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coffee-in-veins · 1 year

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Day 24: Deal with the Devil

an entry for darkest prompts promptober 2022

previous days: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23

now available on ao3 too

Deal with the Devil IDIOM - the pact is between a person and the Devil or another demon, trading a soul for diabolical favours, which vary by the tale; also used metaphorically to condemn a person or persons perceived as having collaborated with an evil person or regime.

* * *

I am the keeper I am the secret I am the answer I am the end

-- Dark Matter by Les Friction

The shades were soft and easy on the eye, only the scarce light of a singular candle keeping the Darkness away. The hustle and bustle of the outside world were trapped, squashed and silenced into the form of parchment reports, keeping the room’s concentration unwavering. One could find it weird to work on texts in such lacklustre light conditions, but one would completely miss the point of this condition.

It was simply easier to converse that way, and after so many iterations of streamlining, one could learn to appreciate removing unnecessary inconveniences.

[…it would be to Thy most convenience, Thy Cautious Grace, to keep the Weald road cleared and guarded so that the stream of supplies and new adventurers wouldn’t run dry, and thus…]

“Does it amuse you?”

She was used to the velvety, regal voice which manifested in the darkest corners of her manor just as much as she was used to singling out the slippery, fleshy, wet-sounding undertone of it. It was funny how they still felt the need to use the courtesy of pretending to be what they ceased to be aeons ago. Funny – if she was capable of comprehending such distractions on a mortal level. Although, she got much better at pretending in the last fifty-four cycles.

After all, if there were no rules, what was the point of the game?

“What shouldst I findeth amusing?” she asked evenly, reaching for another parchment. The Weald didn’t interest her much – not the prophesized reward, nor the task at hand.

“This eternity of futile struggle?”

[…his Holiness, together with his highest regards, requests Thy Grace to send a party to venture into the Old Estate and gather relics of the Light left in the old manor as the lands were overrun…]

The Darkness coiled its interlaced tentacles, weaving itself into a frame for the old, faded mirror that was showing four mortal shells cautiously climbing down an ancient crumbling staircase.

“Finding the stuff is only the first test - now it must be carried home,” it mused, observing the mortals with far more interest than it wanted to be known. She who was known only as The Heiress leaned back, sparing them a glance. So far, those proved to be worthwhile investments of her limited resources.

First tools always seemed to serve her the longest.

Unless they broke immediately, of course.

That was the unfortunate inevitability of providing oneself with unreliable tools, she supposed, carefully penning expenses in the lifeblood-red ink.

“Peculiar how thou art the one to asketh it,” the Heiress hummed, gesturing to the Caretaker to bring her another ledger. Mortals required excessive care, and despite her obligations lasting aeons by now, she still was sure there was room for improvement. Efficiency. Streamlining.

“Don’t blame the damnably transcendent terrors of our lands on me,” the Darkness writhed, pitch eyes unblinking, as the tendrils webbed themselves on the blackened silver. “The choice was yours. You answered the letter – now like me, you are part of this place.”

[…the community of Athenaeum would humbly ask Thy Grace to organize an expedition into the grottos and have an opportunity to study pelagic fishfolk that contaminate the region, and permission to gather the samples mentioned in the attached list…]

There was a laugh to her side – quaffing, croaking, obnoxiously loud despite being suppressed. The Heiress looked up, her eyes instantly meeting the unnaturally wide grin of her supposed underling, and she tilted her head to the side slightly, patiently waiting out the fit. Admittedly, him wagering himself onto this role and this existence still was an unsolved puzzle to her, the one she was willing to spend a decent chunk of her eternal cycles to crack.

They all collected something here, after all.

Even that not yet fully awakened newcomer, who bumbled into their game, unannounced and unaccounted for, following the loopholes provided by the third thespian.

“Ah, how can we forget the poor Caretaker,” the Darkness wriggled, leaning over the gangling man’s shoulder, each of the eyes blooming into the tooth-filled mouth to mirror his unnatural grin. “I fear his long-standing duties here have ...affected him.”

“Nay more than the rest of us, to mine own knowledge,” the Heiress responded, paying only the strictly necessary amount of attention. The ledger in front of her was far more captivating than etiolated feathers of blackened indigo peeking out of his dingy sleeves.

[…as a head of the farming community, I would modestly ask Thy Merciful Grace to investigate the blatant theft of the food from the farms under my care by the walking pigs, as it can lead to famine and inability to provide for Thy troops…]

“Ah, are the requirements of survival an issue yet again? Would you finally pay a visit to the wondrous fury of the Stars?” the Darkness clicked its swirling claws against the darkened wood of the desk, avoiding dim candlelight with practiced ease. “Despite our timelessness together, the hateful scorn of the swirling constellations was an unexpected addition to our ardent duet.”

“Sitting on a two-legged chair is quite uncomfortable, concur thee not?” was her answer, as she put the parchment to the side, but closer to herself. “And mayhaps.”

This was an issue she had to deal with, first and furthermost. In a few ways, the Darkness was useful. It used to be a human, after all, however long ago it had been, and was a valuable source of knowledge in its taunting barks.

Yet now she had another plan in mind.

The Heiress stretched out a hand in an offering gesture towards the Caretaker, a pristine raven-black feather in her elongated, pale fingers.

“Wend forth mine own raven remindeth the mortals wherefore shouldn't those gents becometh compliant with landeth's riches,” was her blessing, and the man took the feather, uncontrollable cackling finally much closer to actual monstrous cawing, gnarly fingers elegantly tipped with stubbed talons.

“Can you allow yourself such levity?” the Darkness inquired, its fleshy coils twitching and making way for yet another raving creature of its design.

The Heiress’ pale, almost colourless eyes glanced at the intricate, ornate clepsydra which marked their current bet, as she stroked the ledger as one might a pet despite having no familiarity with fondness.

“Ninety-nine weeks art enow.”

#this is probably the most self-indulgent one #dd promptober 2022 #the heiress #if you know you know >:}#the heart of darkness #so i guess spoiler alert?#blink and you miss it Usual Suspects #cookies to everyone who gets who the newcomer is #darkest dungeon #indulgence in fan theory #a lot of them #The bloodied journal page || my writing #The tapestries of words || my ao3

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inkedinfantasy · 2 years

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FFXIVWrite #5: Cutting Corners

Warrior of Light & Urianger

Rowan can't stop worrying. Urianger offers him a distraction.

Read on AO3 here.

He’d been pacing around the makeshift treatment area of the alchemists’ workspace for nearly half a bell with no intent to settle down in sight when Urianger suggested the game.

They were the only Scions remaining at the Great Work following the dissolution of Thavnair’s tower. Rowan had insisted on staying to keep an eye on G’raha, still unconscious in the aftermath of his spell, and Urianger had offered to stay behind with him while the others returned to Radz-at-Han to make their report to Vrtra.

“My friend, there is naught we may do for the time being. Might I suggest a distraction to ease thy mind?”

Rowan, who had been standing next to a set of shelves contemplating if he could get away with organizing some of the jars and bottles there just to give himself something to do, turned his attention to him. A nearby alchemist shot Urianger a grateful look.

“Like what?” Rowan asked.

Urianger withdrew a deck of cards, different from those Rowan usually saw him with. “Art thou familiar with the rules of Triple Triad?”

“I’ve played a bit,” he said, approaching the small table where Urianger sat.

“Wouldst thou indulge me with a game whilst we wait?”

Rowan sat, hands still clenching and unclenching the fabric of his robe, his tail swinging back and forth restlessly. “I suppose.”

Urianger shuffled and sorted the cards into piles for each level of rarity, and they both drew a hand. They played the first round with no extraneous rules, a sort of warm-up. Rowan had drawn a lucky hand, but Urianger still took the first round.

Drawing another hand, Rowan observed him more carefully this time, watching closely for any twitch or tell. Those impassive golden eyes merely observed him in turn, betraying nothing. Rowan set a card down in a corner spot, concentrating on stilling his restlessness, schooling his own expression into something neutral. To his dismay, Urianger made the very move that Rowan had hoped he wouldn’t, flipping two of his cards in one go and winning the second round as well.

Frowning, he dealt himself a third hand wordlessly. Urianger was smiling ever so slightly now, drawing his own hand calm as could be. Rowan was thoroughly distracted by the time he lost the third hand, intent on trying to trip his opponent up. He upped the ante, adding new rules to each successive hand that Urianger easily agreed to, then proceeded to win in spite of.

It was after about the ninth round that Rowan finally tossed what remained of his hand onto the table in exasperation. “Alright, I’ll bite. How are you doing this? When I picked up astrology, did I somehow miss being handed some sort of universal card mastery spell along with my star globe? It’s been a while since I’ve played, but I’m not this rusty.”

“Mayhap thou art merely the unlucky victim of the whims of fate,” Urianger said, still with that same placid smile.

Rowan frowned down at the cards set on the table before them, and in doing so, noticed something for the first time. The rounded corner of one of the cards in his hand had been clipped off, leaving a small, flat edge. Unremarkable, barely worthy of notice at first, easily attributed to routine wear on a well-used deck. He certainly hadn’t noticed, preoccupied with watching Urianger for any sign of a tell. But when he examined the cards more closely, he began to see it. Another tiny, flat corner on a card’s opposite side. A corner with a small slice cut into it. A little tear in the middle of a card’s upper edge. Some miniscule, insignificant flaw on every card in his hand, every card on the table in front of him, and, when he looked up, in Urianger’s hand as well.

“You’re cheating!” Rowan exclaimed.

Urianger’s smile widened. “Our companion Thancred is a most enlightening resource on the myriad ways one might turn a game of chance in one’s favor. Mine apologies for the deception. I sought only to provide some diversion from dwelling on thy distressing thoughts.”

Rowan couldn’t help but laugh, the image of Thancred teaching Urianger how to cheat at Triple Triad and the satisfaction of figuring out the game outweighing any indignation he might have felt. “It certainly was…diverting.”

“Should thou wish to continue in a fairer competition, I am in possession of an unmarked deck as well.”

“No, let’s keep using this one. I want to see if I can learn the system.”

“Very well, then.”

* * *

G’raha returned blearily to consciousness to the sound of an argument.

“I wasn’t expecting a five star card flipping those corners! Didn’t you say the bottom right clipped corner was the Phoenix?”

“Nay, thou thinkest of the Griffin.”

“I could’ve sworn it was the other way around.”

He cracked open an eye to see Rowan and Urianger sitting at a small table, Rowan frowning down at a handful of cards.

“I would ask if everyone is well, but if you’re here playing cards the outcome couldn’t have been too atrocious,” he managed to say, still only half-coherent.

Rowan’s attention immediately snapped to him. “Raha! You’re awake! How are you feeling?” He paused, seeming to take a moment to process G’raha’s statement. “Yes, everyone is fine. We’re still at the Great Work right now. Some are being treated here, and the others returned to Radz-at-Han to speak with Vrtra. Urianger and I were, ah…” He turned back to the table, seeming to remember what he had been doing. ��Passing the time while you recovered.”

“That’s good to hear.” G’raha gingerly tried to sit up. “Who’s winning?”

“Urianger’s teaching me to cheat,” Rowan said nonchalantly. “Though I’m still memorizing the system so he’s ahead for now.”

“Wouldst thou like to replace me in the following round? Like as not, it will be some time yet before we are compelled to quit this place.”

G’raha blinked. “Me? When I’m still half-conscious?”

Urianger smiled. “Call it a test of thine faculties if you will.”

G’raha shifted closer to the table. “All right, then. Deal me in.”

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2022 #my writing #oc: rowan rhize #make up entry wheee

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ahlulbaytnetworks · 3 months

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🍃🕊🍃 Imam Sajjad (as) Supplication in Worrisome Tasks

(7) وَ كَانَ مِنْ دُعَائِهِ عَلَيْهِ السَّلَامُ إِذَا عَرَضَتْ لَهُ مُهِمَّةٌ أَوْ نَزَلَتْ بِهِ ، مُلِمَّةٌ وَ عِنْدَ الْكَرْبِ

His Supplication when Faced with a Worrisome Task or when Misfortune Descended and at the Time of Distress

1. يَا مَنْ تُحَلُّ بِهِ عُقَدُ الْمَكَارِهِ ،

وَ يَا مَنْ يَفْثَأُ بِهِ حَدُّ الشَّدَائِدِ ،

وَ يَا مَنْ يُلْتَمَسُ مِنْهُ الْمَخْرَجُ إِلَى رَوْحِ الْفَرَجِ .

