildings. Maybe none of that has to do with any of it, all you know is that now things are forever different. Church isn't fun anymore. The kids classes are repetitive, they're bribing you into memorizing bible verses with money, they DONT reward critical thinking or analysis, but they do call you smart, that's because they dont want SMART kids they want OBEDIANT ones. You have no choice but to stat going to REAL church. Suddenly, your best friends are not your best friends. Suddenly they're avoiding you. Suddenly they're lying to you. Suddenly you're too... well they don't know the word yet but "gay" for them...

"Teenagers scare the living shit out of me"

This is what youth group does to you, it isolates you from your entire generation because there are few people your age and a whole lot older than you, and everyone is so much DIFFERENT from you for some reason, but neither of you know why, not yet anyways. This makes you distance yourself from teenagers, because you can't SEE yourself as a teenager, because youre nothing like other teenagers.

"They could care less as long as someone will bleed,"

This is the martyr complex that permeates youth culture like the smell of wine, the problem? these kids love to make a show of themselves and their martyrdom, but they're unwilling to martyr themselves, so what do they do? They throw someone else to the wolves and take the glory. They ostracize and eliminate the unique in the name of preserving their faith. They convert and convert and god help anyone who doesn't want to convert.

"So darken your clothes and strike a violent pose"

This is about deconversion, how the moment you leave the church you never want to see another cross till the day you die, that you want to avoid christians of all costs because you don't want them To drag you back into the pit that devoured you. So you do anything and everything you can to make yourself repulsive to Christians, which actually coincides with your indulgence of mundane activities previously considered as "sin"

"Maybe they'll leave you alone but not me,"

There's a different between a cishet ex Christian and a queer ex christian, and that difference is that a cishet atheist is more likely to be left alone than a queer one, especially a queer one whose whole demeanor screams "Christians be gone," that shit is like... it summons christians faster than free winter jam tickets! They swarm to you frothing at the mouth with holy water waiting to either convert you or exorcise you into purity, depends on if you want them or not. Again, you don't even have to be OPENLY gay, they can TRACK this shit. it's like fucking... INSTINCT or something.

"The boys and girls in the clique, the awful names that they stick, you're never gonna fit in much kid,"

as alluded to above, this lyric is about how, even from a young age, BEFORE youth group, this toxic culture kind of develops. ESPECIALLY around christian girls. They don't have the vulgarity of slurs, but they can make up for it with slang like "tomboy" "nancyboy" "too boyish" "a sissy" "Weird" etc, youre NEVER going to fit in, because the moment that "shift", from fun games and songs to Real Church, occurs, you have a target on your back.

"But if youre troubled and hurt what you got under your shirt will make them pay for the things that they did,"

This is probably a gun. But that's a tad too boring for my taste. If you were raised protestant you KNOW that being an ex protestant, after the craziness of evangelicalism, you would not hesitate to burn down your old church. It could be a secret tattoo, top surgery scars, hell maybe even nipple clamps. Whatever it is, it's symbolic of revenge. I know that anytime I wore my labrys necklace to church I would always hide it under my shirt. I hid books and CDs under there too. Again, it's about revenge, it's about breaking free, gun or no gun, the point is getting out and getting back at them.

and thats pretty much my take on the song. Again, this is not about artist intent this is just what the lyrics reminded ME of personally (as you can see from the over biographical bullshit I wrote), I'm always open to contradicting interpretations though as I always have like 2+ interpretations of a song or book! I never really saw the song through the lens of youth group specifically but when I went over the lyrics again in retrospect it all seemed to really click (pun not intended) well! Thanks for the ask!

#anon #okay to rb #religious trauma #ex christian #religious trauma syndrome #ex baptist #ex protestat #apostate #MCR #mcr #my chem #my chemical romance #the black parade #welcome to the black parade #gerard way #ray toro #frank iero #Mikey way

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earthfluuke · 4 years

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summary: individual ohmfong moments i couldn’t get out of my head.

everyone has been writing yearning fics (and i adore them so much), but i wanted to get some fluff out there. i hope you enjoy!

it’s second nature for ohm to slide into any open seat at their group’s table. full plate in hand, he’s just about to dig in when he catches phuak’s questioning eye, and his fork freezes a breath from his food. the silent questioning raise of his eyebrow has phuak shaking his head and motioning a hand to the opposite side of the table.

“sit next to your boyfriend, dumb ass,” he says, followed by the mumble of, “no wonder none of your girlfriends stayed with you.”

eyes widening, he turns to fong who can only send him a forgiving smile. scrambling to move his things, he falls onto the bench beside him with a sigh. head hung, shoulder slumped, he works out quickly, “i’m sorry. it completely slipped my mind, and i–”

“it’s okay,” fong assures, understanding as ever. “it’s…different. but we’ll get there.” he slides a plastic cup across the table to him and knocks their shoulders together. “now stop sulking, and drink that.”

ohm rises a bit, reinflates. he’s only ever remembered fong coming to the table with a signature blue hawaii in hand. there is none in sight, only this. taking a sip, he can’t help but feel it tastes a bit sweeter than any other time he’s had it.

they’re not there yet; but they’re on their way.

ii.

“oh!” he hears ohm exclaim as they’re walking out of their classroom towards the football field. just as he turns to ask what’s wrong, he feels a hand grab onto his.

eyes shooting down to the space between them, fong takes notice of how ohm’s fingers fit between his and curl over more than half of his knuckles. he soaks in the warmth ohm’s palm presses into his own and the feel of his thumb stroking up to his nail and back down again. he’s never held someone’s hand before, save for his parents a long, much younger time ago, so he doesn’t have much to compare to. even so, he doesn’t think any other hand would feel as nice. this is the hand he wants to hold forever.

allowing his fingers to close and rest between the ridges of ohm’s knuckles, he tightens his hold when ohm gives their arms an experimental swing.

“we’re boyfriends now,” he explains. “that means we get to hold hands.”

it’s so innocent, so simple, but knowing that doesn’t help in slowing fong’s heart.

iii.

fong knows he has a very handsome boyfriend. it’s difficult to ignore when they’re meant to be studying in the library. ohm has a hand in his hair, head rested against his palm as a finger taps in concentration. his lips move with each word he reads, tongue sticking between his teeth when he gets to an exceptionally difficult section.

it’s too much sometimes, to just sit there and stare. actions have never been his strong suit; observations are more his style, but it’s not enough. leaning past the edge of his chair, he smooths a hand under ohm’s chin and up the cheek farthest from him. he pulls him the small distance he needs to in order to press a gentle kiss to the cheek facing him.

he hides the laugh that’s building in his throat when he moves back to find ohm wide eyed and stunned. the hand in his hair has slid down to where fong’s lips just grazed, and fong has to turn away from him to hide his pink cheeks and silly smile.

“i’m going to get some snacks. do you want anything?” ohm is too dazed to respond, so fong pushes back his chair and scurries off to the vending machines. it’ll give him the chance to calm down.

(and if he comes back with a few choice snacks he knows to be ohm’s favorites, then that’s just a bonus).

iv.

when fong is fast asleep, ohm can’t help but prop himself up on his arm and admire him. his bangs curl over his brow, and his cheek buries further into the pillow when there’s an especially cool breeze from the air conditioner. dark lashes fan over tan skin, full peach lips puffing out calm, even breaths. one hand clutches the blanket closer to him while the other lays on the sheets as though it’s looking for something.

he’s as gorgeous as he always is, but there’s something more special about a beauty that only ohm gets to see. there is a constant pull of wanting to grab onto that hand, remind him that what he’s reaching for is right beside him. but he cannot will himself to disturb him and instead resigns himself to only stare. he’s done enough to last him a lifetime, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it; not if he’s staring at fong.

