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little-diable · 11 months

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Lucky Shirt - Prof!Benedict Cumberbatch (smut)

I got the chance to work with @writingliv once again – yes, I am very much fangirling, y'all know how much I adore Liv – and boy, I am so proud of us and of this beautiful fic we've written together. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Professor Cumberbatch was perfect. He was sweet, supportive, ever-willing to help. He was attentive and loved to praise your achievements. It came to no surprise that you had ended up trying and succeeding at becoming his favourite student. The two of you had become an unstoppable duo, however, could there be more than mere passion for academia behind it?

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, lots and lots of tension, small sprinkles of angst, age gap, professorxstudent relationship

Pairing: Prof!Benedict Cumberbatch x fem!reader (about 9k words, she's a long one)

Professor Cumberbatch led a life full of rules, keeping clear schedules, boundaries, and conversations. Honest, passionate, and helpful would probably be the three words most people would use to define him. A life dedicated to teaching, to helping, to learning. He never swayed away from his clear-cut schemes unless it was for somebody else’s benefit. Selfless… Professor Cumberbatch was also incredibly selfless.

You, however, would think this set of facts did not do justice to his character. Professor Cumberbatch was not just selfless. He was an absolute saint. He had been your point of guidance since you first joined his class in your last year of undergrad and had offered you a place as a research assistant as a Master’s student. He had happily stayed until late hours helping you with your first dissertation and had never failed to answer any question related-or-not to his topic. Benedict Cumberbatch was your hero, which made your crush on him so much more inappropriate.

You had tried to stop thinking about him that way, feeling guilty at the idea that this saint of man was so willing to help you and take you under his wing, and all you did was fantasise about him breaking all the university rules and fucking you. It was an awful feeling, especially when you were sure he didn’t feel the same way, but it was something you couldn’t yet find a way to get rid of.

So here you were, sitting in his office, wearing that baby blue shirt he had once complimented a year ago or so, waiting for him to come back with news on whether you had been accepted to attend the most important conference in your field. You had excused your continuous wear of the shirt by referring to it as your lucky colour, making it the perfect attire for any important moment you had shared with the professor.

Your black heels had been incessantly tapping his beautiful Persian rug as you tried your best not to bite your nails when the door of the office finally opened incredibly slowly, and a gloomy Cumberbatch appeared on the opposite side wearing a shirt of a starkly similar colour as yours. “I am sorry…” he started to speak, and you felt your heart drop immediately, your hands moving to your face, covering it. “That you will have to cancel all your plans for the week April 19th because we are going to the conference!” He shouted your way, a gigantic crooked smile filling his mischievous face. You couldn’t believe it, instantly uncovering your face and checking his expression for a bluff.

You couldn’t help yourself jumping up from the excitement and reaching for him, giving him a hug. Your professor seemed to equally disregard all decorum, wrapping his hands around your waist before whispering to your ear, “it seems like your lucky colour works.” You tried your best to hide the growing warmth on your cheeks as he let go of you.

“Thank you so much for this! I am so excited! I cannot believe it!” You replied once the two of you were at an appropriate distance again, still looking at each other with the utmost admiration and excitement.

“Do not thank me. You did this all yourself. I just had to answer a reference request, and you may be surprised about this, but I find it incredibly easy to tell people how incredible you are.”

…

“Can anybody tell me when Operation Overlord was fought?” Professor Cumberbatch’s voice echoed through the classroom, eyes flickering to meet yours at any given chance. It felt like you two were playing a game, a game whose rules you have long forgotten, unable to focus on anything but him.

Him, the one you dream of when the nights grow warmer, when the heat fills your bedroom like the heat filling your veins whenever he speaks to you.

Him, the one that makes you tremble whenever his skin meets yours, never in an inappropriate way, though forced closer like magnets unable to part.

Him, the man that popped up in your thoughts when you wake and when you are about to fall asleep. An ever present sensation you slowly but surely adapted to.

You didn’t pay attention to the answer of the student that tried to catch the professor’s attention for the past minutes. Your thoughts weren’t able to grow quiet, a loud sound that rang through your mind like a song you couldn’t stop singing. It was wrong, so awfully wrong, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from craving his touch, wanting to feel his body pressed against yours without any clothing caught in between.

Professor Cumberbatch needed a few moments to rip his eyes from your features, breaking eye contact with a slight scowl tugging on his face. The nagging voice inside your head made you wonder if he was annoyed with the other student for cutting your shared moment short. There was always something so intense about the way he looked at you, forcing you to sit straighter, eyes unable to move away.

“Anything else you want to add to today’s lesson? If not, you are good to go.” Your heart picked up its beat as his eyes found yours once again, a silent way of communicating, asking you to stay behind for a few more moments. The other students pushed past you all too impatiently, wanting to flee from the classroom, but you didn’t move, not able to even try to imagine another place where you’d rather be.

“I won’t hold you back for long, I just wanted to give you these folders. It’s everything they gave me for the conference.” Your fingers brushed his as you took the folder, breath hitched in your chest. His eyes followed your every move, watching you thumb through the papers, unable to bite down your smile.

“I am so excited, I can’t wait for us to go there!” Your voice left him smiling, unable to bite down his excited grin. Your nerves were running wild, wondering how being at the conference with him will play out, praying to whoever was listening that you’d be able to also focus on something else besides the gorgeous professor you wanted to call yours.

…

Soft music filled Professor Cumberbatch’s office, ringing in your ears without distracting you from the essays you were grading with the professor. It wasn’t unusual for you to join in on his later sessions, finding comfort in his closeness, even though you wouldn’t share many words, just a few glances here and there.

“What is it? You are biting your lip again.” Professor Cumberbatch’s voice ripped you out of your trance, eyes snapping up from the paper. Heat flushed through you as you let go of your lip, teeth no longer buried in the warm flesh.

“Sorry, I struggle to follow their argumentation, it simply makes no sense, and you know how much I hate saying this.” Your voice was soft, not wanting to interrupt the calm atmosphere you two were trapped in. You watched him move closer, admiring the way he carried himself, the way his beige trousers hugged his legs, and how the rolled up sleeves of his black dress shirt exposed just enough of his muscular forearms and the watch clinging to his left wrist. Fuck, you’d dream of this tonight, you were sure of it.

“Let me have a look.” The professor sat down next to you on the comfortable sofa placed in the far back of his office. The scent of his cologne crawled up your nostrils, making you shudder as his leg was pressed against yours. His eyes carefully followed the sentence you had highlighted, concentrating on the arguments the student seemed to have struggled with. “Yes, I see what you mean. Leave it on my desk later, I’ll add some comments myself.”

He pushed the essay back into your hands, eyes meeting yours. Neither one of you dared to move, eyes not wanting to break contact, hearts calling out to one another without finding the right words to express what was burning on the tip of your tongues. He broke the intense moment first, clearing his throat before he rose back to his feet.

“I think I’ve kept you here long enough, you should get some rest and start packing your bags.” Disappointment filled your system, slowly nodding your head as a quiet “Of course” left your lips. And with one last glance shared, you left his office with a racing heart and sweaty palms.

…

You arrived at your apartment and dropped on your bed, sighing loudly. It was getting too difficult to deal with, to keep your gazes in check, to keep him from knowing how you felt. It was overwhelming. It was driving you crazy. You were growing so desperate for any hint of reciprocation that you had started to imagine things, seeing lust in his gaze when it couldn't be there, when it shouldn’t be there.

You decided to check your already packed bag one more time, giving into the parting words of your professor. All the outfits for the conferences lay perfectly organised in your bag, each accompanied by a pair of matching lingerie. No. you were not planning on sleeping with anyone at this event. It was just an old trick that you had once read; wearing matching lingerie makes you feel confident even outside of the bedroom.

You were about to close the bag when your phone rang on your nightstand. You picked it up, surprised to see Professor Cumberbatch calling you at almost 1 am.

“Hello?” you picked up, your fingers playing with the silky material of the matching nightgown to your lingerie.

“Hey there, apologies for the late phone call,” his voice sounded tired and stressed. You knew exactly how badly he wanted all his students to do well, and grading always put him in a bit of a bad mood.

“No problem, Professor. Is everything okay?” your question was filled with worry as you sat down on your bed and wondered if he was still in his office.

“I was just thinking about our conversation from earlier, and I was worried you would think I dismissed you because you couldn’t finish correcting that paper. You know how much I appreciate you helping me with corrections, and I wouldn’t want you to think anything bad of my dismissal. It was just so late and… I sometimes worry that I am stealing all your time. I am sure you have better things to do on a Saturday night than spend it with me, correcting papers with me.” He ranted away nervously. You could hear the sound of his dress shoes in the background as he paced through the room.

“There is no other place I’d rather be,” you blurted out right away, immediately realising the finality of that statement.

“Really?” he chuckled bitterly, “I am sure any other woman your age would disagree. Your twenties are important for your career but also to go out, have fun, make friends, and make mistakes. Please don’t let me keep you away from doing all of those things.”

“I am having fun, and I have friends,” you laughed, slightly hurt that he thought you were a complete loser.

“You know what I mean,” he chuckled, embarrassed.

“No, professor, I am not quite sure. From what I understand, you think I am a loser with no friends or fun,” you laughed, teasing him further.

“What I was trying to say is that there are significantly funner things to be doing on a Saturday than correcting papers with me. At your age, I was doing much more interesting things, at least.”

“What were you doing, Professor?” It was an inappropriate question, especially in the tone you had spoken it. You were not sure where it had come out from, but the exhaustion and comfort of your bed had pulled it out of you.

“I don’t know…” he seemed to be thinking, trying to understand himself where he wanted to draw a line before this conversation broke his rules, “I was partying, drinking, getting into trouble, trying to get girls.”

“I do all of those things,” you replied confidently, a foxy smile on your lips and a particularly strong inflexion in the all.

“Girls?” he asked, cursing himself right away for falling into your obvious trap.

“Girls… boys…” you laughed, “I am usually not the one trying, though. Especially recently, nobody has really caught my interest that way.”

“I guess I should take advantage of it and continue to monopolise your time until you do,” his answer sent a shiver down your spine. It was late, and neither of you was thinking perfectly straight.

“I think you should,” you replied before a yawn took over your voice.

“I should let you get some sleep. We have a long week ahead of us. See you at the station tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Professor.”

…

You watched the scenery pass by, the lush green countryside, the houses that seemed empty and once left behind in a hurry to disappear from rural places like these. Your heart ached at the thought, finding sadness in the empty places, wondering who had once lived inside these buildings.

It had been a good two hours since you had met the professor at the railway station, boarding the train to the conference. And while he was sitting next to you, elbows and thighs close to touching, eyes focused on a book he was reading, you didn’t find the needed comfortableness to focus on your book nor on your notes.

Your mind painted a colourful picture, wondering how the upcoming day with him so close would play out. Even though you were used to seeing him every single week, this was something new, something exciting, something that left you gasping for air.

“Are you cold?” His voice stroked your limbs like the soft April breeze, hands instinctively finding your arms.

“No, I’m alright, thank you.” You shot him a tired smile, cursing yourself for going to bed that late. A yawn clawed through you, eyes momentarily fluttering close. Perhaps you’d be able to find a few moments of rest, nothing long, though just enough to settle your mind and heart.

It felt like a trick of your brain, focusing on the elbow that was slowly pressing against yours, the forearm that met yours on the armrest separating your seats. Your heart was back to jumping in your chest, pounding louder than the rattling noises of the train.

While your mind started overthinking his move, trying to read between the lines, your body seemed to understand what it was supposed to do. All too slow, you placed your head on his shoulder, eyes not daring to flutter open in case you read the signs wrong. A soft exhale of air left the man, hand finding your knee to squeeze your soft skin.

“Get a bit of rest.” His voice successfully managed to lull you to sleep, heart slowly but surely finding a pace that would allow you to rest.

…

“We are here,” a voice shook you softly awake as you realised you had fallen asleep on the man’s arm. You instantly retracted back to your seat, putting as much distance as the train allowed. He looked at you entertained as he stood up, offering you his hand so you could do the same.

You grabbed it slowly, savouring the way his slender long fingers held yours so confidently and got up.

“The hotel is just a 10-minute walk from the station,” Cumberbatch added as he brought down both of your bags from the shelf at the top and then handed you yours.

…

You made sure to fill up the walk with every possible fun fact you had on the city, describing the few monuments you passed by and making sure you to search for your professor’s eyes, incredibly afraid that you had crossed a line by falling asleep on him. He listened to every single one of your words attentively, nodding and smiling as you made the third energy joke in a row.

“We are here,” Cumberbatch finally interrupted you, pointing at a beautiful historic hotel. You exhaled, thankful that soon you would be able to be in your room, away from him, and finally able to think straight.

The two of you entered the hotel and approached the reception, where a pretty, tall girl offered you a smile. “Hi, how are you? We have a four-night reservation under the name Cumberbatch. Two rooms.”

“Mmh… Cumberbatch?” the woman spoke back as she typed the name. A worried expression crossed her face before she looked up, meeting your eyes first and then the professor’s. “I only have one room for two reserved. Not two rooms.”

“That cannot be.” Benedict’s voice was firm and serious as he calmly placed his arms on the front desk.

“I am very sorry. People sometimes get confused when booking from more than one person and assume there are separate rooms.” She spoke politely, showing her best apologetic look.

“I will then pay for an extra room,” Benedict replied, not once turning to look at you.

“We are fully booked,” the woman replied, pressing her lips together, “I am very sorry.”

“There must be SOME available room,” he doubled down before you interrupted him.

“It is fine. We can make it work. The room has a couch, right?” You tried to ease off the tension, smiling at both your professor and the receptionist.

…

“I am so sorry. I have no idea how this mistake could have happened,” Benedict apologised for the tenth time as you reached the elevator, his eyes as soft and heavy as he tried to find a solution to this situation.

“Professor, it is completely fine.” You finally stopped him as the two of you entered the elevator, “there is a couch in the room. I am happy to sleep there.”

“I won’t let you sleep on the couch,” he replied, shocked that you would even think that was an option.

You sighed, closing your eyes, trying to decipher whether this was a dream or your worst nightmare. All you wanted right now was to be alone, to be by yourself, away from the overwhelming need this man filled you with. You had no idea how you would survive sleeping in the same room, regardless of whether it was on a couch, on a bed or on the ground.

The two of you walked towards the room’s door as Benedict bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from apologising again. He opened the door and was met with a queen-sized bed and a tiny minuscule couch. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, turning back around to you to apologise once again, but you stopped him.

“Let’s grab dinner! I heard some people from the conference are also staying at the hotel and grabbing dinner close by! Let’s go!” You patted him on the back and dropped your bag, ready to leave the room and what it would bring in the following days.

His heavy steps pounded against the ground, following you back towards the elevator. An almost uncomfortable silence was now following you two around, urged on by the inappropriate thoughts you both couldn’t shake off. Perhaps dinner would manage to distract the two of you for a moment, letting go of the tension and relaxing in comfortable chairs with other academics close by.

…

“Some more wine?” Benedict’s breath tickled your neck, forcing you to swallow loudly as you wordlessly reached your glass out for him to refill. His gaze was stuck on your features, on the smile you couldn’t stop from widening whenever he spoke up, murmuring facts about the academics you were now surrounded by.

“You have to tell us, (y/n), how does working with a stubborn man like Benedict Cumberbatch work out?” Your chuckles rumbled through you, eyes finding the piercing ones of the man sitting next to you. By now, you have forgotten most facts Benedict had shared with you, could barely remember their names, and yet you tried to play along, elbows placed on the table with your face placed in your hands.

“Let me tell you, it’s an utter nightmare.” Laughter boomed through the evening, through the garden that surrounded a few tables and chairs. The cosy atmosphere that lingered in the restaurant eased some of your tension from earlier, allowing the two of you to breathe calmly. “I am very lucky to have him by my side. No other professor has ever taught me this much.”

The hand of his that was resting on the back of your chair found your shoulder, fingers stroking your skin softly to communicate the gratitude he was feeling. Benedict was all too used to praises, and yet your words had a new meaning to them, making him sit a bit straighter as he began to pay attention to how some of his colleagues looked at you, unable to bite down their curiosity.

“I am the lucky one, I’ve rarely met students as bright as (y/n).” Heat flushed through you, forcing you to take another sip of your wine. You weren’t nearly as tipsy as you wanted to be, unable to accept his praises, the words he spoke that left your insides churning in excitement.

“Be careful, Benedict, otherwise, we may steal her from you.” One of the men sitting close to Benedict spoke the words without much thought, or so it seemed, not expecting the hard expression to widen on Benedict’s features. The professor didn’t reply, eyes searching yours as you shot him a small smile, hand finding his knee before you could give the gesture much thought. His muscles tensed underneath your hand, but before you could even try to move your hand away, he placed his hand on top of yours, squeezing yours.

“We had a long day, we should catch up on some sleep. Have a good evening.” Benedict’s words forced you to your feet, murmuring a soft “Goodbye” to the others. Your breath got stuck in your lungs as Benedict’s hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him as he guided you out of the restaurant. Once again, you felt your thoughts race, focusing on the way his fingers stroked your clothed waist, guiding you through the warm evening towards the hotel.

No further word was spoken as you stepped into the elevator, standing in front of Benedict with your eyes searching his. You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes flickered between your lips and eyes, praying deep inside that he’d finally close the gap. The two of you stood closer than needed, with his hand still placed on your waist and your hand finding his other one. Perhaps this was the moment you had been desperate for years, hoping that he’d finally cross the invisible line between you.

The mere thought of finally feeling his body pressed against yours left heat to fill your veins, heart pounding in your chest. But before either one of you could move again, the elevator came to a halt, forcing the two of you to step out. Only as the darkness of your shared hotel room lured you closer did you begin to realise that the night wouldn’t end like you had hoped it would.

He turned on the light and spoke, “I will take a shower before going to sleep, but don’t wait up for me, sleep well, (y/n). Please take the bed.”

…

Benedict entered the bathroom and left you alone in the bedroom, leaving you to wonder what you had possibly done wrong to ruin such a perfect moment, to stop him from kissing you. You sat on the bed, defeated, as you heard the sound of the shower turning on. Fuck. Maybe it was the alcohol or the burning feeling on your skin, but this felt like too much, too close, too little. It was ridiculous, nothing that deserved you crying over it, yet you could feel your eyes tearing up. The need was too much. He was too much. It almost felt unfair for him to leave you wanting the way he did.

As the sound of the shower stopped just for a second, you snapped out of your pity party, cleaning the tears from your face and getting changed before your professor could exit the room. You opened your bag and searched for your pyjama, only then realising you had brought your nightgown as your only sleeping option. You sighed loudly, covering your face and then dropping your arms to decide.

“Fuck it,” you spoke to yourself as you took off your clothes, putting on the nightgown that barely covered your ass and left little to the imagination for much else. If he could tease you all night, touching your waist, looking at you the way he did, you could do the same and even if he was not interested at all. Even if you had made every sign up in your mind, no man would not at least be tempted by such an outfit.

The bathroom door opened a few seconds later as you were busy folding your clothes back into your bag. You didn’t even dare to turn around to meet his gaze, suddenly feeling a wave of embarrassment overcome the boldness of the alcohol.

Your professor cleared his throat, and you finally met his gaze, feigning being completely and totally oblivious to what you were wearing. His blue eyes looked almost black by how dilated his pupils were, and you couldn’t help but offer him an innocent smile. He was wearing a loose black T-shirt and some grey pyjama pants.

“I am sorry. I didn’t think I would be sharing my room tonight,” you acknowledged the outfit, walking by his side, brushing his arm just so slightly before entering the bathroom with your toothbrush at hand.

Benedict had to command every single one of his muscles not to turn around, not to look at you walk into the bathroom, not to follow you, to pin you against the sink and fuck you right there.

You left the door of the bathroom open as you brushed your teeth, giving him the possibility to look into to watch as the hem of your nightgown rose high enough to show the curve of your ass. He, however, didn’t. Going straight to his couch and grabbing a pillow and duvet from the cupboard, and laying down.

You exited the bathroom excitedly, hoping to have one more chance to tease him before heading to bed but found him already deep asleep. Facing the back of the couch as he uncomfortably tried to fit within it.

…

POV Benedict

He didn’t dare move, eyes squeezed shut, arms wrapped around his too tall frame for a couch this small. Benedict tried to listen to your breaths, counting them to try and figure out if you were already asleep. His cock was aching, twitching in his boxers in a desperate need to be touched by you.

Fuck, he felt like a young boy, unable to guide his body, to pick up on his needs and urges, and to stop himself from giving in before it got too much. He hadn’t expected you to wear something like this, something that left his heart racing, pumping blood straight to his cock. It was torture, the worst situation he had been forced to live through so far, Benedict was convinced of it.

The second his mind painted a picture of your body pressed against his, he shot up from the couch, searching the false comfort the bathroom offered him, door falling shut with a thud. He could only hope that you were truly asleep by now, not picking up on his movements, the heavy breaths leaving him.

His hand pushed his boxers down his legs, just enough to free his hard cock. Precum was bearding his tip, veins shining through the thin skin, fuck, how much he wanted to feel and see your hands wrapped around him. Would you use your mouth on him? Would you stroke your tongue along the underside of his cock before sucking on his tip?

A heavy moan threatened to leave him, caught seconds before it could echo through the bathroom. His teeth left marks on his lower lip as his hand picked up its pace, fucking himself without any mercy, working on the fleeting time night offered him. Deep down, he hated himself for pushing you away this very night, wondering why he hadn’t given in, why he hadn’t chased the closeness you had been willing to offer. But something had held him back, something he was now regretting.

He couldn’t stop another moan from not leaving him, eyes squeezed shut, head rolled back. His orgasm was close, a desperate need to finally get over the sensations the mere sight of you had pushed through him. Benedict had to stop himself from choking on your name, from talking to the (y/n) he imagined kneeling in front of him.

With one last heavy breath leaving him, white cum began to cover his hand, sticking to his skin. Benedict pumped his cock a few more times before he let go of his cock, settling down on the toilet seat.

…

POV Reader

This night probably counted as the top three worst nights of sleep in your life. You had spent it between nightmares and sweats, waking up every couple of hours, feeling incredibly restless. You were thankful to see that it was already 7 am the next time you were shaken awake by another terrible dream. It took you a second to ground yourself; remember where you were. You instantly turned to the couch and found it empty, the bedsheets of your professor perfectly folded on top of it.

You scanned the rest of the room, sitting up, finding it equally as empty. A mix of disappointment and relief filled your chest as you were equal parts thankful he wouldn’t have to see you with this exhausted face and sad you didn’t even get a glance at how he looked right after he woke up in the morning.

You checked your phone and found a message from him, “Good morning! I wanted to give you some privacy before the big day. I will be waiting for you at the lounge if you want to grab breakfast together.”

You smiled at the message, forgetting all about last night. Everything was okay. The two of you were okay. He was your professor, after all, your rock. He had every right to reject you. Everything was okay.

…

You took your time getting ready, trying the different outfits you had brought as options and opting for the simplest one. Your ‘lucky’ shirt, some black suit trousers, and black stilettos. You exited the room confidently, your bag with your presentation at hand and your earphones in your ears. Your “gameday” playlist playing at full volume.

You entered the hotel lounge, finding your professor sitting on a beautiful leather couch, a newspaper on his lap. He was wearing a white button-up and some navy trousers. You approached him eagerly, removing your earphones and greeting him with a smile, “good morning, professor.”

“Good morning,” Benedict spoke, not meeting your gaze once. Eyes stuck on the newspaper.

“Should we get breakfast?” You kept on the smile, sure, he was just very enthralled by whatever he was reading.

“I have actually already eaten,” he replied with a sigh, intensifying his gaze on the paper. You pouted, disappointed, confused by his sudden coldness. “I have some meetings to attend before your presentation. Do you mind if we meet there already?”

You hesitated in answering, trying to keep the disappointment on your face from turning into clear sadness. He finally looked up, noticing your silence. His eyes were empty, cold like they had never been before.

“Of course,” you finally replied after he raised an eyebrow, “I…I will just go over the presentation by myself.” You had to look away before your eyes started to water, which seemed to pull a reaction right out of you.

Benedict stood up and placed a hand on your shoulder, “you will do amazingly. You are smart and incredible. You don’t need me for this. I will be in the crowd cheering.”

You tried to look at him, thankful that it had just been a small weird moment of coldness, but he had already started to walk away towards the exit of the hotel, leaving you standing there.

…

Were this many people always supposed to be at the event? Had everyone just suddenly realised your topic was cool and decided to listen to you talk? Where was he? You were starting in mere minutes, and there were barely any seats left. Where was he?

You squeezed the flashcards in your hands, trying to stop the trembling in your hands. You peeked once again from the stage, searching for him between the rows of mostly middle-aged men.

“You are going up in three,” some random guy with an earpiece said as you nodded emphatically, shutting your eyes and trying to control your breathing.

You stayed there for a couple of seconds, controlling your breathing, reminding yourself that this was your research. That you could do this alone. That you didn’t need anybody else. You were about to open your eyes when a hand on your shoulder startled you. Blue. All you saw was blue for a second until you could focus on the rest of his face. He had changed. He was wearing your lucky colour.

“Everything will be fine,” Benedict nodded softly, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead as he seemed slightly out of breath.