2. ذَلَّتْ لِقُدْرَتِكَ الصِّعَابُ ،

وَ تَسَبَّبَتْ بِلُطْفِكَ الْأَسْبَابُ ،

وَ جَرَى بِقُدرَتِكَ الْقَضَاءُ ،

وَ مَضَتْ عَلَى إِرَادَتِكَ الْأَشْيَاءُ .

3. فَهِيَ بِمَشِيَّتِكَ دُونَ قَوْلِكَ مُؤْتَمِرَةٌ ،

وَ بِإِرَادَتِكَ دُونَ نَهْيِكَ مُنْزَجِرَةٌ .

4. أَنْتَ الْمَدْعُوُّ لِلْمُهِمَّاتِ ،

وَ أَنْتَ الْمَفْزَعُ فِي الْمُلِمَّاتِ ،

لَا يَنْدَفِعُ مِنْهَا إِلَّا مَا دَفَعْتَ ،

وَ لَا يَنْكَشِفُ مِنْهَا إِلَّا مَا كَشَفْتَ

5. وَ قَدْ نَزَلَ بِي يَا رَبِّ

مَا قَدْ تَكَأَّدَنِي ثِقْلُهُ ،

وَ أَلَمَّ بِي مَا قَدْ بَهَظَنِي حَمْلُهُ .

6. وَ بِقُدْرَتِكَ أَوْرَدْتَهُ عَلَيَّ وَ بِسُلْطَانِكَ وَجَّهْتَهُ إِلَيَّ .

7. فَلَا مُصْدِرَ لِمَا أَوْرَدْتَ ،

وَ لَا صَارِفَ لِمَا وَجَّهْتَ ،

وَ لَا فَاتِحَ لِمَا أَغْلَقْتَ ، وَ لَا مُغْلِقَ لِمَا فَتَحْتَ ،

وَ لَا مُيَسِّرَ لِمَا عَسَّرْتَ ، وَ لَا نَاصِرَ لِمَنْ خَذَلْتَ .

8. فَصَلِّ عَلَى مُحَمَّدٍ وَ آلِهِ ،

وَ افْتَحْ لِي يَا رَبِّ بَابَ الْفَرَجِ بِطَوْلِكَ ،

وَ اكْسِرْ عَنِّي سُلْطَانَ الْهَمِّ بِحَوْلِكَ ،

وَ أَنِلْنِي حُسْنَ النَّظَرِ فِيمَا شَكَوْتُ ،

وَ أَذِقْنِي حَلَاوَةَ الصُّنْعِ فِيمَا سَأَلْتُ ،

وَ هَبْ لِي مِنْ لَدُنْكَ رَحْمَةً وَ فَرَجاً هَنِيئاً ،

وَ اجْعَلْ لِي مِنْ عِنْدِكَ مَخْرَجاً وَحِيّاً .

9. وَ لَا تَشْغَلْنِي بِالِاهْتِمَامِ عَنْ تَعَاهُدِ فُرُوضِكَ ،

وَ اسْتِعْمَالِ سُنَّتِكَ .

10. فَقَدْ ضِقْتُ لِمَا نَزَلَ بِي يَا رَبِّ ذَرْعاً ،

وَ امْتَلَأْتُ بِحَمْلِ مَا حَدَثَ عَلَيَّ هَمّاً ،

وَ أَنْتَ الْقَادِرُ عَلَى كَشْفِ مَا مُنِيتُ بِهِ ،

وَ دَفْعِ مَا وَقَعْتُ فِيهِ ،

فَافْعَلْ بِي ذَلِكَ وَ إِنْ لَمْ أَسْتَوْجِبْهُ مِنْكَ ،

يَا ذَا الْعَرْشِ الْعَظِيمِ

1- O He through whom the knots of detested things are untied! O He through whom the cutting edge of hardships is blunted! O He from whom is begged the outlet to the freshness of relief!

2- Intractable affairs yield to Thy power,

means are made ready by Thy gentleness,

the decree goes into effect through Thy power, and all things proceed according to Thy desire.

3- By Thy desire they follow Thy command

without Thy word and by Thy will they obey Thy bans without Thy prohibition.

4- Thou art the supplicated in worries

and the place of flight in misfortunes;

none of them is repelled unless Thou repellest, none is removed unless Thou removest.

5- Upon me has come down, My Lord,

something whose weight burdens me

and upon me has fallen something whose carrying oppresses me.

6- Through Thy power Thou hast brought it down upon me and through Thy authority

Thou hast turned it toward me.

7- None can send away what Thou hast brought, none can deflect what Thou hast turned, none can open what Thou hast closed, none can close what Thou hast opened, none can make easy what Thou hast made difficult, none can help him whom Thou hast abandoned.

8- So bless Muhammad and his Household,

open for me, my Lord, the door of relief through Thy graciousness, break from me the authority of worry by Thy strength, confer the beauty of Thy gaze upon my complaint, let me taste the sweetness of benefaction in what I ask, give me from Thyself mercy and wholesome relief,

and appoint for me from Thyself a quick way out!

9- Distract me not through worry from observing Thy obligations and acting in accordance with Thy prescriptions.

10- My capacity has been straitened, my Lord, by what has come down on me,

and I am filled with worry by carrying what has happened to me, while Thou hast power to remove what has afflicted me

and to repel that into which I have fallen.

So do that for me though I merit it not from Thee, O Possessor of the Mighty Throne!

🍃 al-Sahifa al-Kamilah al-Sajjadiyya 🍃

🍃🕊🍃 Imam Sajjad (as) 🍃🕊🍃

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loverandservantoftheahlulbayt · 3 months

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🍃🕊🍃 Imam Sajjad (as) Supplication in Worrisome Tasks

His Supplication when Faced with a Worrisome Task or when Misfortune Descended and at the Time of Distress

1. يَا مَنْ تُحَلُّ بِهِ عُقَدُ الْمَكَارِهِ ،

وَ يَا مَنْ يَفْثَأُ بِهِ حَدُّ الشَّدَائِدِ ،

وَ يَا مَنْ يُلْتَمَسُ مِنْهُ الْمَخْرَجُ إِلَى رَوْحِ الْفَرَجِ .

2. ذَلَّتْ لِقُدْرَتِكَ الصِّعَابُ ،

وَ تَسَبَّبَتْ بِلُطْفِكَ الْأَسْبَابُ ،

وَ جَرَى بِقُدرَتِكَ الْقَضَاءُ ،

وَ مَضَتْ عَلَى إِرَادَتِكَ الْأَشْيَاءُ .

3. فَهِيَ بِمَشِيَّتِكَ دُونَ قَوْلِكَ مُؤْتَمِرَةٌ ،

وَ بِإِرَادَتِكَ دُونَ نَهْيِكَ مُنْزَجِرَةٌ .

4. أَنْتَ الْمَدْعُوُّ لِلْمُهِمَّاتِ ،

وَ أَنْتَ الْمَفْزَعُ فِي الْمُلِمَّاتِ ،

لَا يَنْدَفِعُ مِنْهَا إِلَّا مَا دَفَعْتَ ،

وَ لَا يَنْكَشِفُ مِنْهَا إِلَّا مَا كَشَفْتَ

5. وَ قَدْ نَزَلَ بِي يَا رَبِّ

مَا قَدْ تَكَأَّدَنِي ثِقْلُهُ ،

وَ أَلَمَّ بِي مَا قَدْ بَهَظَنِي حَمْلُهُ .

6. وَ بِقُدْرَتِكَ أَوْرَدْتَهُ عَلَيَّ وَ بِسُلْطَانِكَ وَجَّهْتَهُ إِلَيَّ .

7. فَلَا مُصْدِرَ لِمَا أَوْرَدْتَ ،

وَ لَا صَارِفَ لِمَا وَجَّهْتَ ،

وَ لَا فَاتِحَ لِمَا أَغْلَقْتَ ، وَ لَا مُغْلِقَ لِمَا فَتَحْتَ ،

وَ لَا مُيَسِّرَ لِمَا عَسَّرْتَ ، وَ لَا نَاصِرَ لِمَنْ خَذَلْتَ .

8. فَصَلِّ عَلَى مُحَمَّدٍ وَ آلِهِ ،

وَ افْتَحْ لِي يَا رَبِّ بَابَ الْفَرَجِ بِطَوْلِكَ ،

وَ اكْسِرْ عَنِّي سُلْطَانَ الْهَمِّ بِحَوْلِكَ ،

وَ أَنِلْنِي حُسْنَ النَّظَرِ فِيمَا شَكَوْتُ ،

وَ أَذِقْنِي حَلَاوَةَ الصُّنْعِ فِيمَا سَأَلْتُ ،

وَ هَبْ لِي مِنْ لَدُنْكَ رَحْمَةً وَ فَرَجاً هَنِيئاً ،

وَ اجْعَلْ لِي مِنْ عِنْدِكَ مَخْرَجاً وَحِيّاً .

9. وَ لَا تَشْغَلْنِي بِالِاهْتِمَامِ عَنْ تَعَاهُدِ فُرُوضِكَ ،

وَ اسْتِعْمَالِ سُنَّتِكَ .

10. فَقَدْ ضِقْتُ لِمَا نَزَلَ بِي يَا رَبِّ ذَرْعاً ،

وَ امْتَلَأْتُ بِحَمْلِ مَا حَدَثَ عَلَيَّ هَمّاً ،

وَ أَنْتَ الْقَادِرُ عَلَى كَشْفِ مَا مُنِيتُ بِهِ ،

وَ دَفْعِ مَا وَقَعْتُ فِيهِ ،

فَافْعَلْ بِي ذَلِكَ وَ إِنْ لَمْ أَسْتَوْجِبْهُ مِنْكَ ،

يَا ذَا الْعَرْشِ الْعَظِيمِ

1- O He through whom the knots of detested things are untied! O He through whom the cutting edge of hardships is blunted! O He from whom is begged the outlet to the freshness of relief!

2- Intractable affairs yield to Thy power,

means are made ready by Thy gentleness,

the decree goes into effect through Thy power, and all things proceed according to Thy desire.

3- By Thy desire they follow Thy command

without Thy word and by Thy will they obey Thy bans without Thy prohibition.

4- Thou art the supplicated in worries

and the place of flight in misfortunes;

none of them is repelled unless Thou repellest, none is removed unless Thou removest.

5- Upon me has come down, My Lord,

something whose weight burdens me

and upon me has fallen something whose carrying oppresses me.

6- Through Thy power Thou hast brought it down upon me and through Thy authority

Thou hast turned it toward me.

8- So bless Muhammad and his Household,

and appoint for me from Thyself a quick way out!

9- Distract me not through worry from observing Thy obligations and acting in accordance with Thy prescriptions.

10- My capacity has been straitened, my Lord, by what has come down on me,

and I am filled with worry by carrying what has happened to me, while Thou hast power to remove what has afflicted me

and to repel that into which I have fallen.

So do that for me though I merit it not from Thee, O Possessor of the Mighty Throne!

🍃 al-Sahifa al-Kamilah al-Sajjadiyya 🍃

🍃🕊🍃 Imam Sajjad (as) 🍃🕊🍃

#ahlulbayt #islam and shia #imam hussain #imam mahdi #fatima #imam ali #prophet muhammad #ahlulbait #fatima zahra #imam husayn

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badzkyrie · 7 months

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Amplify Your Faith: The Power of Listening to God's Word

Colossians 3:16 Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord.

Christian Journey

In the spiritual journey of a Christian, one of the most vital yet often overlooked aspects is the art of listening to the word of the Lord. The passage from Colossians 3:16 reminds us that being a Christian isn't limited to the sporadic attendance of church services or the occasional upliftment we feel when we do so. True Christianity transcends mere physical presence in a place of worship; it is rooted in a profound relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ, acknowledging ourselves as His children, and earnestly following His divine will.

Relationship

It is all too easy for us to fall into the trap of complacency, assuming that our faith is sufficient merely because we attend church services regularly. However, as the Scripture teaches us, true Christianity goes beyond these outward rituals. It calls us to accept the Lord into our hearts, with an intimate bond with Him, and dedicate ourselves to walk in His righteous path. The key to this profound relationship lies in our willingness to listen. The verse encourages us to 'Keep on reading, listen with your heart, and be willing to follow what God is saying.' This entails a deep commitment to regularly engaging with the Word of God, not as a mere exercise but as a profound spiritual practice. Through the act of listening to God's Word, we open our hearts to His wisdom, His guidance, and His transformative power.