“beautiful. sweetheart. babe. love!”

“um,” tine clears his throat, looking from ohm’s wide, hopeful grin to the top of fong’s head, the only part of him visible from behind the pages of the book he’s using to hide. “what are you doing?”

“trying to figure out which name i like the most,” fong mumbles from behind his book, clutching the binding a bit tighter when ohm throws an arm around his shoulders.

“the secret is that he likes all of them,” he says, continuing over fong’s protests, “i just need to find out which one he likes the best.”

it picks up again from there, in front of their friends no less. all fong can do is let him go on and on, each name more blush inducing than the last, and hope his novel does a good enough job masking how much he’s enjoying this.

vi.

“i’ll see you for dinner after my group meeting. okay, tilak?”

“yeah, sure – wait, what? hey! fong!”

vii.

fong is always a vision, but this. this. this is something completely different and so very far from even his wildest of dreams.

his sweater – a light beige with a v-neck that dips lower without the collar of the shirt he normally wears underneath it poking out – hangs loose around fong’s smaller frame. the shoulders pool upwards, the sleeves drape over his fingers, the hem hits far past the bottom of his torso. it doesn’t fit at all, and yet it does. there is something so right about coming out of the shower and finding fong lying on his bed, homework papers strewn out across the sheets and ohm’s sweater pooling up around his hips.

“i’m sorry,” fong is quick to say, fingers scrambling to tug it over his head. “it got cold, and it was the first thing i saw. i can give it back.”

“no.” he holds his hands out to steady fong more than himself. when the neck of the sweater stretches back down and he can see him, ohm sends him a smile. “it’s…it’s good. nice. it looks nice.”

“nice,” fong repeats. the very tips of his fingers, the only parts that peek out from beneath the sleeves, smooth over the fabric. his eyes soften, the tips of his mouth curving up. ohm can’t the tingling feeling that spreads through him.

viii.

that single strand of hair. it’s as lovely as it is distracting, for fong at the very least. he supposes ohm must have gotten used to it, takes notice of it the same way he does to the air around him. but it’s so out place and somehow so perfectly put that fong cannot help but admire it.

it’s a flame, stark black and contrast to his skin, that draws his hand towards it like a moth. ever so carefully, with just a graze of his fingers, he pushes it back into place. brushing over his ear, his hand buries beneath the hair parted against his scalp, dark locks blanketing over it.

only then does ohm look to him, realize that there had been something out of place he hadn’t seen. what he does see – feel, sense, know – is fong. and what a wonder that is, to be more noticeable, more important, more vital than the air. to be what ohm needs to breathe.

ix.

ever changing lights flicker across the concert venue. sarawat’s band is on stage, but they’re impossible to pay attention to when fong has all of his focus. he’s beautiful in every color he bathes in, but ohm can’t help but be partial to the mixture of yellow and orange.

fong has always been a bright light, a beacon, an ever-present warmth. the colors paint him as the sun he’s always been, the very center of ohm’s universe. head back, ears turned up to the music, his eyes reflect gold when he turns to ohm to tug him close and sway them along to the bass beneath their feet.

purple and blue remind him of late nights where they’d forgotten to close the blinds. green brings memories of lying in the grassy field in the back of their high school, when all ohm could rely on was stolen glances and accidental hand brushes he’d hold nearer and dearer to his heart than he should have. pink and red mix together, and all he can see is love coating over full cheeks and a fuller smile that he is lucky enough to have directed at him. and then it’s back to yellow, back to orange, back to warmth so hot ohm could burn.

it’s a heat like no other. all he can do to cool is curls a single arm around the small of fong’s back and pull him close enough for their foreheads to touch. his heart still roars with flames, engulfs him in a love hot enough to melt.

wrapping himself around him, fong comments, “you really like this song.”

and all ohm can do is hum, hold him tighter, and soak in his warmth. “i think it might be my favorite.”

“how did you know?” fong asks. the two of them are staring up at the ceiling, peeling paint their replacement for stars. “that it was me, i mean.”

by all intents and purposes, it should be an easy enough question to answer. but it becomes difficult when it hits him that…it’s always been fong. there isn’t a moment where anyone else has taken refuge in his heart and made it their home.

“i don’t remember when it started. but i remember when i realized it couldn’t be anyone else.” the memory flashes behind his eyes in vivid detail, kept clean and clear from how many times he’s brought it back to the forefront of his mind. “new years eve of second year. after tine and phuak ditched us to find pretty girls to kiss at midnight.”

mouth agape when he looks to him, fong says in startled disbelief, “in your backyard when i almost burned my hand on that sparkler? that wasn’t as special as i was expecting. more embarrassing.”

“it wasn’t. and that’s why i knew. there didn’t need to be some big sign. i just knew that even in those simple moments, i wanted it to be you there with me. and,” ohm catches his eye, looks at him so he knows how much he means what he says, “it was the first time i got to see you smile. it wasn’t because of something stupid phuak did or something sweet tine said to you. it was just… because you were happy. i hadn’t seen anything that beautiful before.”

fong says nothing, only reaches down to grab his hand. but when he smiles – that smile – he tells ohm all he needs to know. it’s another one of those not so special moments; the two of them lying flat against the sheets, their hands twisted together between them. but that in and of itself makes it special.

#2gether #2gether the series #still2gether #still2gether the series #ohmfong #ohm x fong #my writing #i love these two so much #it's only been a few days #but they have my heart #also i'm so sorry that gif is SO shitty

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theropoda · 2 years

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hi hi im really tired so i haven't answered your ask yet BUT 1, 8, 9, 11 and 12 for you + WHAT ARE YOUR IMPERA THOUGHTS MY DUDE!!!!!!!!

EH no worries, take your time!!!

under a read more bc i can never make these ask games short. i love rambling for 1 million paragraphs :)

1: You have a chance to interview Tobias Forge. What 3 questions would you ask him? ahhh man three questions is not enough, i need go crack this man's head like an egg and see all the stuff that spills out and study it under a microscope... but..

i suppose id ask him 1) what it's like to go on stage and get to pretend to be someone else, is it freeing? he's always struck me as a little aloof in interviews and generally in public so i wanna know if putting his actions and performance behind a character and costume makes him feel like he can do whatever he wants more, or if its a little restricting almost?

2) he's mentioned in interviews he'd draw a lot as a kid and im really curious as to what so id love to ask him about it. i want to see baby forge doodles :)

3) id want to ask him about what potential he thinks he has for the ghost universe. he's talked about a movie multiple times but i wanna ask what other mediums the storyline could fit into... a comic book, maybe??? a rhythm game even??