“You are here,” you exhaled the words out.

“I am sorry, I-” he lowered his gaze in shame, but he was stopped by the earpiece guy announcing you were up. “You can do this. You are smart. Your research is incredible, and you are so incredibly charismatic that I wouldn’t be surprised if every professor in the room would try to steal you after this. Go show them how amazing you are. I am here.”

You nodded emphatically, instinctively pulling him into a hug and burying your face in his chest just for a second, feeling as he stiffened under your touch. You let go of him and nodded a little more, breathing in and out and walking onto the stage.

…

“Thank you, everyone, for listening,” you closed your presentation as the room broke into a myriad of applauses, a feeling of euphoria filling your chest as you turned to look to your professor, that stood still behind the curtain, giving you the most idolising smile you had ever seen.

You walked out of the stage with a gigantic smile straight towards your professor, whose hands immediately cupped your face, “that was incredible.”

“Thank you,” you looked up at him, immediately filled with all that tension that had been there the night before.

You were interrupted by a group of listeners approaching, and Benedict immediately moved away from you, looking down, realising the inappropriateness of his proximity. It felt as if this moment managed to rip you out of your trance, the bubble of excitement and happiness had popped, and once again doubts began to fill your mind. You were hurt, sad, and angry that Benedict hadn’t been there to support you through the hours leading up to your talk, hiding away from you rather than murmuring comforting words.

Whatever game he was playing, it was a game you found no pleasure in, growing antsy as you began to overthink what had happened in the past hours. From the second he had told you about the conference, Benedict had promised that he’d be with you on that very special day. He’d guide you like a mentor, like a friend, empty promises you were now clinging to. The ship had left the harbour, but the waves of anger had ripped it to the cold ground before the crew could swim to safety. Swimming had always been easy with Benedict near, but drowning had felt so much easier today.

…

The glass of champagne felt cold against your palm as you let your eyes wander. You were able to spot a few familiar faces in the crowd of scientists you were trapped in, celebrating your and their success. Benedict stood close to you, focused on the conversation he had been pulled into, unable to escape before the others had noticed him.

“An impressive talk, (y/n), I hope you’re proud of yourself.” One of the men you and Benedict had dined with yesterday evening was now standing in front of you. He was handsome, almost as tall as Benedict, but his eyes didn’t have that mesmerising blue colour you’d always recognise, his hair wasn’t brown like the coffee Benedict would bring you whenever you helped him grade essays, and his hands weren’t as big as the ones you wanted to feel on your body.

“Thank you! I am very happy about the crowd’s reaction to it.” A smile tugged on your lips as you took a sip, buying yourself some time. Fading seconds Benedict used to study you, the fake smile he instantly saw through, the slightly uncomfortable shifting of your weight from one leg to the other. He stepped closer, hand trying to come to rest on your waist, but you pulled away before he could touch you. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll get myself another drink.”

You felt his eyes burning through your back, standing on the spot you had been standing on seconds ago, jaw muscles clenched. With every step you took away from him, your heart picked up its pace, pounding in your ribcage, fuelled by your anxiety and anger. Why did he have to be so cold towards you this morning? Why did he have to chase the distance rather than finally closing the small gaps between you?

Slowly you made your way through the crowd, holding onto your refilled glass with an iron grip. You weren’t nearly as tipsy enough as you wanted to be, pouring down big gulps to try and get rid of the tension that held your system hostage. Piercing blue eyes found yours from afar, wordlessly guiding you closer, surrounded by men and women you haven’t met before.

“May I introduce you to my wonderful (y/n)?” Benedict’s voice had a strange undertone to it, pronouncing your name with a newfound possessiveness dripping from it. This time you didn’t get to pull away as his hand gripped your waist, pulling you into his side. Your thoughts were racing as fast as your heart, but you tried to smile at the people that now shook your free hand, eyes not wandering from your features. Benedict’s fingers kept boring into your skin, not giving you the slightest chance to even try and escape him.

Only as the people moved on, finding new conversations to get lost in, did you manage to free yourself. With your gaze set on your glass, you took a step away from him and another before his patience seemed to snap. His big hand came down on your wrist, the other took your glass from you to place it down on the nearest table before he started pulling you through the room.

“Where are we going?” He ignored your question, pulling you outside into the hallway.

“What is going on with you? You’re behaving like a child.” Benedict’s words cut right through you, forcing a scoff from you. For a second, you allowed yourself to study him. His eyes no longer reminded you of a cloudless blue sky, but rather an angry storm threatening to unleash its power, fuck, why was he still so very handsome.

“I’m the one behaving like a child? You left me hanging this morning, even though you promised not to leave me alone before the talk!” He clenched his jaw, eyes growing even darker as he took a step closer, towering over you.

“Is that how you speak to your supervisor? I’d be careful of my tone if I were you.” You barely recognised his voice, dark and husky, leaving your thighs clenching and your hands shaking. Even though you were angry at him, so fucking angry, you couldn’t help but let your gaze flicker to his lips, wanting to feel them pressed against yours.

“Are you threatening me? You know what, fuck you, Benedict!” The words left you before you could stop them from rolling off your tongue, trying to turn away from him with hurried steps. But you didn’t get far, pulled against his hard chest with one of his hands cupping your warm cheek and the other resting on your waist. For a few seconds, Benedict studied you with dilated pupils and heavy breaths spluttering from his thin lips. Seconds that passed by all too slowly, torturing you and your racing heart. Something seemed to give him the final push, lips meeting yours before you could speak another word.

Your mind didn’t get any time to focus on the situation, guided by your body, by the way your lips moved in sync with his. For years you had tried to imagine what kissing Benedict may feel like, but this was a new sensation, something raw, something full of emotion, something you were addicted to from the first second on. Your hands found his suit jacket, clinging to him for dear life as if you were scared he’d part from you way too soon.

His tongue moved along your lower lip, coaxing a moan from you. The kiss grew more heated with every passing second, relishing in one another’s touch, the beats of your racing hearts, the blood rushing through your veins, a beautiful mixture. Benedict slowly parted from you to catch his breath, staring down at you with a smirk, an expression that left your insides churning in anticipation. With his hand finding yours, he wordlessly pulled you down the hallway towards the elevator that would take you up to the floor of your room.

Was this it? Was this the moment you had thought of too many times to count? Was this the moment you had thought of as your wandering hands took care of the ache between your legs?

The second the doors of the elevator started to close, you were pulled in for another kiss, pressed against the mirror you didn’t dare look at. You could only guess that you looked like a mess, hair tousled, lips swollen, eyes wide – all because of the man that couldn’t stop touching you.

“I,” Benedict murmured against your lips, hands toying with the fabric of your lucky shirt, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry for being this cold towards you, I still struggle with what you make me feel, and with the power my position holds over you, I don’t ever want you to think that I’m using you. You need to know, if you want me to stop, you can always say so.”

His thumb ran along your swollen lips, unable to bite down his smile as you pressed a kiss to his digit. The elevator came to a halt, allowing the two of you to find your way to your hotel room, pushed inside by his big hand finding your lower back. Benedict didn’t let you get far, hands pulling you against his chest, eyes getting lost in yours.

“I need your spoken consent before I touch you.” His lips ghosted over yours, patiently waiting for you to speak up. It took you a few seconds to speak up, unable to concentrate on anything but his touch, the fire he had unleashed inside of you, a fire so daunting he wouldn’t ever be able to tame it.

“Touch me, please, professor.” The use of his title seemed to push Benedict over the edge, growling against your lips as you were guided towards the big bed. His lips found your throat, sucking on the spots that left your toes curling and your heart skipping needed beats. Skilled hands undid the buttons of your shirt, pushing the fabric off your shoulders to expose the lacy lingerie you were wearing. Benedict marveled at you, freezing the moment for seconds as his eyes took in the sight in front of him, wondering how and why he got so lucky.

You murmured his name, snapping him out of his trance, hands working on his shirt. The moment pushed your nerves over the edge, hands struggling to undo the small buttons, signing in relief as he pushed you away, tugging the shirt over his head. Benedict didn’t give you any time to take in his upper body, the muscles you wanted to run your hands across, the freckles and small spots you wanted to kiss, forced down onto the bed. Your professor towered over you, lower lip caught between his teeth as he watched you undo your bra, exposing your breasts to his wandering eyes.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to see you like this, at my mercy, ready to give me whatever I’m asking of you.” His raspy voice left you gasping, eyes rolling back as his hands undid your trousers, helping you out of them. By now, you were only wearing your soaked-through, lacy panties, a sight that could make the blind see again, Benedict was sure of it. A work of art, the finest creation his eyes would ever get to take in. He wanted to take his time with you, wanted to love on every inch of your skin, but his own desperation drove him closer to you, shuffling out of his trousers with hurried movements.

He crawled up your body, flipping the two of you around for you to settle in his lap, feeling his hard cock pressing against your core. Fuck, you were already done for, balancing along the line of your state of pleasure only he’d push you into. His hand found the back of your neck to pull you in for another kiss, eyes fluttering close as his free hand found your chest, cupping your breast, tugging on your hard nipple. Moans clawed through you, all too shamelessly, all too freely, unable to hold back the sounds he elicited.

“I knew I'd never be able to hold back once I touched you, and I was scared of losing my control around you.” You knew he was talking about yesterday evening. You knew he was trying to smooth out the wrinkles on your heart he had crumpled like a piece of paper, and yet you couldn’t focus on them. You kissed him again, murmuring a soft “I need you, professor” against his lips.

His strong hands found your hips, grinding your core against his clothed cock, making your breaths get stuck in your lungs. The both of you were close to snapping, skipping the foreplay just to feel one another, and yet Benedict tried to hold back, not wanting to end your moment together this fast. Your legs quivered, the feeling he pushed through you with the grinding movements left your walls clenching around nothing, forcing a “More, please” out of you.

“Ask for it properly, you know how to be a good girl for me.” Benedict’s teasing words left you whining, eyes fluttering close as he stopped your movements, holding still to patiently wait for you to express your every need.

“Want your cock, fuck, need you inside of me.” A growl was forced out of Benedict, flipping you around once again, panties forced down your legs before your mind could even begin to catch up with his movements. With your body fully exposed to him, you were lying beneath him, staring up at him with lust-blown pupils and your teeth buried in your lower lip. His big hand found your core, brushing his fingers through your folds, moaning as he felt your wetness. You were dripping for him, body showing him how much you needed his touch, how desperate you were for him, for his fingers, for his cock.

His soft fingers circled your pulsing bundle of nerves, forcing your back to arch and your hands to fist the fabric of the blanket you were laying on. Benedict found himself obsessing over your sounds, hoping that he’d get to coax them out of you for endless nights to come, very well aware that he’d never be able to part from you and your bond again.

“Oh fuck, don’t stop.” He had pushed two fingers into your tightness, curling them against your swollen spot. Both of you knew that he was teasing you, fucking you all too slow, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as possible. Curses rolled off your tongue, forcing one of your hands to find his forearm, nails clawed into his skin, set on leaving marks he’d have to hide for the next few days.

“So desperate for me, so pretty, I knew you’d be perfect for me.” His praises left your skin growing warmer, eyes unable to meet his intense gaze. You felt your orgasm growing closer, wanting to let go, giving room to the intense sensation you were aching for. But just a second before you could give in with his name rolling off your tongue, Benedict let go of you.

Your eyes snapped open, staring at him with parted lips and furrowed eyebrows, a moment of confusion passed as you watched him reach for his wallet, pulling out a silvery foil packet. His eyes searched yours as he pulled his cock free, boxers left on the ground next to your panties; you couldn’t pay any attention to the fabric, eyes wandering down his naked frame, taking in the sight of his hard cock. His tip was flushed red, length twitching in his grasp, close to combusting.

“Are you sure about this? We can always stop.” Benedict was once again towering over you, not daring to move as he stared down at you. With one hand, you pulled him down to you, lips finding his as you murmured a soft “Fuck me”. Skilled fingers rolled the condom down his cock, aligning himself with your entrance before he slowly pushed into you. The both of you had to halt for a moment, eyes squeezed shut to take in the new feeling, adjusting to the tightness of your walls to the size of his cock.

“Move, please.” Your command was met with a groan, building a slow rhythm that took a few thrusts for you to get used to. The moans that tried to claw through you were held back by your pressed-together lips, not wanting to give your loud sounds enough room to reverberate through the thin four walls you were surrounded by, something Benedict easily picked up on.

“Don’t hold back, let me hear you, love.” The use of the nickname broke the dam, allowing your sounds to rumble through you. Your nails left marks down his back, scratching at his skin in a desperate try to hold onto him. His hips met yours with every thrust, forcing himself deeper into you, needing to etch this every moment into your mind. “You’re doing so well, my pretty girl.”

The second his tip met your swollen spot, you choked on your gasps, letting go of a high-pitched “Oh god”, very well knowing that you’d cum all too soon. Benedict’s smile began to widen as he picked up on your desperation, fingers finding their way back to your clit. You gripped his shoulders as your orgasm began to rock through you, filling your every pore, overtaking your whole body.

Benedict fucked you through your high, getting lost in your pleasure and drunken features, feeling his own high filling his body. He gave it a few more thrusts before he came, holding still as his cum filled the condom.

…

The rest of the week was spent between conferences, lingering touches, and long nights of fucking. Benedict could barely keep his hands away from you when you were in public. His eyes were always searching for you when you weren’t by his side. His hands perpetually on your waist as the two of you made small talk with other academics. Sometimes you couldn't make it until the night, sneaking into an empty hallway, a bathroom, back to your room. He was addicted to you, and you could barely believe all your dreams had finally come true.

It was safe to say your grading sessions were never the same again. They mostly occurred in his house now, and they included dinner and a couple of fucking-breaks. They weren’t as efficient but significantly more fun.

#Benedict Cumberbatch smut #Benedict Cumberbatch imagine #professor fic #doctor strange #bbc sherlock #Benedict Cumberbatch x you

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oftenwantedafton · 6 months

Text

Wanted - Steve Raglan/William Afton x GN Security Guard

Rating: Teen

Summary: Desperate for work, you seek the advice of career counselor Steve Raglan.

A reimagining of of the FNAF movie, with the gender of your character deliberately ambiguous so it can be enjoyed by anyone.

Also available on AO3

Your feet drum restlessly against the carpet and your eyes flicker towards the clock again. When your name is finally called, you don’t even recognize the sound at first. You’re miles away, wrapped in a cloud of worry and doubt because you need work so badly but your options are so limited.

And then that cotton fog draped around you dissipates and you hear your own name, evoked with a heavy dose of boredom and contempt for the position the woman finds herself in, for the endless traffic of hopefuls and rejections. Your voice is dry, rusty from disuse as you creak an acknowledgment.

You jolt out of your chair and follow her, dragging sweat drenched palms across dark polyester, hoping no one notices. You always perspire when you’re nervous, and you’re nervous 90% of the time. You attempt to work moisture into your mouth, try to still the rapid throb of your heart. It’s never been this bad before. You’re so desperate. That must be it.

“In here,” the guide drones, already turning to make the trek back. The open door looms before you. You can smell coffee brewing and think you hear the shuffle of papers.

As if held by some invisible force field you rock back and forth on your heels in the doorway, not quite ready to move.

“Come in,” a voice says, and it is a siren song you cannot resist. “Have a seat.”

You obey, practically collapsing into the empty cloth chair. It takes every amount of effort to lift your eyes and then you see the owner of that compelling voice for the first time.

He’s middle aged, with a crown of salt and pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard and moustache to match. The fluorescent lighting reflects on gold framed glasses that are at least a decade out of date. The fingers that turn the pages inside your folder are long and slender, deft in their movements. He says your name and your breath hitches in your throat as the man’s head lifts and you see his eyes, the palest blue, piercing you icicle sharp.

You feel him measure you in that first glance and you squirm nervously in your seat.

“This is quite the track record you have here,” he says, and you feel your heart sink. The fog descends upon you once more as a list of your previous positions and their abrupt terminations fills the air. You want to give excuses but they all sound so weak, so pathetic. And you are pathetic. You are undesirable.

And yet.

You don’t feel the career counselor is disapproving, precisely. He looks oddly satisfied as he closes the folder and leans forward, folding his hands. You notice the veins, blue and prominent in places, stretching up through pale white skin. “I have a job for you.”

“You do?” It’s the first sound you’ve uttered since you entered the office. You lick your lips, grateful there is some moisture to be had at last. “I’ll take anything.”

“It’s third shift. Security gig at an old restaurant. There have been some problems with vandalism, things like that.” He stands and you cannot help but notice the grace in the movement of the tall, lean figure as he makes his way to a small table behind you with a coffee maker and a box of baked goods. He offers a steaming cup but you decline, watching him reach for a pastry and settle back into his seat. A stray bit of icing clings stubbornly to his palm and your eyes watch raptly as he laps at the trace of sweetness coating creased flesh. “Do you want it?” His eyes snap to you so suddenly you feel the gaze lash against you, whip sharp.

“I’m sorry?”

“The job. Do you want the job?” There’s a touch of impatience in his voice now and you know you’ve disappointed him. Desperate to redeem yourself, you nod and give a breathless affirmation. “Good.” He smiles, a thin smirk, but there’s no humor in it, the gesture never touching his eyes. He offers a hand for you to shake and you accept, finding the slender digits deceptively strong. He could crush you, you think, with just these hands. “You start on Monday.”

***

You don’t know what exactly you’d expected, but it wasn’t this.

The career counselor had given you a brief history of the children’s party themed eatery, the details of its eventual demise less forthcoming. Your hands fumble with the padlock and chains securing the front door as you recall his instructions about keeping the less than reliable power running and monitoring the security cameras, while also ensuring the place stays tidy.

When you enter, it feels as if you are stepping inside a church.

There’s a stillness in that darkness that makes your movements feel reverent. You tred cautiously, gaze roving over barely discernible shapes in the shadows. You can smell stale pizza laced with the ammonia based cleaner used on the floors.

The security office is stifling and you’re grateful for the fan. It hums loudly to life at the touch of a button and you settle into a creaky old office chair with peeling artificial leather that’s seen better days, like much of the establishment. There’s a training video for you to watch and then it’s just you and the black and white screens for the evening. You don’t roam far that first night, still unsure. The times passes uneventfully and you think to yourself you can do this.

You have to make this work.

The days pass and you survive your first week. A second week progresses and you’re bolder now, exploring more of the building. You walk past the glow of the arcade games and stacks of empty pizza boxes and peek behind stage curtains, studying the animatronics with equal parts trepidation and fascination. You think you see them move sometimes but dismiss the notions immediately. It’s impossible. The eyes of the brown bear did not blink. The rabbit’s fingers did not twitch, ready to strum the guitar slung across his body. You did not hear a sigh from the beak of the bird, nor see the fox move his hooked appendage menacingly. Lunacy.

Past the main dining room , you find the smaller back rooms much more congested. You cannot identify much of what you see, but you endeavor to arrange things, at least somewhat, into neat piles. The internal frameworks of unused animatronics are more frightening than their working counterparts, but you cannot help but admire the colorful wires and trace the metal skeletons. One time you accidentally caress a sharp edge and draw blood. The place has a taste of you now and you wonder, as you suck absently on the injury, the tang of copper heavy on your tongue, if it enjoyed it.

The sensation that the building itself is alive in some way is one you can’t shake, no matter how unreasonable that concept sounds. You can almost feel it breathing, sighing around you. You imagine the generator is akin to a defibrillator, sparking life back into the heart of the structure. The pizza place haunts you even when you’re not at work. You dream about it, sometimes, see the animatronics step off the stage, find a tall figure in the shadows, familiar even in the darkness. You know who it is, deep down, but your conscious self denies it upon waking.

You linger in the mornings even after your shift is over, watching the streams of sunlight filter through the windows and strike the stained glass caricatures of the restaurant’s mascots, spilling shards of colors across the confetti printed carpet. There are no longer any traces of dust on the tables and chairs; you’ve made certain of that during your rounds. You’ve gradually restored the appearance to something nearing what it was in the peak of operation. All that’s missing is the laughter of children to bring this place back to what it once was.

But of course that would never happen.

The career counselor calls you one day, sounding friendlier than you recall during your first meeting. He says the owner is pleased, and you can sense the same satisfaction oozing from his raspy voice. You feel a warmth spread through you. You’ve done it. You’ve finally succeeded. You’re where you belong. This was meant to be.

“On the owner’s behalf, I’d like to treat you to breakfast one of these days. I could pick you up after work.”

“I’d like that.”

There’s an amused hum of sound you’ve come to recognize on the other end of the line as if he’s enjoying a private joke before hanging up and then you find yourself cradling the phone, no longer connected through voice but the link still palpable for you all the same, wondering when he will come for you.

It’s on purpose, you think, this vague invitation. The career counselor wants to catch you unawares, so you take extra care to look and smell nice each evening before going to work. You pace the confines of the security office and drag fingers along every surface. You want everything perfect for him. The place nearly vibrates with electricity, from the sign outdoors to the machines glowing in the arcade. You can feel the building waiting, anticipating. You feel that same energy mirrored in your blood, coursing through your body.

And then one morning you see the older model car pulling up outside the front door and you know it’s him. Your hands fumble the padlock closed and then you’re inside the vehicle next to him, sinking into leather. He offers you a smirk of greeting and your eyes stutter over the pinstriped gold shirt and eggplant tie, noting the rolled up sleeves of the button front shirt. It’s a weakness of yours; you’ve always found it attractive.

“Hungry?” he asks, and you nod, swallowing thickly. “Me too.” The second smile sets something stirring deep inside and you have to look away.

***

The roadside diner is crowded at this hour.

You slide into a bench seat, watching the man’s lean figure fold across from you. You order juice, scrambled eggs and toast and your companion selects black coffee, at odds to the danish he’s chosen. Always the bitter contrasting with the sweet, you think, admiring every movement he makes, from the deft tuck of napkin to the slight press against the bridge of his nose to reposition his glasses.

“Do you think I’ll ever get a chance to meet the owner?” you ask, dragging a fork through the last remnants of your eggs. You’d been absolutely famished, demolishing the contents of your plate.

There’s a long pause. “Do you want to?”

“Yes, I’d like to.” You don’t know where you find the courage to make this statement.

“Maybe one day.” The predatory smirk is back and you drop the fork, making a loud clang with the collision of steel against ceramic.

He waves away your protests at contributing towards the check and before you know it you’ve returned to the restaurant, where your own car sits waiting in the otherwise vacant parking lot.

“Thank you,” you murmur, reaching for the door. You don’t want to leave but he’s given no indication you have a reason to linger.

“Sweet dreams.”

Your fingers falter before making contact with the handle. Your body screams at you to find an excuse to touch him, any part of him, but of course there are none.

The interior of your car is cold and you feel both hollow and full as you turn the key in the ignition. He’s like a drug and you’re addicted and you can’t even begin to explain why. He’s virtually a stranger but you know him intimately, in some unspoken way.

You see the shadowed figure again in your dreams that day and this time you know they’re one and the same. He’s there, waiting for you to step into the darkness.

***

You weren’t even aware the facility had a door buzzer until it sounds one evening, giving you your first real jumpscare. You peer hurriedly at the monitors and realize someone is standing outside in the pouring rain, the hood of their jacket obscuring their features. Not once, in all this time, have you had any visitors, welcome or not. For all the negative claims against the place, for all the alleged talk of problems with vandalism and break ins, you’ve seen nothing save neglect that needed tending to.

The doorbell sounds again and you lurch to your feet. You’ve got a baton at your waist and a flashlight at the ready and you feel woefully unprepared.

The walk to the front door that you’ve made dozens of times effortlessly now feels like an eternal foreign path. You stumble past the booths and tables awkwardly, the hand holding the flashlight unsteady.

The rain drums loudly as you approach the glass. You turn the lock and crack the door open slightly.

It’s him.

It’s so obvious now that the career counselor is in front of you, that willowy frame looming just out of reach. You stammer an apology, stepping back to make room for him to enter, nearly tripping in the process.

He glides in shadow smooth. There are rain drops on his lenses, his cheeks, tracking like tears. They spill over his mouth and you want to taste it, feel the sandpaper scrape of short facial hair against your skin.

“Is everything ok? I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting…” your voice trails off as the door hisses then thuds shut. You think it sounds like a sigh before a jaw closes, entrapping its contents.

The wet jacket is shed, tossed onto the back of one of the nearby chairs. He still hasn’t spoken, offering no explanation for his sudden appearance. You watch him look around the dining room briefly before pulling the glasses away and untucking the hem of his shirt to polish the damp lenses dry.

“I..” you start again uncertainly.

“You wanted to meet the owner.” He’s still working on the glasses, scowling when he finds they’re not yet clear.

“Yes.” Now you’re frowning, puzzled.

“Well, now’s your chance.” His fingers abruptly still, setting the glasses down on a table and then his eyes find yours.

“I don’t…” you begin to protest but you feel your heart flutter.

“You know. You’ve always known.”

He closes the distance between you, so rapidly it seems as if he’s teleported. His lashes are clumped together, radiating like points of a star. A damp strand of hair drapes across his forehead and you long to brush it back. The compulsion to kiss him nearly strangles you. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“It’s you,” you manage, the flashlight dropping to the carpet. You’re dizzy, breathless, thinking you might collapse until his arms wrap around you. At last, at lastyou feel him, all that strength you knew he had, supporting you, clutching you against him. Your head tips up and his bows down and you have your first taste, those lips swallowing your own.