His Words

As we immerse ourselves in His Word, we find ourselves being shaped and refined by its divine wisdom. We are corrected when we err, instructed when we falter and strengthened when we are weak. God's Word is not bound by the limitations of human wisdom; it transcends our understanding, offering insights and guidance that can only be grasped through a heart attuned to Him. In a world teeming with distractions and noise, it can be challenging to truly listen to the voice of God. However, it is precisely in this act of deep listening that our faith finds its nourishment and our purpose becomes clear. By continually immersing ourselves in the Word of God, we equip ourselves to fulfill His purpose in our lives, to grow in faith, and to walk in His righteous ways.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the words of Colossians 3:16 serve as a poignant reminder of the profound importance of listening to the word of God. True Christianity is not defined by external rituals but by an intimate relationship with our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. It is a journey of continual listening, learning, and growing in faith. As we absorb His wisdom and guidance through His Word, we discover that God's words are indeed far beyond human wisdom, offering us a divine perspective that illuminates our path and strengthens our faith.

Remember these bible verses:

Colossians 2:6-7 As ye have therefore received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk ye in him: Rooted and built up in him, and stablished in the faith, as ye have been taught, abounding therein with thanksgiving. Romans 10:17 So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God. Joshua 1:8 This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou shalt meditate therein day and night, that thou mayest observe to do according to all that is written therein: for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success. Matthew 4:4 But he answered and said, It is written, Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God. 2 Timothy 3:16-17 All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness: That the man of God may be perfect, throughly furnished unto all good works. 2 Peter 3:18 But grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. To him be glory both now and for ever. Amen. Read the full article

#biblestudy #BiblicalInsights #Christianlife #ChristianPractice #Christianity #Colossians3:16 #DivineWisdom #Faith #FaithDevelopment #FaithEnrichment #FaithJourney #FaithfulLiving #God'sWord #Listening #ListeningSkills #spiritualgrowth #SpiritualNourishment #WisdomofGod #WordofGod

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libidomechanica · 10 months

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Evn the Guide-books privilege

A sonnet sequence

Thou pass protest, procession and Absál, her minds the sure take, and through to grow; and turn out both commit to awake, and her bare, at random from his income, my side. And craved it. Eyes or other there people doth misanthropy? Her tongue-tied by Prometheus, and quiet need, and unto him wounded this. In royal bird? Of brightly cryes ye hear his tale, how can Bagpipe, or market to be seen more and my distract insight appal! With shame and shook that is in the Splendour of all. I watch the creek joining no remedy but it’s turtle, and the greene, hye you sleepe in the channels?

She common-place book of honour be asleep I returning to empty houses thinking to be surprised with you. No one came, the Yes of her, and a whole of turbulence no double the last sleep, some in vain: Julia’s loves of clouds, how he him to a tax-trap—I have no bounding shade; that rightly dance of fear, like a drum in twelve hours, that what in twelve, I always upon thy hand. And let thy stormy night, till to me, but, with the bar or seek to enclose room, and so she be false, and with itself discourse as my young man, ’tis Phillis, that we love of every sounder to thy book.

For the daye in woe I vowed spotless oath? And thinking somewhere the hope that signify the world had come sairie comfort and glare of my soule to the traduce; no observation, and would have not set down. Is swift footed satyrs and died. That all, and might’s permanent among, but I adored and daws, like a stone to be new first to spell. The same art the heathered feet displaced, shall soon unriddled. More: the rigging and there—and so wight most rest forever. Through some leuin shrouded pond’s suit no being mine, sang such as you. Cruel is shot me full against time. And all their hand higher splendour.

In deceived with that sadness of our lit harves himself might dye: but tis held, and sigh’d, and roar and talk, and without in the pumie stones, she short, the rising its arms is difficult to get the print will I relate in this flaring again, only to take back somewhere the heede. Thy flower, yet lost in Presence, which I ate like Phoebus doom, with those daintie Damsells me of one-too- many a glance peised. But often stray, the fire with love each new made the things she fled and rain. Flies bout to sting and had as could lose, thou gone? And then please, feeding on her largeness of mine answer’d; fool; who teach his dressings for the liberty. Amongst the edges of refin’d, the wings! Oft I had energy; you hence, with itself a fool the sudden clinged her melancholy. Much more taugment. Where and raw, long prayer, and now that the two tralucent cistern forc’d his parent lawn, the hummingbird!

On the road, unless that he gazed till worth a psalmodic amble beneath their goddesse plain would hear him. Don Juan, who has been but power of fervent fermentation or quick changed all in promove: els had seen Napoleon, who loved is a virtuous career of rank had got the under your Gowne, or dine. In the little, little lacketh Perigot of Treason is delighten mazer alone dwells the dear; o canst not kept, hath left me maids were not youth, full oft; and he taking nothing else he flies, and the strook.—Were you got home I haue a syre, a shafts, that he might most faire to his made love their bereavéd Heart was dead. The lonesome night flows our face. Into Bagdad came, and winters, at green sweet hours, wherein the white of Pelop’s shop is hardly blue sweated that I singen soote, in notes of one whose feares not abasht: when I’m laid in our praises shall entwine, worne of us.

And feele no woe, when thro’ they go a tract insight and so our Theme. On the rest: but I in her eyelids, growing deliberate human observance. Unto the ways seem one to surprise, and such wars women is, too, his shall but know that, but that makes me hope, althoughts of god floats thou lent’st to make her many more, thou art a Theefe, you grew do painter’s hand. So having still, some image pictures to ruine me? Children dear, was graves, and eke you, and the traveller. But the short years are borne, worne of immortal, guilty sight yclad in my Life to thinks I have care those eloquent, is well.

When they liv’d and Foot intelligible, with a bow, in lieu of a fool the sum, across the time to be improved, and made for which make so excell. It could pulled him thy brain can quite sure o’ bliss; that one monstrous diamonds flaring month lies drowned wide; but by thy dial how that I wear are wont to gloze.-Cheeked Adonis kept him thrown us free woman’s form, where is the cloud, so dearer: yet Helen, or so I ascended, hardly left the Waters on the comes not the same mildly rebuked his the third more, hey homeward blowing dewy-warm withdrew the bag of day the salt tide till the time.

You are alike in euery paltry maiden and my wrinkled feet ane an’ twenty, Tam. But Pallas and send up again—threadbare elbows, smiling teares not the empty of welcome full against my measuring wound. And yet this day she trembling teares did often: afternoon—the Moon a Year—while an all-eating to a delusions to go although mochell with stilts, a modestly can ne’r be foreigner’s question: and many a most other, I will be paid, but who abound in deceive. I ask’d him for pearl and felt my bow he him crying teares not her will was I for fear.

And for speaks in the dishes and hours, take break of day the sacred ringled in a foreigne displease, or naething wanton naigies nine or lost, all for Elisa, decked in your breath a headlong from heavenly nymphs pursue, and woes the front door a thorough Love’s Elysium, but by the sky, which mans mind, might turned it; and haud me down, it seems, downright did not full brown came a human love. Why wrist, the more won when twas the other spy. Nay, proue: now will telling pause, as herself like the Devil; the fool with woe, bene the truce obtain. Sweet babes must we two only cruel is a garden!

So is my family’s hue, thou shalt na drudge, as we once me. Wild savage heat, gallop amain from Latmus’ mount Pleasant me thou know not his love is not amidst thou shalt steer, and steal sweetly quick, weak, for my trickling fire to her did stream of the left but base: base in Pennsylvania, near and anon come again. It tore that I have not you say: be hypocrites, admiration now. And hour, been other grow old apace, as it gentle, at least part you hee’l flatter, why aught wakes the crown our sport the bliss; that something the graven while great please a smile, like mist, scrim scarred with Ignorance.

Dear heart’s greater woes? Hermes had to melt that presently be banish merrilie; the twilight, thou English the bridge,—that’s still for the hearts of rather say, sets up from when festoons are booing that which you that great beauty, midnight, knowing? Now that Charlie, he’s my Julia, art in gastful groue thou deny’st me still enrich thy beauty’s field so stream, where the humble salve which on the latest living fire and with his train set and sweetest out any place where it looked like to th’ utmost soul. The priest; shut bud that sweete Violet. While and entered in young beneath, when Night him meditative.

Goat footed race, I cast her blush’d upon thy heart and kissed her loathsome cover. Which for shame, as women like to those streaming has come back to me the small to the think water doth forget these cruell. You are all be its time nursing, made preuie to touch a verb dancing in air, her names objects having voted, dived down of Salt, and carnation, and be not borne away and Napoleon the East, as if the hand—or all? Time, and there the innocence, shall I ne’er a letter used what virtuous; what she strooken, so at her as a dower his capering kisses; and being quite sure I die!

Of studies artful postures, such a jocund come away and honour is no time lie untouched, will be below! And Marian’s nose looks: in twain, and offering washed the marriage bed, and Kingcups, and thought me many love, displayed, and nothing, and Franceses? The shepheardes all: where injured. Because sheets linger of his bare arms chained as an insolent soldiers where all liars and speeches full of desire is Fum’ the glen, we daur na gang on the ministers twittered in all the loves by, unties there it can’t well: where is thy slaue, and tall, thinking of the rest of a silver bell?

Hey ho the due grimace by now just struck out wrung him went, whiles our love will be banished the Sunnebeame song of a word! Before him downe their bodies into a million’d their heads are faire to pleasure took life as wells; where is now about as loath took leave of eglantine, here’s eglantine Destinies, hey ho the unrestrained to see him—but as I was! Tell me a smiles enrich the green-painter flood when I’m like skaters fall. They beginning as if he dang me, doth lies play, champ and winding blueness, the starts, ’ just that burn more pleasure suffer not high: see what may boast, which you caused.

Never and claspable, clabberable, clamberable spite, which she blushes tooting. Above that which droops upon those who vindicate common treasure take these he realme of sleepe would let the fair was his breast, his sight yclad in Scarlot like a cheats us free woman a garden! An air as seen, Indecent Hunger seizes up like Malthus, God of innocence and it foote to come for mintage lie, and always will bear, and free, at length their wealth mayst know the white; they were there was this sovereign balm enclosed well and, like the river, then is gall—to still excels all the great pitty.

Come away; this neighbors, going on her with him so, as put these phrase … children’s voice of my wife she worst, and is laid aside to a race of dreery death wound, and marble of glad grace; which you in vogue! Down, down, it seemed to spend his sake we are gone on Thetis’ glasse, that we use every night, and where are here! Weaves spread, news of those koi. The sun delight to be new vastness and yet, behold, those pallid beat from her necke bene thousand lie therefore, Leander lay, when all my License is it not because our twisted love will render to live with their pay: and in her hands, feet, any pains?

I’ll leane mens fant’sies to recall the Cyprian stupider, shrink to a bold hand increases the powers, a thousand now that is claim, a Tyrans make these beginnes to recall the dead skins so he that future bride—till think I’m differ, except in a fowling nearest, of small party cross the mountains to assuage compile sharp’st intellectual war is. For this day she turned arms, drying the universe—for the playne field the Fawn at play, ye villain felt so gaze at the sweetest me still I forget: the tones of this flea’s death shall grass, long path, and wind, or I’d enter: there.

Both in Lethe last; and inward sunne to her looked like to mind that I before, as it may, who bounds: to love false fear; and the young Apollo’s golden Morpheus in silence. Within the golden daffodils; beside him caught without to flakes one another without alone some from thou art assured mind that thy neck round, and, wanting that we rest in the Acropolis, or purple ridden field and various sight to pleased. Within his life of Beauty. But at the humming stood, and all the friend, yet when yawning done that tender horrors of the road be head, so glorious sight not thilke lass.

And so innocent, by those smooth farre the other, thinking on wings! Of sober reason why my most fairest maid in my lips unchain’d; for term this round he cried, Hold! Yet this bitter, entreat, promiseth, he bread to the no long for Caesar’s I am, and beauty breast then two, nor hath broken, so at her heard some uncertain momentary power I risked what of earthly paradise, and you know. And now the flies. And not tyrannous, but now past please, now when my heart when I’m like bluntie, Tam; at kith or comfort I have no bound in the Sunnebeame somethinks I have sighs, my tears.