4) Favorite dinosa

8: Have you discovered anything new thanks to ghost, e. g. a band, or song, or film? many things but none of significance? like i haven't really gotten into any of the stuff ive found out through them Lol

9: Name three songs you would like Ghost to cover. other than judas by lady gaga idk 😭 i suppose people have covers they'd like to hear cause they hear a song and they can imagine int their head how it'd be like if ghost covered it, or bc they think the music is similar but iiii can't. like idk what would fit or be good. i suppose they could do maybe an early genesis song like the knife though? my head would also explode if they covered an early oingo boingo song... maybe islands or who do you want to be today. or insects... i NEED to hear tobias sing that now... best song lyrics EVER

11: Favorite Ghost meme. i cannot Possibly choose.. so many are incredibly funny

12: Favorite piece of Ghost merch you own or would like to own. I OWN NONE 💔💔💔💔💔 IM TRYING TO FIX THAT THOUGH, id fucking LOVE to have the coloring book!!! i love coloring books and itd make a good replacement for the last one i had, which swiftly leads us to.... The Problem... i have, Unfortunately Yet Fittingly, overly religious and superstitious parents who i don't think would ever let me have ghost merch bc of their satanic nature T_T in fact, said old coloring book was a "dark art" one with a bunch of skeletons and zombies on it but my dad took it away from me bc he said it was dangerous and was exacerbating my mental illnesses Lol <3 if i ever got the ghost coloring book id probably have to hide it in a goddamn fucking safe lmao

as for impera...ive been trying not to listen to impera TOO much cause i dont want myself to get sick of it (ive honestly gotten sick of cmls hearing it in all their promotional material all the time) so im a little slowly re listening to it... there's definitely favorites like twenties and darkness at the heart of my love, but i think this is gonna be one of those albums where im like... it's good, it's solid, i can recognize the artistry and mastery put into it and why some people consider it one of their best but im gonna settle for Yeah its okay. i like it, sounds good, pretty cool, but i don't LOVE it like i love, say, meliora or infestissumam. it doesn't quite have that impact... on me..

#asks #ratsalad #ghost #tysm for the ask!!! sorry its so long LOL

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wexhappyxfew · 3 years

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i literally choked on my pizza when i saw your writing and analyzing questions post, I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS!! first of all, what sort of process do you go through when creating characters? what kind of things do you take into consideration when creating them? i’m fascinated because creating characters is far from easy, especially when you’re creating someone like agent mortem! i’m always interested to know what the writer’s thought process was when creating a new character!

okay, so secondly, i wouldn’t say i’m having trouble with keeping all my planning organised and ‘precise’ in a way, but it’s really not easy 😅 i was wondering what kind of processes you go through when planning, whether you have like a specific structure or a set of steps to follow, or if you just kind of roll with it? at the moment when i plan it’s okay and it makes sense, but it’s literally just 4 or 5 pages of really chunky paragraphs which makes it really difficult to pick out the events again when i come to needing the plan to help me. i don’t really know if you do anything different, but if there is any way you know of that i could keep it more organised and easy to follow, that would be great :)

i’ll keep the last ones a little shorter because this ask is already looking veryyy long — what have you enjoyed writing about natia, what struggles have you faced and what have you learned? and basically the same with agent mortem if that’s possible :) i have asked a LOT of questions in this, so don’t feel like you have to answer them all because it will probably take quite a while 😅 anyway, thank you for putting up with my endless questions, and i hope you have a good day <33

ROSE AH HELLO MY FRIEND!!!! <333 sorry ive just gotten to this omg! it’s been sitting here for a little while but i’ve just had so much going on right now and wanted to make sure when i answered that my *full attention* was put on this! (because i’ve been very excited to answer this ESPECIALLY as i see agent mortem questions poking up on here and that just makes me even more hype!!! :D enjoy! <3

Ooooo this is a cool question! I’ve been asked it before but I feel with different characters and such, it always seems to fluctuate for me at least? In the sense, it’s almost never the same process for me in the developmental stages of a character haha! Sometimes I get characteristics first hand, or sometimes a certain scene pops up that just makes the character click and I can build from there, or sometimes, it’s just a last name or a first name that I work with and suddenly have an idea for!

For example, since we’re on the general topic of Landslide, I’ll talk about some things I did when creating specifically Natia. The “Natia” who is currently portrayed in the fic, was not always really like that. Natia initially was not a SOE Agent/Polish Resistance Fighter and instead a Dutch Resistance Member who would meet with Easy in Episode 4. I always sort of knew Natia, in whatever form she was, would meet Easy in Episode 4, but I wasn’t sure how, so the building in the first 17 chapters was the toughest part to come.

I did heavily feel the Polish were underrepresented in terms of the situation of the war along with everything that happened in the Warsaw Uprising and so I felt it was important to see if I could do something with that and that’s really where Natia came into play!

Natia means “hope” essentially and something I really like doing with her character is to parallel or juxtapose different ideas together, to continue on this sort of theme of her being a quite ominous and ambiguous character — you get the general sense of what her morals are, but in certain points it’s questionable. Morally-ambiguous characters have always been fascinating to me, especially female morally-ambiguous characters and so creating Natia in that respect I felt would be interesting to see what I could do!

Something major that I’ve slowly began to take into consideration with characters more and more, is the sort of general theme I want to be present with them — what’s that goal i that they are moving towards in the end and what’s the them surrounding it? For Natia it’s a multitude of things; family, revenge, being silenced, numb, grief, mentor vs protégé, lone wolf etc….the list could truly go on! And with these basic sort of ideas and themes, I can then move on from there and expand.

Why did she want REVENGE? Because the enemy killed her FAMILY, which is extremely important to her, and she wants to feel some sort of REDEMPTION for them.

Why was she BEING SILENCED? Because of the *past* conflict of the HARMFUL MENTOR VS SILENCED PROTÉGÉ situation that occurred between Agent Mortem and herself, where she allowed herself to be silenced by someone who abused the SUDDEN POWER he never had before in his life, ultimately leading to her continued issues of TRUST that she would meet throughout.

Why is she NUMB? Because at a fairly young age she experienced heavy and intense GRIEF that struck unforgivably at a time where it seemed things were safe. To rip something from a character, especially the main character, like FAMILY which is extremely important, you pull at the heart strings and it makes that character move forward on a quest for that in a way, ultimately by the end of the fic. (Basically you up they are least get a semblance of that lost thing, found again by the end)

Why is she a LONE WOLF? Because of the MENTOR VS PROTÉGÉ situation yet again, where she was taught to rely strictly on herself and no one else and so when TRUST and COMPANIONSHIP and TEAMWORK were introduced to her character, she didn’t know how to cope because she had been so desensitized to the ways of Agent Mortem that working back in the morals of family and friends was a challenge in its own respect.

It’s sort of a like a ripple effect if you think about it and that’s what helps me eventually move forward and develop the character arc I want to take place. She’s this way because of this — sort of like cause and effect. It’s really helped me out with major scenes or plot holes that have risen throughout the fic!

AGREED! Writing in general is not an easy feat and now including mind you ORIGINAL CHARACTERS, you’re literally, essentially, creating human beings from scratch and giving them characteristics, a backstory, trauma if you wish, friends and family, people they love, people they hate, morals, standards EVERYTHING! ITS INSANE! AH AND AGENT MORTEM! I’m so very glad that you brought him up, because his creation definitely stemmed directly from the want to experiment with the relationship of failed mentor vs protégé, entirely. I wanted a foil to Natia that was not directly with her all the time. Mortem plays such a MASSIVE role in her story and yet any interactions between the two are either from her mind or from memories and that’s just such a fun way to play around with their dynamic! (I just finished the creation of his backstory and character arc I want him to take and it’s only made me even more excited for what’s to ultimately come for him as well as Natia!)