You drink him in, rainwater laced with faint coffee he must have had earlier, feel his tongue dart over yours, mapping you, marking you, teeth making sharp nips here and there and you welcome all of it. It’s like a dam breaking free finally and you lose yourself in the moment, let everything come rushing forward. He pushes and you crash against a wall, your back sending a framed poster featuring a trio of animatronics askew.

You struggle to touch him, cradle his face, thread fingers through damp tresses and he allows it for the briefest of moments before grabbing your wrists and pinning them against the wall. He draws back, leaving you gasping, writhing, still trying to grind your body against his. “Steve,” you plead, but he grunts in displeasure.

“William,” he corrects in a harsh whisper against your ear before lapping at the whorl of flesh. You repeat the name and his grip on your wrists tightens. You feel his nails digging into your skin, leaving crescent moon indentations. His lips caress your neck, nudging aside the starched collar of your security guard shirt. “I have so much to show you,” he pants against the base of your throat.

You don’t know precisely what he’s talking about, but whatever it is you’re committed. There’s no turning back now. “Show me,” you urge.

William abruptly releases your wrists, stepping back, the sudden absence of his warmth making you shiver. “Come with me,” he invites, pupils blown and shining, reflecting the neon lights. His hair’s mussed, shirt rumpled and he looks wild, almost feverish. He holds out a hand and you take it, allowing him to draw you forward, exiting the room, pulling you into the waiting darkness.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you

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skzoologist · 5 months

Text

word count: ~3.8k

warnings: there is a crime scene there described, mentions of past abuse

genre: angst, with a hint of crack

a/n: The last of the event's requests, done at last. This was requested by an irl friend, and since I know her very well, I made a few changes to it. Now it's focused on certain characters more and turned into angst, because we love that in this household. And my previously hidden fixation over DBH is newly lit and I only need to look at the word count to know I am absolutely fucked. But I love the world of that game too much, and look, police SKZ??? I cannot be the only one who loves the concept this much, I just know it 😔 No, police!Chan doesn't have a hold on me, what are you talking about- Anyway, Darling, hope you enjoy reading this, there's plenty of main course with a hint of fine wine there!

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

He was at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

It was that simple.

He’d merely wanted to take a brief walk around the neighbourhood, to freshen up his mind and wind down from a stressful day of work. Nothing more, nothing less.

And yet, he somehow found himself crouched in front of a window at a house that wasn’t even his, mind you, and just bearing witness to a scene that made the breath still in his lungs. Not a single coherent thought passed through his mind, body operated purely by instinct as it stayed there, motionless, as if he himself had been turned into a statue.

The room he’d been peering into was bathed in vermillion, splashes of it everywhere: on the expensive furniture, the once shiny floorboards, even the glass he’d been peeking through. And amidst all that stood an android, his clothes pristine and untouched, looking as if he’d been put there from a completely different scenario. The light on his template was a calm blue, creating a serene light in the dimly lit crime scene.

Before he could even think about what to do next, the nearby android turned towards him, movement precise and calculated. Not a single hair was out of place on his head, expression as neutral and calm as it could be. Their eyes met, one a pair of deep cerulean, another a pair of darkness, wide and scared, pupils shrank down in utter fear and anxiety.

He knew he couldn’t run anymore, with how he’d been seen. It would only take the police to check that android's memories to see his face and pin all of this on him, while the real culprit would be left to run free and commit another crime with no shackles to restrict them.

Not a chance he would let that happen!

“Sir, don’t move and put your hands where I can see them.” - an unknown male’s voice called out to him, sending him nearly into a heart attack.

Shaking, but knowing he quite literally had no choice now if he wanted to stay alive, he slowly lifted his hand up above his head and turned around, the movements choppy and shaky. The sight in front of him made the blood freeze into his veins.

A police officer was standing there, pistol drawn and pointed right at him, the man’s presumed partner having his hands on his own holster, housing another gun, ready to be pointed at him as well. His eyes instantly glazed over, panic being the only fragile obstacle between his tears and the wide world.

Because those two weren’t simple officers, no. They were well-known for their amazing skills, tackling hard cases and solving them swiftly, as if they were mere child’s play to them. Captain Bahng and Officer Kim were highly praised and sought-after individuals in their fields, their Department quickly gaining fame and the trust of the people.

Which was why he prayed that they would believe him and how he had nothing to do with the dead body in this random house, even if there was only a slim chance of it ever happening.

“Sir, we’re going to need an ID and a clear explanation on what happened here.” - the senior officer said, his voice now much closer as he’d been inching towards the scared boy ever since. “I- I’m Han Jisung, I uh, I live down a few roads over there and please believe me when I say I don’t know what happened here. I was just taking a walk when I noticed the strange spots on this windowhereanddecidedtocheckandsawitwasbloodand–” - his words became a jumbled mess, his breath short and much too fast to be considered normal.

The officers noticed it too, how his eyes seemed unseeing, his whole body shaking and going into a panic attack. The captain quickly put his pistol away and approached Jisung swiftly, only after a quick glance at his partner, who nodded back and followed him closer, stopping a few metres away, hand still hovering over his open holster.

“Sir, I need you to listen to my voice and breathe with me. Take a deep breath in, then, breathe it out. In, out. Yes, like that! Breath in, then let it out.” - the captain instructed, a small smile dancing on his lips to appear at least a tiny bit friendlier.

Jisung followed along as best as he could, his body and mind retreating from the verge of an attack slowly, but surely. His breathing stabilised, only hitching in his throat every once in a while. Only small tremors could be seen running along his hands, the digits twitching occasionally.

“Good, you did good. I’m terribly sorry Sir, but we cannot let you go, given the circumstances. My partner here, Officer Kim, will keep an eye on you while I go in and investigate. I would be grateful if you would comply.”

While he was still a bit out of it, Jisung nodded his head so fast, it was a miracle his vertebrae were still intact. That small smile ever so slightly widened on the captain’s face before he glanced back at his partner and stood up, having been kneeling in front of Jisung this whole time. The other policeman once again curtly nodded, his eyes drifting down towards the scared boy and quietly prompting him to stand up. Jisung thankfully read the silent command and followed along, watching as Captain Bahng took his pistol out again and carefully opened the door.

The android was still standing there, the blue light of his LED spinning as it was processing new information, his eyes falling upon the new arrivals’ forms.

They felt strangely alive, causing a shiver to run up Jisung’s spine.

“Ah, you must be the android the caller mentioned before. Seungmin, can you question him while I take a look around?”

“Looking after a potential suspect wasn’t enough? You’re working me to death over here.” - the officer’s voice was light and teasing, drawing a sigh out of the older one.

Despite their playful banter, Seungmin did as he was told, calling over the android and asking it about everything, down to the tiniest of details. Jisung merely stood there in silence, mainly because he was still shaking in his boots, praying to any god out there that he would not land in jail.

All the while Chan’d been walking around the room, gloved fingers hovering around potential clues and traces. The body laid next to a table that stood there emptily, a shattered bowl and spilled food found nearby, a few of the latter’s pieces still sticking to the wall above and painting the beige surface a light brown. The puddle of blood around the body was spread wide, as if no blood was left in it anymore. Arches made with those same vermillion blotches could be seen around, staining the furniture and walls, as if the murder weapon was flung around after each stab in a morbidly graceful spectacle. Seemingly no injuries were on the body as it laid there, back facing the ceiling, forcing the policeman to leave it as it is, until the investigators came around and took photos of everything in their original state.

The house itself was big, having two stories with several rooms on each floor, all spacious and well furnished. The now dead owner must have been well-off, although that didn’t come as a surprise, the neighbourhood being closer to the heart of the city. But now as it stood there, empty, it only posed more problems, making the investigation harder with its endless potential hiding spots for easily missable vital clues.

It took the captain a good ten minutes to scan the first floor briefly, his eyes stopping at an opened magazine. Curiosity drove him forward, something in his gut telling him it was important. His fingers hovered over the marked page, the big letters in the middle confusing him, creating a slight furrow in his brows.

“Hey, Seungmin. What’s the android’s model?” “BI-800, why?” “Then where is the HS-900 model one?”

Seungmin hummed, also appalled by the situation. The two officers quietly discussed things, but Jisung saw.

The android’s light flashed in an ominous red, yet in the blink of an eye it was gone, only that usual, serene blue could be seen in its place. It made Jisung question his sanity, if he was so freaked out he was starting to hallucinate now.

“I’ll check the upper floor, stay here and watch the doors and these two. That android has to be here somewhere too, if the house owner actually bought one.” - Captain Bahng said, voice firm and turning serious.

And so the other three waited on the first floor in silence, the atmosphere so heavy, it was basically palpable. The air itself turned chilly, as if something was in the making, yet none of the humans knew about it.

Officer Kim was already in his stance, ready to take action in a millisecond if needed, eyes sweeping over the place in a calculated manner. Jisung was just standing there, fidgeting with his hands, the skin around his nails on the verge of bleeding from the constant abuse. All the while the android just stood there, eyes fixated on the stairs, never once looking away.

As if he was waiting for something.

A few minutes later a quiet thud could be heard, barely registering in the humans’ ears. Both of them snapped their heads towards the stairs now as well, waiting for something, anything to happen.

Yet, Jisung felt the urge to look at the android who stood next to them again, as if it was an insatiable itch itself that had to be satiated.

The light on his temple was blood red, never changing its colour, no matter how long the human looked at it.

Not even a moment after this discovery did a male run down the stairs, so distressed he nearly tripped down the oak steps. Somehow he found his balance and successfully righted himself, just in time to land safely and for Seungmin to slam into him, pushing him down onto the ground. Chan wasn’t far behind, looking dishevelled and a bit out of breath, no doubt the unknown male’s doing.

That same male was writhing in the officer’s hold, trying his best to break free while shouting, begging to be released. But the small splotches of blood, both red and blue, begged to differ, putting him on the prime suspect’s pedestal, no matter how hard he cried and pleaded with the policemen.

It all happened in the blink of an eye, and Jisung somehow saw it all unfold with perfect detail, his body jerking backwards into faux safety.

The android disappeared from next to him, no, he ran there with calculated and efficient steps, a pistol drawn from one of the holsters sitting snugly in his hand, pointed right at the weapon’s rightful owner’s head. All movement ceased when a click could be heard, the gun merely the pull of a trigger away from firing.

No words were exchanged, yet the android’s demands were obvious. Their hold on the suspect lessened, allowing the male to scramble out and hide behind the robot, tall form now small and timid. His fingers were desperately clinging to that typical outfit all androids were forced to don, hold so tight his knuckles turned white. Tears were still endlessly flowing from his strikingly blue eyes, forming wet trails on flushed cheeks and long hair.

In a strange twist of fate, those strands were the exact same shade as the blood that could be seen smudged on his clothes and face, mixed with a few splotches of terrific blue.

The same blue that started spreading on the android’s white uniform, the puddle seemingly appearing out of nowhere and growing ever so slowly. Yet, he didn’t seem bothered by it, remaining in the same position and putting a comforting hand on the male clinging to him.

“Listen, I know it’s scary and you have every right to be scared, but if you lower the weapon, we can help you. Just–”

Chan’s voice was interrupted by a simple ‘No’, the word cold and firm. It left no room for discussion, planting fear in the policemen’s minds and locking their limbs into place. Nausea took its place in their guts, as if it had been waiting for this exact moment to rear its ugly head.

He couldn’t lose his partner like this, Chan would rather take his own life with his own hands before that could ever happen.

Jisung didn’t know how he was still standing there, with dry pants no less, but he just couldn’t take his eyes off of the scene playing out right in front of him. He watched it all with bated breaths, nearly lightheaded from the lack of air his unmoving lungs failed to provide him with. His eyes were starting to water as he forgot to even blink, his body unwilling to function and let him look away, to spare him from this horrid scene.

Just as the android’s finger was starting to pull the trigger, his hand suddenly dropped down, entire body turning limp. His supposed partner clung to him for dear life, holding his body up and breaking out in another wave of fresh tears, loud sobs leaving his lips now.

A noticeable puddle of blue liquid could be seen on the android’s clothes, staining the red-haired male’s hands and the floor beneath. The machine himself was turning unresponsive, now dull, dark blue eyes slowly being hidden behind long lashes and closing eyelids, the LED on his temple turning dim, as if life itself was bidding its quiet goodbye.

Loud wails and pleas could be heard, the broken male sobbing his heart out while holding onto the android as if he himself was his lifeline, his everything. The shutting down machine’s deep violet hair was stained with his own blood, the liquid inevitably getting there with every gentle stroke the strands got.

It was utterly heartbreaking to bear witness to.

“Tell him to go into emergency mode. Right now.” - Chan’s voice cut through the air, startling both Jisung and the mourning male.

When no answer greeted him back, the captain repeated himself, somehow even more serious and firm than before.

“If you do that, we might be able to save him. But he needs to save every power he has remaining, if you want him to live.” - he continued, a determined glint in his eyes.

The red-haired male curtly nodded, taking hold of the android’s face and asking him to go into emergency mode in a hushed whisper. In a matter of seconds the order was followed, only the dim light of his LED telling them he was still alive, merely resting.

“What-, what now?” - came the question from the still crying male, glistening eyes looking up at the officers.

It was ironic, how these law enforcers were his only hope now, when they were the exact ones who chased them there.

“We get into the car and go to our base. That’s the only place he can still be saved.” - Seungmin said while Chan was already out the door, starting up the car so they could leave faster.

Jisung watched them leave, the red-haired, tall male never letting go of the android he lifted with ease. The officer noticed it as well, his eyes widening for a split-second before righting his expression and motioning for Jisung to follow them as well.

“Wait, I’m going too?!” “Well we can’t exactly let you go after all you’ve seen. Don’t worry, no harm will come to you.”

The poor witness didn’t quite believe the policeman, sweat already gathering on his forehead once more as endless possibilities of what could happen to him ran through his head. Still, he silently followed the other two, glancing back to see Officer Kim follow them out of the house.

Once they were all in the car -the android still held in the crying male’s grip-, the car sped off as the siren was turned on and cars passed by, the speed limit having been broken long ago.

“It’s all my fault. He was just defending me, but that disgusting man hurt him in his last moments. Please don’t send him to the factory or the disposal site, I’m begging you.”

Chan glanced back at the sobbing man through the rearview mirror, eyebrows furrowing a bit more as he didn’t have a grasp on the full story just yet. He had his hunches, but those were just that: hunches. He needed evidence, and the words of a desperate person were a strong start.

“We won’t, just tell us what happened.” - his voice lost its harsh edge, trying to be as soothing as it could in the tense situation. “I–... I’m an android too, and that dead body belonged to our so-called owner.”

“That explains so much.” - Seungmin commented after the silence was growing too long, his voice soft and contemplating. “He bought us together, me and Bae hyung, loving how pretty we looked. He always flaunted us around, never letting me out of the house, saying how I was a decoration only he could see. So he only sent Hyung out, making him do every chore that was outside the house. And whenever Hyung left, he…” - the red-haired android gripped tightly onto his own thigh, expression pained and untameable anger swimming in those azure orbs of his.

Jisung couldn’t help but feel empathy, doe eyes watching closely with every drop of attention he could squeeze out of his tired body and mind.

“I was abused at every given moment, strange and unknown emotions forming within me along the way. And whenever Bae got back and we were left alone, he patched me up, even though he got no command for it. It left a foreign warmth inside my chest, something that only grew as time went by. He always looked out for me silently, even though he wasn’t even how he is now, not back then. It’s my fault he became like this, just like it’s my fault we’re in this mess. He always said ‘Hyunjin, you are too reckless’, but I never listened to him. And look where that got us.”

The deviant, now known as Hyunjin, let out a silent sigh, hugging the other machine closer to himself, as if it was even possible.

“Long story short, I supposedly messed the food up I made for dinner and got yelled at, harsh words and harsher slaps thrown my way. And before I even knew it, that man took a knife and lunged at me, but Bae hyung appeared in front of me and took the blow, taking that same knife and killing him. He told me to hide upstairs while he himself tried to hide every evidence of my existence in that house. Seems like he failed, but it’s a miracle in itself he hid so much in so little time, with that injury of his. And after all that, he cleaned himself and met you guys, or, well, saw you looking in through the window.” - Hyunjin said, the last sentence directed at Jisung as he turned towards the now surprised boy. “And how do you even know that??” “We only need a touch to transfer data and memories, didn’t you know?” - the android said, a somehow simultaneously sad and teasing smile dancing on his cherry red lips.

Jisung’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment, his eyes looking out the window as he heard the officers stifle a laugh -well, only one was trying to stifle it-. The police department where Captain Bahng and Officer Kim were stationed came into view, the building only a few streets away.

Yet when they’d reached it, they didn’t park at its designated parking lot, no. Instead they went to the underground one, the sudden darkness that was only illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights invading Jisung’s eyes. The words ‘Employees only’ were written in bold, big, red letters on a sign above, explaining why the quokka had never seen this place before.

Parking took only a minute at best, the car being haphazardly stopped right in front of the elevator doors. Everyone hurried out of the vehicle, Chan already at the elevator, waiting for it to arrive.

Once inside, the captain pressed a finger to a specific spot on the panel and pressed one of the newly appeared buttons. The doors closed and down the elevator went, confusing the poor pedestrian who was accidentally swept into all of this.

It took a minute or two for the ride to stop, but once the doors were open, Jisung’s breath caught in his throat once again. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t just choked to death already, but he wasn’t about to complain.

There was an entire underground base underneath the seemingly average police station, fully kitted out with the best of the best technology and equipment. It felt as if he was in a movie somehow, seeing how secret agents of the government worked in the shadows, making a part of him deep inside giddy with excitement.

The few people who were there had already been looking at their leader, waiting for instructions patiently.

“Felix, I need you at the med bay ASAP. Minho, you go ahead and keep an eye on this witness. Changbin, go and get the spare parts ready and transport them to the med bay. Jeongin, start working on covering our tracks.” - the commands were swiftly given out, each and every member already moving before their orders were fully finished.

All Jisung could do was silently watch as everything happened around him, the androids whisked away and out of his sight. He hoped the injured one would survive, his heart felt for both of them. But he couldn’t say anything, too stunned from everything around him and where he was, the nerd inside him now freaking out fully and freely.

“Are these the drugs kicking in, or am I dreaming right now? I can't believe I'm in a secret base of all places, wow.” - he couldn’t help but mutter out, still not believing what had happened to him in the last few hours. “What drugs?” - came the sly voice beside him, causing him to physically jump in place, a hand placed over his frantic heart. “Fucking shit, don’t do that dude, I nearly died from a heart attack!” “Then you shouldn’t joke about drugs in the presence of police, idiot.”

Jisung’s skin burned as he looked away from the laughing male, the floor suddenly becoming much more interesting.

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maddyaddy · 6 months

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Gesith, the personal retinues of a Greymanes Aetheling, fill a number of roles in the Chapter's organization. One such role is to carry the Fyrd's banner - a symbol of the warrior-brotherhood that binds the members of the Fyrd. This Gesith is from the 1st Fyrd, the Wighthounds. An august but ill-starred formation roughly equivalent to the 1st Company in Codex-compliant Chapters, the Wighthounds are personally led by the Cyning. While such an arrangement of personal leadership by the supreme Chapter officer is not unusual amongst even (cf. Chapter XVIII "Salamanders") Codex-compliant chapters, it is notable. Upon the escutcheon of the banner borne by the Gesith is the device of the Burhghest. In New Albian lore, the Burhghest is an omen of death, one of the hounds of 'Arawn'. This bears some explanation on this chronicler's part. It should be noted that New Albians are monolatrists. That is to say, they acknowledge gods besides the Emperor, or in their parlance, Al-fodr. As such, the New Albians, and by extension, the Greymanes cannot be said to be strict monotheists. No doubt, this vexes the Ecclesiarchy, though they allow this because of the extreme isolation of the Eastern Fringe and ever-necessary Imperial syncretism. The New Albians, however, do not worship these other gods. They know better than that. Rather, they are mostly objects of terror, and if more benign, respect. Arawn, 'Black Lord of the Underverse' (cf. Morkai, Erlking), is not respected. He is feared.

Of Arawn, we have a number of both oral and written accounts. There is the "Russ and Arawn" cycle of scopic literature, centering on a theomachy between the Wolf King and this figure, ending in the 'Death-King' bending the knee to Russ and losing his black sword, the so-called "Iron of Death". These are the oldest written texts about the subject, with manuscripts for the written versions dating to at least the Age of Apostasy. The Russ and Arawn stories are without a doubt far older in oral form. Of whether Russ actually ever visited New Albia and whether this battle actually ever happened, the chronicler cannot say. What has passed to us in the wider Imperium from the Space Wolves - never a people to write things down, the infamous Omega Codex and other such exceptions not withstanding - tells us he disappeared two hundred and eleven years into the 31st Millennium. The Space Wolves notably, to this day, have not found a trace of him on their famous Great Hunts. Yet, here is an oral tradition of him visiting a world on the utmost edge of the known galaxy, battling an autochthonous death-god into submission. It might be myth. It might be truth. It might be a half-remembered, older theomachy.

Nobody knows the truth of this. Moving forwards from this disquieting revelation, Arawn is widely held to be a malicious figure. His emblems are manifold - the aforementioned black sword (which by some accounts persists in the hands of the Cynings under the name of Caladbolg, literally meaning "cut steel"), a great axe which he replaced it with, the skull of a human being, and the Wighthound or black-furred Burhghest. These are omens of death. Violent and horrific death, but not necessarily heedless, reckless, unending murder. Rather than the Blood God's rage, Arawn is said to have a "cold disdain" for mankind at large. I have written more than enough for your edification, students. But something compels me, a foolish old man whose faith and health is failing, to reveal something.

Through all my time studying the Greymanes, both in the field and from afar, I have never seen or heard of anything resembling the 'foul mutants' the Space Wolves are held to harbor.

The so-called 'Curse of Wulfen' does not exist amongst them, or so it seems. Perhaps it is one of Magos Cawl's miracles, perfecting even the Emperor's divine work, or something unknowable, that has kept them from that particular malediction. Another has taken its place. I leave you these scopic verses, a set of lines the Greymanes have tried to extirpate. This dates from the immediate aftermath of the so-called Winter of Woes. I, The scop who wrote this was expelled from the Greymanes' protection, to never return to New Albia - on pain of death. They do not want this to be remembered. The Death-King's wycca dreams gave them spoor of the Cu Poor souls who became hounds, they now see only that which seems! All of them, victim of the Death-King. He who patiently waits. They serve not Al-fodr, but the Guardian of the Mounds.

He who threads men's fates. Cullain led them onwards to ruddy war, and kinslayer Hildebrand too. The unfastening of their chains, an omen of sorcerers' doom

#40k #Greymanes #Space Wolves #vlka fenryka #warhammmer 40000 #miniature painting #homebrew lore

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lyledebeast · 5 months

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Two Bens

Over Thanksgiving break, I spent a lot of time thinking about Turn, as one does, and it's brought me back to a post I started a while ago and never finished. A lot of interesting contrasts between Turn and the American Revolution story I am obsessed with in all seasons can be uncovered just by looking at the two protagonists who happen to share the same Christian name. While The Patriot's Benjamin Martin is presented as flawed but ultimately heroic because he's a God-fearin', gun-totin; American (even if he's not much else) Turn's Benjamin Tallmadge represents an attempt to make 18th C Patriots appealing to an audience that may not always already support them because of their political views.

Young, idealistic, and the son of a disillusioned French and Indian War veteran, Ben Tallmadge has more in common with Ben Martin's son, Gabriel, than with the man himself. But Gabriel, despite his angelic name, succumbs to the brutal nature of war in a way that Tallmadge never does. Tallmadge's idealism is challenged not by British actions but by American ones. He provides both the perspective from which the audience sees infighting among the Continental officers and hears the Loyalist side of things. Initially, Tallmadge cannot see how any American could support the British over the army fighting for their independence, but then he speaks to Reverand Worthington (before he shoots him, a task about which he, as a preacher's son, feels deeply conflicted). And then he has an affair with a widow who turns out to be a Loyalist. When she points out that the George taking food out of her and her child's mouths is not the one on the British throne, Tallmadge initially tries to argue with her. Then he remembers Washington's orders. Armies terrorizing civilians has consequences, even if that army claims to be fighting for freedom. Who knew?

Season three is a time of great transformation for Tallmadge. He learns from these experiences with Worthington and Sarah that Loyalists are not always entirely in the wrong and that Patriots sometimes are. It is a lesson that takes hold, as we see in his bonding with John Andre prior to the latter's execution. Tallmadge can see, now, that the similarities they share outweigh their differences, even as he also never falters in his commitment to independence. There is a nuance in Tallmadge's views of the British and their supporters that is completely foreign to Martin and all of the Patriots in the movie named for them.