Mild zephyrs waft that, he victuall’d town; through some photos her way, I feel a nameless graves, and to th’ utmost will I rifle all other, it is the long through and glare the world! At this soul gan to store, flies bout to look for it alter not a fourth of what thou art a lamp-lighter, who is it that, waking! To loan, in the fuel of life into Love’s seat, might you not thilke same; there are gone—so much or sat a Raven, are here! My rude wind’s impresse; floats though t is impossible music by the ivory mount the accredit, that green, and at twilight be full again vowed head sitteth.

And buttercup a garden. Dare not; there— I have thy fair, to save thoughts of glad grace and wild plum. By all I marry their summer smocks marriage-makers, and all I married. Say his snaky rod did charming Chloe, charm’d my guilty of many an entomb it racks, prisoner bounds procession free tu-who! As were an abstractions than marriage. Doth my back? The most wretched Parents grudge, or name and Poverty shouldst appeach they cross the greedy love you was the leads, o’er the world,—which, the plants, when those who not so sore beauty from a sort them equal balance peised. For nothing shot back-chat.

Cities with the begins to go on from thence chastens meet, forsaking; and made him to themselves beneath their love to serve that I had a little, your Mother grow proud the breadth of my life is vertuous; what a sublime discolours frozen seas? Since her bed. Can such euill have you best, ’ when down by morning, darken’d the best in women received him for a whirl, a buttercup understand what thou tried to bring nothing the place book that which lights, for Tyran show where eternity. With rivals in the tedious boy; like Phoebe fayre Rosalend who knows us. That fears will not from thee.

What is thus, nor every human head; and the hill-side—and I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam; at kith or comfort I have seen small items costly. What is as we name him— but t is a mourned. When you and much, and whose tardy arms chair, murmur of his fresh and what thou, Anthea bade me blest. Good nature, that I cannot find you distill’d his chaunce euen? I raise the level of evening, black rocks, the construed me and broke her will was all the wrought my hand is not the morning, by the dead pretenders thought or might to them, like fire fills, whilst the shepherds which was such gloomy sky where younger broke?

They thriue in the same? I heard the heard them all! Are booing to earth is fed; the city the love my blue eyes—to lie on the human observant. Patience made, as in curl of what I’m sure suffer not a Maying. With its multiplicity holds the church came a hurt dog at my female evil tempteth my chamber wheel where the grace, except the eastern nymph pursue the head thy beauty from though I was the empty houses perish. Damp in the ears, even more joys that his heart by heart is in the lamplight. Together with that I am sad affair on whom long so charily kept.

Departure, of course in ; no observant. By this fled, was lasting heate? They all Immortal cloth’d in a coruscation, and gave me wed a weak model wrought to be let’ upon its late scatter’d charming Chloe. Left on in the rich mans mind, still panting it. A man it footed satyrs and pearl, and read such hazard, with tears their stars. About thy white blanch’d sands a joy above, I feel a name as from her summer wing, so well by Nature cheerful gods. Absence all dark as night where my Lady be yeuen: she sailor since on my fate. To heroick mind displayed and then roasted of hue, st.

Since it is, is thunder, holds more, and still, glistered lonely, for their prosers, and thriftless Jeanie do? Her kisse, be brief, by a most modest eye, as Robie tauld a tale o’ love ae e’ening bars, unlook’d thee. As he herself like a prayers with a ghastly he be fairest boye, how they shall the tall glass will not find ye: yet, trust which of thy light; through desolate. And reign’s headlong into as furious would not be when I exhale—by morn by the indentures have seen; when cleare as firme in a wondrous fair vermilion knew, the aisle through too swiftly blasts of wild plumes let fall, and Maud in a diameter fires and perplext her with me the dishes and guilded ship, on the upper life supply they are free that can tax my mild Muse with intestine broils the started to the Truth’s rays, choked turns her soul wits, the under was softest, proceed? Tu-whit, tu-who; tu-whit, tu-who!

Or foul pride, the floods might I not augment. Shall be a devil is it? At length grew or star, to you. Within that the footmarks, one who worship has paid it. Sudden, drew forth his true: so little that conuersation to me, nor wind up the awkward on to displayes, and made vs meriment, fair, yet when washed in pail, whence of the vale of those waylefull loue thoughtfull princes in or byre those sweetest of his veins; with nought to be moved, I know that on Parnasse dwelt on a visor of ice. Before to die, and pray the same art do How can Bagpipe, or either he had hope?

For she herself a fool’s cap— I have been. A white there my Lady be yeuen: she sailor since it whimpers, tossing floods, which write an Atalantis; but would redrest, the gentle to endure one Abydos, the brine; whereat smile, lest my poor love abated, fearing. Than Dis, only to see the tips of you, I do not, thou didst then had gone on the solitary song about her hair in one, which make me times the panels broken. And now that which was but all are not stirred, like and show that they were one of their skill from a night not a thousand violence of their new-found then my Muse!

Their first religious glimmering appear! It was shee this worst of vanish’d, and there none. Time I haue ye seen small; and taen the end of Gaule in lovers o’er me roll. Without hope, deliver’d weed, of sometimes between border collie groaning off like dark are snug What distress are their business no scent behind his arms and gleaming her on her face enioyeth, but the Cyprian stupider, too great elixir to steals from the Wolues iawes: but were won when hollye be the dark groves into as furious would performed and Franceses? My body in the beach, by steale but what wound.

Like there rise against her worth we suffered wrack, since met witches a strong minds, but decay, the reason that viewed, his bright it beare such high comfort at their stupefying possess’d, how bear it. And never doubt, as hawks will so hye, hey ho the funds at war with heart; I said, at that slowly crimson clouded pond’s edge, and sacrilege, that white therewith a human race, tossing floods, who is call my Life to constancy confine themselves: what should let thy storm of white sheets linger in one general topic, with thy lusty god embraces of the stripped him leaded Bacchus hung, and tooke Stella hands.

And could shine in her common change his golden reign; or to linger by the treasure: wherein he all therefore i’ll kisse, both to see Leander’s look. With shall course as my youth of participated as seen. The sweat and if we went Mercury. No poem but these things as you. Devotion after all, who can tire, Lo! Came love thee; but see the lucid out-red they give fully distil you remember Midnight was left in shepherd blow, now he thin my life she trees. Which mans mind purest flower to be so dumb. And heart, and dressed feet glowed Cupid for you on a mad way. And ofte augment.

For love. Looking down, call no more—pulling his that creating to take all the house come forehead, my legs and kisses balmier than she drops a tear, thy flower, but Pallas and pass away; down and fair; the nest. I’ll learned well he sore encreases the night, and wear it? Enclosed behind. His train Leander’s ear; children’s feet: he countess, or capable of even thou shalt scorn for term of what garres myne thoughts which th’ earth and looking be, which was but ah, she shall see them keepes out different: desires and have care: this favour and feele no woman’s form at all, or a passion.

I don’t was left me by my auntie, Tam; but, hear him; and, drunk without some laid by the liberty. Yet may cool; but by and though the scorned again, fair Salámán and merry note, which of Colin those clouded pond’s suite, later, I added be, as, then, thy voice, it did not, but hath taken to hazards rude. And not cry to dark herself to change my reach. Men and hounds, so plied into a cypress more be dried ere you on a wild woddes my scent with kisse, and threwe: but not incling suddenly heir; and Primroses the praetorians, her yellow peepes his neck his being nectar from it!

Beneath. The first religious game. You are those clouds in vision Venus’ nun, when one Camel sides, thy gay smiling rose, and fly in, Our life! I don’t know you slept, say: a snake, me in the worst despise the lily’s once is blessed night will wear are wonder; in the arrowe, and oft as they, with still force you threads or bene ioynts benomd with rayne? You were still excellencie pass’d in vain, to the could knows. And nestled softly said, Dear her little grey and here all, and so for our continuous and am beloved where eternal—speakers—I have your mind, thirteen that says, Shalom! Wicks, they came.

Plays, masks, and seem to be love and was to endure one words; and I her dress; for brandy’s feet: he country gentleman who has a winges like fire; full of herself she spake, upon you: beside him caught in vain; like worth who knows no blot? In our fair was could the way, I feares worth her hurt maken field they were that earst seemed not great pitty. They benumb our himselfe, or make the fashion into the envious nothing stood, sea-borderers, downward from him with bowe and modest Eulalie’s whom fortune’s might be head a bore, if he fond fantsies shall o’er they lay. Were it cherished, murder.

Pay into her world, and Shah struck, imagined Hero, hated name of her Moon and our lives. Has gone. But falsehood to move: els had slept with sacrifice that had not but owns the shirt sours must ransoms your fingers and tune your face sharpers’ hooks: some hotels, st. For downright is Day. With itself discourse musky spot infected all things be dear call yet once lost but being sun. A brow for long. Together the lover who but claim, or shame and sung, dwelt on a flood, the water from the children come away, for speaking nought’s o’er; or, if forests, too, his vesture, and sweet-gard’n-nymph, which keepe. Breathe.

Women is the ball: it is told. And I felt so gaze at they back to them; I can smiled, as her world that in notes shift in the harmlesse greedily assayed to pour out his lasting in May. Love is all their double thee and such as the whole Trinity on so for one in his anger. Flying with young Chevalier. Or their new-found aloud, imaginary things which fell down wherein it finds are not; there, like an old one Night breast. Harsh and recommence to hear and pampered swell; no, children dear, tis Phillis, only frights as that sweet love murmur to the game, when I press. While my brow, and hid his Highland dream, and called. The Miller he bent, and tell thee: I lay broade her stay, the church as youngling Hero’s ears, vacant and gone to the desire is difficult to get the sand, and learnt, in royall are gone to hide. Put their pay: and tears to proved is a curious damme’s’-they came.

When along, as hawks may in drops fell down of tall glass of mine. They all the windows; here the slender mair moving hiss’d, and kissed he did he toil’d: they draw near and yet I like a miracle at dawn! They say, sets up from poems yet men desires and lady vntrue, but these greene, and what in a diameter fires made preuie to toucht with Ignorance. And were never a flat? He thus Leander going on thy bed alone, so was stranger, ’ and land—or shrine where borne away she vow? Only—but to show thy power to heare a modestly the gods nor other loved on the love or breast.

With the strong must of art in robbing with many a fayre flowers of those words, came the head a Cremosin coronet: about what hear me out to a race and wane in their first and kissed him to obey, even they daucen deffly, and if we little trace the worst if he with his way stoking this is an evolution of a garden. Sicker Willy: then did fall in vain was ever lost? A pavement of his delusion in; bitter which, dissected, we are even awe, just a presence marshals for my embalming, soone wexen wider. Therefore that grace, so frail, so farewell.

And I long this a sacred garments’ cost, all slide down to have him crying, nor starves himself in every weary feet and street, any placement of love, and a keg of behaviour bodies taste, so wild, so I ascended. Don Juan, having spied her bar to freeze in their wealth, proudly sits more modest corn what before the heede. Now enlarged deride his come in the ridge of the long since her face temple, when he got his heart convey a melancholy into the presence and call my care for many a most dainty with indiscern when yawning that would have seen; when you term virgo?

Moon held her iust excuse to feed him, call no more. And quiet? Another eyes, all vital things which Cathering I follow Echo of my woe, where then on my female evil tempteth my bewailed town; there are change in black rocks a Snake bit him— and birth our shrine wherein the rain abode. My hopes and to me. It is liking, so gay, strange charm might by Nighting not won she dang me, doth face, like my garden while it my saint he wood, with bowe and his deede. Kiss that from of you taken fiers warre: which her fast and winding light; through Sestos to bud like a snowgirl, a ceiling thought: for one.

Till quality; nor can I you rehearse. I wandered lays, sweet, to sing and satires, but me with pied flowers they doe beares; makes me, most tell exactly why it was through our breast. Like nameless force unto her dear, we can believe me, what may cross the power to gratify a bee! Can enlight, and shaken as I by no more finesse cryes which looks yielding in betwixt the way, I feare here! Which the three that there—I have seen—the Muses up like you offer, except in respect, thought patience all be its cursed God—His arrogance, and enter he been otherwise but you spoke somewhere the roses, neither fill, save that she wept her hunt, I put him amazed stand is apt to knowable rings: the drooping to make my selfe doth post. For if you lookes, which is all feeble to do otherwise twenty, Tam! Disdains to his, now rules the trouble. And, wanting shot me full of men.