A song that HEAVILY represents their dynamic is Ghost by Marvin Brooks (2WEI) and I’ll explain why. Even though Mortem is not always inherently *with* Natia, he still is a huge factor of her life, and still heavily controlling many aspects of her life such as recurring memories, reactions, and how she is also conditioned to react to certain things as well. He is essentially a “ghost” who is “haunting” Natia and I feel that’s an interesting take on their connection because they’re two people who clearly had a power struggle and a difference of opinions of multiple things and that just makes it so incredibly interesting to write!

song:

OOOOOO good question!!! So many people have such different ways of approaching story writing and planning and drafting and writing and editing and it’s honestly amazing!! I will say, I’m not an excessive planner or even a real great planner with writing, I never really have, and even as I’ve developed my writing and learned that “it’s okay to slow down”, or “it’s okay to take time for different portions to provide a deeper focus”, I still have not been someone to plan out every bit of my writing.

Reason being is I enjoy seeing where I can take the story in that time and place. Maybe if I’m doing a quick little writing segment and suddenly this idea just appears and hits me, I work it into the fic and it takes it a whole new direction and I end up not being super upset about it because it just…it works! And of course, this is not how other people operate and I have every respect for people who plan and have every detail laid out and figured out and just….completely and utterly planned to the dot. Lile kudos to people who genuinely get the planning all cleaned up before even writing, truly.

I just finalized Agent Mortem’s backstory and where I want his character arc to go and I’ve had him as a character since August of last year LOL! But ya know sometimes, I sit and I think back and go, maybe I wasn’t ready at that time to develop him completely yet because I, the writer, didn’t understand him enough to and I had to write more of him to be able to get a grasp of who he was and his character (and just about everything else!) and that’s okay!!! :)

Going with this idea I just stated above — the 4 or 5 pages of info — KEEP IT MY FRIEND!!! I swear, half the reason ideas even come to me is simply because I just write a big info dump that has all my little ideas somewhere inside and will ALWAYS be there. I recommend maybe taking a day though - away from focusing on writing or editing - and just picking that apart. (That’s what I did the other day and it helped me out MAJORLY! and it was worth it in the end!) Maybe keep the original 4-5 pages and then copy and paste the same thing in another doc so you always have the original!

And then just go through and split ideas apart! If you start reading and see it moving into another realm of headspace of ideas, just press enter and separate the two — you didn’t delete it, it’s still there and still intact! It’s just easier to look at now because instead of two, jumbled and completely different ideas, you now have two paragraphs and portions of text that relate to their own respective idea. It definitely makes it an easier pill to swallow when trying to get yourself organized!!

This really helped me when I was in my beginning stages of figuring out Landslide ESPECIALLY the first 17ish chapter where Natia was not in contact with Easy yet. I’ve explained it before but those chapters are there because we are seeing her final days with the resistance in Warsaw and how she ultimately ends up with Easy PLUS we see who she is as a character by herself and how she is not merely an extension off of Easy, but her own character, her own person. She has her own story and her own morals and ways of going about her life that don’t even relate to Easy. Their paths just happened to cross!! :)

By getting those first 17ish chapters planned, not extreme planning though I will admit, half the scenes were very much thought up on the spot for example like Natia driving to Munich in disguise or the introduction of Zdzich — two very important scenes that show us something about Natia. (1) She’s willing to go to extreme lengths for the people she loves to ensure that in the end they are safe, even if it means sacrificing herself and (2) she has trouble realizing that there are people out there that genuinely care for her, a connection to her ultimate, unruly and upsetting past. And the best part about it is THESE WEREN’T EVEN PLANNED! So sometimes, just let the story take the reigns and your mind and just guide you through it. Sometimes it is for the best :)

If you have your basic ideas and concepts and themes for how you want your fic to eventually go, the scenes for me most of the time just appear I guess when they should. Sometimes even in the times I'm not writing, I sit theorizing and questioning and thinking and developing ideas in my mind and it's a real good exercise, so when you get back to writing, you already know where you want the fic leading in the end!

MAN I LOVE THIS QUESTION. Anytime I can provide some meta or give some insight to Natia who is just one of the best characters I’ve gotten the pleasure of working with, I’ll gladly answer!

The thing I enjoy writing about Natia the most I feel, and I’ll probably always say this, is her complexity — as a writer, her character orders a healthy challenge for me that I gladly have accepted! You don’t know everything about her as a reader and as you read each chapter, that’s how you slowly uncover and discover what she hid about herself to protect herself. There’s so many different aspects of her that I could discuss truly!! (There has been so many parts that I’ve scrapped because I read through and just think “Man this doesn’t seem like Natia!”. She’s tricky sometimes to stake down exactly how she would react because of her past and her trauma and how long she’s been in war, but I just LOVE it!)

Many different aspects of her character though, come from her past and that’s what makes her interesting. I’ve really enjoyed working with the ideology of “Chekov’s Gun”, a writing device that can be used, with how I will mentioned something and it almost might seem out of the blue, yet later it all just makes sense?! When the flashback is revealed or a small portion of her past is finally allowing *light* in. It's a device I've used with Natia that has just really helped to develop her story at the pace I want it to be revealed! :D

For example, the OCEAN is mentioned many times. I make constant reference to the WAVES, the RECESSION of them from time to time, the comparison of the OCEAN both ABOVE and BELOW surface — all of that sorta stuff! For her character, it seems a bit out of place. She’s COLD. She’s NUMB. She’s BROKEN. What does an open body of water consuming at least 70% of the Earth have to do with an OC based in Warsaw, Poland?

This is where the importance of her PAST will play it’s role, as it has a major INFLUENCE on her and her CHARACTER and her MORALS. One of the main reasons the OCEAN is inherently connected to Natia is because of her PAST and one of those main reasons is AGENT MORTEM and her TRAINING, especially WATER training. I can’t comment further on this though as readers have only touched the tip of the iceberg for the use of the OCEAN and it’s IMPORTANCE so far in this fic! (Ask me again about it once this fic is finished up for the most part, unless….by Part 4 readers understand why!)

Natia just remains a character who constantly is developing and changing inside my head - where I want her path to ultimately end up leading by the end of the fic, where I want both her mental head space vs emotional head space should be and etc. So many portions of this fic are dealt specifically on her internal monologue and how she calculates and problem solves from that portion of her sort of *engagement* within the conflict. There never seems to be a dull moment when writing her!

Another thing I really have enjoyed about writing Natia is her clashing personality traits that make her interesting to write in both different scenarios and reactions. She's stubborn yet humble. She's numb and cold but internally extremely caring and giving and filled with these bottled up emotions. She's mentally strong yet she's been through so much and let the war take so much. She never complains about what she's doing, but she's lost nearly everyone she loves. She's a fighter in this war and refuses to back down from a battle she know she can wage, but the second she is pulled from the aspect of war, things crash and burn around her. Just even these few combating sort of things, really show her character and what, through writing, has slowly developed! They always lay around in the back of my mind and it's one of the main things I remind myself when I write Natia all the tme.

I think one of the most important things I've learned from both writing and creating a character like Natia is that (1) it's okay to ask for help, about anything, literally anything. You don't have to confine everything to yourself and build up this immense pressure to do what you must to continue moving forward. It's okay to have people there to help you and support you. (2) It's okay to be strong alone and even if you seem to be the only one on the current path you're are on, it does not mean you are wrong. it can still lead to the right destination in the end!

Oooo okay! AGENT MORTEM!! I am totally down to chat about some things I've loved to write with him with and some challenges I've discovered, but as far as what I've learned from him, I will be holding off and could answer that when the entire fic is both completed and then updated on platforms....just because ;) don't want to give away any spoilers haha! <3

Something I've enjoyed about writing and crafting Agent Mortem is letting him remain as mysterious and secretive as he is for so long. Initially, I can't even begin to recall what his character would be like even a year ago, but seeing where he has developed now, I'm really happy with where he is. He's mysterious, he's shadowed, he seems like a figure in the background, a past mentor who is half deranged and lost his mind with a background with so substance. It makes for such a fascinating way to begin to reveal his past! (something I've began to insert into part 4 of Landslide and man I'm just so HYPE!)