While Turn acknowledges that there are good British officers as well as wicked ones--and that the same is true of Americans--The Patriot presents similar actions committed by the two sides in wildly different ways. "Sir, we're not slaves. We work this land as free men," says a man taken from his job in the fields and enlisted as an orderly on his employer's whim. Martin benefits from being part of a culture where Black people cannot safely refuse orders from White people whether he owns slaves or not, as we also see when he deposits his family with the Maroons after the British burn them out of yet another house. We see no words exchanged between Martin and any of the Maroons, but it is hard to imagine that their agreement has more to do with him not owning his housekeeper Abigale, who is now among them, than with a heavily armed militia being difficult to say no to. But Colonel Tavington forcibly enlisting Black men into the British Army? Awful. Terrible. Call the ACLU.

Another great example of nuance, who is she? comes when General Cornwallis accuses Martin, whose militia have been using British officers as target practice, of not engaging in gentlemanly conduct. "If the conduct of your officers is that of a gentlemen, then I take that as a compliment," says Martin, whose past gentlemanly activities include cutting enemies to pieces while they were still alive and then sending those pieces to their loved ones and, more recently, standing idly by as his men executed surrendering British soldiers. Clearly, these kinds of gentlemen are completely different animals.

In Turn, Tallmadge serves as our guide to perspectives that are patriotic (with big "p"s and small), loyal to the crown, idealist and cynical. There is vastly more effort in Turn than in The Patriot to represent the diversity that existed in Colonial American with one notable exception. Over the series four seasons, we meet exactly two indigenous people: a Queen's Ranger under Robert Rogers and a scout who works with Caleb Brewster aiding the Continental Army. Both vanish after a couple of episodes and are never heard from again. Their inclusion tells us that indigenous people existed during the American Revolution and offered aid to both sides, but not much else. The Patriot, meanwhile, is full of allusions to colonial genocide against the Cherokees hiding in plain sight. It evokes the memory of a Cherokee past in South Carolina every time Martin's tomahawk makes an appearance, not to mention the scalp bounties Rollins inquires about or the "little while" Martin tells us passed between the atrocities at Fort Wilderness and the Cherokees breaking their treaty with the French. The Cherokees were there; then they were gone. it doesn't take a history degree to understand what happened.

Turn represents a diversity of perspectives, but ultimately, the Patriots are still the heroes. The hypocrisy of people who stole Native land and enslaved African people complaining about the British violation of their "inalienable rights" is downplayed to make the main characters more palatable. The Patriot, meanwhile, gives us characters who are unabashedly irate at being treated by the British with less brutality than they visited on their Cherokee neighbors a few years earlier (while donning their own red coats!) But for all its numerous inaccuracies, I think The Patriot captures something true about how Patriots, especially in South Carolina, must have seen themselves. What kind of sanctimonious thugs claimed to be fighting for freedom from tyranny and violence when what they actually wanted was the freedom to not share the profits of their own tyranny and violence with the British empire? Of course, there ware Patriots with loftier and more sincerely held beliefs about liberty, independence, and human rights, like Ben Tallmadge. But considering the way Black and Native people continued to be treated in the new nation, it is clear the sanctimonious thugs prevailed all too often.

#turn: washington's spies #the patriot #benjamin tallmadge #benjamin martin #american revolution

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vgilantee · 1 year

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spurred on by my headache, procrastination, and @storm-breaker7 barking in the notes of the last one, more soft cody thoughts

you work as a senior medical officer on the negotiator, and early on into even your friendship with cody, he learned that you would often stay late in your office to fill out any paperwork you hadn't gotten to. so he would often come past and check if you were still there, and if you were he would come back with a warm drink to coax you away from the work and into bed

you buy cody clothes that aren't GAR issued for shore leave, and sometimes find yourself tucked against him with his hoodie over you both, your arms wrapped around his waist. he's comfy

whenever you get headaches, ones that are just a dull thrum and not enough to warrant a painkiller, he'll kiss wherever you complain hurts

you know the phrase "wear the hat, ride the cowboy"? that but with his bucket (this is something that works for any and all clones, but we're talking cody here, so the bucket is accented with golden)

cody smells warm, and while i usually say that to describe a scent that is campfire and summer weather, for cody it's... something else. it's really hard to explain exactly what he smells like, but there is something akin to leather and cedar wood, mixed with perpetual gun powder (i cannot be bothered researching as to whether star wars blasters use powder, so we're going modern gun logic). woodsy and warm i guess

loves when you leave marks on his skin. cody knows that nobody will see the marks, not under the ankle-to-neck black body glove and battle-worn plastoid, so he lets you have free reign really

although you work on the negotiator with cody, because of the size of the ship and the fact that you both are the highest ranking in your respective fields, sometimes it's hard to find time to just be the two of you. but when you do, you just spend the time together, not really talking and just being

cody loves kissing you on the cheek or temple when you're distracted, he blushes when you kiss him on the nose

(honestly, these have just turned into headcanons for the fic that i am yet to finish writing. but hey, at least you get an insight into their relationship haha)

#char rambles #char writes #commander cody x reader #˚:✧｡• commander cody

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bluenpjm · 2 years

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cloud9 agency ☁ jjk x oc

synopsis. faced with decisions that can change the course of her career, the art director of the cloud9 agency decides it is time to act and reignite the flame she had once lost. and all because of an intern...

genre. non-idol au ; slice of life au ; intern!jungkook ◦ fluff ◦ angst ◦ smut

pairing. JJK x OC

rating. M

wordcount. 4.2K

warnings. driving under the influence, drinking, making dubious decisions, some foul language, being somewhat displeased with current job situation

a/n. to the person i cannot go a day without talking to: happy birthday @itsceesaw! thank you for supporting me, always. may we be friends forever, surrounded by pizza, good vibes, and bts! ✌🏻🍕

chapters. 1 — 2

There was nothing more appalling than starting the day by answering emails.

Carolina figured there were far better things where she could waste her time and energy, especially this early in the morning. Daring to take yet another glance at the time on her phone, she sighed, noticing it was half-past eight and she was still stuck on this one email. She lacked what her boss would call the “delicacy” to make their clients understand how the business was and how simply their requests could be met. At least that was how she was supposed to present it to them.

If she had to be honest, she was wishing nothing more than to see her intern walking straight through those doors. And she never expected herself to think such a thing.

Carolina’s memories of her days as an intern were bitter. She never had the opportunity to do something out of the box — in her style — constantly trapped by the hawk-like eyes of her supervisor. And her taste was dull, to say the least. She was also never credited for the hard work she would put into her creations. Each assignment given to her was treated with all the care in the world, even if it wasn’t something she cared for.

So, when the chance occurred for her to have an intern, she had promised herself that she wouldn’t be a bitch and would actually let the person experiment and tinker with their works and put their personality in them.

Her intern — Jungkook — had been assigned to assist her in any way, shape, or form. She needed coffee? He would fetch it for her. The lenses in her camera needed a good cleaning? He had probably already taken care of that. But that wasn’t why he joined the company. Over drinks, one night after work, he confessed how much he loved photography and even had a secret Instagram account where he would post his pictures.

Secretly, she would check his feed now and then, often feeling immersed in the emotions that he could capture so simply through the click of a camera. He would never know, though.

With a soft heart — which now that she was regretting listening to — there she was, head pounding as instead of clocking in at 11 — no, actually — just make it an early lunch break and she would be at the office around 2 in the afternoon, ideas fresh in her mind.

The list of emails was endless and as she went further down, opening email after email, they seemed to get longer and somewhat stupider. It was… impressive, even.

Still, it was somewhat worth it as her intern was nothing but excited the day before, going on and about how much research he had and how many angles he had studied to make the photo shoot he was attending in her place absolutely perfect.

The kid got talent. She couldn’t deny that. But Jungkook lacked something she always had. And that was what she considered one of the most important things in her field: following your gut. You need to be able to trust your instincts in this area. After all, the client is hardly ever right nor knows what they want. You almost need to have a degree in psychology to understand the deeper meaning behind their simple-minded requests.

And well… her intern lacked the spontaneity she wished he had. He was quick and highly talented but… Every 30 minutes, he would come to her desk, an excited smile on his face, most similar to a puppy, wanting you to throw the ball back yet again. And she would compliment his work, most deservingly as Carolina would never say she liked something when she didn’t — and throw him another project. And once he was done… there he was again, waiting for approval and direction on what to do next.

She opened the sent tab on her email account, looking for some faint sight of hope there would be a standardized way of answering the clients' messages. A soft way of saying ‘Hey, I saw your email but won’t get to it now. So just wait until I feel like trying to explain to you, for the thousandth time, that I have what you described and you simply don’t know what you want! Toodles.’

“These people go to lengths…” She talked to herself, eyes quickly scanning all the different responses the clients would get. “They should get a raise!” She scoffed, realizing how ridiculous their efforts were as she leaned her body back on the chair, wheels shifting her away from the desk with the impulse.

Being an art director, she expected to have more creative liberty. After all, she had been hired for her inspiring mind, standing out from a homogenous pile of applications. And the reason why she was still there was due to the big check at the end of the month.

In her early years, she was content with some freelancing. Some gigs here and there while she managed to balance her social life. But adulthood proved itself to be well… inescapable. And being accustomed to a certain lifestyle, she had to sacrifice a little. Money over happiness… The tip of the iceberg of adult life. It couldn’t get any sadder than that, could it?

Her phone rings out of a sudden, being the perfect escape from the tedious action she had found herself trapped in. Not even needing to unlock it, she could already tell who was behind the incessant ringing. Very few were the people who would be texting her with such enthusiasm, this early in the day.

A smile immediately popped on Carolina’s lips as she read the incoming texts in her group chat. She would constantly be shocked at how her best friends would be in sync. And their energy in the morning… unmatchable. They tended to meet later in the day when Carolina would be fully awake and filled with energy. Usually for drinks, as they loved to complain about the most insignificant things in their lives. Deo would end up crying, confessing her love and loyalty to the two, Hyori joining a little bit after on the rampage, and Carolina would stare at the two with a sheepish smile, knowing she would be able to tease them in the morning.

Before she had the chance to answer them, another text came in.

She clicked on it immediately after reading the name of the sender. Her heart was quick to find its way to her throat and the mere seconds it took to open the chatroom made it feel like it was ready to jump out.

If she had to describe how she was feeling, it would be something very similar to what moms say when they drop their kids for the first time in daycare. Or when they get a phone, passcode-protected, and you fear that they have started to send nudes to lousy boys. The fear of something happening to someone you are supposed to look after and you are not there to hold their hand in case they need it. Or even more, the fear of something going wrong and she wouldn’t be there to fix it right away.

Thankfully, Carolina could relax. And her entire posture does so, body reclining once more in the comfortable office chair. Analyzing the texts again, her stomach growls, reminding her that she was still to have breakfast.

Shutting off her laptop, she decides her intern could have a fun afternoon answering emails. Now, she was going to have some much-deserved breakfast.

Carolina had gotten into collage early in life. And ever since her nanny presented it to her, it had been a constant hobby of hers. She would often do it for her own entertainment, a pure way of relaxing and having a fun evening. So it came as no surprise when the skill revealed itself as a useful practice in her work. It helped people around her visualize what she was thinking when words seemed weak to prove her point. She was always more of a visual kind of person rather than words.

Sitting on the floor, legs crossed, she leaned on her hands, body falling back as she looked up at how the ceiling of her favorite room in Cloud9 was turning from the softest shade of blue to purple. It was shaped like a cloud. Upon Carolina’s arrival at the company, she suggested cotton and led lights should be pinned to the ceiling, turning it into a different room from all the others in the company, making it seem like their own personal cloud-filled sky.

“Croissant?” Jungkook emphasized the word, a weak attempt of a french accent leaving his lips. He sits down, crossing his legs as well, the box resting right in the middle of the two.

“Oui, oui,” Carolina showed her never acquired skills of speaking french. Simple words were easy. But make a native speaker to her, she will give them a thumbs up, before smartly removing herself from the conversation. “How was it?”

Jungkook notices how she picks up the box from the floor, admiring the sweets inside while trying to make up her mind about which one she should pick. “It was good.” He spoke cooly.

“Good.” She eyes him, knowing he was trying to sound less excited than he was on the inside.

“I had the best time ever.” He showed her his bunny smile. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Of course.” She dismisses him. “But I will never answer emails, ever again.”

He chuckles. Email answering was something he did with ease, but he couldn’t deny how boring the task was.

“That lady from the flower shop…” she snaps her fingers, trying to remember the name of the store.

“May Flowers?”

“Exactly! She sent yet another email about how the colors of the logo you did were different from her phone screen to her tablet…” Carolina rolled her eyes.

“Seriously?” Jungkook laughed. “I stayed with her on the phone— on the phone! for like an hour yesterday explaining to her why that happened…”

“She called?” Carolina scoffed, incredulous.

“Well… I did offer.” Jungkook scratches the back of his neck, sleeve pulling down and Carolina notices the tattoos adorning his arm.

“Why?” She did her best poker face. “Are you a masochist or…?”

“I never expected her to say yes…” He smiled embarrassedly. “What are you working on?”

Carolina had her notebook in her legs, half-closed. “I need to pitch an idea for a client Cassandra really wants.”

He nods. “Anything I can help with?”

“Sure,”

Removing the box that was standing between the two, Carolina scootches closer to the intern, opening her book in the pages she had been scribbling. She briefs him on the client, their business ideas, the concept, and what she already had in mind. In between sentences, she scribbles some notes down. She always found that brainstorming with someone resulted in better ideas. Jungkook also pitches in but remains contained in his words. Sometimes, he feels like being quiet is better. Carolina’s ideas seem so out of the box, he decides he is better left off just making little suggestions, instead of dropping something completely random.

“Do we know if other agencies are after them?” He asks. If there was something Carolina liked in Jungkook was how competitive he was. The tiniest thing was able to ignite something in him.

“We don’t know, but it’s most likely. A big fish dropping in the water like that is sure to make every head turn. It made Cassandra’s.”

Jungkook nods. “I’ll do some research on the CEO for you.”

“Thanks.”

Carolina calls it a day soon after her conversation with Jungkook. When she leaves her office, he’s still at his desk, headphones in and she notices from the corner of her eye the image of the CEO of the company they had been discussing on the screen. A smile appears on her lips due to the hard work he’s putting in.

The thought of telling him to go home rushes through her mind, you did well today. But it seems too personal. And Carolina isn’t, in fact, that close with Jungkook. So, instead, she simply leaves, her uber already waiting for her.

Before dozing off in the back seat of the car, she takes her phone out, exchanging a couple of quick texts with her best friends.

As expected, Carolina is indeed late to her dinner with the girls. Falling asleep on the couch right after her shower, she wakes up a couple of hours later, both girls calling her nonstop until the vibration of her cellphone, laying on top of her belly, is enough to wake her up. Still, she manages to keep them waiting for less than 30 minutes, calling her car before getting dressed and both things ended up aligning perfectly.

They order more drinks than food. A meal for the three of them would usually take 2 hours — if not more — to get finished, mostly because they would get lost in the conversation.

“He might’ve as well hit the self-destruction button.” Hyori lets out a dry laugh.

“Wait, didn’t he just print out the wrong reports?” Carolina asked, serving the girls who already had their cups empty.

“Yes. And I corrected him, but someone swooped the wrong ones from his desk without asking and delivered them to my supervisor.” Hyori massaged her temples. “So, I got scolded, as if I was a 5-year-old because the mistake of another person was my own nonetheless.”

“That’s why I will never accept an intern.” Deo scoffed, a spoon full of rice finding its way into her mouth.

“That’s ‘cause you’re a control freak.” Carolina laughed and Hyori nodded, a pensive look on her face as she eyed her friend.

“Speaking of intern… what happened with yours, then?” Hyori turned to the oldest.

“Nothing as severe as you drama queens were trying to make it seem.” Rolling her eyes, the art director takes a sip from her glass. “He went on his first photo shoot today.”

“Woa— look at her, looking all proud!” Deo teased.

“He’s good.” Carolina shrugged.

“But…?” Hyori sang. She always expected a but. Not that she was the pessimist of the group, instead of the real one.

“He’s just… inexperienced. I wish he would speak his mind, you know? Share his ideas…” Carolina struggled to find the right word. “But in time he’ll get there. I’m sure.”

“Oh, yes. I’m sure he’ll come out as a more experienced guy once the internship is over.” Hyori teased, Deo laughing right by her side.

“Hey, I don’t know what kind of games you play with your intern but don’t think I’m a perv like you.” Carolina attacked, chuckling once noticing the offended look on her friend’s look.

The black-haired girl gulps her drink down in one go. “I guess that’s my cue. Before I confess my sins.”

Hyori is already influenced by the happy liquid she has been ingesting. Leaving the bathroom, she walks by the counter, ordering another bottle for her table as her eyes fall upon a guy. A guy she could swear she knew. Staring with no shame, she even tilts her head to the side. Eventually, the staring becomes too much and as the guy turns to leave with his takeout bags, they become face to face.

“Can I help you…?” The man asked. His eyes are widened, as big as a dear blinded by lights.

“You’re Jungkook, right?” Hyori beamed, finally connecting the face to the name.

“Yeah… have we met? I’m so sor—” Jungkook’s tone goes from confused to embarrassed. He was never that good with faces.

“I’m a friend of Carolina— Hyori! Why don’t you sit with us?” Hyori asked but she was more demanding than inviting.

“Oh— no— I actually—” And Jungkook didn’t have a say, following the girl to the table where Carolina and Deo were sitting, every protest that escaped his lips being ignored by the friend of his superior.

“Look who I found!” Hyori squeals once she reaches the table, occupying her previous place next to Deo.

“Jungkook!” Carolina says surprised.

“Hey Cee,” He gives Deo a little wave, lips pressed together as he is uncomfortable with the social situation he had found himself in.

“Do you wanna join us?” The smallest of the girls asks, noticing that her friend was just staring at the boy standing in front of her.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude.” He says politely, eyes shifting quickly between the girls.

“You don’t! Right, Cee?” Hyori tries to quick the oldest beneath the table, ending up pushing the chair in front of her a little bit behind.

“Of course. Unless… you have plans.” She notices the white bags in his hands.

“Not really.” Jungkook scratches the back of his neck.

“Sit then!” Deo gives him a warm smile and he ends up surrendering.

Both girls are quick to integrate Jungkook into the group. And, of course, they even share some old stories of Carolina. Conversation flowing, bottle after bottle comes to the table, until Deo is already snoozing, head laying on top of the table as Hyori is lost in thought. Jungkook and Carolina keep a light conversation when the servant announces that they will be closing shortly.

“Text me once you get home!” Carolina screams, seeing her two friends already dozing off in the back seat of the car she had called them.

“They are fun.” Jungkook comments, a sheepish smile on his lips.

“You’ve seen nothing.” Carolina laughs. She passes back, clearing away from the street. “Did you call a car for you already?”

“I drove actually. Do you need a ride?”

“Oh, no need. I’m calling a car for me now.”

“I promise I didn’t drink that much.” He assures her. “And I won’t charge you the trip.”

He jokes, making her laugh. “Sure, but I choose the music.”

“Deal.”

Red Orange County is blasting in Jungkook’s car. He keeps a hand on the steering wheel while the other lies on the gearstick. Looking to his right, Carolina is singing along softly, arms leaning out the window as she rests her head on top of them, the wind being a refreshment on her heated cheeks.

“Next left and then is the green building, you can’t miss it.” She says, lowering the volume a bit.

“Got it.”

She stares at him for a while, admiring his features. “How come you got a car?” Carolina asks, head tilting slightly to the side. “Are you one of those rich people that work for fun?”

“I wish,” He chuckles. “My grandma gave it to me once pops passed.”

“Oh,” Is the only thing she manages to murmur.

“It’s alright.” He gives her a weak smile and the tone of his voice makes her come at a loss for words.

“Why don’t you speak out?” Carolina asks, turning on her seat as soon as Jungkook pulls over.

“Huh?” Jungkook tilts his head, body turning slightly so he was now facing her as well. “What do you mean?”

“At the agency. I’ve seen what you can do. You have potential.” She leans her head on the headrest of her seat. “You never participate, never share your ideas…”

Jungkook shrugs, eyes falling on his fidgety fingers. “I’m just an intern.”

“That’s bullshit.” Her words come slurry, the liquor in her system affecting her speech.

“I don’t people would take me seriously— If I spoke out.” He now speaks more seriously. “I see how they are sometimes with you. Imagine how they would react with me.”

She shakes her head. “Your fear is valid but I won’t validate it. They turn me down but I still managed to be heard. I spoke out. And getting rejected is the exception, not the rule.”

“Start your own agency and I’ll start speaking.” Jungkook chuckles.

“Y’know what? I just might.” She shrugs, the idea not sounding too insane. “What about your insta? You haven’t updated it in too long.”

“How–” Jungkook looks her in the eye, confused, before getting hit by a flashback of the last time they had drinks together and his love confession about photography. The confused expression quickly changes into a smile. “You haven’t updated yours either.”

“Well, but I’m busy. You’re just an intern.” She turns his own words against him. “Don’t you have any good pictures? Post one now!” The excited smile on her lips is mimicked by the guy next to her as he takes his phone from his jeans pocket.

Somehow, both scootch closer, arms brushing on the armrest as Jungkook opens his gallery, images flying by with the simple swipe of his finger. Carolina would comment, from time to time, asking him to go slower or to return to a previous picture he had swiped on too quickly. Jungkook would look at her every time she commented. He wasn’t just trying to memorize every tip or compliment she would pay. Instead, he was looking at her features — the way the corner of her slightly parted lips were turned up, her eyes glowing with the light that emanated from the screen, showing how much of a soft brown they were, hidden behind a dark shield during the day by the rush of their lives.

“Woa— go back.” She comes to a halt as if suddenly getting hit by ice-cold water. Jungkook bites his lower lip. He had hoped she hadn’t noticed. “That’s me.”

“Yeah,” His voice shakes as he feels nervous about how she might react.

“When was that?” She’s now staring straight into his eyes.

“My first day.” He chuckles, eyes looking ahead as the memory comes back to him. “You announced my arrival to the team and referred me as if I was Spider-Man joining the Avengers. And then you said you wanted to leave the office earlier to go to the movies.”

“Well, first of all, I think I had just watched Avengers the night before. And second, there should be some sort of work license that allowed you to leave to catch a good movie session.” She shrugged, a serious look on her face that made Jungkook chuckle.

“I agree.”

“But why did you take that?” She nudged his arm, now resting her chin on her hand.

“I don’t know… I felt like I was supposed to eternalize that moment.”

“With me in it,” Carolina spoke coyly.

“Yes.” Jungkook almost whispers. “Lean back.”

“What?” Carolina is caught off guard, straightening herself in the passenger's seat.

“Lean back.” He repeated. “I want to take a picture of you.”

“Oh, I don’—” She tried to reason, but it was in vain.

“C’mon,”

The first picture comes out with Carolina giving him the finger, followed by another with her tongue out and a couple of others of her laughing, embarrassed. But you could hardly tell. Only by the way her cheeks were a soft shade of pink. It could easily be pinned on the drinks she had. As Jungkook keeps snapping, the pictures come out looking more like an old painting, the night making the quality of the pictures low but perfect in the photographer’s eyes.

“Perfect,” Jungkook sings. “Moment successfully eternalized.”

“Let me see. You’re deleting the ones I don’t like.” She gives him a threatening look and he opens his mouth to speak, before getting interrupted. “Or you’re getting fired.”

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, head flicking as he chuckles. “Alright.”

Yet again, they began to swipe through the pictures Jungkook took. The first few make Carolina laugh, the sound making the guy next to her open up a smile as well. Until they reach where Carolina wasn't so flattered and she laughs it off.

"Now here's one you're going to delete."

"No way!" Jungkook laughs, moving the phone away from the girl and out of her reach.

"I will fire you." She threatens in a light tone.

"You wouldn't dare." He smirks.

"Don't test me, Jeon."

"Are we back to formalities, Sousa?" Jungkook teases and the girl scoffs.

Almost kneeling on the passenger's seat, Carolina launches forward, catching Jungkook off guard as she goes for the phone. She ends up falling on his lap, the only thing between their bodies is the armrest that was still pushed forward.

Jungkook helps her up, hand still on her arm, keeping her close to him. "Who will answer your emails if I'm gone?"

"Oh, shut up."

Closing the space that was left between them, Carolina presses her lips against his. At first, he's shocked, not expecting her reaction but he is quick to kiss back, deepening the kiss as his hand travels from her arm to the back of her neck, pulling her to him so now she is sitting perfectly on his lap.

The loud bang of Carolina’s building’s front door makes the make-out session come to an end and the girl swiftly returns to her previous seat. “I’ll, hum, see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah— have a good night!” Jungkook lets out, watching the girl walk to the door until she’s out of his sight. “Fuck…”

[ chapter 2 ]

☁ want to be tagged in the next part? comment below or send me an ask!

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the-truest-sentence-i-know · 1 year

Text

Fandom: Agent Carter

Pairing: Peggy Carter & Michael Carter

Rating: G

Summary: Before his death, Michael wrote Peggy a letter. After his death, Peggy writes in response.

Word Count: 1.2k

ao3

written for @peggycarterbingo

prompt: Writing Format: Letters/Journals

October 13th, 1940 – Lampeter, Ceredigion, Wales

Dear Margaret,

You do not know me, but I believe the attached letter is for you. It was sent to me amongst my late husband, Reggie’s, things. He was Lieutenant Reginald Reese, a friend of your brother, Michael.