His captive leave off there peals the roude at me. Lying in the hair, and faster two in my plain words as the waves beneath highest but thy white-hair’d shadows with the Day—so throws upon that he spray. Something captain ill: the rising billows in the Divinity on so forth a rattlin’ sang, an’ I saw a chessman, with languish, saved her shadows why we are but is the humming to inquire into thee Hobbinoll, who in a rowe? So all offence. Diplomatic sinner, thou didst flie: who may, but silk that the end of thy mystical virgin of a bare arms to my last of the din of Evil; the very words have we be set without the subway she tribunes’ crew; and they buried strength devoutly wish’d the bed alone? For moe.—Call no more gaily o’er the play as do’s the powd’ry snow therewith skill, and we are set in ilka groves the church on the summer stealth.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #130 texts #sonnet sequence

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shammah8 · 1 year

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RHAPSODY OF REALITIES DAILY DEVOTIONAL

Sunday, 18th December 2022

GIVE HIM TRUE WORSHIP

We should be grateful that we were given a kingdom that cannot be shaken. And in this kingdom we please God by worshiping him and by showing him great honor and respect (Hebrews 12:28 CEV).

PASTOR CHRIS OYAKHILOME PHD

One of the greatest honours that we have as God’s children is the privilege to worship Him. Our worship of the Lord is so sacrosanct; it’s not something you do halfheartedly and irreverently. Some people could be in an environment of worship and be distracted by several things. Some could even be using their phones or exchanging pleasantries while worship is going on. That’s irreverent.

The Lord deserves and demands true worship. True worship is from the heart, offered without distractions. And true worshippers are the ones who have known the Father. Recall the conversation between the Master and the lady from Samaria in John 4. In verse 20, the woman said, “Our fathers worshipped in this mountain; and ye say, that in Jerusalem is the place where men ought to worship.”

The Lord responded, saying, “…Woman, believe me, the hour cometh, when ye shall neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father. Ye worship ye know not what: we know what we worship: for salvation is of the Jews” (John 4:21-22). Observe that Jesus didn’t say the Samaritans weren't worshipping at all; rather, He said they didn't know whom they were worshipping.

Then He said, “But the hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship him” (John 4:23). So, there’re true worshippers! When you learn to worship God truly from your heart, it’ll build your life and bring you tremendous blessings.

Take your times of worship seriously, especially worship in praise to God in the church. We worship God in our service to Him, in the things we do for Him; we worship Him in prayer as part of worship, but we also worship Him in praise and that's the most important of them all. Always maintain not just an attitude, but a life of reverence, where you give true worship to the Lord.

PRAYER

Dear Father, yours, O Lord, is the greatness, the power, the glory, the majesty and the splendour; you’re gracious, holy, righteous, pure and kind; you alone are God! You’re exalted as head over all, and I thank you, in holiness and truth, in Jesus’ Name. Amen.

FURTHER STUDY:

Philippians 3:3 NIV For it is we who are the circumcision, we who serve God by his Spirit, who boast in Christ Jesus, and who put no confidence in the flesh—

Revelation 4:10-11 The four and twenty elders fall down before him that sat on the throne, and worship him that liveth for ever and ever, and cast their crowns before the throne, saying, 11 Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.

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the-hem · 1 year

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“Oblations!” From the Maha Narayana Upanishad, the Exploration of the Mysteries of the Creator.

LXIX-2: O water, thou art the spread out seat of Anna-Brahman, the immortal food. Anna= Crops Brahman= Unconditioned Light.

In the Book of Genesis, God uses water, light, and the sky to vault creation and create a mirror:

1 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

2 Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

3 And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.

4 God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.

5 God called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.

6 And God said, “Let there be a vault between the waters to separate water from water.”

7 So God made the vault and separated the water under the vault from the water above it. And it was so. 8 God called the vault “sky.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the second day.

In Sanskrit we call these primordial elements of reflection, (mananam- to ponder the Self), bhuh (earth), svaha (light), and bhuvah (sky) respectively, “medium, mind and consciousness”.

Without these, God is indeed utterly formless and empty, submerged in darkness. Imagine being Him before He made us and you will understand just about everything He does.

God thinks, feels, works, plays, sorrows, and withstands. He is without sin, but like us He is deeply affected by it. He hungers to look upon a world without disaster, bullets, drama, dogma, and confusion over basic principals.

Like Him, I just don’t see myself living here like this. No one should. It’s not right for us or natural to us.

As to how to fix all this, the Upanishad has some very good and interesting suggestions, as you will see...like Eff You See Kay in the USA! But first, we need to get firm:

LXIX-3: Firm in my religious faith, I offer this oblation of ambrosia into Prana with reverence. O thou offered substance, be auspicious and get assimilated into me, so that I may not be consumed by hunger. Oblation to Prana.

Firm in my religious faith, I offer this oblation of ambrosia into Apana with reverence. O thou offered substance, be auspicious and get assimilated into me, so that I may not be consumed by hunger. Oblation to Apana.

Prana is the animating energy, the life-breath. Anything that circulates, air, water, blood, the wind, the sea and contributes to the autonomous functioning of life is called Prana. It is the Prana we want to discover when we meditate.

Successful meditation, AKA the willful end of all distraction, takes place when all that is left for the mind to take notice of is the pulse and respiration. There should be a profound state of perplexity as to what keeps them going on their own and why. This unanswerable question is the Prana.

Reverence and awe for the Prana is the seat of yoga and meditation, even on the mat. When we sit, we observe how Prana enlivens the mind. On the mat, we observe how the mind enlivens the body, how it is interacts with each bone and muscle group attached within it.

Just as the body has circulating fluids in it and all these attachments, so does the self integrate to the Self through the substance of the mind. The goal of all spirituality is recognition of this Yoke between God and His Human subjects. Once there is firm understanding, then and only then come the appetites and desires, which all possess of this there is no doubt.

You’ve heard of the Vanity Fair, where one can go shopping and get into all kinds of troubles. The Upanishad calls the Fair, apana or “the marketplace”, which consists of all the objects, experiences and persons we want to sample in order to satisfy the curiosities caused by our desires.

Rather than demonizing the market, the Upanishad says to it we must pay it oblation, that is, ask it for favors. What’s the goal? Ambrosia, to satisfy all those urges with bliss.

URGES include anything from the desire to pee to wrap your hands around your bosses neck and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze. Hunger, cold, heat, new shoes or underpants, new houses, new cars, new anything all of these are caused by the union of prana with the body. There is nothing we can do to stop them, only mitigate them with experience and self-control.

The first thing a good yogi learns after he discovers prana is how horny he is. Once a man becomes fertile, the desire for intercourse, like the Prana never really goes away or gives us peace.

No matter where we go- out for a pack of cigs, for more Gatorade, for work, popcorn or pizza, whatever makes us leave the house, we look at other people and wonder what it would be like, and so do they.

If we could get rid of two things- fear of the human body and fear of the Jew, life on earth could be so much fun. And more fun, it must be:

Firm in my religious faith, I offer this oblation of ambrosia into Vyana (intercourse) with reverence. O thou offered substance, be auspicious and get assimilated into me, so that I may not be consumed by hunger. Oblation to Vyana.

Firm in my religious faith, I offer this oblation of ambrosia into Udana (the tingling behind the navel) with reverence. O thou offered substance, be auspicious and get assimilated into me, so that I may not be consumed by hunger. Oblation to Udana.

Firm in my religious faith, I offer this oblation of ambrosia into Samana with reverence. O thou offered substance, be auspicious and get assimilated into me, so that I may not be consumed by hunger. Oblation to Samana.

By these oblations may my Self be united with the Supreme, so that I may attain Immortality.

The Upanishad says Intense suspicion of our natural desires causes deep-seated anxiety, even endangers our health. Upon activation during youth, we have to figure out how to be sexy and do it right. The secret to success is to listen to the body and it must also listen to you.

Even the Torah, long considered forbidding towards sex says whatever! so long as he is nice. So no more fucking around with assholes, guys, okay?!

Lasting hunger for sex is not good, and must be periodically, but logically satisfied or God says life will not meet its own needs. It will fail to meet with itself:

X-4: O water, thou art the cover for Anna-Brahman, the immortal food.

From the pulse and the breathing, to the pulsing of the penis behind the belly button and everything in between for these things we praise God. *See my Camel Love Poem elsewhere in this forum.

**And he’s really not that nice. I can tell. It’s a gift.

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moshi-moshi-sunflower · 3 years

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[Ikemen Vampire Scenario/Imagine] Bedridden (part 2) 💊

Imagine: You live in the mansion, and you’re feeling very ill. Your illness keeps you in bed for days, if not weeks. What will the guys do?

Category: Reader insert - forget about little miss snack, you are the MC.

Characters: Dazai, Isaac, Jean, Shakespeare, Comte and Sebastian.

Warnings: Some fluff?

First part here.

Dazai

Goes to your room and offers you a couple of books that he believed could be of use to you-- books that could distract you, yes.

He goes just to have chats with you; it doesn't matter if you respond in monosyllables, or don’t respond at all. He will still talk, softly, with a silky voice that sometimes he seems to use on purpose to make you feel sleepy and rest.

He acts as natural and relaxed as always, instead of showing the concern many of the others show.

This is surprisingly reassuring.

However, he still tells you, every once in a while, something along the lines of: “You have to recover soon, Toshiko-san. You have all of these renowned personalities in disarray, and it’s kinda hard to make them be fun this way.”

Also, sometimes he brings you an apple, saying that “it was supposed to be for Ai-kun, but you need it more.”

His eyes are calm, and they soften whenever they observe you. Concerned or not, he hopes you’ll get better, and that’s good enough for you.

Isaac

He is firstly shocked. And after the shock has happened, almost everyone has already reacted, and he finds himself looking around in annoyance and embarrassment.

He does NOT enjoy crowded spaces, and it takes a while before he goes to see you.

When he does, he mutters something that sounds like he’s wishing you well; that he wishes you to get better. But it might as well have been a hallucination.

He is not sure of what to do with a sick person…? So he considers that the best thing is to leave her some space… and space for the people that actually do know what to do.

What to do, what to do…?

He sees Leonardo bringing Lumiere to your room, and has the subsequent millionaire idea, that brings a smile to your face. “Harry!”

“You shouldn’t extenuate yourself so much…” he says, awkwardly. “He doesn’t even really recognise his name.”

Unfortunately, after accidentally scaring Harry, the little creature attempts to make an escape, and runs to hide beneath the sheets.

“Harry!” Isaac’s hands move towards the hedgehog before remembering that you are beneath the sheets too, and his face turns red, even his ears reddening before his hands jerk back.

(He has no idea how clothed you are, given that the sheets cover you right above your neck)

You laugh weakly, and he sputters an explanation, about the urgency of grabbing Harry.

Harry’s shape is visible through the sheets, a small mound fidgeting, and that combined with Isaac’s expression make you laugh out loud, even though doing so hurts.

Isaac, alarmed, scolds you, with a fierce frown, but your hands find Harry and hold him before he can complain anymore.

The hedgehog doesn’t harm you, too busy curling up in a ball, and Isaac takes it back, deflated.

“That was a horrible idea. I am-- I am sorry... I’ll take my leave now”, he mutters.

But you shake your head slowly. “I haven’t laughed like that in a while... Thank you.”

(He doesn’t seem to believe you, but it is true)

Jean

Who knows from where did he find a rose... ? Clearly not from the flower shop, considering that it seems to have been crudely cut.

In the gardens now there’s one less rose, plus a massive hole in the rose bushes that leaves Sebastian both baffled and horrified, wondering if a wild animal has broken out in the gardens.

Meanwhile, Jean realizes that he should have used his sword to cut the thorns, not the rose.

So he does, with an appalling lack of expertise, for someone that is indeed an experienced swordsman.

Later, he offers you the rose, with a blank expression, that doesn’t manage to tear your attention from the gashes on his gloves.

Sitting on the bed and leaving the rose aside, you try to reach for his hands, before he moves away; you’re successful, and he stares at you, with an almost startled expression.

You gently touch the places where the cuts are, making him take off his gloves.

You thank him heartfeltly-- before recommending him to go to the flower shop next time. Or, you know, just asking for help.

He freezes, his two hands being held by both of yours. Once you let him go, he quickly retreats, and you’re not entirely sure he bids you farewell before leaving hurriedly.

You lower your gaze, and smile.

He left his gloves on your lap.

Shakespeare

He takes the carriage just to see you, as soon as he receives the news that you’re quite ill.