I feel I'm excited simply because he's finally getting the time and moment he deserves to finally explain and show himself as to what has occurred. There's so many fractured and disconnected parts of what is currently going on with Natia and her connection to both Agent Mortem and then Death is tossed in the mix and it seems this big complicated mess of 'how' Agent Mortem got to be this way, 'why' he does a thing such as this, just different and varying aspects such as that. it makes for those big final reveals to all be even more worth it!

He has been quite the challenge though I will admit. There's so many perspectives he could quite possibly be viewed from and his *character* + morals/values could be pulled in a various amount of ways as well. Making sure he accurately comes across the way I want him to both appear and come across to the reader and to myself has definitely been tricky. He's not as easy as suspected, you know, not just a 'dude who had a bad day and went insane in the end', there's a whole multitude of levels and reasons and a deep, heavy and traumatizing background starting from his birth really (which is a whole other story). Managing and balancing that all in one has definitely been something I've had to keep on top of and monitor but I feel has really been worth the challenge in the end. Because at the end of the day, I'm someone looking to constantly challenge myself.

And a good challenge, whether it be writing or academics or a workout, is healthy and GOOD! That's what Landslide in a whole has really shown me, to challenge yourself daily to see where you can push yourself and your imagination and creativity, just to see where you can even go!! it's exciting and refreshing!

Thank you so much for this wonderful ask Rose! I appreciate it more than ANYTHING as you well know, and I know it's taken me *quite* some time to answer, but I've been working on it for weeks now and finally got it out because it was ready! I really wanted to take my time with it and develop it to its full potential in the end and I feel I have (without giving away any spoilers haha!) As always, please know if you have any further questions regarding Natia Filipska, Agent Mortem, Death (along with other characters of Landslide), writing, the process (my own included), tips for writing/planning, or just anything else in general, I will always be happy to help in anyway I can! You're always welcome, anyone always is!!! <3333 Thank you again, I had so much fun doing this more than anything! :D

#writing #writing tips #band of brothers #bob fic #band of brothers fic #also hello landslide day tmr and it’s a good one hehe :d #natia filipska #agent mortem #death (character)#basic aid on characters + writing/planning #plus gathering thoughts #thank you again for this rose! i had so much fun! <3333

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suituuup · 4 years

Text

clouds

Prompt: After finding out she has Stage II breast cancer, Beca gets started with chemo. She never expected she’d make a friend there, much less a kid.

rating: M

word count: 5,4k

ao3 link

“All done,” the nurse chirps as she takes out the needle and presses a wad of cotton to the small puncture spot. “You’ll have to wait an hour or so for the lab results to come back before they set you up for chemo.”

“Okay,” Beca mumbles, lowering her sweater sleeve and standing from the cot. She thanks the nurse and shuffles out of the room and towards the elevator that will take her up to the right floor.

A month ago, Beca found out she had breast cancer. She had just got back from tour and was on her annual gynecology check-up where the doctor felt a lump in her left breast. She referred Beca to a specialist and, following a mammogram and a biopsy, Beca was diagnosed with Stage II breast cancer.

Her whole universe as she knew it shifted on its axis. While her chances of survival were pretty high at that stage, she knew treatment would momentarily change her daily life, and that the few months ahead would be an emotional whirlwind.

Beca got set up just over an hour later on a reclining chair on the infusion floor. She had packed a bag with everything she would need: snacks, a blanket, water, and her computer and headphones so she could get some work done.

The nurse soon came over to start an IV, Beca wincing as the needle pierced her skin. “Alright, you’re all set. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

She closes her eyes and puffs out a long breath, willing herself to relax.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay on your own?”

Beca opens her eyes to find a little girl, no older than ten or eleven, climbing in the chair next to hers. Her mom, Beca supposes from the matching hair color, crouches in front of her.

“Yes, mom. I already told you I’ll be okay.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be back in half an hour.” The woman kisses the girl’s forehead, shrugging off the Wonder Woman backpack and setting it on her daughter’s lap. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” As soon as her mother turns away to leave the room, her curious blue eyes find Beca. “You’re new.”

Beca puffs out a surprised chuckle. “I am, yeah.”

A small hand is thrust towards her. “I’m Maddie.”

Beca shakes her hand lightly. “Hi Maddie, my name’s Beca.”

“Nice meeting you.” She opens her backpack just as the nurse heads towards her. “Hi Jenny.”

“Hello Maddie. How are we doing today?”

“I’m okay, thanks. Mommy and I are going to eat ice cream afterwards.” She rolls up her sleeve and extends her arm, barely flinching as the nurse pushes the needle in.

Beca realizes with a painful pang in her chest that it’s definitely not her first time getting chemo.

“Lucky you,” the nurse gushes, taping the IV tube to her arm. “All done, sweetie. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks, Jenny.”

Beca glances away, her eyes drifting to her own IV bag. It’s strange to think about how what’s supposed to kill the cancer is also killing every good cell in her body. Soon she’ll be losing her hair and—

“Who’s your favorite singer?”

Beca is pulled out of her thoughts by that same girl — Maddie. An amused smile curves her lips. “Um, I like a lot of singers, but I guess my top 3 is Fleetwood Mac, Harry Styles and Beyoncé.”

“My mom loves Fleetwood Mac,” she says. “Mine’s Shawn Mendes.”

Beca nods. “He’s a cool guy.”

Those striking blue eyes widen. “You’ve met him??”

Beca has worked with him on his last album and he’s become a good friend, but she wants to keep a low profile, so she shakes her head. “No, I mean— he seems like a cool guy.”

“Oh. Yeah. I was supposed to go see him live last year but I wasn’t healthy enough.”

Beca’s heart cracks a little bit at that. “That sucks, I’m sorry.”

Maddie shrugs. “It’s okay. Do you know how to play Backgammon?”

Beca lets out another chuckle. She hadn’t expected to meet anyone here, much less a kid (she’s not a kid person), but she has to admit it’s a nice distraction from her spiraling thoughts. “No, but maybe you could teach me?”

The next two hours go much faster than Beca initially expected, thanks to Maddie’s company. Her mom —Chloe, as she introduces herself— comes back half an hour in, but she seems content reading her book while Beca and Maddie play.

“Yes!” Maddie exclaims when she —once again— wins that round.

“Well done, dude. I’ll do better next time.”

“You wanna come eat an ice cream with us?” She asks as the nurse takes Beca’s IV out.

Beca already feels tired and nauseous, so she declines, shaking her head. “Thanks, but I’m gonna head home. It was cool hanging out with you, though.”

“You, too. See you next time!”

Beca nods, casting her mother a polite smile as she gathers her stuff and stands up. “Bye.”

The first effects of chemo hit her for real a couple hours afterwards. Exhaustion like she’s never experienced creeps on her right before dinner (she’s not really hungry anyway), and she crashes for thirteen hours, waking up with the urge to throw up. Her day is spent wallowing on her couch when she’s not bent over the toilet, weaving in and out of sleep while the sitcom channel fills the silence of her empty apartment.

It lasts two days, and Beca starts feeling better on the third, which happens to be her second chemo session. Maddie and her mom are already there when she gets to the room, and she casts them both a wave and a tired smile before sitting down in the same seat as last time.