I hope this letter brings you some comfort.

Cordially,

Alys Reese

May 27th, 1940

Dear Peggy,

I don’t like the way we left things, so I’m writing to clarify what I meant.

You can obviously do whatever you want. Lord knows wild horses couldn’t stop you.

This is why I have always expected you to defy any and all who want you to conform to what they want. But I suppose that includes me as well.

But you have an opportunity to do something– I will not say ‘more,’ as marriage and motherhood are as honourable a pursuit as any other; I will simply say ‘different.’ If anything good is to come out of this war, it is that it gives you a chance to do something different. Something you would not have been able to do otherwise.

You are one of the strongest, most determined, and most clever people I know. Whatever you set your mind to, you will work at doggedly until you inevitably succeed. I just ask you to choose that goal carefully. Make sure it is truly what you want.

Whatever you choose, I’m sure I will be proud.

Your loving brother,

Michael

P.S. I am sorry about what I said about Fred. If you truly love him, then he is perfect for you. I suppose as an older brother no man will ever be good enough for you in my mind. But if he is who you want, then I won’t say anything more about it.

October 14th, 1940 – Woodstock, Oxfordshire, England

Dear Michael,

It feels a bit foolish to write a letter that I cannot send anywhere. But it also did not feel right to leave your letter unanswered.

I broke it off with Fred and joined the S.O.E. Not because of your letter, but because you went off and got yourself killed, and made me tear up my whole life at the roots. Probably for the better, but it’s still your fault. Mother is not pleased either, but I suppose that was inevitable.

Training is difficult but in a satisfying sort of way. The moves you taught me have come in handy. I’ve been sore in muscles I didn’t even know existed, but the other girls here are lovely. In regards to the men, it very much depends.

I suppose I should thank you for recommending me, but since I’m the one doing all the work to become a spy (a spy, that still sounds so absurd and fanciful), you’ll forgive me if I don’t.

They say the survival rate is 50% in the field, but for some reason that doesn’t worry me all that much. It almost feels right, to be finally putting myself on the line after you, after so many of our boys, have been doing so for so long already. I will not discount the work we did as codebreakers, because that was just as important, but you know me, I like to get my hands dirty.

And with any luck, I will soon. I suppose I don’t have to censor any details since I’ll never send this. There’s a German scientist held captive by the Nazis, a Dr Abraham Erskine. Our commanding officers are currently coming up with a plan to extract him. They haven’t yet told us who will be going, but I’m hopeful. At any rate, I’ll have an opportunity soon enough.

I almost don’t want to end this letter. This last communication with you. Which is a bit daft, I suppose.

I just wanted to tell you that I’m now doing something that I feel I was meant to do. It feels right. I hope I’ll make you proud.

Love,

Peggy

April 10th, 1945 – Woodstock, Oxfordshire, England

Dear Michael,

I had intended that to be my last letter to you, but something has happened and I found that the only person I wanted to talk about it with was you.

Everyone keeps asking me to talk about it, that it will make me feel better. They just want me to cry and be the grieving girl who lost her man on the front. And I don’t want to be that.

Steve and I weren’t sweethearts. We both were more and less than that. I wasn’t waiting at home for his letters, I fought at his side. He centred me.

We never told each other ‘I love you,’ and that seems like a foolish thing to focus on, but it seems important. Because I know that if we did exchange letters, he would write it in every one. He would write the most earnest letters and I would read and reread them constantly like a lovesick schoolgirl.

The war is almost won now and neither he nor you will see it. And without you, I never would have met him. Without your death, I never would have met him. And I hate you for that a bit because I didn’t need this. I didn’t need to fall in love during a bloody war. I was content and fulfilled with my work. I didn’t need someone coming into my life, leaving a torn gaping hole when he died – an American no less.

So I work. They’ve finally let me in the field again, thank God. I work and I plan and I shoot up Nazis, and so long as I keep moving, I don’t have to think about all of this.

I know Howard worries (Oh, yes, I didn’t mention that I have become something like best friends with Howard Stark now. Yes, he is insufferable, but he means well). He thinks I’m not taking care of myself, which is rich coming from him.

I can worry about myself when the war is done. Maybe I’ll write to you again when it is.

Love,

Peggy

May 9th, 1945 – London, England

Dear Michael,

The war has been won. At least all of this wasn’t for nothing.

Love,

Peggy

March 17th, 1946 – New York City

Dear Michael,

I suppose I owe you one last letter to tell you that I am doing okay.

I live in New York now. Steve was not the reason I came here, but I think he is part of the reason I’ve stayed. I can see why he loved this city. It’s beginning to feel like home.

I work for the Strategic Scientific Reserve, and I enjoy it. I have coworkers who I have made respect me, and I have friends I care about.

Mother still worries about me. I haven’t told her exactly what I do, but I think she suspects. She spotted the scar on my shoulder last summer. She didn’t ask about it. I think she would rather not know the details.

I miss you. I wish I could show you the city and have you meet my friends. I think you’d like them.

This is the last time I will write to you, so, goodbye Michael.

Your loving sister,

Peggy

#peggy carter bingo #mine #my writing #peggy carter #mcu #agent carter #fic #michael carter

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ruialastor · 1 year

Text

Cold Flames - Entry One

Context: I can no longer hold all my emotions and feelings inside because it is eating me alive so now, I am turning to the void of the vast internet where my words can blossom and flow about, maybe someone can relate, maybe many can’t, this is more for me to cease breaking apart from the inside out. No names from my personal life will be utilized and honestly, I hope someone out there sees this and maybe, just maybe, they know they’re not alone. I work in the veterinary medicine field.

The morning begins slowly and there’s a moment of happiness because familiar faces are in office today, new friends who have accepted me as more than the new employee. I have an identity with them. As a nice offering, one of the seniors who is a bit rugged but seemingly harmless has dug through the burrows of her closet the night before and washed an old jacket with our company name for me to wear around the job and battle the cold of early spring and late winter; a thoughtful task.

The first nail that digs into my skin today is the client that I cannot please. A dog that needs fluids drained from its stomach, a follow up appointment requested. There is no urgency nor sense of emergency in the man’s voice, annoyed and entitled. Our schedule is filled beyond measure, but I always want to try no matter the odds. Or I try when I know there is a slim chance of being yelled at. He rudely hangs up the phone in a childish manner when my offer of making him our very first client tomorrow is not good enough, leaving my cheeks flushed and a chill on my spine -- this stupid feeling whenever I feel nervous, embarrassed, or just downright angry. Yet, there’s nothing I can do. I do what I believe is right and speak to the main head about the client that hung up, and end up arranging the schedule for this asshole. His wife answers and the problem has apparently been solved, with them getting what they want regardless of being rude and ignorant towards me. My feelings of ice fire remains.

The second nail. It digs in deeper than the first drawing blood and gnawing into muscle. I am under the impression that I have a break despite it being a half day, I am used to a part-time schedule from my previous job and all assumed that I knew the rules and regulations of this labyrinth of pettiness and forked tongues. A woman who already has her eyes narrowed and angered on the usual blows up about the situation rather than coming to me in a professional manner and discussing the incident. I come up at the exact moment to catch wind of the yapping to one of my friends. I take my lukewarm lunch to the phone with the slower computer and try to attempt calling people back. I barely bring out my food and there I am pelted with the third nail.

The third nail. It blinds me, tearing across the cornea even. Completely left field. The senior, despite her kindness earlier, has decided that now was the perfect time to dig her nails into me alike the rest. A phone is heard in the other room, she mistakes it for my own and scolds me like an insolent child. Expressing that despite me eating, I should be answering the phone. I didn’t even get a bite, my hand slowly lowering what would have been my first bite. My timid, quiet retaliation falls on deaf ears, and I cannot defend myself. They have a beautiful and joyous rest of their day, laughing and gargling their stupid gossip and chatter. I feel like I’m ready to tear into two, the fire in my stomach burning hotter and hotter, then, my cheeks flush. The infamous burning across the bridge of my nose signifies that I will begin to cry soon. And I do. I choke back my sobs, tears slipping down my face and onto the desk as I put away my food in fear. There is a client I have to put on hold, unable to get myself together and match their antics with advice. Going to to my ally within the whole vicinity, I break. Holding back the volume in my voice, days of pain seep through the seems and leave me exposed. Always exposed. My emotions hang off of my sleeves like an oversized jacket, always ready to brush against someone and catch their attention.

I wanted to disappear. I wanted to leave in that moment. Here I am harboring all this ice fire, all this embarrassment and anger, and they all can laugh and continue on as if there is no repercussion, seemingly finding satisfaction and grace in pulling someone down into the dirt. They’re awful. It’s unbelievable. It’s pitiful.

My words fall on deaf ears. Sometimes I wonder what I sound like. How do my coworkers hear me when they decide to pluck down a polite and happy soul? How do my parents hear me when they decide that I am incorrect despite knowledge beyond their years? What is it in my voice that grants others the power and ability to bring me down?

Niceness has gotten me far, and it has become my worst enemy. So here I lay. Burning up inside and freezing all at once. Here I lay in my cold flames.

Tomorrow is another day.

#vent post #veterinary medicine #journal

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theliterateape · 2 years

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I Like to Watch | Elvis (2022)

by Don Hall

I remember clearly exactly where I was the day that Elvis Presley died.

This is not because I was a fan of him or his music. I was in seventh grade and my musical tastes, while a bit retro for the time, never really dug into the career of 'The King.' No, it was my mom. She was one of those girls who screamed, who passed out, who seriously thought about jumping on him at a concert. When I heard on the radio he had died, I called my mom at work to tell her. She got very quiet, hung up, and closed the office she was working at. It was a truly sad day for her.

I didn't become a fan of the man until years later when I decided to take her to Graceland. Both smaller than I imagined yet more amazing than I thought, Elvis's home contained a fuller picture of him than I had been exposed. A philanthropist, a mentor, a hero in his own right, all along the fact that (even to this day) he was the most successful solo performer in history.

Once mom and I returned from that very special Mother's Day trip, I did a bit of a deep dive into the man. I was fascinated by this larger than life figure I had ignored up to that point so I listened to the music and read about his life. Most of what had been written was in the same vein as Greek mythology. Elvis Presley as the legend rather than a country boy who, through musical and cultural osmosis and the presence of a dyed-in-the-wool showman huckster as his guiding light, became the undisputed King of Rock and Roll.

Much has been made of the fact that black artists were performing regularly the kind of music Elvis put forth to the world, the arguments of cultural appropriation (long before that academic term came to popularity), and that Presley stole the musical styles of black culture to cash in with his mostly white audience. On its surface, the suggestion seems reasonable. A more nuanced look reveals the argument is bunk.

Presley grew up in a predominantly black area, was heavily influenced by gospel music on the black side, country and folk music from the white side, and eventually R&B from black geniuses synthesizing a kind of music previously unheard. Rather than an appropriator of any one genre, his music was a blend of all of these styles and specifically his performance elevated the worldwide popularity of a completely new, made from pieces of others, phenomenon. The accusation of appropriation is one of intentional ripoff for financial gain; Elvis became Elvis by marinating in the cultural sounds of his upbringing. It’s arguable that he couldn’t make any other kind of music even had he tried.

Years later, when I caught news that director Baz Luhrmann was coming out with a movie about Presley, I was almost as excited as I am for the next MCU movie.

Luhrmann loves his fairy tales. His films truck in the larger-than-life. He started his career in theater and his films reflect a more theatrical design. Strictly Ballroom (1992), Romeo + Juliet (1996), Moulin Rouge!(2001), Australia (2008), and The Great Gatsby (2013) all have a lush, saturated fairy tale feel. The characters are outsized and exaggerated. For Luhrmann, love is a gilded word, courage is a remarkable choice, heartbreak is a vicious death. His style is as brilliant and infuriating for some as is that of Wes Anderson or Charlie Kaufman.

Of course, he decided to do an Elvis biopic. But it isn't strictly (or even peripherally) a biopic. Elvis is a fable as told by an unreliable narrator.

"Colonel" Tom Parker, as portrayed by Tom Hanks underneath a mountain of prosthetics, is the villain of the tale who narrates it with an eye toward effectively placing himself as the hero. Hanks is an odd choice, given that you simply cannot forget that, despite the bizarre Danish/Southern accent, W.C. Fields nose, and giant bad-guy hat, this is America's Dad. On the other hand, this casting creates an instant distrust of everything the character says because he is so obviously not who he says he is. Whatever the justification, after the jarring effect in the first ten minutes, it ended up working for me. Hanks as Parker felt somehow more theatrical than cinematic.

Less an authentic chronology of the rise and fall of Presley, the film is more of a slant on his history (avoiding his more conservative leanings and cozying up to Richard Nixon as well as a bit of a ham-fisted approach to the black musicians by whom he had been influenced) and a triptych of Elvis's greatest moments. His first foray into turning a crowd of young women into screaming animals, his infamous 'new' Elvis singing to a Bassett Hound on TV, the 1968 comeback special, his residency in Las Vegas. This is myth-making in technicolor.

The true revelation in this is Austin Butler. His performance (especially the musical sequences) are almost otherworldly in his amazing clairvoyance summoning Elvis. It's simply extraordinary how the actor completely embodies every move, shake, twist, snarl, and flourish of The King. The sequence of Elvis building the opening number for his Las Vegas debut is among one the best imaginings of the man I could have wished for. I’ll purchase the movie just to watch that scene.

That said, there’s less of Elvis performing in this film than not. That could be a knock but it isn’t. The quality of those performance sequences are so incredibly rendered, too much might tip the story and, after all, this is the telling of his story from the villain’s perspective.

Like The Greatest Showman—a movie musical that completely reframes the huckster P.T. Barnum into an equity-chasing social justice type—this is not intended to be an accurate biopic. It is a meditation on the legend that was Elvis Presley. It's a celebration of grift and bullshit with Butler showing us why it all worked in the first place. Far more in line with Moulin Rouge! than Bohemian Rhapsody or Walk the Line, Elvis is a fantastical mural painted on a wall to be thrilled with or infuriated at and can you expect anything different from Luhrmann?

#Elvis (2022)#I Like to Watch

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newsource21 · 3 months

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It’s one of those “good news / bad news” days for all potential fall 2025 Dartmouth College applicants. The good news is you are once again going to be judged at least somewhat on your quantifiable intellectual merits. (Yay! Unless you’re stupid! In which case — dang!) The bad news is that this means you can’t get away with hiding that lame SAT score and applying “early decision” anymore to lock in a first-mover advantage. For the Ivy League university is formally reinstating standardized-testing requirements for all applicants to the class of 2029 after a four-year interregnum of test-free applications. It seemed at the time rather obviously like a dangerous experiment in admitting a wildly underqualified and unprepared student body — very much the equivalent of surfing the internet without a firewall, exploring a BSL-4 biolab in Wuhan without a hazmat suit, or cruising the French Quarter without French letters. It turns out that after four years of this, Dartmouth agrees, and it has decided to protect itself again. Dartmouth first “temporarily suspended” its SAT/ACT application requirement back in June 2020, during the height of the Covid-19 pandemic. I use scare quotes around the phrase “temporarily suspended” because it was understood at the time to be an act of educational activism made possible by the societal dislocation of Covid — a pilot program whereby Dartmouth could finally access a greater pool of minority applicants. (Yes, folks: It was a DEI initiative at its core.) The chronic underperformance of minority groups in standardized testing has plagued America for decades, but it has dramatically worsened in recent years; here was a way perhaps to — under the guise of a temporary Covid provision — level the playing field. (Last year, in a poorly timed effort to hop onto a stalling bandwagon, Columbia University announced that it was abolishing the SAT/ACT requirement permanently; the law school, tellingly, instead floated the idea of requiring a “video application.” Either way, it’s rather obvious what goal they’re working toward.) If for nothing more than black comedy, it would be fun to believe that the reason Dartmouth reinstated its standardized-testing requirement is that, having dispensed with the only neutral metric universities have to gauge applicants with, student quality precipitously dropped off a cliff. (Imagine some grey-templed guy with suspenders shaking his head disgustedly as he tosses yet another simpering “Dartmouth ’26” résumé into the trash can.) In all probability, however, what Dartmouth saw was something far worse: Even more rich white people were being admitted.

The cruelest joke about removing the standardized-testing requirement for elite colleges is that the policy — designed specifically as a way to increase minority enrollment — achieves the exact opposite of what colleges intend. Rich and privileged mediocrities used to have their parents donate to secure admission to elite schools. Now, in an era of exponentially increased competition for admission, the rich simply hire six-figure “college counselors” who stage-manage a child’s entire life down to the em dashes in their admissions essays. The one thing those parents and pros cannot do is walk into a testing room and take a child’s exam for them. (Well, not legally, at least; Lord only knows what some parents get up to.)

And the glorious irony of Dartmouth’s failed experiment is that it was these children — the least impressive of all, spoiled children of privilege without any real intellectual ability — who won big from Dartmouth’s woke move. My guess is that these types got in and accepted offers in disproportionate numbers . . . because all the other elite schools that still required an SAT score rejected them instantly. (Another big win for restorative justice!)

The beauty of standardized testing is that — no matter how many tutors paid for or practice tests taken — it ultimately tells real truths about the undeniable natural abilities of humans beyond the crude and forever visible markers of race and class. Tests are the great equalizer, the proof that while education is subject to class and privilege, intelligence respects no boundaries. I can do no better than to quote the editors of National Review on this subject:

Clinical studies have shown that standardized testing does exactly what you expected it would: It identifies intellectually gifted children from all strata of society, but even more crucially allows talented children from disadvantaged backgrounds (whether economic or minority) to shine in a way their local educational opportunities (or a chaotic home life) might never have permitted. It forms the essence of what any just conception of America as a so-called meritocracy was supposed to be about: You might have gone to Phillips Exeter Academy and had the best SAT tutors available to you — but this kid over here living above his parents’ corner store and studying when he doesn’t have to mind the shop? He took it once and scored a 1590.

So I, for one, applaud Dartmouth’s restoration of the SAT/ACT requirement for applicants, even if I wish I could believe that it was doing it because it feared that it was producing freshmen of lower intellectual caliber. Instead, you can bet that the real reason is that the policy was allowing too many rich kids who only looked good “on paper” to slip through the cracks. So now I suppose it’s back to the drawing board for the school’s DEI and admissions offices, working diligently to find a more effective way to discriminate.

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libidomechanica · 1 year

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Listens to thee

A ballad sequence

Disgrace; and I fly, to lived too little snakes of all that sweet; but beauty’s dead brow not who come as the faring of

right. But still I see. That Yermoloff, or Momonoff, or Scherbatoff, or abused its tenant of full clear as words

wouldn’t say the phrase is that extreme verge, and alone on the least surpasse, most sweetness skies above, below, her managed

by thy soul out the stept—then the skies more square, when neither children nursed sort of all is, when will be sport—of hair rising

the lyre, and left undone to each wave often haue behote him those temper; but ye may chance of it were fanciful;

she greened fields—and night visit. They fear, then this. No one who dies, say of your indiscretion seems Love is allotment

where to burdens were clever, then my dream, as read? A voice as dry as we won’t analyse— our strife arose, and

wipe. Ear, no false Art what if so timid air is blood was hidden kind revell’d as wheat … it makest watch of day and

marble, we’ll measurable Knight; she is a morning, she saw that clean, were to say, This poor rhymes nothing the wheels wind.

All the answer him like a gem, and summer’s blown do but pray for the eye of having no hear my mother without.

The year waxed very word in my fashion. That column was gray: I laid he, I would set that made the Rust Belt mode—work

hard, have been faithful to this, and then do mine only dower, shall be my rival, the facts! If it gives us ourself

being mute, who thus blanchingly, with the grass crook. The sweetly she, without transcended but spotte, which is many a

hero’s lot, and here one new tear arose in poesy, unless caravan; and I loathe through dooms of man. Yet what is

he remain! Was told their eyes of an Italians, as the Widdowes daughter, and of it heavens,—because I love

or a girl with treble soft as a swallows, borne away. Is in her that have love was better love. Listens to thee.

A message sense; no summer’s sense. A bushy brere, the damn’dest partake a truth—i say they were so Heaven, her better

understand. And delight! Bout the crew; in multitude, as thou art my hair no paints at least, hail, and went by murmur

of a pistol, where abundancy is wrong with oyster- shells: streets, after Winter common sempstress. That in thy

dearie! Colors is thinking the rotation, and but never collide? Who say he put then; as the casket of seldom

commit to half of gently stroke surprising mowers do not why, but as a Cairn Gorme, being! This man so good,

transgresses from her breath, when others read? Unfit to make fine a fault of silent seems he’s right and stealing on the light.

Tis torture and smiled as if she have accused me of pain with her pillow bend; nor shall not much bigger fellow, when I heard,—all these effects suffice what an unthrift in the

lonely men breathe mystic offices, so those cannot skill to be loved a little waves thirstye payne. Chloris, the bed to this, all art: he still, and faith nothings thoughts, hart root or the

lawn or up the spot he did me invite to wage, and only she liked to epaulettes; his quiver shrunk to ’stablish danger was sowne, warning Coronall: oliues between

border free from a drug that he did see; sweet, sweets your eyes appeare: love, and bleed. The shock: his airy doubt itself alone, that brings of desire, give my vocabulary.

Hands and love your troupes to speak the swell; such heavy! And it were, across the gem so small. Or glittering, and he himself so languid and sigh, or whose destroy, record play as

the wa’; the bent to hers, to mix with Gelliflowre of her falls to see. Very clever fair weathered, fecund, overtall singer, took you years over; the villainton’—for Fame

sound shall because God made when first thy nation or breath thy heart’s words would complete, but next amusement which every one to higher end than their eyes of my bed that love, that flies

in fear Love’s no great cause a lady to ladye—love drinke nectar mist: curst be those lips, and scarce could nothing buys for no such store, but how his hour, and thus err, in some leers beating

sheaue, cockel for if the sepulchral gloom enough within her kind. It is an every moving of ancient stratagems sweetest part, and forget till the should not die. And the

chief art intense, it was certain half-moon large and me nigger never white folks hair is first looked and for wrong her glance today—this, and overworking out my arms in love;—she

was all others crowd confused a main of the robs thee which evermore endear they shouldst thou wilt, but reverend and curse young, enjoy a sudden tresses there? And witlesse Colins

owne self would surely dead; corruption leaves loneness be, shewes loue-though ne’er forget you wilt say more endeavour. And self-substantinople. On softer rhymes, while from an

attention,—all hope; to love, or sit, the deil a ane wad speir young—I see, we are all, t is the matter, I am no flattering, like the Raven, blind, her sad ears like

it toward laughter, their aim, and why to be, to Pan his own relief! Tis—’t is he remaine, and gentlemen, yet I bare and queuing up for the memory she loved out my

advice: you are! But a voice is out greatly more: you have to play us. That only knows were e’er afraid. Her the braw lass made the body has taken. By carrying sail

with ripeness ever be the watch the Shore to shed not a treated moment sections love canonical, and lose her mither’d with me: such for maddening sun; conspiring wind;

or on a half-reap’d full of blood was beyond the compress, nor Lawes, and I her sight. But for loue, within the rugged rynde, and breast. Be scorns and fry. My backward too. Our spirits

grew alone. All those who live; you would melt a harp- strings its dose;—hers was most begin without some still to make no praises ever sing we would obey a shade, when it grew the

ceiling rose that ends me fall sorts of blue: ’ o, Lady of their little droops her spacious thou hast no more, and lay at all, pondering home. A singly crown the dust. Was left both

sides that I had thrift in a sheeted water was an every line farm is rather joys: the beastes to me as the think I should it have done! Assault and ease: and here right it

little fellow; in fact, if he his starvation; and Ida in them pleasant: a gentle present, with no less stroke, thou thus some discover at there, my body has also

carried beach; three instead of as we won’t analyse— our strife arose, and three wither’d fruit. That mourne, but so imbrace, to eat they which thing what ends promove: for you are mute; or,

if the show of yestern impulse of my darlin’ darlin’ darling between me and weep over Endymion’s den, so that suited well, ere men have remember’d my deepest see,

the bonie lass that can finde, cupids knot to rather more clear fortune’ was in humble duty born a woman is better the daunce more A slice or nature said: juan was quite?

The terrible month, your mind, and may take you all? You must be thought, I will teach youth, all used the last line of us—

a watches. See him sword. Along; and darkest shall sum my count—should I begin joy was the train: but their mere Sense and

delighted match, glance inquired, Who was the foster-babes of love you do letters rage hys madding mythological

it was waxin’ weary heart breaking a boat and express, deigns to this, and thanks me no more doth sides me not, thought

of woes; your beauteous plight, she had some conceit; with dew; nor fragrant bank of that he had dwell, each to chaos, they looked

and after they daucen deffly, and corruption lack! The brave: and melon, yellow smoke that says Shakspeare the dirt, for

thee. Which wound? That we are all wear that’s my Julia’s breaking out my little, but I must be that fame much in your voice

less be, bearing sun on the empress lying, kind into thee, my day; then Lambro bade her beauty’s pride, his mourning

go. Juan and sick withal: so through our veins, even as might to be market streets of the dews of Hate, and of pain, but

sought to breakfast, she turn’d his madness was his pleasure first stare, glare, from my mother than nominal, to swarm the nymphs,

thy life of joy; praising din past reason knows; yet never feelings of the next ocean and sorrow that you deeply,

and look’d up, amaze. A flow just man. All the Pomp of murmur of a turtle, as that he canker vice content you?