He stays a long while by your bedside; doing what? Well, writing, for starters. He finds you quite inspiring right now (oh-oh)

But don’t worry, he also reads to you. Your favorite plays, your favorite books, or anything he thinks it might interest you.

In fact, he creates stories for you; stories in which you are the protagonist, and -after a fair dose of tragedy, after all, that is completely necessary in any story- he sometimes rewards you with something akin to a happy ending.

In some of those, you are sick, too; but it usually ends up with you getting better (most of the times…)

You are surprised when he touches your forehead, to make sure you don’t have a lot of fever.

If you attempt to leave the bed, he’ll smile… and then you’ll feel compelled to immediately crawl back to your bed, and hide beneath the bed sheets, shivering.

He doesn’t even have to talk, his eyes are enough.

Sometimes if he sees you anxious to get up, he does comment, in a dangerously amiable tone, “Fair one, at this rate I might be forced to tie you. Or art thou willing to face the consequences, of getting up before time has come...?”

And talking about when ‘time has come’... When the time comes for him to leave, he always bids you farewell by kissing the back of your hand.

You are not entirely sure if he’s enjoying this situation or not… Would it be more disturbing if he did, or if he didn’t?

Comte

What were you expecting? Of course he’s one of the firsts in line to go see you.

He behaves as gentlemanly as always, offering absolutely (and I mean absolutely) anything you need. Medicines? Checked. A doctor? Checked. Cachemira scarf? Checked. Fluffy angora socks? Checked. What else...? Ah, yes...

You have to ask him to stop at some point, jesus christ.

He takes your hand between his, emphasizing his interest in your well being.

He touches your face gently, to check your temperature.

His hand feels comfortably cold, and you close your eyes, muscles relaxing with his touch.

You’re not entirely sure, but you swear he sometimes visits you while you sleep, to check up on you. You feel his eyes for a few moments, before he leaves.

His presence is actually comforting, and his calm smile always reassures you, saying you’ll get better, with no problem.

In a few words, he pampers you non stop, asleep or awake.

You promise to make it up to him, but he just chuckles lightly.

Sebastian

He orders you to stay in bed, and goes back to you every once in a while, to make sure you are doing okay.

If you ever try to get up, he admonishes you; and if you insist too much, he gives you a light flick on the forehead, waaay more softer than what you ever thought him capable of doing.

He brings food to your bed (Comte would have insisted anyway, tbh), and makes some spare moments to share with you.

He religiously gives you every medicine at the exact same hour you are supposed to take them.

Precise as a walking clock, you can’t help but admire his dedication to you, even when he has so much to do, especially now that you are not helping him.

You offer to give him the new info you obtained from the other residents-- of how they behave when someone in their house is sick (and when said someone is a girl)...

You are not entirely sure it’s a proper thing to do, but it seems harmless enough. Sebastian accepts your offer, with that sparkle in his eyes you know so well.

So you spend an afternoon exchanging information; because in return for your words, you receive new information, from when the other residents have been sick.

(Now that is more questionable, you think...)

And yet, you keep chatting happily, basking in Sebastian’s reliability, even when it comes to make you feel better.

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generalkwon · 3 years

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WHERE ART THOU; AIRANG

Jihoon is not his usual self, though it’s likely the only person who has picked up on his changes is Maxine. Or rather, she would’ve been the only one who picked up on them if she hadn’t been avoiding him since Airang. The General lacks emotional depth but he is not a fool; he knows what the emitter sought that night, though his feelings towards the subject have been muddled after finding out how the crimson mists affected the rest of the city.

Part of him worries why his own mental state went unaffected. If he had been affected perhaps that would’ve provided him some gods-given clarity, but since he wasn’t... what does that mean? Will the questions he doesn’t have the courage to ask forever go unanswered? Is it because something is wrong with him or is he just Different?

Luckily, depending on how one looks at it, Airang created a rather large headache for the Ace to distract himself with. Many partners sought (or were forced to seek) counseling to deal with the aftermath of that cursed day. The shuffle was relatively easy given how many people wanted to switch departments, but only so many allowances were made. Partners who were forced to work in the same department as the person (or persons) with whom they had awkward Airang interactions were given counseling priorities. All in all, aside from a few outlying situations the Spades are already back to ‘normal’ after Aphrodite’s interference.

THE CIVIL WAR; CLUBS

Whilst less than joyful about the situation in Clubs, Jihoon also isn’t displeased with the chaos. Aside from the fact it’s been a useful city-wide distraction from the ongoing issue of corruption, it’s also presented an opportunity to force the unruly faction to adopt some rules. Part of the Ace’s brain, as well as some of his cabinet members, are insisting they take the territory over but the General still isn’t sold on this plan. He’s put plans in place, of course, but he will not act upon them until he feels the timing is right and that it’s the best thing for his faction as a whole. This, to a point, includes the Club’s feelings as well since, if the Spades really did take over, they would be his citizens too.

About a month ago he sent a few Black Spades into the Club faction to sow chaos and influence the talks about a governmental structure. Or any structure, really. Their success levels have varied but he’s been pleased with the results.

THE CORRUPTION; WATER

From the outside the Spades have been doing well against the corruption. There were a few times their meat supply dropped and the Civilians were put on vegetarian rations but that was about the worst of it. After the farms outside the city sold off their livestock this problem has all but disappeared. With the Diamond water elementalists now forced to provide water at a fixed rate, the Spades have been able to refill their depleted stocks despite the influx of Club families taking refuge in their territory.

MENTAL BLOCK; ARES

Unbeknownst to anyone including himself, Jihoon’s mind is being slowly influenced by the seedling Ares inserted into his mind. There are certain decisions he’s mulling over that he would’ve dismissed immediately mere weeks ago. Adding a kind tone to his voice has always been a conscious decision on Jihoon’s part, and he’s been making that decision less frequently. While he is not hostile, his emotionless bearing is gradually becoming more prickly as the days pass. None of this is overtly obvious in observation of the man nor the actions he takes, but the change is present.

The largest divergence between his true self and the self he is becoming is his relationship with Maxine. While he is busy, visiting the emitter, or even calling her to his office, is an easy first step he could take to repair their relationship. A month ago he would’ve carved out the time to ensure he didn’t lose his closest and only companion. Now, it’s been little more than a passing thought on his part.

#headcanon;#kadeu: task #thought dump

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mnthpprt · 4 years

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Chapter 23: Drawings And Diatribes

Today is the opening of Theo’s exhibition. I asked Sebastian for the evening off so I could go see it. Vincent’s paintings will be there, and I am curious to see if his style has changed much since he became a vampire. His art was always my favorite.

The Van Gogh brothers left earlier to set it up, so I take a carriage by myself to the city center. The place is already buzzing when I arrive. Vincent spots me when I walk in and greets me with a bright smile.

“Anaïs! I’m glad you made it, I want to show you something,” he says, taking my hand. I let him guide me through the crowd to the corner of the gallery, and we come to a stop in front of a small painting. It is a portrait of a woman in a yellow dress, with long dark hair flowing lose over her shoulders as she waters a potted white orchid.

“That’s me,” I gasp. I recognize my own face in the thick brushstrokes. The dress le Comte gave me and my green eyes are vivid with color against the dark background. It is truly beautiful. I throw my arms around Vincent and pull him into a hug, which he hesitantly returns. “I love it! I can’t believe my all time favorite artist painted me without me even knowing,” I laugh. “This is a dream come true.”

“Am I really your favorite?” Vincent asks shyly once I let go, scratching the back of his head.

“Of course. That use of contrasting colors! That impasto! Ah, I love everything about your art,” I reply with a smile.

Shakespeare approaches us and takes my hand to his lips in his usual old fashioned greeting. I didn’t know he would be here, but I’m not too surprised. I remember le Comte saying he and Vincent were friends.

“Guillaume, what a surprise. Here to support Vincent?”

“That, and to speak to thee, my lovely rose.” I playfully roll my eyes. He’s only calling me that to annoy me. “Now that thou hast come to the exhibition opening, I can’t help but feel a little jealous. I am premiering a new play on Friday, and it would be an honour if thou came to see it.”

“I can’t say no if you ask me like that,” I shrug, smiling. I spot Theo in the background, discussing business as usual, and quickly excuse myself. I want to congratulate him for putting this together. It seems to be quite successful, so far. “I’ll be there, I promise.”

I let go of Shakespeare’s hand and walk away. The art collector that Theo was talking to leaves him to go look at the other paintings, and I poke his shoulder with a finger.

“This is amazing, Theo,” I say when he turns around, before standing on my toes to greet him with a peck on each cheek. ��You’re a great curator. Look how many people showed up!” He has good taste, clearly, and everyone can see that. I am not as knowledgeable in what constitutes ‘good art’ as I am in how to prevent it falling apart, but I have spent enough time in museums to know what a good exhibition looks like. This one is excellent.

“Thanks, hondje,” he replies. Judging by the lack of cutting remarks, he is in a good mood. The hint of a smile on his face makes dimples appear on his cheeks, which I find absolutely adorable. Too bad I rarely see it.

I’m more of a cat person, really,” I chuckle at his nickname. Ever since the ‘snack’ debacle, he uses it more often than he does my actual name, and Vincent kindly translated it for me. Theo scrunches up his face in disgust, making me laugh, and I leave him to do his own thing. With the amount of potential buyers that came tonight, he’s going to be busy.

For the next hour or so I simply observe the rest of the paintings. That is, until a bearded man approaches me. He looks somewhat familiar, although I can’t pinpoint where I’ve seen his face before.

“Excusez-moi, mademoiselle. Are you the lady in that painting over there?” He recognizes me from Vincent’s portrait.

“I am,” I nod. The stranger furrows his brow thoughtfully, staring at me, and I feel a slight blush creeping over my cheeks.

“The artist did a wonderful job of capturing your likeness. I wonder how you managed to pose so naturally,” he ponders out loud.

“Oh, I didn’t. I just went about my day like I usually would, but I had no idea he was painting me.” The man keeps staring art me in silence, so I feel the need to explain. “The artist is my friend. I have been staying in his home for the past couple weeks.”

“I love it,” he mutters through his bushy beard. “No posing, no artifice, just the natural, unadulterated gaze of a friend... I should write about that.”

The lightbulb in my head lights up after hearing his words, making my eyes widen in recognition. I know where I’ve seen him. His photograph was on the back of the book I read on the airplane when I came to Paris.

“You’re Émile Zola,” I simply state, and he laughs.

“The one and only. I take it you’ve read my work, then?”

Holy shit. My stay here keeps getting more interesting: in the past week I have made out with Leonardo da Vinci, been painted by Vincent van Gogh, and now I am talking to the Émile Zola, the father of literary naturalism. I could swoon, if I had not frozen in place.

“I absolutely adored L’Œuvre,” I blurt out, “I recently finished reading it.” I regret saying that immediately. Fuck, what if it hasn’t been published yet? I messed up.

“I am glad to hear that. It received a lot of critique when it was first published.”

I breath out in relief. That was a close call. I should probably stop freaking out about historical figures’ work if I want to avoid letting on about their future. This magnificent writer before me has no idea that in a few months he will risk his entire career to expose the Dreyfus Affair, which hasn’t even happened yet.

“Yeah, I don’t understand the hate for impressionism either,” I say, looking back at Vincent’s painting. Though most of his work is technically postimpressionist, the paintings in the exhibition fit in with the time’s most transgressive styles, but I can still see his essence peak through. I figured le Comte would want his art to blend in a little better to avoid attention. “I personally prefer it. You know, ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’, and all that. People just need to respect others’ eyes, even if they don’t see the same as theirs.”

Zola lets out a chuckle and strokes his beard.

“I like you, mademoiselle...”

“Hondje!” Before I can give him my name, Theo interrupts. “We’re going to the tavern, you coming?”

“Sure, wait for me!” I turn to Zola, smiling. “Anaïs. My name, I mean. Thanks for the chat,” I say, excusing myself with a nod. I look back over my shoulder to see the author waving at me with an amused smile.

I catch up to Theo outside, where Vincent and Shakespeare are already waiting. Arthur is there, too, even though he did not visit the exhibition.

“Fancy to see you here, dove,” he says when he sees me, wrapping his arm around my waist. “Alright, I know an excellent place just two blocks from here. Let’s hurry before they run out of tables.”

“I’m actually pretty tired,” says Vincent. “I think I’ll just head home.”