“Hi Beca!” Maddie exclaims, grinning brightly.

“Hey dude. Ready to kick my butt at Backgammon again?”

“Yep!” She turns to her mom a second later. “Mommy I have to pee.”

“Oh go quick then, before the nurse starts you on your IV.” Maddie scampers off towards the bathroom, and Chloe’s eyes flicker to Beca, a sympathetic smile spreading on her features. “How are you holding up?”

Beca grimaces. “The last two days have been pretty awful, I’m hoping it won’t get as bad after each session.”

“Yeah… it’s rough.”

“How long-- um, has she been in chemo long?” She asks hesitantly.

“It’s our second round this time around,” Chloe says softly, the pain evident in her eyes. “She was diagnosed with leukemia three years ago, and it’s been an emotional roller coaster since then. Two remissions, yet here we are again.”

Beca’s eyes widen. “Wow... I’m so sorry.”

“She’s a fighter. Much braver than I could ever be. Always has a smile on her face.”

Maddie comes back before Beca can say anything else, hopping back on her chair. Beca manages to win two rounds out of ten this time, and she crashes in her bed as soon as she gets home.

The next few weeks are a blur, as Beca doesn’t do much except going to the hospital three times a week for chemo and sleeping it off. She misses work, and going out with her friends, but she doesn’t have the energy to leave the house. She’s thankful for Stacie and Emily, who regularly come to check on her and even go grocery shopping for her.

Four weeks after beginning her treatment, Beca’s hair starts to fall off. She knew it would happen, but she didn’t think it would hit her so hard emotionally. She loses weight, too, and her complexion is much paler.

Maddie’s high spirits are a nice distraction every time she’s at the hospital. They play games, listen to music, and even grab ice cream once or twice with her mom when Beca feels okay enough not to head straight home.

On her last day of chemo, Beca is surprised to see Maddie isn’t there. “Is her treatment over?” She asks Jenny as the nurse sets her up for her infusion.

Jenny shakes her head. “She was admitted last night.”

Beca’s heart squeezes in her chest, and she swallows down the rising lump in her throat. “Do you know if she’s allowed visitors?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll check for you.”

After her session, Beca heads to the oncology floor and asks for Maddie’s room at the reception. She heads down the hall, turning the corner and lingering in the doorway.

Maddie looks so small in her hospital bed, her complexion as pale as the white walls. An oxygen mask covers her mouth and nose, a wheezing sound filling the room every time she breathes. Chloe’s the first to notice Beca as she sits by her daughter’s side, stroking her hair.

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure-- I can go,” Beca murmurs, feeling suddenly out of place.

“It’s okay,” Chloe croaks out, waving her in. Her eyes are bloodshot and her features scream exhaustion and despair, and Beca’s heart clenches yet again.

Maddie finally notices her, a tired smile spreading across her lips. “Hi.”

“Hey dude,” Beca greets with a soft smile, lowering herself on the opposite chair because her legs feel weakened by the chemo. “Missed you today.”

“Did you ring the bell?”

Beca nods. “I did.”

“Sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It’s okay, Maddie. I’m sorry you’re not feeling good. I was thinking-- would you like to listen to some cool music? I used to mix songs together when I was in college and nobody really ever listened to them, so you’re privileged.”

Maddie grins and nods, taking the earbud Beca offers her.

She sticks around for half-an-hour, giving Chloe time to use the restroom and grab a coffee while she keeps Maddie company. As she walks out of the hospital, Beca pulls out her phone and brings it to her ear after selecting the right contact.

“Hey. I need a favor.”

Two days later, Beca finds herself heading back to the oncology floor. She knocks on Maddie’s open door, relieved to see her sitting up and looking overall better than she did on Beca’s last visit.

“Beca!” She exclaims, grinning widely.

“Hey you.” Her gaze flickers to Chloe, who too looks better. “Hey Chloe.”

“Hi Beca. Thanks for stopping by,” Chloe says with a soft smile.

“I’m not alone, actually,” she lets them know, craning her neck towards the door to signal for her guest to come in.

Maddie gasps loudly, her eyes widening to the side of saucers. “Oh my god!”

“Hey Maddie,” Shawn greets, grinning as he steps further inside. He’s got his guitar slung across his back. “How are you doing?”

Maddie stutters, pulling a chuckle out of the three adults in the room. “Hi,” she eventually croaks out. “You’re Shawn Mendes. And you’re here. In my room.”

Shawn lets out a soft laugh. “Beca told me you were meant to come see one of my shows last year but couldn’t make it because of your health, so here I am.”

Maddie gapes, her gaze flicking back and forth between Shawn and Beca. “Mom, I think I need to be pinched.”

“It’s all real, baby,” Chloe confirma, brushing a kiss to Maddie’s forehead. As Shawn gets settled in the chair by Maddie’s bed and fiddles with his guitar, she meets Beca’s eyes and mouths a thank you.

Maddie has the biggest smile on her face for the following hour. Shawn plays her favorite songs, signs an autograph and they snap a ton of pictures together. Beca goes home with the biggest smile on her face as well, thrilled to have been able to make Maddie forget about her disease even for a short while.

Beca goes back to work the following Monday as the chemo after effects have considerably lessened over the weekend. She’s still more tired than usual, but she feels like she can get some work done. On her way back home, she swings by the hospital to visit Maddie.

She hangs out with her every evening after work for an hour, right before Maddie’s dinner is served. They talk about music and Beca brings her guitar because Maddie says she’s been wanting to learn.

“Good job,” Beca says as Maddie successfully strums through her first song. “You’re really talented.”

Maddie grins. “Thanks for the class.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll leave the guitar here if you wanna practice some more during the day, okay?”

Maddie nods. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”

“You bet.”

She’s reached the elevators when she hears her name being called, and spins around on her heels to find Chloe heading towards her.

“I just wanted to thank you, for everything. Bringing Shawn Mendes here, giving her guitar lessons... “ Chloe sighs. “She doesn’t have many friends because she hasn’t been to school much and it’s nice for her to see other people than her lame mom all the time.”

Beca smiles, shaking her head. “You don’t have to thank me. She’s a great kid, and I genuinely enjoy spending time with her. She made chemo a lot more fun than I thought it would be.”

“I’m glad,” Chloe murmurs. “Do you… wanna grab coffee, maybe? Maddie kicked me out, telling me I should take a hospital break.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, great. I’ll go grab my coat.”

They head to the Starbucks around the block as the coffee from the cafeteria sucks, settling at a small table in the corner. Beca orders a decaf and Chloe a hot chocolate.

“How are you now that you’re done with chemo?” Chloe asks before blowing on her drink and taking a sip.

“I’m okay. No more side effects except tiredness, but I’m glad to finally be able to work.”

“That’s good.”

“Maddie seems to be doing better?”

Chloe nods as she cradles her mug. “Her test results have improved. I’m hoping she can be home for Christmas. She’s spent the holidays at the hospital last year and as much as the nurses and doctors do their best to make it merry, it’s just not the same.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Beca hesitates for a beat. “Is it… just the two of you?”

“Yeah. Her dad never wanted to be in the picture.”

Beca’s eyes soften. “That must be tough, doing everything on your own.”

“Some days are hard. I’m just-- so fucking tired,” her voice cracks and tears rapidly fill her eyes. She ducks her head. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Beca rushes out, covering Chloe’s hand across the table before she can think twice about it. “It’s okay to cry. You’re stronger than you think, and you’re an incredible mom, Chloe.”