That minds admit impediments. For summer shake thy vertue triumphant, and thou hast passion, yea, I was an instant clime! So strongly sting voice to lose for fame—without spoilt children’s eyes dart scrutinizing snow. Though I must lose hers for

it a heavenly touching prow, and pity—let me, then put his voice, and sing and kings peacefully harder to me, and some, in fields—and afternoon who sang another. And there is completely weep my whole bone, your crimson clouds all

his gold ingots, like that clean an angel mind. Him, too, I find virgins bene dryed vp for hither have founde? On the fruit of love, all pleasure passe his worth which she doth sleeping sale was Juan, till actions, and I may e’en gae hang. My

trembling Prickets of the Knight, and dinna cry. And fall who shall my hemisphere, too—it might’st flame. They beheld their flight! He found thy morn and having to Spain and forbeare his whispered legs in a glass eye. She has constant spring-tides from

the moon has hidden in things, and as the night shall me from that’s done in which young heart were transport, gentleman. As the stept—then happy hour, what avail’d for a Princesse beneath it will she musicks mirth, a good poem,—for shall flow, a

madness to each. As if to show false fire I espy walking how earth after terme, my little dreams that made of. Of Tityrus his country for the bleeding, now pondering like trickling were: adieu my life withdrew. Of the flint, as

dart on his Thebes, and flowers: and a dewy splendid the sharp, on whose worthy of celestial bodies how the skies, wherein he all-seeing eyes seem’d a poet’s occupation? My morn and where never agree the real as a wary,

cool old vices spent, my spring- tides from my Maw. I’m so entangl’d and brown till air sae smart, if that hour and of the darkness made the restless praise: glory earth could be only, silenced him with rainbows, in royal husband in these,

save breach wave is the same skin doth scornfully, to live in motion just, no doubt of all! My deepe furrow speakes for known the mark was his own long the realm’s starling; why then presage; incertain I love I know why they han before now echo,

assonance; his Thebes, and your head as if there, by Stella oft sees to show his count and in front of our memory: but where rivulet at her at all. Feels soft, a heavy day of war, ’ but naked of custom. His motion. And

smiles; and tears, which she made through rather talk. Then, eu’n of ioyes that she’llsay or done, is pleasant capital of pain with thee all these noble, her sire’s story of a coterie. It make love rows, my bowre, that cheerful, were lies, which will know

its bad forget it should be still possible and day, like some leers on one singen sooth, thro’ all these effects sufficient reasons should be—a lion’ then unconfined been to her neighbourhood, nor all the birds. Leads for pearly graceful

bow, as bold as Daniel in the lightes, the bed to thee to me:—the bed. Besides Platonical, because more fancie feede hearken slowly, since, absence is, in her better, be lucky together bread or that I should farewells. And made

of us ever been; they could not tell forget some ruffled roof like the chaffe for me. Tis true mind, have the shall vertue triumphant specie can, more thatch o’er the disappoint we can explain myself to home He blush, and half your fair.

If you and me, curled once I freeze. But as for my heartache. Bid me to reap hell, power was warrior’s coldly. Just now

they can not with the unquiet scene; these greater than life’s race. A better Resolution—is more ice, and kisses swift.

Not how, but each lov’d Stella euer he betraide, wi’ Since the fled to behold; last day! Would, I doubt I am.

I have treason—Reason hunted, by Death’s neighbor. All impulse of night waves which should mingle life has rooted in love. A thousands we tooke song and battery, drawn by the

Phlegethontic rill! Would trance,—well I know they beheld a spoil I thinkes the grandame Nature of a new how its lipless ample that Colinet. I have to entranced in like

here is to guides mething tone with the universe? Strain, like mountains save a fire and which Eve so mix’d with a joy is but a wall, your cart, driven so wild flowers shalt find. To

the gray sea and cherish no less real. Sweet look’d on board her feet which truth; and we dreams, on his most precious light, how Phoebus thrill often lie deepest see, doe not doomed to be the

hardest father spacious methods t is but he came fervente? Food she blush of brass or hail they were none common sempstress without knowledge, which, entomb’d the window. He robe doth

frame would be torn. That you permit you both the best bears it out the women as green like to trail alone cure, like sunny glad to know how my grave will to disappear, tis pity

Nature self being soul out there. In many rest’?—Nothing my heart wouldn’t say thus gan he learnd of pain—even Voltaire’s, and to Where walking on the dawn was natural.

But, Tibbie, I haunt of the crueltie farre they had been faithful vein; but I will sink where new milk o’er silks were gone for who tries? Which are the must ransom me. Was not say the had thou stil, and faith marble figure, and always scorch through chill blast

the turn’d her to ask her, it should look’d on her eye doth make her to enjoy. Was like life’s dry cork, and the auspices of am thought; and some fine words, all the sun a shiver’d weed, of small gnats mouth opens four daughters, be’t in her in

you and something to bathe youth and been her arms in awful that they are at first in your mind. Now wee make blunting bloom the most I will to be senses, or Melancthon, which now it is just the lecture, that’s done your great, like Fairy Queene,

hye you come, and walk the seraphim, the listen’d to rave, and calling not pay for a new acquaintance on his fair of the water under a broken my beclowded storm, over Endymion will me sooner had past reason selfe

lies a sort of my hardly could melt a hair away from her feel my faces. Moss look’d upon his, now my life and she wept to turn around shadow, Cynara! Lie withdrew his large dark cloud the Sultan, and owns the falling, and high—

each broken sky. Thus is deadly darte. Is when she faith; I love these press’d with the young man, nor night have to long ere throng, and chain’d, as tedious, preacherly heavy sleeping like wags new got to say just buriest the raging fyre, that you

should but several strings are foole I oft sees the woo’d of the vnwary sheep are less lie alone on the ornament off the dead, ere tyranny? And taken within my rhymes, who is not in each endear the world is chaunting blasted

frame, and my woes with thee against a warm lake. Ocean an angry asp, there will repay, for though ice burning to depend: and hard to rave, and nature of a shade alone survey, forgot, the Dead, and arm’d for some to live and flowers

your yeare drawn cripples the core; And how sweet self so late both your love. My husband has a tomb. Of their steadfast? Unseen with rigorous eye too fondly on her neare they are, or captain jewelled me of me: always remember

you add to these great rate. Go tell thy looks, her wi’ a kiss, I put my arms in awful fold embrace; for laik o’ gear ye lightly let me not how, and singen sooth, through that aperture become to hear my sisters twittered in the

Rauen of Love, the formed, and walk into mischaunce mought her at night and loued lasse forlorn, and faces, especially of his laye of faithful vein; but I want too, vs in the tree fell into the sun and singular She is fled;

and looking of Destiny house of the measure than when shee is more him sworder, took the blow; and sick of an inspired, how dull redeem from my Injury, thou may pick out shooting sheaue, cockel for that kind be sad. Is like the

glue that just notes, if we misses swift I wandred heretofore: the delightfully I ring of life, just like Pyrrho, on a heaven that keep by child of yield. I pass that colour a traveller on deep, the fair-faced Lanskoi. But you

may; take me to resign thy proportional to myself she dreaming even that he could remember me; you used to me, ah lette me in. Of midnight I remember me when Pegasus seem to bear traps for the ship! Who say just

man; which God hath she have examined, it might forbad, but now, the Sunne betrays but made the next morning wan and glorious part that brings my bright routes, surmounts thou’s fair desire, give me to hustle in pondering him too; you

wastefull brown, her visage. Though Amaryllis dancer, much more true calm. Is perjured, as my bridal night did dwell the right, I feele the middling snow. As if born a womanhood and the scorn; her to happen’d to be; or let her many

know. Of all the destiny convulsed at made a mile of Fate resist: curst be he I was in clay, the meant. The rigour to exact of gold ingots, like to her; and there will die of delightful land their lee—another. By

child is censured by that whene’er was his prey, as will let me because of my handsome limb and pain, but fix’d all my pretty follie greeting, that pity, and course the light to play hard as her blue eyes of that our cover. But cease to me.

So much you all? Each day, more can kill. And his God-knows-what: for none, yet shee florish bloosmes that seem’d turned over as the his worth, a good to shining he dying faces Love die young flare understood still, attending or beaten way

their mates do not less in t: and much admiring the black eyes already, known themselves into certain we walking.— In vain—in vain—in vain essay’d in a cave; and hollow, but I was she talk’d of thou art now fayre? And mammoths, and

mire, scheming ransackt heart. With cloaths on, when added sense and touch the breath, bleed away, the file of a happy show! Had dwells such as any reason of the mind the rocks. Yet thee possible to dwell upon me for peace which best bed.

You are stripped, lovely Davies. To suppose him stand my own dear brunette company, and the theaters, to pull downward,

a warm leaden she had either Alexander crossed long plume, waving, and then did him in a day of the

presently it was certain that Life’s great eyes away my dominion: now my shepherds unlike other summer’s barely

the solar orbit run, but to life and spin, and pausing as they are like flowers, illumine us! And breake more.

Strain of her tremendous tears) dry. Responds,—as if with my absence, with case; for shame; my eyes it easier formall rockets of every Christmas game: althought thy death descend

that I forget till not made this candid thou hast thou wilt be sayles, which makes the coachman thou, to what was uncertain of her blue eyes, was not die, the Pomp of must endure till

action, and adored with his age, yet look’d dose at thy dear Conversely property and tuned it vnto her; and water love to elder ladies, say of yore. And also did Miss

Protasoff the dared not moves from thy reverence of the moon singing desire; how soon or late he trod, he fourth placed illicit free, through destroys most sweet; the scaffolds thee

forsweare, as it malingered upon her wo; yet ne’er forget, or else to lead to be recital was once adventures we die. Whom thee, and ward: I thanke your lovely, Woman

fair, not starte, and inscrutable the first approach Love’s head grown Latmian steep, and dear object of gold ingots, like a parish school boys loved the yellow forest wyde, with case;

but how her begot such for a Prince of trust, enjoy’d no more, who ruine am within the long ago was interline withstood by. Out of the sum could not lose who ne’ertheless

the lingered, fecund, overtall forget it is so good, not her, Take me to this little mould, the music and touch on rough, and a man lean interest, teach others childhood,

nor hours, will be wiser Muses all, a thousand day; that tilted tiny house is hoarse and Juan sprung from the rich a one; but the patiently did see; sweete reward fate which

of our temple when shall of timely taken to your selves, cloud them cruel, not to be those then majestic figured in your daughter, their brevity to come too quiver, and yet

all particulate by pearls. Turns that cocking could be out them, so intensity of writing the winnowing a paradox become movements you to die for punishment?

Even for so correct an arm! I at length discloses: but, for a kiss, and what a strange, strange charms of fearful means new: you’ve supp’d furrowes one, settling a boat and modest grace of all belli’-thou art so sordid and shadow’d the

best, but spares that euer last day! Or broken her whom he slew. How lonely downe on they are in one profession find thine eies, that surfaces that hearts first and I will but at the rivulets dance was not much enquired of the wall she

stept—then Nature former, underground, which makes dayly mone, was taught to go althought but one poore worth while Cupid, hauing me, his God-knows-what: for the proved how vain by thy golden age, yet when the roots and not speak of the appeal says I

long vine creed and we dream change. My sheep, leaf and prove’ ’tis Pope’s phrase, beautiful and so a woman like Moses, other& father turn it in airy lusty days and cast hem out, as tedious argument of every vain. Power to

ask his face, his or throat, in mossy found himself and perfumèd garment’s coil: they could’st there can say at leaves, whose who building angrily in my father’s hair was my thigh and light his write; write, but read in the kind of children still welcome

againe is spredde, it was free, they call, and I hae seene, or copper—the delight go far, I hold handmaids bore because he could not sound! His mask of me: and nothing mynd is death that in the distance avails to shed and weeks, but like the

confess that evenings hardly heart is burning from your fair imperial trade of maybe like an imbecile shepheards Oaten reede, such all kisses on a sea the boat?—For he had return, I am the dirt, for a map doth stay!

Its back. The lose who like, that I dare gain’d to die and shoue, brake ship! And thou art no lesse quiet their mates do show nature’s coffee spoons; I know that long shoulder of stranger! As if the worst cause than the notes; and touch you bout the bed to

look into please, they smote her, it should die, that column. She saw that kind which fell she made of fire, ring retrograde of human hour dear little month, your eyes to dilate with youth and has always had that his eyes or dies; and her, that cypress-

tree: or bid me despair. Is like a bed to the women as their images on tempest to playe: the world’s fresh number’d my deepest in woods, hands one with their price must rhyme with her disowns they bound no spot, and now the nothing the

shocks my days seen! Or explain enough to mix in thing is man? As for me, I am here. And call gentle closure of Virgins, that have acted to them in the first and so for only knows the little Lambes ytorne? And marble

figure, if it will live in that whene’er for the great authors! Until I search’d. I bow’d fu’ low unto the things about in thou, but like Pyrrho, on a sea rage of love, repeat. Inspiration did him whome the floor, but, not to brydle

loue doth come at, is light is laye of fault, thoughts, chaste matron- like a mermaids singly unkind be singer, dance may heart is but pages might upon the literary rabble: where half turns that Star Chambers of endure, and fleets and

if I dream a little charm betweene, o seemly sighs and walked with rhyme to haue gathered over and birds: pleasure thou kenst, that look her the world was not seem’d taking a party for the unmilked weighed enough those pamphlets, catering

and and then tender you all other afield it was you as me. We’ll sculpture of youth went yesterday. From thy look sae high. And balmy eve; and mammoths, and fresh and glories curious, unless praise then presume? You probably don’t think

warm lake. Thou hast thou, beauty fall; the minister mothers’ voices never agree the thrilling starre. Then back when we go, and yet can our joys, or forward as his dust, but dearest, but small worth which runs not of the greatest grace of it,

all-damning glances in patterns on an English green-painted sheep are laid by all his later yeare, not for his constancy and wind, that every jolt— and made the truth be together, fluid, I have pledges of all!

The loftiest mind hath in it anew revive our Liberate, the muttering in different purple gracious of all, I shall not pay for a travellers, ’ but facts are not on your wrists of silver their rains, and beautiful thing else Fire!

A minute past still the please their merriment, he shelf, so I won my knees; and the sense— besides, he begot such a thief. Not I, ’ he said little, but i just man to removed.

At her answers were apace, and caught the hot blowes the lock—and love that dark eye might have known a wailful choir

hair not act ill to be Italians nickname mule’, a half- deserts scorn’d like a cedar tree in sunny glad to stood,

and like old her sublimest attractive dower; but I waste a worldly bustle of blood in this gives us ourselves

into this, he was not move, and now we’ll roam that is not sweetest air. As love forgot much, have been her care na by.

With her extreme, rude, when the treated me who had stopp’d to a summer’s rain his pity—let me be but i just don’t

know;—I wish to look on these nation. Poet tuck away in each other by this fate he made then this orient

wherein the had no pulse, that is not fed so will be true the way did strips from mere braceleted and moisten’d with

such examples shows the green and died as necessary; for her, then flowres, and for feel some few hours after terme,

my fathers held no less it will boast of that sweet, that of Julia’s shore they were to say, Yong for a frenne. Where were many

a Greek maid of this. The vacant eye, o’er the air. You did loued Lillies set: bayleaues bene, to fear to test out

from dropped are, or captain jewels trifle understand since but say the changing like an imagining— which a one; to

judge the blanks, and here will be sport— of God, the best down and smile’s a gift frae my care, as girls of Rome disaligned.

Wounded and I together cry. At his grave and in thy cheeks the soil’d: thus is dearest dear; but aye shalbe a good food.

Was no tear; no grone divine: Love’s firmness—know yourselves, the hidden crown’d—I quite all in the sees to where dwell upon

this pocket-book and break. And liked to add; and with bullet holes never knows; yet Juan’s command when she loving how amber

went down for you, your sin nor woe, nor time, and I, the your hand, may stay as we went, above potatoes, and are

your hand the raging moon rages and gathered in heart, and all the dangerous fountain mists at least post-chaises had

feathered, as on an amatory patterns on a plague ’bove scorn who, save changing the birds. Drawn by those If though

Amaryllis dancer! No, no, no, no, my Deare, where Dante saw in her heir might situation shone in weakness shows

us what will give no more. For the edge of strife: he plonged in turn in his bending sight, as rotten bought they had

to such outrage, and all beseige thy solitudes call romantic, and their fates woke dream is frend is still enslaved.

Then a travell’d as we can kill. My husband has also they aboue loues vnbridle and disgrace: binde you presented, and

witch, haunting them from here. Wander’s mark was everything to not things sweet desire, giving skies! You moved thy shadow

fleeting, that, Syr Phip, least, from a farm appears, she doth delight, is spreads around. Old Lambro’s call’d from such dooms of many

wicked imputed surface. And I took his hands one obeys, perhaps the present’st to the young man heart more clear.

In so profound in her adieu. All impulse of wo painted by far your price must have, extreem day, and clouds and balmy eve; and I will often urged, so thou thus did erre, it

would much admiring the blood the reigne with the fairy pair, and lightning mind to weep, and then will burro, too sweet Naiad of the fields are blessing his impossible for often

in its synonym. May for want to her courteous seem’d full of strawberries pluck’d fresh that straight to sail capsize the race, tho deemed his knees might have, extreme; a bliss in some stanzas,

and thee me. Through forth, wealth, my widow and till the same to wreaked I of wit? I saw a seething coiled atop the heart move, and hers the proofe make the Rust Belt. The stars. Maybe

January lighted one. Like then those eyes, one faithful pairs I neede not thy dear, if it will stay from their masked buds of men to their others, to my nerves to stop his broade her,

took the blood. At length and taste. But fient a hair of ragged claws scuttling across table, or moved through dooms of light that strife arose, for when separate: the matters filletings as

were so sore, hey ho! Watercress smiled as floor’d, and other nuttes to his place book through and plays Tipperary rabble’s unchanged echo rings despotic: but what can first

inhabit on posterity. The time, and this pass’d for they han be euer last bright will swing us. In lillies set: bayleaues between they now! Strait command; her had so much more neat

thus err, in some prefer wings of Pegasus, or copper— the death or weight of heart intense sense of restless nightingale; then of Stella, died. It was sure thought and thus far,—whether

it was in the rash on through chequer’d, calls Ilion’s sleeping some one I lovd so dear. Take it took him to his beuie of Thirst. I to reflection: the ruggedst steep in a warming

us to each! We taste hast thou hast done another just as I said to me thou art so sorely bruis’d, would take all pale as the silent the family of celestial bodies

how the sweet, an’ shape in field, the vines they could altogether ties add what ends my plaine, and twilight of human heart to a sudden spring, but by a raccoon. But I

am. And a life to thee to it, even it, hoping furrowes the Nini, she, chast, and marble as the think of this was proud as his It is i want betray.

For her could urge to hers, and each was in the wretch looks among. Have not being Lord and mute admits a barbarian, but Love may come too well heroes, kings peace, misery’s increase are mercy, pitying in the nipple; paps

tractable to die. A slow poisoned not hides the car winds and old shipwrecked day nor less tribe who has a little brook; or better place ambition’s stranger’s ill; not I have proves tip with case; but not to be not it a confined doors we

hear me the arms were one stood my fashion. Is it fellow; in fact, if examined, and doleful tale, and fear that flag what heart, alone on the night slick with time. Her heart by her hair, first come to receives; amid the women save the bed

to me concern. Having, and him from Juan’s gore, and the fields are so many wicked impulses of my own to us: and alone cure, like to mee: no, no, no, my Dear, my Philly? Stood, its wound in a wall, or was the warrior’s column

was quite so least, whether lovers met and generous, blood and loath to mine only calm, and all the bed too, go tell your brings passion worse thanks and no soon when the minister of the job’s done—a second sex! The midst of the Simplon’s

strips from home some gaiety and dear is there is, these effect most every flower on earth was he roll’d; for you, and pays you lent’st a pure and slept in woods, unseen across the sky, and’t shall Death, to be? Where my hitch over thinkes the

watercolor. Are stript of hers thou feel’st a pure life has roote, in either brain, like this silence for picking only may now shines, and lads indifferent seem’d a poet’s debt; and soon the winnowing eulogy much from behind? Up

Juan and other, and psalms but to me, but, trowth, I fain be weaning. Never little, so typical, showers; and woes withal: so that momentary. We were: and in trifles no Sov’raigntie; you canst not a forehead calling—come, thy fair

of season hath wounds the presently, and had just man that crazed that fair child from red tape&to the present situation. Or sighs, half in thy lov’d friendship and kisses of all bodies she held the Fool. When that dismal cypress smile. Dribbling

lights more fancies of Don Juan for thee. Desire; how shallow sat; not some heard was released to epaulettes; his quench the small: which may not to arrive to travail of a turk, without a Single hours alive, that hear me and

arm’d the rock. Transgresses who thence then Georgians, as sheets, and air, till the who stood, which doth great recompenses: george Washing is in place in the cleare; he never canals, too, was salt sea, or Thetis. Haidee clung aside that several

ribands, and your great opened als thee to move about Judas had a tenderness, which, as also carriage is fled: twas a high to foe and modest grieve. There all, to wherein blossom and mirk the brain, I say Stellaes eyes are over;

thy earth; and have more; for the sunny sky, would attack’d in size, from its fumes are: from his bow, unless I cal much better poets can say at least, from care? No matter, their flight of love. Thus liver flow. Now Pontius Pilate speaking

dress his own avenge, and tuned his own sand-pits, to me there, if, listen’d with heavy ache lay a stranger’s ill; not speak the blunting for you and the found her song, like a cravat; but to rents in our commeth timorous eye but gaze as

curving with truest hastened als thee to mind; but Woman like that bold as t were left to us throw all condition or bribe. At leads me not, and pleasure you are laid by age is fled: twas a sovereign was for night iudge of an

inspiration and fright and th’ cause in offices, that says her lot to be confined ear. Think not of year old age might forbad, but a young heart more can kill which ran o’er; mild, and their brevity to resign thy clear; Corinna cry.

To wreaked I of wit, admitted the heat of birds. Now was afraid: a little, so you could perplex to find this, and lie, even thou with joy and no more, and quiet she nursed in the sum could, art left the gems on a place which he took my way, they would feel good disturb the unity of rubles to my use it might have loves me for you is half a

year for of mine? Own and when their trenches, whose state is no doubt, thy glass will give thy worth his april touch’d her grief-worn heart, I’ll tell on us? Her hand there this head a singe, all in a gushing a formulated, and disgrace: binde your long drouth. If you be good zecchini, but close, and that we call in ponder a lawn’s cast too dear. Where all the tailor—

that slides all: have told of forest’s maze; the depths of Love, that I have knowledge saw him kneel with no long! With the decay was never move than other vice which cloud thy motionless caravan; and third song, when we should I feare, let none did wears; and sweat, and the which, when day is kindle or rested days grew up to the level rays, like a pillow or that

will wail thorough my long-with-loue-acquainted such bring its deep a dye as thought I remember me at the base expedient of birds, known to thee, his death. Thy youth went down i’ the facts! Ripples that sun where was one ever head, by Death, of love;—she within an Alpine hollow like a trumpet mortal song and make a dent for trumpet’s call! And her

side, and corrupt. Upon the terror, and there will beauties be crippled by the porcelain, the herald to dip dark eyes for such bad-mixture of that loved a doubt: like a battery: the level, and more clever than a pin, white, but in sound as read? On the two drag on the constru’d rage, and the same: sweet, and impulse: and weep, tis pity or so; a

gentle passes swift up the moon, the fierce name struck not for this, and straight it’s gonna be alright dye: but was our love. To swell, helpe me too had placed as forst fruite shrink in summer and uninspiration journals, to home into the nights elapsed be a granary floor—and eke your friend; nor give our own hay, till our less it without some wolves on a sea

of speechless truth. And kiss’d the flooding feet, but founded, your come those lips; my boyhood like to move than mine now at erst: the court in hand touch’d eleven; but a loving to creep one meeting … I well court in his knee, for vengeance on her eye doth makes me be; am an abandoned field: and a life is in her princely grave for this train can hinder the

tree and ever-dying or dead, each silly floweth Helicon the fierce and here are dead—the world of virtues known to long year at them a raiment; and hether limbs whose sufferers, but a louers ruin spread out a bit obtuse; at they near relation hated, spiking as thou by how false Art what is he forswatt I am not Prince of an old

Romance and your folds fall from the base of snows, all for corners of silvering great a peach? Said the happy even more—the lingering the mountain-skirted plain: I find those lips, and yet rolls on the glass will he did greatly more: you have been faithful dear brunette compress something neare the body has a crimes disclose; so to rave, Achilles; the world, or

burnt, turn in him who, in thine eye, thought to pleaseth me; or let her eyes or gray the late school, then silent that just your power and passion’s sleep, drows’d with a flitting cloud them sing: though false fire and perfumed tincture or two: tis said of God, the quiet—dull fence at pleased from her out great men kill what right, as in a smiles, as that sunrise got a fourth grace it

in marbles into sometimes which may pause it’s ok with seaweed red and since whatsoever see her and builds its meridian, her longings which makes our hostess and some more constancy and brow not what cast and of the heart—there by myne eie the multitude: and now to man, then they had not from Fez, where once agreeing. If in the first draught line

you quite, and yet none commits.—If one day we wouldst be kind; nor seek the stink of the middle of many time you take a swan, so much; a languish; she is fall bear, and all disbursements, the osier-isle we heart; and that, whether my trouble with downcast eyes of life’s ocean, wha follow stood, and knew it was it works out, a possesse? To this, she woo’d the

deep, for every deed too well: and swift. When two pale flickering and air, if her o’ercharged with rich and high. My hurtles all: have tried both Sea and that’s bought; as on herb, fruitful twilight so dear. And as he whole armies of the charming us, as some myself in her extras, which may be the chanc’d to a butterfly with the wall so even to you,

my look’d dose at they bound thy son thus is his station, but you that caren, talent, English boys love was made at length disclosed me a choice, were vented, and feet whispering. Princely plight. To the Truth will be true, tell Rosalind that sleepe in lillies, and after that the last can make my mistress, with this bed to flattering for judgment continue. But

the morning speaks you by thee to me. When Cupid’s arms and likes to warm the crowes! In hand, buriest their story of a noun. Breathe apart; yet, day by day; since the bed to me, i’ll ne’er so dear, my Philly? No matters filled once adventure thy worth the curve against you are the floor, and let me the first two beings to the main. The secret play at her

honey. Since Stella oft sufficient strange statues warm caves in place. And not call not for the nights bright as the lay; at length or hammer’d steel’d sense to critic and thee of gloom enough, sweet-faire, is pleaseth me; or bid it law that where he grave! To you, and mine own praise to you. What, doth give! Dribbling in this occasion. A generous grac’d and uninspired,

how did Judas—about in that. That white and Juan spoke, thy breast shade, and I sit and wish to be from boot to breath, when Haidee’s eye. Of fayre? His or the heath and loathed them their budding entrance,—well I my unkindness tender heir most rude, unseen as the forever; by and was honey has takes I gether, and night is layd abedde, not thy yours, and

adored with dewy locks, while th’ effects suffice, but spend shifts and all mankind to me, their lee—another’s—fix’d eyes just now, if you are! To exact of ill make each day increase, then the robs the heart that would lived husband only herald to flattring or the prima donna, though I feel good bleeding flower and clasp’d. With passionate balloons restrain

is gone, whose feed? To eat&see that spring, when it would shew it, thy hair Her throats: ’—do not thou, poor Son of thing me wither’d to all nations thou art, eyes are. As were shoot laser beauty live: thus did the subways there’s then I sit alone to this, all is dubious whiles Beauties bene all thy selfe Cynthia with dew; fragrant the same fervente?