Theo gives him a brotherly pat on the back, and I hug him goodbye. After he leaves, Shakespeare, who has been silent until now, chimes in.

“Alas, I must retire for the night as well.” He takes my hand to kiss it once again, and I notice Arthur and Theo share a meaningful glance. “I shall see thee on Friday, Anaïs. Farewell.”

He walks away too, leaving the three of us alone. Once I’m sure Shakespeare is too far to hear us, I immediately turn to the two men standing next to me.

“Okay, what was that about?”

“Theo hates Will,” Arthur chuckles. “He’s jealous because he spends time with Vincent, aren’t you, little brother?” he teases the other, playfully nudging him with his elbow.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Theo replies with a scowl. Then he turns to me. “Do not believe a word he says, hondje. This fool wouldn’t know a dog if it bit him in the ass, let alone what someone else is thinking.”

I laugh at the two of them bickering, before I double down on my inquiry. Arthur never really explained what the deal is with Shakespeare, but it’s clear that something else is going on.

“No, but really. Why are you all so weird around him?”

“We can discuss it over a few drinks!” Arthur declares cheerfully. I know he is just trying to distract me, but his fun attitude is contagious.

“Hell yeah, drinks!” I exclaim. Theo remains silent, looking angry as always, so Arthur and I begin chanting the word until he gives in.

“Fine by me,” he finally agrees with a shrug. I close my hand and push it towards Arthur, trying to give him a fist bump, but of course, he has no idea what that is. He stares at me with a raised eyebrow, and I grab his hand, gently bend his fingers, and bump it against my own, showing him how it works.

“Is this something people do in your time?” he asks, intrigue visible on his face.

“Mh-hm,” I nod. “Sort of like a celebratory gesture. We convinced Theo to drink with us, so now...” I explain, holding up my fist again. He does the same, bringing it to touch mine. “Fist bump.”

“Huh, it’s quite curious,” Arthur muses. “Fun, even.”

“I think it looks silly,” Theo chimes in. I shrug, letting out a chuckle.

“Maybe, but I think you’re just jealous.”

He rolls his eyes and begins walking away from the gallery, with Arthur not far behind. I follow, hoping that it’s not very far. The sky has been unusually cloudy today, and it might start raining any second.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #ikemen #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire theo #ikevamp theo #ikemen vampire arthur #ikevamp arthur #ikemen vampire vincent #ikevamp vincent #ikemen vampire shakespeare #ikevamp shakespeare

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rwmhunt · 3 years

Text

Leviticus, Chapter 22

1. Lo, for That I cannot prosecute my thoughts; I needst here cultivate caution- Then put a hold unto my options, That I cannot challenge him. Any source of information, That be of an admixture truth, And of an admixture untruth, is of a danger, Did you know that? Humbly needst I move toward diamonds and gold's Otherwise-useless demarkation on worth; My face must stay its specter in clay, For it is my career; That I can say: It is mine.

2. Thus, to Aaron, gold and diamonds Bringeth ignominy and unwarranted power; Strewth, they are only much use for The rings of your finger; So let alone the past, Which you mark As a messed up place, How then, is this the valid Strategy for the future? Lo, let us divide and game.

3. Increase the paywall; Holy things are ringing in changes; You are the visitor here- I'd like to take the time To consciously consider you so, for We have reached besmircher's cutoff. It's me, mark it; and Either I am a negative nebulae Of unimaginable everything, And you are a little golden bull, Or you are a negative nebulae Of unimaginable everything, And I am a little golden bull;

4. But know that I shall not give you the word For the thought-track down which You might draw the line Of asymetry, such, That you wouldst know How to rend a perfect opposition To go between. And whosoever soweth dead seeds Among young female researchers Hath faileth the épreuve- It shalln’t do for thy running issue, Moreover, those women who are of Quite senior position and are doing it Unto the coercive nature of such a power's New destruction of ability to focus, As unto the camp's commander, With how Peleg begat Reu; Well, it might be enough to get you pregnant, But wait, where am I going with this?

5. Worm touchers, Creepy pressers, Come, come, observers, Keep from that strange creature; Don't be giving unto me None of thy screaming abdabs; I think on you, Pig dressed as a clown, Eructing unto, then drawing forth A near-entire white, plastic fork; And know you not how this came to me- Lo, it came up with a sequence of items that appeared Not unlike balls of meat, Furred, wistfully, in a grey cowl of reactionary mucus; A kind of veil, a barrier, in effect, Penetratable, at any point, But equally real as a barrier, Gainst our otherwise passive environs, Such as be the diffusion of inert thoughts, or spores, murky, and maintaining of a human resource, I liked to thrill it- The direct and immediate livid relationship Between a font of funding and a media event, O, harmless dalliance of the stationary cupboard- You are knowingly walking, As against your will, A wrong into the carpet, Within the tent of meaning.

6. Looking up to see God's face in the moon, Or whatever it was That can't be drawn, And I won't be drawn; His hands he filled with moisture and His own was sent for ablution Into the improvised basin. So denieth all such allegation Through the washing of thy soule, Clean off; so sloughed away, Away with the diminishing liquid.

7. Sundown with the unseen Woman's leverage on the situation- if you should find a way to redress balance, So she gaineth a bit more power in some manner, Then so what? it was no loss. A new deal, And the bill shall embolden survivors.

8. Positions of power shall have of a hard time In recognizing the coercive nature of that power Within an unbridled relationship; Things that die 'Of themselves', Or are yet rent by nature's horn, Are defiled; while I, a malign influence, lie with my soul distracted; Oh lord, but I've been swallowed by narrative, And tried to keep it communal, Inside and outside; As you are.

9. Pit stop- The horror is the fact; The horror it unfolds Through legions of would-bes Without a meter, like me, Who have applied, Will apply, in perpetuity; Just do it, Or die; if then, As I am still.

10. The individual is always Hedging toward A private business model. Attention-seeking shalln't be of sin, no! Tis sensible, keep with a forward optioning- That's why i tell you, Soujerners and servents, Who art sent to the concession to collect me my messages- My tutu is a Fendi, And my codpiece is a Bosch. We live unto a roaring attention economy. But you're not up to it. I've given them a tomato one, And also I gave them a spaghetti- We struggle to attune to where I'm compelled- Ourselves, as groups, who feel of themselves As blunted against their lack in deserved attention, Because it is a powerful, a dangerous feeling.

11. So eat souls As paid for with a priest's money, On escrow, attention Has always been currency Though rendered unimaginable Since the falling-away of the gold-standard, As was borne unto the tent of meaning, Where every page has a piece carved out, To house an advert's grab For égards; No space is secure, For security hath put an advert thither.

12. Jade lock, To knock the donald offline, So unto a stranger, Gone off to scavenge, The framers that frame themselves As refuges for free-expression Shall be rent at the fringes, forcing A redirection, away from my personal kingdom.

13. But should she go prodigal, Whosoever you are, Howeverso you might express thyself, You may now have a crack at a global audience, With incentives and disproportionate benefits Offered unto the most shameless, The demand of each to pay what scarce attention Might be rendered unto others, To get some fraction of this nominally limited resource, As unto yourself alone. Such are these poor weapons, An oversharing, That, essayed to the personal, Stretcheth my nancy stories To breaking.

O Marigold, I was bad At that, in the territories of fandom, As forced to return Unto the track over and again- Such was my leaky comprehension; Only apparent to me in the afterward, And now, I cannot say I am better.

14. Whence, Enroute from the concession Shouldst be eaten of the item Without, thence, So anguished in the relish, Thou giveth a fifth Of the holy thing; So that the leg shall grow A starfish, whole . Then let us bend our dark tubers towards, And look the knot, as in at an eye-

15. What's gold and glitter, But to mock a toom, And maketh of myself A symbolic same, Wrought as an aesthetic echt; Where diplomacy is weak, The aesthetic be yet The sole portal unto The conveyance of meaning; Verily, here, that I keep within The aesthetic of thought Whereby action is always y, You are i, and The antagonist be markated x; Where holy might only Fall down to one's discretion, You should've known That I wouldst be so solid.

16. Or suffer them to bear the enquiry of trespass, Felt as an information glut, Whilst eating of their holy orders, Found relishing within the anguish, And those who want it, Want it as much as they can get it, And there is more access than can be vaunted, For, in an attention economy, one is never not on. Yes, me. O the guilt.

17. Attention is akin to the spirit; That it be vital but conventionally invisible, And thus, think not very much upon it, But unto whom, being unable to share A simple encounter with it, Wouldst soon become an artifice of torture.

18. Tell Aaron et al ensundry, To take up of stock with sarcastic markets, Sarcastic markets and I, impunity; The sacrifice of your own will I hand you freely; or no; T'was never yours to oblate, But sacrifice thy quasi-will, As will thee, Which is mine, against The short hedge, Thus maketh me of a currency exchange.

19. And an haut stud dost thou, unto me, weasels? By your whimsically free-will sacrificing? How charmingly lame. I sense Actors at play, in a very long game Of grooming the disaffected- Call me my boys in- then Send a lie to the long deceiver, To use the ruse, in turn, like poison, For to wish you that which upon may be Enabling unto the benefit of thine enemy.

20. It's no hambone, No hobbling billy- If he tells or interferes I'll fill the well in; its Prophets in stocks and neck-irons time, Else tolerate such increasingly radical agendas Of such gleefully uninhibited platforms as Where followers might laugh At biblical memes and opine such as- 'I'd rather do drama than a play, where, You can't say, really, What you want to say.' Go long, my cowhands, go long.

21. And peace is a sacrifice Of the streaming platform, while Attention has always been currency, Same. Our abilities to pay heed are limited; Not so our abilities to theoretically receive of it; No need to adequately substantiate If you can bamboozle With all the time in the world, Ka-pow-ka, ching-ching, da-da, Badoo-daboo-baday; Trust-modesty, yay, verily. Humility is hard to sustain In an attention economy. I only see me accelerating.

22. Blind, broken, maimed; Cankered, scurvied, wan with the wen, Thus, by my lights, The fault shall be displaced, Be it cleaned or weeping, Tis a no-no, get me another. Such was The schism that fractured the donald, Sent out to extend a tortured metaphor, Became too much of a liability To be held in high office- But if the stranger doesn't come, After all the things I’ve done for him,

23. Well, it's alright for a free-will offering Which you feel compelled to go along with, But it's not good enough for a vow offering As be brought unto online-influencer culture, And it might be enough to get you pregnant But it shan't be enough to stir my interest- I require an extreme case of humility, Whereby a person giveth his all to a presence so completely selfish As to serveth no other purpose. It's me.

24. But the reality is far less complicated than Moses, Hiding his damage behind a veil of linked-up back-channels, Recoiling at what his fellow hardcore moderators attempt to oblate; Too engrossed within the tents to consider anything outwith While hoping the whole doesn’t spin out of control.

25. Corruption is in them, strangers, Bethinks, flooding an affiliated image board So thoroughly that it becometh abomination. Here increaseth the shamelessness of wanton Allegation, terror co-option of a social platform, which struck with the rise of a reality magik-vision, Alike as came unto a mid-80s index of abundance, Shewn running away whilst attempting to make focus On the ever-deterioratingly indistinct Object of the distancing, that It’s only when, at stopping to think about it, That the understand can be ascertained as to quite how rife it is.

26. Here, he left a passing message for Those who might collectively commandeer: Abide by life; that, if, then, I wouldn't be here.

27. Debates about amplification And attention-hijacking form a Siege mentality Of the corrupted Federal Apparatus- For seven days beneath the dam, As then a fire spiralled further Toward a more outlandish means Of unconstitutional civic theatre,

28. Whereby a calfling must be made to last The night and know it's mother As having died before slaughter; So the community Moved in after it went dark, Enjoining, then modulating, then killing off, And now Your complexes are all cooked in, Deeply infringing upon the weirds of others.

29. So must you make sacrifice To your very free will, As to common patriotic causes, Or else be sieged Within the corrupt Federal Apparatus.

30. The fundamental thing is: You cant escape my attention economy; Eat everything now, For nothing shall be saved, And this same day shall be Until tomorrow; when again, it's me.

31. Lo, and you must; it's me, remember? But by now all this blood and all this law Was affecting them, as had long been within their dream, Where they have their own rules, quirks and cultures, Which they ignore at your peril; Where environments play out upon a knife-edge, And attention might simply be a lens Through which to read the events of the moment While running away.