“I’m terrified of losing her,” she whispers, those tears spilling down her cheeks. “She’s my whole life, and she doesn’t deserve any of this.”

Beca doesn’t know what to say; no words seem powerful enough to alleviate Chloe’s pain. She squeezes Chloe’s hand, brushing her thumb over her knuckles back and forth. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Gosh, I’m really sorry,” Chloe sniffles after a moment, puffing out a breath. “I guess I needed a good cry and you’re my victim.”

“It really is okay, Chloe. Anytime you need to talk, I’m here, okay?”

Chloe flips her hand up, wrapping her fingers around Beca’s. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

As the next few weeks go by, Beca’s hair starts to grow back (she still wears a headscarf, and will do so until it thickens out), and her energy levels rise back to normal. Work gets busier but she tries to visit Maddie three times a week, usually going out for coffee with Chloe once out of those three times. They text a lot too throughout the week, sending each other memes or cute animal videos.

Beca finds herself quickly developing a crush on Chloe over their sometimes hour-long conversations about their respective lives, charmed by her sunny personality, goofy sense of humor and both interior and exterior beauty. But she knows better than to do anything about her attraction, as Chloe is most likely not in any place to date right now, if she’s even into women at all.

Maddie is allowed to spend Christmas at home, and Chloe asks Beca if she wants to spend it with them as she knows Beca doesn’t have anything specific planned. They spend the afternoon leading up to Christmas Eve building gingerbread houses and baking cookies while belting out Christmas tunes.

(as if Beca needed anything else to fuel that crush of hers, it turns out Chloe sings beautifully.)

They eat a meal of Maddie’s choice --homemade burgers and fries-- and watch The Beauty and the Beast.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Chloe tells her as she makes it back down after tucking Maddie in for the night. Beca started cleaning up in the meantime, having just finished up.

“I know. It’s no big deal.”

“Want another glass of wine?” Chloe asks, lifting the open bottle off the kitchen island.

Beca should head home, but Chloe’s place is much warmer and cozier than her own and she loves hanging out there. She also can’t resist the opportunity of spending more quality time with Chloe. “Sure, why not.”

“Tonight was really fun,” Chloe muses aloud as they settle back down on the couch, facing one another. “I’m so happy Maddie got to have a real Christmas this year.”

“Me, too,” Beca murmurs. “It was really nice. And that’s coming from someone who’s not that into the holidays, so kudos to you.”

Chloe throws her arms up in the air. “Yay! I did it!”

“You’re a dork,” Beca says, a smirk curving her lips as she shakes her head. “Ugh, I’ve got All I Want For Christmas Is You stuck in my head, thanks to somebody.”

“It’s a good song!”

Beca rolls her eyes. “It’s cheesy as fuck, dude.”

Chloe’s giggle makes her heart swell. “Okay, it’s a little bit cheesy. So is the movie.”

“Never seen it.”

A judgemental gasp fills the space between them before Chloe backs away. “You’ve never seen Love Actually?”

Beca purses her lips. “Are you gonna kick me out if I say yes?”

Chloe’s up from the couch before she can blink. “We’re watching it now.”

Beca’s about to protest, but she realizes it’s only 9:30pm and she doesn’t have to go to work tomorrow. “Fine.”

Chloe sets it up on Netflix and grabs a blanket, throwing it over her laps as she settles back down. Beca nearly forgets how to breathe when Chloe curls up against her, draping an arm over her waist. She frees her arm from in between their bodies and wraps it around Chloe’s frame, pulling her closer as the opening credits roll.

“Keira Knightley was my first girl crush,” Chloe states moments later as the actress makes her first appearance on the screen. “Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“Haven’t seen it either.”

“Oh my god,” Chloe laughs, lifting her head from Beca’s shoulder to look at her. “You’re missing out.”

“Mmm,” Beca hums, her eyes momentarily dropping to Chloe’s lips before she can really help herself. She forces them back up to find Chloe’s own gaze on her mouth and, following a beat of hesitation, reaches up to cup her cheek tenderly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips.

Chloe melts into it, her own hand coming up to rest on the side of Beca’s neck as she kisses back in kind. Time seems to suspend as they explore in soft brushes and nips, their bubble bursting when Chloe abruptly pulls away.

“I’m— I’m sorry,” she whispers, covering her mouth with her hand. “You don’t want that.”

Beca blinks, furrowing her brow. “What?”

“You deserve someone that can be all in, not…” she waves a hand towards herself. “Not this mess. My life is so complicated right now.”

“I know,” Beca says softly, covering Chloe’s hand with her own. “I know your sole focus is Madison, and I’d never hold your lack of time for me against you. I honestly— didn’t even think you’d feel the same way.”

Chloe’s eyes flutter shut for a few beats. “I like you a lot, Beca. I just… can’t promise you more than day to day right now.”

“We can do day to day,” Beca murmurs reassuringly. “There’s no pressure on my end, alright?”

Chloe contemplates it for a moment. “Okay.” She leans in to kiss Beca gently, resting her forehead against hers. “Okay.”

They fall asleep in front of the movie, eventually shuffling up to Chloe’s bedroom around midnight as Chloe states it’s too late for Beca to head home.

Come morning, Beca takes care of breakfast while a nurse stops by to take Maddie’s vitals and do some injections. They open presents next as Maddie is too excited to wait until after breakfast. Beca got her a few books and a VIP ticket to Ariana Grande’s next show in a couple weeks. She got Chloe a full day spa package for whenever she’d like, insisting she could spend the day with Maddie.

“For you,” Maddie says, extending a small package towards Beca.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, dude.” She takes the gift nonetheless, opening it to find a rainbow themed friendship bracelet. Beca grins, taking it out. “I love it. Never taking it off.”

The New Year brings good news: Maddie’s health improves enough that she’s discharged from the hospital, and Beca is clear from any cancer, the chemotherapy having worked tremendously. They celebrate Maddie coming home and Beca being cancer free around a homemade dinner at Chloe’s house.

“Are you guys together?” Maddie blurts out halfway through dinner, causing Beca to nearly choke on her piece of bread.

She and Chloe haven’t engaged in any sort of PDA around Maddie as Chloe wants to take it slow, but something must have given them away.

Maybe the heart eyes Beca gives Chloe on a daily basis.

She briefly meets Chloe’s gaze before Chloe focuses on her daughter, a soft, albeit slight nervous smile curving her lips. “We are, yeah. Is that okay?”

Maddie nods. “You look happy, Mommy.”

Beca feels her heart swell, and as Maddie goes back to her food, she leans across the distance between herself and Chloe to kiss her cheek.

Something tells her this is going to be a great year.

Over the following months, she, Chloe and Maddie do plenty of activities together now that Maddie is healthy enough. They go ice skating, attend concerts, bake, have movie marathons. Beca falls so quickly in love with Chloe, it’s kind of scary.

They’re even talking about moving in together when Maddie relapses.

She’s admitted into the ICU after contracting pneumonia, and the tests show that her number of white blood cells is higher than it’s ever been.

“Where’s Mommy?” Maddie asks tiredly, twisting her head to look at Beca.

It’s been a week, and the light has already left Maddie’s eyes.

Chloe hasn’t gotten much sleep over the last few days, afraid that Maddie might pass during the night, on her own.

“She went to the bathroom, sweetie. Want me to go get her?”

When Maddie nods, Beca shakily rises to her feet and swallows down the lump in her throat as she leans over to press a kiss to Maddie’s forehead.