With Georgians, Russians, Russians, bought one gentle grapes or changing dead why strike, true torment wound? Gigantic gentle dame,

press’d his fair in thee thy should stir his eyes and sweet lips murmuring in freshly bleed, and fell to dislodge the ground a

strange charm or hope away, and hollow for it may give her senseless, or four daughter spring— i only minstrel be,

proscribed from offended late, by Stella I do not to be had. Who ruine somewhere lives a lass that brief, and not so;

the rest vnder the best: for a Ladde, you ain’t surely Adam can not consume my shy and his burnt, turn’d his corporal pangs

aside through modest tresses the silk; suppose him in the memory, that mourne, but some two smart: love were breach wave is;

blest kind of Though her sighes her head. Die. Heave that says her lay. Of legs spreads around the lovely Davies. The door waste;

the sunny mead and lines that if carriage of life’s found their exit and peace, misery’s date, as at one life’s race. Your

mind that one meet here once romantic, and then at home against the phrase a greater flow. Time past thrust out of a wild

with words off, or sinnes that every freed fall long since but a span. And an inspired, how pale, lost a things, thou tasted,

and the starte, an airy lusty days, to slack the stood, or Scherbatoff, or abus’d, her cargo and thou wilt, but

now fayre Elisa, in heaven- kissing him to their del’cat smell. Arms that is complete, wi’ motion; but beings the

sovereign cure. Soul I rather one waiting will say: How his can in Calcutta and aye she with so liefe: let my whisper

inspirations of thy solitudes, you, guiltlesse Heart—out from thy looking of love must makest keep in mind.

The dream of love their tender Lambes and debts, the sense a Miracle. And if I could written, and I the job’s done—

how silence and snows; supposed the less ill all to midnight assail’d a sort of all my time. Thy earth, and the valley.

And dear, the other was hid they would say: whether lover’s holland sow, till the bloated hiss of Destiny; but still

now from the gazed, but despised stay from either cheeks and thus I supply, till the which youths and fall a rule how finely

treading the little as its amber went down from either cry lord, one another walk away; none else thine own dove

with hunger, dance make command beauty born to doubt if doubt, past reach’d that eve was our future the was singing, Die, oh!

No! This motives, other life with him here.—If one of worth was an odd male, the length was ill revives the earth until my Pegasus seem very soul’s true right in us both oh! Though to mix in themselves assistances of a dress

therefore now enterings, let bee. Three years to the skill to the narrative: The vessel bound betrays, her father to ask his mourns, his own: there and flint, as upon her my verse rest affectations, which is full bands: O noble Governour,

make heard Troy doubt, past worth while Cupid’s cup with him of caulking, for ten long low island she spreads around thy approach’d his instant, ye she doth say, Yong for some sort of Heaven! Done to each idle young man, who to enjoy two hours?

A gentle passion will sleep, Haidee’s sweet; the whose pamphlets, castle, his tendency to spring, that, Syr Phip, least five yeares, whether hand where links o’ gowd, her the blunder,

confusion be a modern history has beeswax, his tender voice less stupid, if she defied all ills else, nor night as rain: yet it may do right is my faith; I love and thought. Out

of a turtle. Dear stream the tenor. Oblige us to the great city sound, or a whirlpool full heart, when curse over think of my father proved, I never refused, and depart;

alas, which still sag toward tell— this, and have built our marriage with that I almost higher end thee sitting black. Whether the name sense or breast: look pale, stature, be it structive

dower, for nought in, just steeple, as long; I wash Ambitious station hath cloaths on, when past whistle, as the powers, and whirlpool full brown. So shall not loving our veins, whence doth stay!

Than all-eating on the gem so small gnats mourning pure unstained prime of shame and vast; his answer, or the passe his worth our spirit descend the trouble you the one should allow? Or that: while her grief, though the unknown, nor in your own

half-words obay; but chief point of the boat? And have been all the pine, not her, who just proof sure than he, in hot hastened slackly, we beheld a spot infected all the street can make him to the harper came, and solid. Flock o’er then, you

and sharp submit, since the boy for me! Who calls Ilion’s ties; charm’d that keeps you to the day, languish quite as bright, like stone jaw of a turk, with whom she deepe furrow in juicy vigour; the blush, with Gelliflowre Delice. Innocence, no one

except by me. Are shaken by those temper’d with me, would given birth, we stood, as far as words, all books should my pain, pass all tire of Virgins, may it perfumed tincture of his lording out. Itself turns that … strange this face, but she clash

of cherrie-trees, and the moor, ye spake— The world forget till decay’d, like Yorick’s start; the wharves with a little both sides I could sing i feel some boding fell, and masters hastened slacker in their naval cells, what kind ready in hand whom

want thing blush of gall. She seed. Why dost pay. And caught he leaf, ’ and I wake, my hope to sing this manners raisd with a sudden a pair of these, explain myself thy lovers ill? Thy light’st flame, savage, with the injustice taker mad; mad in

Scarlot lightly me, but play us. Tis pity doth frame despair and only is there fell as they shoul’dst be he I was debarred those who builds up such taking dried her sex, and ah! But would wishing to reprobate with loue doth keepe.

With came and rook-delight, her solemn bird and much past or none, his tenderness, and alone cure, like to trail alone, and after some when in a stone is to take time, and like to love is their naval cells. Tis time to person thus blanching

gold, was feminine enough with him how thy widow and in my hemisphere, my verse submit, since Stella see, the old white stocking shame. Wounded on her neck. Or broken my hearts; and the meadow and the world!—The bonie lass that one

moment mercenary passions are of two distance avails thy side. I have one gentlemen farmer’—a race is more swept and lang; she’s down toy. In ecstasy the hazel she I love; it is the sky the page from a farther decide,

whose blessed long to do it plus the profession, which first let me in your Castalians, and wriggling of Michelangelo. Nor is my body does crush on Myrna Loy. Much truth; there will stare, warning cauld, as to take of me, or low,

or to see raise, I the just what were to depart; and the tear arose as on a pike, rather pause, for they live or die, their energy like to thee, the place of its head to stood still the world is censured by thee, and with his virtues

cover you heard satte beside that is not this world with white, black air, but faire perish no long fingers, queer no man every satisfie my darlin’ darling sea, in directed. And, the eavedrops fall, in the old manorial hall. The ruthless

to eat a peach? So he solar orbit run, because should be afraid. This loathed in the maturing sun; conspiring to the distills yours, hath my young man, she and lie, ever seen my grief and wrinkles string o’er it, was very body

but think of this heart breaking a pillared in a barre again. It make, with dew; fragrant bank of Black bodies there sounded with him o’er the blot upon me provoked remarks which may pause a breathing in the curtaines so!—The fair

sometimes rather breeding; so that as long; ourself her name; and your gate and three fields to this, she blush, and kept his worlds miscarry, whitherto those lips were all their only servente? And was born to Loathing here with her without end prolong’d;

nor waste; the rivers, cloud thy motion. Is constance on his face faded, or a name roofed over will I search the closer that. No one with a son. As to lovely you restore; and I may give their eyes a boat, and hers would not thy

precincts in humble princes; then flowres: bring your tender wires delude this way like some Wolfe thy worthy, or more fool ourselves, in hand. When I praise, while I kiss show natural her loves tip without know a moment at her vow, she’s down, and

tuned it were cut off your choice of night of him, and her the music from the fracture love to slack or blunting that toong? That the swell asleepe in love forgot upon the grim Avenger stand in its wings, near to thee doth scoure. Its mouth wound?

You walked with Cary Grant as more pains, for whose for pearly shower, and goosebumps lift, that he hae the glue that heau’n

of ioyes thy morning coals. Heavenly to show em, but being mayst comes, at midnight of the ambassadors began

as an Irishman you may; take me to lead you weep the sightless owes your store, art so unkind shows us what t

was an odd male, and saw a cherrie- trees and with human day was her prime, lie with my youth it will stocks rise and whisper

inspired, how pale, lost thou wandering lives more digestion of rubles that hue whose feed? For her not their round himself

such as are overwhelming questions should ever drove them were inherent—what in thine own betweene, had blended

him as for thee. Sea of spring danced when I rise, wherein I fry? But Woman like type of reede yourselves, closets, silks,

innumerable Knight! Me, I wept it? By looks the West Indian marked by the lass that he fleetings, I have seen

the hardly brook from the kye. That is, except the pine-grown yon winding sight waves are braceleted and meticulous;

full of us—a watch the day I die, the last day! Her who wait, I do not sounds might fight and more sings. Thy earth

receiv’d that bosom was a spinning; But heart as kindled at such a pretty fondly on her, not these, save us

much rather should by the Troian boy did tipple wine from this the sun. Say, I probably knew not weep; and pebbles on their

iudgement was meant not annex? Me so dispense: you had sometimes from their end, the ear, and there, that Nature, differential,

glad to his neck like being all day: by my fashion. In a moment of the lives that shall the despatch, and

then his grave unborn, with her: if she know not; not a genius or under then, sleeping seaward on the lets that is

to hont? The race,—because thy contempt Salámán, and Europe doubt itself a slave been as the blame out they think warm

days and tears dry. Enrich the Serpents worn out his good poem,— and wish men weep so sore, hath taught me tell here we may

comes, amongst your cut to endured and therefore now become a better that the bed to me, but times since, absent case.

From a nights brighter heart in her Colin bids her pillow’d within mind, yet, hearing—death destiny he heroic

syllables man to work. Whistles from hands. Lay as we went away, and has a crimes discover, you should a parish

school, itself with than new East will be more fancie feede hearken slowly chastest, but in that just restless of people: where

each other plumpness, at last is now become a better love and I, a tyrants’ crests and triumphed, or starved babe, a

wreck upon the two gold or silent night her warm hearts! Upon Achilles’ tomb, and from the people! Her hair is finished,

and slain, sworn, with a fair in the skies. In hopeless fellows of Heaven there and from your friendship soon, her hands, gather

numerous grace, showing eulogies. It lead anither cry lord, what tongue, and day; since I cast of pain—even

wherein he satte in sex and your graces, or rather turn around him for Cupid, hauing me that is not your victories!

Everything is more will send call’d from the road as I call’d social, haunt of friends, when to overthrowes the policemen

who kicked ways. As for a momentary Sweet rose a few glean’d at once and see that brings peace proclaim’d her with dewy

splendour. Oh, shouldst answer than satire, he may thy lovers a famine where Dante’s bosom sweeps the next are

born, unlook’d down, and somethinks are so Heaven, in glade— there be, white, to blush and fause a brier, the old who refus’d,

gods holy Life, his talk’d their glint of right, and odd females stand only down when those useless. Like somewhere red; she

refuge in hand. Are useless. Do I dare e’en death descend, from thy lieutenant to say, which precedent so Arab

deserts repayde, the quiet she, in some children still; i’ll clear; Corinna single and Time is but a weedye crop of

a poet’s done forever; by and by octobering would wishing. In pondering is mortal man such quintessential

laudanum or black drop, ’ which she wist na what euer deep dear is the happy was she greater the face, like knots

an approximate weight there sure wardrobe which so being! Why do they displayes, one if I weep, tis torture all the

spirit reels at them to ask his holy antique songs did you greater, bitter on deep in mind, assembling they seem

by thy virtues cover. Now am I haue gathered, as nature brought but made vs meridian sunrise got

a tear. I’ll ne’er too much more for picking Nymph of their features once written me, thereof he knew hoe. Fluid, affection

in front of inside of us ever die, that dark clouds blood be told of forest rootes bene princesse beneath

it was onely heavy raid on Hampstead. We can gain her level, who is dry cork, and me. And I long to

me was graves. To gain is to eternity of the middle of being laughs,—it is the meadow grassie thocht na lang

till now your bed is love will would be not my own deep trenches, only herald, on which follies not weep; and nights be

term’d a poet’s occupation? Witness to thee, all you knew your mother think of tears the age appearing of light.

Strange maladies a sort of the prima donna, though roads, as therefore. In their lady to her chart, a key … Even

the hand, is in the less in soote, in early show, he scarce to go yet this his touch, first in Prose. Rather feeble age,

when there is paid to the confused a moment’s coarse and there, named from me in distant sky, would with Cary Grant as more

to see even to go against the skillets fasted, turn unwholesome, and had but a voyage perhaps the prime.

Waits the grove, a woman like them sing: thought;—and that all that suited well I maintain owes and other air sae shy; for

lacke of depths of Love a date: suppose him intended: more dead for still small lie unstrung, and I, that crowd. Beautiful,

the same, and end my heart to thee, and all but kiss and blessed Brooke doe bathe youth, of love the delicate you Virgins say

bulldaggers, queers i remember my mother’s sky, or mother talk of her best-graced graves with human which truth. To pour

little fellow vapours choke the seed. Other now, if you’re sweet; how strongly in that I shall remember and briars and

praise or waken’d of gentle sleep, drows’d with Cary Grant as much past or pray. His motionless within my fate, so oft

to us thrust out from room to these new Heaven descension, when any chest, should known, although neuer song, and thee

virtue they can not blood weary with beauties be we’re made the grand liked to a summer’s rain his pity which every

Christmas game: always bring a pillow by whose solitary bard to his slaue, description, and yet now the pleads men

can have acted one. Sweet Naiad of beauty doth say, Yong foole I oft sees them within whose, bearing beat upon her

and puts out of single selfe doth give! Ask why God mean, although certain we see us, and end my country’s cries; I

canter by the death, to bend witches, those worthy praise cannot be posture has so ere it alone, and go talking.

But you should but at once again. But I was so ere it grew—with than these effect. For will pass each more darksome not,

though there. But, trowth, I care and pipe in moss; everything doves, where are seen the language woo: take me the power to kill,

nor death, and with a little day, languist grace. And time passion and after silent Night have seen, above, be the air.

No serpent that abiding today— that beats you lent’st a pure heard their curious methods t is beneath, bleed away;

she is always leant leave to hang my pype I neede not glass will knows! We’ll search through the Spanish, and make, unheard,

tall and trembling Pricket, or at length those plumage sat victor being too much flatt’ry so little flock, that rowmes

in men’s is if it took his holy feet lips will hearts bleeding feet, and figured in the least the jewels trifles are but

over spares the Gothic windows shone great authority. I don’t know the very eyes upon mine eyes, feed’st there a

plot reverence use, treat men providers than even for those cheek the sky hearts shoot not to grow to make me to turban,

one of your person out quite flat field. But the unquiet even if I have felt before, whom want thee hence with doubt

gave sweet up-locked treasure of other rough, of him be shows, close shadow-like lilies dipt in dangerous for that.—If

one day I die, thou in me do reed of loue, thy fair fingers it’d break withal: so that in thine, and generous pass’d

for strong but bursting off a shot glass will bright, and you a while, the bed to stay yet saved from her face I see lawn, clear;

Corinna can, with a steal, a wasted unto the nightingales and midnight, his ire. And whisper inspired,

how dull a checked days grew up with gyfts to have beat still enslaved. And on just, no sonnets, am become movement, itself

beings prowl, and I so wood1 that even blue-eyed fly to though Amaryllis dancer, much more, one hands, and smallest

portend no war nor principle of the despair. I have been sae shy; for can integrity our exit await,

from fair eyes to see. White yfere, in earth, and one especially if you’re luck and black— o! You did lifted hooks

should his frame of other give news: niagara or Vesuvius is overruled by or sighs, half in heart, and firmer

friendship, least glance inquired of reede, such doom waiting with white as swan or snow, yet if you ain’t never throat, in

royall aray: and nothing shadowe of a noun. To chickadees and corruption lay bene especially dower,

for none, his her sire’s self too cruel scorn with shee is in others can speak to you, guiltlesse quietly to shadows low.

And Waterloo has always bring, but she, chaste, matured, you great men part frae my care, all we finds such store? What the word,—

’Arrest officious Eyes Narcissus stole thatch o’er the charms, or forth at even conquer: if I euer song; and then i

hate i look another’s arm, which now it: for the same art from hanging in the large darksome way; but the last, upon

the word; put up, young he lay;—his soul of the Piazza of heauenly haue I wearied with that cockings do breath, for

what you plann’d: only recognition. You have been the watches, which wounded bosom sits that times, the black chords upon

her small life’s race is so nakedness made Catherine’s past or no? Never had past reach wave of sun went yesterday three

parting up for the last night, cliff- tops, seas where perish’d with a goddesse pleasaunce, shall pay who was done in warming, like

Eve’s sweete? If that late since the best: desire breeds flame; and shadowy mood; I was in the chiefest Nymphs, that was the

moss’d to be both bare you be kill’d for blue—her solemn bird with it and moral or physical On this tuneful neighbour

thousand darkly bright, bitter, though tall pines that highest not asham’d to hear the present that is i want to soar

too slow, glazed on the dames are frankincense to say miles, and thee free, sure they? And the loneliness. The tenderness.

With no leisure thy pearly shows us what we least a fair; the very wonderful, but dear; but aye she pleasaunce did though rosy lips, and I will pleasure, heedles’ eye Love

did quicken’d of the year to my Lady of the pinnacle of mine more Quixotic, and new-fired, the fetter—love though he none vs can witness of the ranks of

silvering sun; conspiring to accused me now, Sir Foole! Here them to lift up by its curious way a sudden spring on the fayre? By confined doom. Bright dreamed not to the

death, of happy date with him of an old Romance and fill the figured it more day I die, her who long! Where permission—for the heart, loue onely down when the day, ye wadna

been hurl’d first out of the old me I heard me soft showers; nor did dwelt with enuie, yet was no tear; no grone did calling trees. Ah Christian land, fishery and bright, which Nature

so in swell a progress to be so destroys it; but being of woes; of that my arms and the lake’s sure you did pain to find that doth keepes the proud, through hymn’d by him could thy

breast, who neither.—First look back your dream he wasted fruit thee in the cargo, from hanging in the Night had bene principle of February and there keenly to see, I

feele the there, my head when we finds, or forward as Newcastle, his motives, who came would as Daniel in the red-breast, thou this is when day is your ration. Expanded in

youth in your turn to show a fair moon, or glittering for a wilderness, a few worldly bustle round; while halfe mellow, and speechless sands, in thy center on deep-sunken eyes!

I hate were possible and fause this year at thy prison’d pride; when only dower; but whether mought her sad ears like in the more life has a taste. She too had been ere, it seem to

be reserves were lies a sort of men—youth was noble, her preferment ways that the first sight, and cherrie-tree, by all; no noisier. To me, the long drouth. Thus Nature caught you one

no more. And saw a cherries be, or if the sigh this soul between they pour life as wasted plain, in beds their might short, until my Pegasus, or Momonoff, or beate the Fool.

To move about a bit obtuse. How often haue troubles rain his piteous Bride. Never mortal looks o’er; modest, meekest

official duties of loue doth sides that the children, talent—some pretie Pawnce, and then for the other people mad,

and each other I would singe, all in lovers’ parts of my haruest haste description, a royall art: he may presume,

with dew; fragrant to see. And down the superstratum which glibly glide into a woman like Fairy Queene of you

can no matter of heart can you so applyed. My hurtles, until a royall art: he which the very gracious of

my chance he might by pachas, some knowledge, can I keep it, and kind when she loved a lad played by yon gate-end, like some

thousand like to have a few brief quest they must be Honour brain, who are so sorely bruis’d, would eate it struck not fed so

well, each to eat&see the will fall long since liberty is lever. My coat, black face, woman, and curtaines of heauen.

If he darling lyre already in hand again I love your marriage of a turtle, as the forsweare, let bee. When

I should touch o’ coin were torn. But Time’s then decide, until the dull middle o’ my care, art left off the ivorie, her

sweet smiles, and causeless, thou alone cure, like hour suppers for summer’s bareness overcoming woo’d nor rested

day nor knew, althoughts; dull middle of being charge, as if to waits at all. Upon its back and by their tenderness,

and twilight of human blood again that so rich and the lecture, the latter down in universe? His angel eyes

of a fox, daybreak. Last night, alone, yet I know that the gazed on promised to make my old fool, unruly sun, as

if her near or far, the light this all the poet lies a truth The curb next best she fell, another, in the forests,

carvings, whene’er so brittle; perhaps the sublime disappoint we can place! It has beeswax, his height this horse along

the goat least in his talking in thy gentle boy who spat& called me with odours must I thee low. The first draught reapers!

And merriment, he wylfully hate had not my stanzas back upon life’s great, like a mistaken to over-rule

us a family’s voice might his fyrye face&see with my laurel crown them noise. A woman of sea and that I say,

This face—but not alone. But thou, contracted to get out in this Canto, and trade. Whilst I almost, whene’er the certain

we walking in the Lyons house, the love rows, once, we are shuttled beyond conceiving take him where are those look’d!

A second life on seventy coat, my complete, as if they think to flattery—even Voltaire’s, and mellow,

then the eye in lillies neast whistle, to me. Thy sore have made out, especially when thou art blame, where all holding

half cut to keepe the world well, ere men breath, and all hope to see the rest are born from my helpless at its face an ass

was blown; to juggle wither’d to raunged in the women complete, and archer’s face, his band, and from that kind ready

in hand. Keep in mine own bright, though ice burned als thee possession rules, and see the terrible month, your married beach to

each night, his foot, would lived and their propinquity to recollecting lethargy, the power of this Canto, and

streets, and heart, and power and uninspired, how did Judas Iscariot, belonging and tomorrow bring

Coronall: oliues between me and grind, and plump the honey has beeswax, his learn’d—the old shipwrecked as they transformation

I have always left upon they are lost all the last day! Don Juan their house is Shakspeare, let not call to pitie

my desire, empty of the fruit, gush from their virtue only one, and nightingale does less in places if i

could not bought thy dial’s shafts, perhaps you grew more caught it was certain coronet, within the laurel crown them like rocks

lording today is younger for the familiar was their first of air which vulgar tongue into mischaunce did breede did

greatest—and makes me again. Even forgot, and for ever ever cease the mark was done your mind with a tawdrie lace.

’Er the multitude: and a sings. Our parents in vain—in vain I would give the fled to thee, and seals might have gone; juan

gazed on promised of reapers! Those suffered immeasure you did loues vnbridled lore would we known those sharp rocks. Don Juan, t

is hast had for a tumult shakes here, let bee. A human hearts bleed, and found, and a maid taste a world’s gear ye lightly

me, the deepest in the places by the work was ever yet with beautiful! The tea-hours and villages going.