Beca doesn’t step back inside Maddie’s room once Chloe is in there, preferring to give them privacy. She calls for a nurse, then sits down on a chair in the hallway, tears silently sliding down her cheeks when Chloe starts to sing.

Her heart crumbles when the song doesn’t make it to the end, sobs filling Maddie’s hospital room instead. She hears the doctor pronounce the time of death, and the machines stop.

Night has fallen over the city by the time Beca finds the courage to step inside. Chloe is curled up on the bed next to Maddie’s lifeless body, and Beca freezes in the doorway, feeling absolutely powerless against Chloe’s immense grief.

“Her skin is still warm,” Chloe croaks out after a minute, her gaze blank as she strokes Maddie’s short hair back and forth.

Beca pads forward slowly, tears burning her eyes as she lowers herself on the chair Chloe previously occupied and covers her free hand with her own.

“I can’t let them take her away. It’s too soon, I-I can’t.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Beca whispers, her voice nowhere within reach. “Take all the time you need, they won’t take her away until you’re ready.”

Chloe’s parents, whom Beca has met a couple times over the previous week arrive only a few minutes later, and Beca suddenly feels out of place.

She quietly slips out of the room to let them say goodbye to Maddie in peace.

Madison’s funeral takes place five days later. It’s a beautiful day, graced with unexpected warmth for the season. Beca stands a couple rows behind Chloe’s family. She helps Chloe’s parents out during the wake following the ceremony, setting out the food and washing the dishes.

As people shuffle out at the end of the afternoon, Beca is unsure what to do. She’s wiping the last of the dishes when Aubrey, Chloe’s best friend, rounds the corner to the kitchen.

“Thank you for your help today,” she says with a nod. “I’ll finish up here.”

Beca gets the message that she’s not needed anymore and nods, setting the dish towel down. “Oh. Right, okay.”

She gathers her coat and purse and sees that Chloe is speaking to her parents on her way out, and as she doesn’t want to intrude, steps out without a word.

“Beca.” She turns around halfway down the driveway to find Chloe closing the front door of her house behind her. “You don’t have to leave.”

“Well, um, you’re with your family and...” she falters, shrugging. “I just didn’t want to intrude.”

She hates how it sounds like she’s making this about herself when it’s the last thing she wants to do.

“Can you stay?” Chloe croaks out. “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

“Of course,” she murmurs without an ounce of hesitation, taking a few steps forward and wrapping her arms around Chloe. Chloe melts into her body, releasing a shuddering breath. “I’ve got you, Chlo.”

The next days, weeks, months are extremely hard for Chloe, and Beca helps in whatever way she can. While she can’t make Chloe’s grief less intense, as much as she wants to, she can take care of things that will make her daily life easier, like taking care of the administrative paperwork following Maddie’s funeral, sending out thank-you notes, making dinner, cleaning and just being there for her.

She holds Chloe when she cries, even if it happens in the middle of the night, gives her space when she needs some, listens to her when she needs to talk about Maddie, even if it’s a story she’s already heard.

“Chlo?” Beca asks upon coming home one evening, about four months after Maddie’s death. She’s been staying at Chloe’s house ever since, and while they haven’t really talked about it, Beca wants it to become a permanent installment, and she’s got the inkling Chloe feels the same way.

“In the kitchen,” Chloe’s voice carries to the entryway and, after taking her shoes off and tucking them away, Beca heads over to the kitchen, slipping her arms around Chloe’s waist.

“Hello,” she whispers with a content sigh, brushing a kiss to Chloe’s neck. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too. How was your day?”

“Good.” She takes a step back and hops on the counter, watching Chloe cook for a moment. She hasn’t done that since before Maddie’s relapse and Beca takes it as one small step towards healing. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Chloe lowers the heat under her pot and steps in front of Beca. “What’s up?”

“A few months ago, I pitched the idea to Shawn about organizing a concert in memory of Maddie, where all proceeds would go to funding leukemia research.”

Chloe’s eyes get misty as she proceeds Beca’s words. “You did? What-what did he say?”

“He agreed. Now we need to work on finding a venue with a limited budget, but I wanted to make sure you were okay with the idea in the first place.”

Chloe slides her hand into Beca’s, squeezing it. “Of course I am. You’re amazing, you know that? I can’t begin to explain how grateful I am for you these past few months.”

Beca leans in to kiss her softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Chloe backs away a little. “I also need to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I can live here anymore. Everything I see reminds me of Maddie one way or another and it feels like I’m in a continuous loop of grief all day long. I wanna go back to work and— and find a new place to live, in a different neighborhood. With you, preferably.”

Beca smiles and nods, linking their fingers. “Okay, we can do that. Wanna start looking now?”

They find themselves a place in a quiet Brooklyn neighborhood and move in a month later. The concert for Maddie is sold out, and they raise close to $10,000 dollars for medical research. Almost a year after the funeral, Chloe asks Beca if she’d come with her to Oregon to spread Maddie’s ashes near her favorite beach.

They fly there the following weekend, and Chloe bids her daughter a final goodbye.

“Mommy loves you, baby girl,” she croaks as they watch the ashes being swept away by the wind towards the ocean.

Beca presses her lips to her hairline, holding her around the waist as tears burn behind her eyes.

She proposes to Chloe six months later, and they get married in Chloe’s parents’ backyard on a lovely fall day, in an intimate ceremony surrounded by their family and close friends. Two years into their marriage, Chloe brings up a topic Beca has been putting off for a little while.

That evening, Beca finds her wife on the couch with Maddie’s box opened in front of her. She’s flipping through Maddie’s baby book, a fond expression on her features.

“That was her first time tasting lemon,” she says when Beca lowers herself next to her, wrapping an arm around her frame as Chloe cuddles into her side.

“That’s adorable,” Beca comments with a soft smile, her eyes moving to the next picture as her fingers feather up and down Chloe’s upper arm.

Chloe’s been going down memory lane the past few days, opening up the box that contains all the things she wanted to keep: Maddie’s plush dinosaur, a few Mother’s Day gifts she’d made Chloe, her favorite children’s book and of course plenty of photo albums.

Her grief comes in waves. Beca knows the loss of her child is not something she’ll ever ‘move on’ from, or ‘get over’. The ache is still present, some days more suffocating than others, and Beca does her best to help her through those.

“Do you ever think about having kids?”

Chloe’s question makes Beca briefly pause in her motions. “I do, yeah. But it’s okay if that’s not something you’re ever ready for, I promise.”

“Up until a few months ago, I thought that having another one would come across as though I’m trying to replace Maddie and I felt guilty. But my therapist helped me through it and... I do want to have a baby with you someday.” Chloe glances up from the album, looking at Beca. “I think-- I think I might be ready, soon?”

“Okay.” Cupping Chloe’s cheek, Beca leans forward to brush a kiss to her lips. “I love you.”

Oliver Beale-Mitchell comes into the world a year and a half later, four days past his due date.

“Hello,” Chloe whispers as she walks back to Beca, carrying their swaddled newborn. She lowers herself on the side of the bed. “He’s so beautiful, Becs.”

A tired yet beaming smile spreads across Beca’s lips as she reaches out to run her thumb over his knuckles, leaning her head against Chloe’s shoulder. Her heart feels full. “Hi little man.” She glances up at Chloe. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Chloe croaks out, seemingly unable to tear her gaze away from their bundle of joy. She bends down to brush a kiss to his forehead. “Welcome to the world, Olliebear.”

#bechloe fic #bechloe

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