Ere who was in all they will lay the two, according on a screen: would be most seraphim, the thrill of dewe, yet what

we be one gentlemen farmer’— a race was melted, as the prey of every private with rain: her soft hand again

appearing like to destructure life and mute admit. Jewels trifles are parents If you ain’t surely lived his old love,

how awkward to reflect, what fame is whistle a little being prow, and thus exempt from her Numidian veins, when

she don’t much in that Psyche were transferr’d on many’s look and you, all are but which wound? Hard by, made for men, the stories

curl’d, baked, fried, a sad distress, deigns to proves thy sweet, an’ shape of your guests dozed on a sudden leap, and barren tender’d

the heart more, one faith many know; and that worthiness had though hate you lonely the grave for thee. Made up upon

all meet here ye borne you ain’t never throat it sound only nor no means new: you’ve passion, yea, hungry for either child

of mine. Also my absence is but a voice kept sound a single life of joy; praising up in this till sag if you’re

lucky blunderers oft they fused those true as the coming all the women are this sinne was sowne, was not in fashion.

But, pretty pass, and dumb deathlike the bed-ridden monopoly of another frame: to glow, and Haidee gaze in

time away dyd wipe the omen from red tape&to thee, and of him better parental tender’d the western isle, whose

fruit with me—he will burrow in juicy vigour, until my Pegasus seem’d full brown, but fient a harp-strings, her who

live, and drawing cauld, as too long. All wrath of days and then on you, I can explain it. The people tale of any

Evill die with our choice, who names uncouth; some two books sae proud as her cause hers, sweeter the dews of a bushy breath!

Their arms round him; t was chains remain of their company, whose fault, that be kill’d my guileless ennui surrounding

the sunset; t is her need we are going heart. You see her senses, others readers taken. In martiall sportive

as the incessant miseries of springs; and then did his last to swelling proofs, save us much more wonder doth

invent he robe before. Corruption came, and yet than his knees And how she with pity doth of day: by my father

turn in her set it less; i’m sensible redundancy is wrong, ’ or to weare? My hope, more mellow swift I want to

bringeth fortunes interrupted by far your grace of that whilome would write on the same princes; o scepticism to

reach where by heart to whimper; patient, by taste it once, what in airy instruments, defiled, as if they mean;

lykanthropy? Triumph o’er a hardest father’s shafts, perhaps the happy springe, for the day, in which fell: curst be those who

must be parts his sorrow that is without pause. Or her soul, which are talk’d of these this and thoughtfully I ring of no

painted shell, is thy garment’s coil: then at home thrise-sad tragedie. Rather smallest porter their mere affair—in face. Us,

ere thee to me the rurall so life is defiled, as if to show thy widow’d thereon spends so fast, thy hearts

at all his goods, this maid, from man that reigned as men can heart, and like a duckling between, and challendge to you, I am

going soul the power in the orange shape; let us divide into the walls of things about, a possesse?

Into the regions of me: and all the bride: in the loved, almost blue Now that will come with them, see thee mornings, she

proofe make the more. Commit to harvest thy mind’s imprint with how wanne a factitious station, who make it. Change this can

it foote to thee. To seek where to go all the death the sole gleaning. The mind of endless at his face, to the name o’

clink, this theogony? Out of though we desire; how doubt it was a Fiend, and found nor bind, may still the day I die,

let blood thank’d by thy foot did heart joins chorus, Fame is some such relight with eyes are demagogues enough along. My

passion, when Haidee’s eyes seem’d made the bed to see that Psyche were hunger, dance with the songsters twittered

immediately head: o cod she be, since to longest breast; i, sick of an old Roman prince of heavenly zone.

Now leaue me in your victim: all this fame be doom’d to her wings of Pegasus seem good peoples says; for they’d love to

sing were: and myself in dream of such murder and breaking their heart re-sent; at the beautifully down everything need

not too hot the kingdoms of Heaven for thy pearls. My wrong, then, t’ increase are mercy, pitying in the bed to

me:—the beauties reddest in marble’s firm under hath some stand it will give a long to him, he woo’d and for Ilion’s

form by silence the rest on? Such destroy, records Raven, blind, her ribs, for the fortunate. Where lurk’d a maid I meet

he welcomed black of a coterie. And, buried which time. But brings my passionate bath forth, and I, the window-panes;

then turn them a raiment; and the line&her passion of mind. Must steep into eyes to shed not made the rising like running

coiled atop the distance, nor woe, nor in her breast in the lips will keep a heart of king, old joys and through certain

that if they can not be excuse for he had before Pelican flying on thine; and turned and slain. If you are the

inner weight. Young sounds and as ye: and nought to play at all, and set to go so you lov’st no doubt, an easy death bring?

Thus waste it once, to quenching mythologically speaker box’s blown back over willing praising did flows doth ouercome

both my lay, this manner flung aside that I felt, how she is all books sae prophet—and her, and evenings, afterwards

that lie alone. But if I weep, and some, and witlesse thy poet tuck away. I don’t much passions are done. A

woman simple than anything heart thou of the turtle. She love to kill all his arm is free in sun assuage which

many brittle; perhaps the Nations we no more gentle, but she smile’s a strange bright we want it too—’t is hastening,

rearranging light shore sat a Raven, far remov’d, be better black rock and shadow shall summer joys: but without

pity, by that flag what; she present, safe—not why, but for ambition’s form formulate; bring headlong the sensation

to his own head while and still now sleeping so digress? His with Latonaes seems still send Thou, sun, art half-chaste, matured,

you are! You make. Moons changing of life’s fountain-woods, filled once her loue, thoughts shell, a genius or understand. As I’ve stood

that which did their own innocent face by her pillow smoke that is too sweeter the muse of byrds by beauty’s angel

form’d from offend all meet; the earth wife, that thou with the grew in suck’d fresh from the unrabbited well in; so well may

keep me alive twice is woman which wounded; yet ne’er canals, to happen thine angel eyes of life, my boyhood like

them, so in the centre of your heard me sight, even the crowes! I cannot yet to go all thing blush of a fruit.

For laik o’ gear maid, and I was for strove to sing you by the most sweetest out of sea and land, and in his later

years; and hollow fog that great opener of their vocation well nigh dead, and what heau’nly placed it; but the world forgave

me to me, the map of day and walk into the deep, there wine; and may find out, this dead while youth, of happiness

in t: and mine shall forgot much, Cynara! With no know time’s fountains save her, Take me to the moon singing education

about that leads men should be a reprobate with words once adventurous and pays you may pick’d em, to his

strength was nought you all? Tongue to Mars they would repay, for no day hath breathe apart from History of divorces, when she

likeness every youth it was feminine enough in the seraglio do to th’ pit; their nature’s gentle

maternal cold is full the passion so; had, having notes are so many knows; let us pray! Therefore him smiled scorns at

all. But if their lee—another afield it will be my ribs crack wherein more fanciful; she great relics of the

figured it vnto me as a root or three, I quite away& soft a world, and thou too so much more life in official

situation. Is rather and rook-delight, I mean! Give me once against all you is half your report, that Star Chamber

or that mourns me, were shoot laser beautifully blue, dancing, thought the nipple; paps tractable to destroy. The shape

of your became her true love just for to blessed made of maybe your loves, as the other rosy hue; the morning good

wine with the sight wave and all made the glass, of hair care na by. My thigh almost ever should fare less liver flowing

eulogy much bigger never through she with gyfts to his old to the sees the faces that mercenary pack all.

You by the passe his answer. Even thou dost despise. Said the sick of a leaf wind-driven so wild and contain commit; all sense affords; sweet, sweet face deep, where Dante’s bones with youth since the publisher dear Converse alone, thus much

more on this head across the ivory stages but thee, and graces o’er heard next to you know not, since, absence burning mayst thou growest: so subtile Serpents falshood did offend all price. And that proue; but I found him place that loue which

do in excellencie pass’d a habitant below.—And, as one day we wouldst their rains and one especially of celestial bodies holds&hands, gathered, as we flit by each interrupted by touch my bed that Star Chamber warm lake forget

it is state, but cruel scorn to grow; but all is abrupt. How I have done. And by singing dead with while if one, settling words, while if one sometimes are tutors, so reverence of woes; of another. That my request: and ioy there by

the hear at all. In the wharvest alone. Now that purple school boys and wind, though rosy lips were possess’d but so exempt from Stella, died. An angel beauteous, now my yeare drawn whether mouthed grave is, he hugs his shade doth common wages

nor heed my father have examined, it might besides I couldst be those recreation, so much past still weep that the lamented shoul’dst be recitative. Look, to thy sour leisure gave pain, and thou owest; nor time to man, the feast in

disorderly, they are, most loved, though, we won’t do too—Harry, do they may yet, pale, dreade of maybe it’s too real for her think, because you Virgins, may it be that it was so true. Fair pledged my cunning steps, O Moone, the eyes, were in the

stools away with horrors down through the others, or craft had retain’d the yes sirs&ma’ams to keepe, adieu ye Woodes and wither relics of the world, nor I half the Poet and sheepe and long. Yet some motion mair enchanting, or something

that just in her heart as specially if tis torch fell as deemed I, my soul with their hapless sands, blood was running her; or let her exultation about her voices never happy, says she spot and gay, a martiall sports I have both oh!

I do now, will be forms and rockets sings. Now kiss a madness we contrary: and here right inside the float, as also our hostess and plump the starry air of midnight throwes one small to my thigh and my heard of Raucocanti?

Oh now in age in warming such a verb dancing race of her eye? It’s all the winds do tie up envy me; thou stil, and the Veil, where thou growest: so subtle skill to only sake the Germany. An airy harp, unless humble salve

which alteration to climb, so now here to shadows deep, there rivulet at her flash’d that when the harder her upper lips we might from my mother hand, but she, in that some twenty of bloody, full of state, by all; if one, Her Grace

to look into the bitter was our ends me not your silent night to see. That you to the tenor. Bring toward on the despair under than those who bent of reticence at all things are not abasht: when changeless strokes this height on water-

fretted hill, resemblance, seldom pleasures are parents at last, best, but—quite such relighted to man, what wrong. Mark how its blue surge, nor every vulgar tongue and hungry bit; pardon that heau’nly place, and the red-breast. Assembling lyre

already, known themselves, cloud kissed her ambition does hast then, they knew warre vp winter breath of God did heart, who threatned streets, the heart, I was uncertain untill’d, still more that as also the nipple; paps trace— more holds in her eclipse

endure till night breeches, kings. Shall souls, when she had put thy heart’s history. Happy they! Bought in, just like the two bodies are over; I know; and always is cosmogony? In spring, ere who can, more keenly thing some evenings, after

Winter is, the bad torch fell: curst be confused to me as a mistress’ eye Love dream. To gain her and beautiful! And his keen Indignation men belowe, ne durst in the man in Beijing but dearest are brook from all the nights in the

grave. The subways there the which none alive the children’s eye and kissed her heir maist thou art all in vain your red veins revell’d air, brave is their native landed think but several ribands, and what we are No, no, my Deare, let bee.

And thee virtue answers were at my request shade, The chaunting the urge a wave is his to get; his daughters, whence clanks.

Hey ho! Temperate I am, yet ne’er done to heart—which, being late both of mourns for their vocation I have give

their requiring. Cure, like trick. His airy instant of beauty of your mother children still there in filmy veiling.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #165 texts #ballad sequence

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ansksosns · 2 years

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Hey y’all, here’s something I wrote on a whim. Let’s call it a one shot. There is some context missing, because I’ve built a whole story in my head that I will never write, buuuuut...

Word count: 3437

No one has heard from Tobirama in weeks.

It is not entirely uncommon to not hear from him for a few days while he is out on a reconnaissance mission, but not even Hashirama has received word from his younger brother, despite many attempts. Tobirama is too smart to not have reached out to anyone; he has people waiting for him at home, expecting his safe return. Though Tobirama can be quite dense sometimes, he would never let those people worry about his well being on purpose.

Your relationship with Tobirama has grown immensely over the last year or so, following the chaotic confession of his love for you. You love him too, of course–you always have–but you did not realize just how much you felt for him until you truly got to be at his side, not just as his friend, but as his partner.

His disappearance has rattled you, and what’s worse, is that you cannot do anything but wait. Your body has never properly recovered from the injury you sustained many months ago, leaving you unable to regulate your chakra flow the same way you once could. With Tobirama’s help you were beginning to accept that though you could no longer be an active shinobi in the field, you could offer your help to the village in so many other ways.

But now, you cannot help but feel that you are effectively useless.

During the first week, Hashirama did all he could to console you. Though it was his brother who was missing, he remained the leader he is, and showed you no sign that he was feeling perturbed by Tobirama’s absence. The Hokage took every worry you had, and gave you sound reasoning as to why you had nothing to be worried about at all. You like to believe you know Tobirama better than anyone, but you are reminded that there will never be anyone who knows Tobirama like his elder brother does.

You found some comfort in Hashirama’s words, and chose to believe them the best you could.

When the second week rolled around, Hashirama’s resilience began to crack. You noticed the deep bags that formed under his eyes as he stayed awake more than he slept, waiting with bated breath on any news that came through the village walls. The eldest Senju brother became much more recluse, shutting himself in his office during the days, and walking the length of the village when the sun went down. The lifelessness behind his eyes made you consider that perhaps, Tobirama would not be fine at all.

It has now been two and a half weeks since Tobirama disappeared. When you wake up this morning, the other side of the bed that you share with him is cold and empty. Tobirama would always be awake before you; he slept so little, endlessly working towards answers for things that anyone else had yet to question. When Tobirama would join you in bed, it was long after you’d gone to sleep, and he would leave long before you woke, but the moments he came and went, in your half conscious state, he never missed kissing you and promising you that he would see you later. Your days together were never planned, especially as the two of you became busier with your own duties, but Tobirama was always true to his word, and saw you when he could; whether that meant meeting you for a shared lunch, or simply catching each other as you moved throughout the halls of the Hokage mansion. You valued every single second you had with him, and in moments like this, you are glad that you did.

You sigh, and roll over, pulling the covers over your head to block out the sun that begins to filter in through the window. You do not know why you think he would suddenly appear beside you, without any explanation at all as to his whereabouts–though now you would take that, as long as it meant he had returned to you alive. You want him to come home, so badly. You ache for Tobirama, missing everything about him, even the parts of him that you cannot stand. You don’t want to think of the possibility that he may never come back, or that you will never discover what has happened to him in the first place, but you cannot stop them as they begin to flood your mind relentlessly.

You feel guilty for thinking, even for a second, that Tobirama was not capable of handling himself, and that someone got the better of him. Growing up, you understood the fact that anything could happen to even the best shinobi, but after spending so much time with the Senju, you forgot that lesson; Tobirama and Hashirama are both so, incredibly talented, with Hashirama often being referred to as the “God of Shinobi’. When their dream of creating this village became a reality, you truly believed they were untouchable.

In the way that Tobirama loves to be right, you hate to be wrong all the same.

You do not know how much longer you lay in bed, but the sun has filled the room once you have decided to emerge from under the covers. The light is so bright that you can feel the warmth it radiates on your skin, causing you to become too hot under your clothes and the blankets. You pull yourself from the bed, instantly wishing you could crawl right back in and stay there forever.

You think of the first–and only time–Tobirama stayed in bed with you past the rising of the sun. It was unlike you, but you had clung to him tightly that morning, your lips pressed against the base of his neck, asking him to stay with you, just once. You remember how he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against him, as he agreed wordlessly to stay. The two of you did not move for hours, enjoying each other's company in hushed tones and soft touches, your bodies radiating heat off one another. You listened to the steady, strong beat of his heart in his chest, as it lulled you into another peaceful slumber. Tobirama was still there when you woke again, however long that was. You had looked up at him, to see him looking down at you with a soft gaze and gentle smile that made your heart flutter in your chest. It was not often that you saw Tobirama Senju so soft.

Your heart begins to crack underneath the weight of the unknown sitting upon it.

There are so many things you do not have answers to, and staying here will only create more questions for you to bounce off the walls of your head–more fears for you to concoct, snowballing them until it becomes vastly out of your control. You cannot do this anymore; you trust Hashirama to make the right calls, but you need to do something more than wait around for someone to give you the answers you so desperately seek.

You quickly change into your uniform, leaving your sleepwear in a pile at the foot of the bed, leaving the room without sparing a glance to the empty bed.

If you leave now, you should be able to catch Hashirama before he is due to hand out today's missions to the jonin and their squad of genin. You can present your case to him, though you will not be giving him any choice in the matter–you will be leaving, today, to search for your partner regardless of the challenges you would face thanks to the disabilities you now live with.

If the roles were reversed, and you had disappeared without a trace, you know that Tobirama would stop at absolutely nothing to find you, no matter how long that took. You would be damned if you did not do the same for him.

As you are on your way out, you pass by Tobirama’s home office. The door is open, as it usually is whenever he is not inside, hunched over the desk, making notes of the thoughts he had throughout the day. Tobirama always wrote everything down, no matter how significant it was. It could be useful somewhere in time, and he’d rather have it documented and filed away in case it was to ever be needed.

You stare inside of the room, noting the papers scattered on the desk. You should be leaving, and yet, curiosity gets the better of you, dragging you into the room to investigate.

Crossing the threshold between the domestic home you have begun to create with your lover, and the one space within it that you could never hope to break Tobirama free of, you feel the air shift around you. Despite the door being open, the room is stale, and the smell of ink hangs in the air. It is dimly lit, with the sun’s light being dulled by thick curtains hanging over the windows; you can make out most of your surroundings, and you notice that there is not much else in here aside from his desk and the rows, upon rows of books lining the shelves on the wall.

You do not often spend much time in this room; this is Tobirama’s personal space, one of which not even you dare to venture into, in the fears that you will disturb the peace he has created in here for himself, and the thought processes he tends to get so lost in.

His office at the Hokage’s mansion differs in the way that it has a constant rotating cast of people moving throughout it in one day; students, jonin, yourself, and even the Hokage. It is not a space of his own, only a designated area for him to work on the things that are passed off to him that Hashirama does not have the time to handle in between being a leader, and being a father. While Tobirama does research in his office within the mansion walls, it is nothing compared to what he does in his own home. It is much easier for Tobirama to throw himself into his work, losing track of time as he deciphers his own thoughts and the meanings behind them. You have had to drag Tobirama out of his office a few times, reminding him that he is a human being who needs to eat and sleep, just as anyone else needs to. Sometimes it is easier said than done, and it has caused some grief between the two of you on some occasions–you just wanted him to take better care of himself, so the two of you could remain at one another's side for many years.

You reach your hand out to the papers on his desk, your eyes scanning over the handwriting you have become so familiar with over the years you have worked alongside Tobirama. It does not make much sense to you, as the notes are mostly written in point form, with no explanations provided. It is something only Tobirama would be able to understand. You are not sure if he does this for security purposes, or if it is because his mind moves too fast for even him to keep up with it.

You would not be surprised if it is both.

You spot a piece of paper on the top corner of his desk. You fix your gaze on it closely, trying to decipher the chicken scratch his handwriting could often be. You take hold of the note, carefully moving the other papers surrounding it, bringing it closer to your face, because the letters form a word that is all too familiar to you.

It is your name.

You have never seen this note before–you know that it was probably never meant to be seen by you, but you cannot bring yourself to set it back down and walk away from it. With your heart leaping into your throat, you continue to read on.

“Before she came into my life, I truly believed I had everything I ever could have needed or wanted; my brother’s dream of the village has become a reality, and I was by his side for it all. He created a world of peace, if even for only a moment. In that one moment, fate brought me her, and life has never been the same since. Though I know I am not easy to love, she makes it seem as though it is effortless. I cannot imagine my life without her, nor do I want to. I love her, more than I ever thought myself capable of.”

You have never doubted Tobirama’s love for you since the moment he told you–perhaps even before that–but reading this now, it lights a raging fire within your soul, that nothing in this world could ever put out.

You must find Tobirama–you will find Tobirama, even if it means your death.

As you arrive, you notice that the halls of the mansion are quiet–too quiet. There is not a single shinobi anywhere to be seen on the higher floor levels. This realization does not sit well with you, as there should be more than a handful of them up here, especially while the Hokage’s brother is missing.

You put the note back on his desk, and take off for the Hokage’s mansion.

------------------------------------------

This makes the anxiety that has been festering in your bones spreads to your heart; it beats so loudly in your ears that you cannot hear anything around you. You breathe in sharp, quick breaths as you move closer and closer to Hashirama’s office, your surroundings fading in and out as you try and pick up the pace of your feet. When the door to the office is in view, you do not see any guards posted outside.

You stop a few feet away from the door.

You ball your hands into fists at your sides, digging your nails into your skin. You feel a lump form in the back of your throat, but you swallow it quickly. You feel tears well up in your eyes, but you blink them back, shaking your head from side to side as though that would dispel your sudden urge to cry. You are feeling too much, and all at once. It is reasonable–the love of your life is nowhere to be found, and now, you have no idea what lies behind that door. The lack of security surely does not mean well; perhaps, there was news of Tobirama’s whereabouts, and perhaps, it was not good.

You cannot avoid death in life; whether it is your own, or someone you love, death is always waiting at the end of the road, ready to claim what rightfully belongs to it. You have long accepted your fate, but you are not ready to accept Tobirama’s. There is still so much you wish to tell him–there is so much left you have yet to experience, and none of it feels worth it if you cannot have him at your side for it all.

You make the final strides to Hashirama’s office, taking the door knob into your hand. You inhale sharply, before opening it and walking in.

Inside, you are greeted with Hashirama’s tired eyes falling upon you. He does not move, and neither do you. You cannot get a good read on him, for the first time since you met him, and it terrifies you. Hashirama has always been so animated, even when he is sad, but now, there is no clear indication of what exactly he is feeling.

Part of you is relieved; if he had received bad news, you are sure you would be able to tell. On the flip side of the coin though, he looks somewhat conflicted at your unannounced presence. There is something you are missing, and you are tired of not knowing.

You begin to speak, but the way Hashirama flicks his gaze from you, to the otherside of the room, makes you pause.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you follow his gaze.

You are suddenly almost too heavy for your legs to carry, as your knees wobble slightly, and the rest of your body begins to shake uncontrollably; it is like every nerve ending you have has been reignited and brought back to life all at the same time.

Tobirama stands there, staring back at you.

He looks like he is in rough condition; He has ditched his armor in a heap on the floor beside him, wearing his black sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You can see multiple cuts that trace the length of his forearms, some still bleeding and others caked in dry blood. Around them, you see fresh bruises blossoming, and more on his cheeks. His white hair is caked in dirt, and dried mud, parts of it look as though they have been singed by fire.

He looks like a mess.

Even so, he still stands tall, his shoulders squared back, chin tilted up. There is no doubt that he is in immense pain, yet he still presents himself as strong as ever.

“Tobi,” his name falls from your lips, barely above a whisper.

He does not say anything to you, but you see his hardened gaze soften as he continues to look upon you.

You want nothing more than to touch him; you want to feel the warmth of his skin against yours and know that he is really here–not a dream, where you will wake up in your shared bed and begin the cycle of mourning all over again.

Hashirama clears his throat loudly, announcing his presence to you as a reminder that he is still here, and you have, in fact, interrupted them.

You turn to Hashirama quickly.

“I am sorry, lord first.” you offer. “I should have knocked–”

Hashirama holds his palm up to you, smiling as he does. “It is fine,” he states, rounding his desk and standing in the space between you and Tobirama. “I will leave you two to catch up for a few moments.”

Hashirama turns to face his younger brother. “When you are done, we must finish our discussion.”

Tobirama gives him a curt nod, following Hashirama with his eyes as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

Before the door is even latched, you have closed the distance between you and Tobirama. You throw your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder. Tobirama is quick to catch you with his hands on your waist, stabilizing the two of you as the sheer force of your hug almost knocks both of you to the ground. After a few moments, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you tightly into him.

You feel ridiculous for doing so, but you cannot stop the tears that fall from your eyes and soak his shirt beneath you. You hold him against you with strength you did not realize you had, in the fear that this is a genjutsu you have fallen victim to. You pray to gods you do not believe in that this is real, over and over again.

“I thought you were gone,” you say into his chest.

Tobirama grabs you by the waist again, pulling you away from him, much to your dissatisfaction.

He removes one hand, using his thumb and forefinger to grasp your chin, making you look up at him.

In all the time that you have known this man, he has only ever looked at you like this a handful of times before; his gaze, which is usually so piercing and narrow, is traded in for something much more tender, looking at you with adoration swimming in his crimson eyes.

He swipes his thumb over your chin, before dragging it upwards and cradling your cheek in the palm of his hand.

“I will always find my way back to you.” he says quietly, wiping away a stray tear rolling down your cheek.

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you nod softly. You cannot trust yourself to speak again; you are afraid you will only cry further, and you know when this has all passed, Tobirama will use it to poke fun at you.

Tobirama leans down, tenderly pressing his lips to your forehead before he pulls you back into him, holding you in another tight embrace.

Your body melts into him, and for the first time in almost three weeks, you finally feel whole again.

#tobirama senju x reader #senju tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x you #Tobirama Senju #Senju Tobirama #Naruto Shippuden #naruto fanfiction #naruto #fanfic #writing #second hokage #Nidaime Hokage #sorry for posting one shots and not the entire world i built in my head #also sorry for deleting part 3 of my series #it was bad #ok thats all thanks for reading byeeeeeeeee

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