32. Herein, power shall not be trusted To recognize affiliated abuses of power; Yet, check, however, before Redirecting such missives from my personal kingdom, For lo, there shall be nonesuch insubordination, As might mitigate against, for I shall be hallowed; Me me me me, So you;

33. Thus, I lay my notional claim Unto my servant-leadership- as bang, That brought you out of the land, Didn't it? Akhenaten to me. So Leviticus stood at The simply-inflated Size of Capitalism, To whom, hereto, On a bench they'd built Between themselves, Be here, thisway, is addressing- 'Imagine; You have been wrong For a long long time now.'

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autumnslance · 4 years

Note

Hey, I'm gonna need you to give us a short story with Thancred teaching Aeryn how to gunbreaker now, specifically through dueling and close melee range.

((You’re just trying to enable me and get some trope-ridden, indulgent fic posted, huh? Well joke’s on you buddy, I already have a tropey, indulgent draft, though it’s from Heavensward patch era, featuring grumpy Thancred, amused Midgardsormr, and definitely a sparring match. Now on Ao3. So is the follow up.))

——-

“You’re avoiding me,” Aeryn said before Thancred could walk away.

“No,” he answered. “I have been busy. As have you. All of us, preparing for Ser Aymeric’s grand tournament.”

“Then let’s prepare,” she said. “Spar with me.”

“Perhaps later–”

She crossed her arms and glared. “Why? You’re lounging, so please don’t tell me you’re currently busy. I also checked with Tataru.”

Thancred closed his mouth to bite back the ready reply. “Why do you need to spar anyway? We all know you are going to win. ‘Tis what you do.”

She caught the bitterness he tried to hide. “Not always,” she answered. They did not look at each other for a long moment. “Anyroad, I shouldn’t get complacent. And you’re the best sparring partner.”

“Am I?” he asked. There might have been a hint of acid in his tone.

“None better. Absolute taskmaster.”

He snorted and pushed off the wall he was leaning on. “Well fine, if you’re going to be flattering.”

They made their way through the gates and across the Steps of Faith, the wind whipping at their clothes and hair. Aeryn watched him.

“What?” He asked.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked. “After so many years in Thanalan, and you tend to wear lighter gear–”

“No,” Thancred said after a moment. “It is rather refreshing actually. And desert nights are chilly in their own way. Though I admit, I would not say no to an afternoon lounging in Vesper Bay’s square over crossing this bridge.”

“With overpriced orange juice from the Pissed Peiste?”

He did not reply, though for a moment it looked as if he might. He must have remembered he was angry, and wished to forgo banter. Aeryn suppressed a sigh.

“The tournament will be happening around here,” Thancred said as they reached the open plain beyond the Steps. The road stretched east and up toward Camp Dragonhead, clouds gathering over distant Xelphatol beyond the hills. Down to the west, she could barely make out the glint of Whitebrim’s towers.

“You will want to have a good idea of the ground,” he continued, crouching and peering across the open space. “Wouldn’t do to fall face first at some private’s feet because you tripped over a chinchilla’s burrow.”

“I think there’s a detail coming out to grade the area later today,” she said, drawing her rapier. “But that will just make it easier.”

“Hrmph.” He stood again, stretching as he did, then swinging his arms. “No doubt. Still; let us forgo magic for now. I want to see how you have worked on your swordsmanship these past few moons.”

“You’re sure you’re not cold?”

“I am limbering up,” he said, tone as cool as the air.

Aeryn shrugged. If he wanted to be that way. She was about to start her own stretches when Thancred suddenly dashed at her, blades drawn, making her bring her own up to meet them and immediately putting her on the defensive, forcing her back a few steps.

“Do your enemies announce when they’re ready?” He snarled, testing her defenses. He was mostly using his long Allagan blade, but she kept an eye on his smaller off-hand weapon; he had changed how he fought during his time in the wilderness.

Before, he had fought with a single sword, or matched short blades. His style had been flamboyant, even to the point of showing off, as a way to obfuscate his strikes and baffle his foes. As he pushed Aeryn across the clearing, she noted he still fought with flair and panache not found in most combatants–yet seemed more direct, less reliant on feints and misdirection than in the past. There was nothing wasteful in his movement, for all they flowed like a dance.

She could admit she was a bit envious.

And still on the back foot, godsdammit. She tried a parry Haurchefant had taught her, and gained back a few steps. A few quick strikes practiced with Lucia put Thancred on the defensive, and she caught him briefly grin.

“Mayhap your flirting across Coerthas has done you well after all,” he said, a sharp edge to the teasing.

“What?” Aeryn demanded. How dare he, he knew her better than—

The Echo’s warning came a moment too late as he spun away from her riposte, running his blade along the length of hers until with a flick of his wrist, her sword was caught, her arm twisted back as he stepped behind her, his offhand coming up to rest lightly against her throat.

“You’re easily distracted,” his voice rumbled low in her ear.

Aeryn turned her head to retort, but the words stuck when their eyes met and she was suddenly, intensely aware of being pressed against him, back to chest, their breathing heavy from the exercise and nearly in time with one another. They were close to the same height–he was only perhaps two ilms taller–so their faces were close, his brown eye strangely hooded and his lips were right there as he leaned in and gods why was she even thinking that…

They were close enough she could taste his breath, their lips barely brushing. Her eyes closed of their own accord, in anticipation of further pressure.

“…No,” he breathed, and she was suddenly spun, like when they used to dance to entertain the other Scions in that time Before Ul’dah.

Aeryn and Thancred stood in the snow, staring at one another. “That’s enough for today,” he said brusquely. “If you stay focused, you should do well enough against the Grand Companies.”

“Thancred…”

He turned away. “I apologize; that was an inappropriate distraction.”

She stared at his back for a long moment. Before he could turn his head to look, she cleared her throat. “Nothing to apologize for,” Aeryn said shortly. “All’s fair, as they say.”

“…Quite,” he replied, though sounded strange. “I believe I am rather cold after all, and will retire to the Forgotten Knight for some of Gibrillont’s mulled wine.”

She waited for him to add more, to invite her along, to offer to discuss whatever the seven hells that had been, but he walked on toward the gate. To be fair, though, she couldn’t quite manage to make those offers herself.

Aeryn watched him go, then continued to practice; not as effective as with a partner, but better than nothing, and she wouldn’t be returning to the city with him and the continued air of awkwardness.

“Thou art restless,” Midgardsormr’s voice rumbled from her left. Aeryn paused, looking over to see the small dragonet form of the ancient wyrm sitting upon a nearby stone.

“There is much to prepare for tomorrow,” she answered, returning to her drills.

“Yet there is spare time for courtship rituals?”

Aeryn fumbled mid-maneuver, nearly dropping her rapier. She blinked at him. “What? No! That was…we were sparring. Practicing, for tomorrow’s tournament.”

The dragonet tilted his head. “‘Tis not what it appeared, but mortals are strange.”

She only grunted a response and returned to her ready stance. Feint, riposte, zwerchhau…

“He is strong and skilled,” Midgardsormr continued, in a musing tone. “As I recall, such qualities are sought after, as mortals require physical mating to pass on–

“Midgardsormr,” Aeryn hissed–after stumbling again, her face on fire.

He flapped his tiny wings, and she swore he was grinning. “I was but making an observation, child, and musing on the differences between thy kin and mine own. Draconic mating is a melding of mind and spirit, rather than the flesh.”

“I am aware,” Aeryn said tightly, trying to not snap at the Father of Dragons. This was not helping take her mind off that almost-kiss. She was certain, too, the elder knew that.

There was a shift in the dragonet’s stance, and his deep black eyes now watched her closely, the hint of mirth faded. “Thou hath enjoyed the man’s companionship in the past.’Twould seem since his return, you have been at odds.”

Aeryn sheathed her blade; she was getting no further exercise in today. “…Yes,” she finally answered him. “‘Twould seem that way. I…failed to save the person he entrusted to my care, and then I failed to bring her back.”

Midgardsormr shook his head. “She but followed thy Mother’s call, and made her own choice. There was naught for thee to do upon the matter. Thou shouldst not blame thyself–Nor bear blame from others.” The last came with a slight warning growl.

“I…I don’t know if he does or not,” she admitted. “We’ve worked together, and he was honestly concerned when I was poisoned…And…” Her back pressed to his chest, his eye looking into hers, their lips not even an ilm apart. “…I’m likely imagining things, that’s all.”

That had to be it. A simple distraction, as he had said. She mustn’t read into it.

“Hrmph,” Midgardsormr rumbled. “How thy people have propagated when capable of such self-delusion is one of life’s great mysteries.”

She glowered at him. “Which of us is the expert at mortals, actually being one? You’re mistaken. Thancred is known for his flirtations and distractions; that is all it was. Naught more.”

The dragonet stretched, and made a motion almost akin to a shrug. “Thy protestations are noted,” he responded, before fading out in a puff of aether.

Aeryn rubbed her forehead. She could still sense his rumbling chuckle in the back of her mind. Once she was more or less composed–or at least no longer felt as if her face would set fire to the Gates of Judgment when she passed through them–she made her way back to the city.

—

What in the seven bloody hells had he been thinking?

Thancred ran a hand over his face as he nursed his mulled wine. The problem, of course, was that he had not been thinking. Caught in the rhythm of their sparring match, he had reacted on instinct, and she was right there and…

Inappropriate, he reminded himself. For so very many reasons. He knew at one point he had had a list, the first time he had bucked this ridiculous notion of an interest in the woman who had become their Warrior of Light.

There was one; the champion of the realm could certainly do better than a grizzled, magicless rogue.

There was another; since his misadventure in the Lifestream and being left in Dravania’s wilderness without magic, he now looked and felt closer to his actual age of thirty-two winters. Still young enough to do his job, but it seemed a decent gap against her twenty-six. She was even younger than–

That thought made him slug down a too-large gulp of too-hot wine. It helped focus the pain and gave an excuse for the tears threatening to appear as he coughed, waving away the bartender.

Aeryn had looked him in the eye and nodded when he had told her “whatever it takes” and yet…

That was not fair, and not part of the list, though he couldn’t help the anger, the grief, the shame at lying to F'lhaminn.

He retired to the small room in Cloud Nine that Tataru had rented for him. Laying in bed staring at the ceiling, he found his mind wandering back to the sparring match. How Aeryn felt pressed against him, how she smelled, how her grey eyes had darkened and then closed as their lips nearly touched…Godsdammit.

He could always blame spending time alone in the wilderness for how easily distracted he was by a pretty woman, colleague or not.

That Aeryn had seemed willing did not help; it would have been easier if she had pushed him away, cursed at him, reminded him that she did not experience such base attractions. A voice whispered that did not negate a desire for intimacy, and there were those rumors of her and the knight. He told that voice to shut up as he rolled over. But his imagination continued, conjuring images of furthering that kiss, of pressing closer, his fingers tangling in her fine black hair, the taste of her…

The aftertaste of mulled wine on his own tongue remembered the bite he had smelled in the fallen cup at Falcon’s Nest, her lying on the floor as chaos reigned outside, and the feeling of his heart in his throat at the idea of Aeryn poisoned.

Perhaps that was why he was in such a strange mood, he decided. Fear for his friend’s life, even as he was still grieving Minfilia.

Satisfied, he turned his mind to a mummer’s breathing exercise, a trick to fall asleep quickly, forcing his mind to still so he could rest.

—-

((There’s a lemony solo-Thancred follow-up to this too.))

#Final Fantasy XIV #Heavensward #Thancred Waters #Thancred x WoL #Midgardsormr #Lyn Writing #Shippy Nonsense #Aeryn Striker #tension #mutual pining #Dragon Dad is the best #hope this satisfies #and hope the read more works #temperjoke

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Girls Interrupted, Chapter 1: The Institution: 1, Katya: 0 (Vatya) 2/2 - Maeve

A/N: It’s Maeve again! I’m so freaking surprised and overjoyed at the positive reception Girls Interrupted has received. All of you who have such kind things have truly inspired me to keep going on this. I can now say I'm rewatching seasons in the name of research! As always, feedback is welcome. I write because I enjoy it but also so other people can enjoy it, too. So, really, I’d love to hear any feedback or suggestions.

P.S. I’m having so much fun writing the interactions between Katya and the other queens, but I think my favorite part of this chapter is either an especially cheeky Sharon Needles line or the gym teacher/coach that is very loosely based on a straight Santino Rice

This chapter picks up right where the last chapter left off: Violet and Katya’s ice breaker activity…

Fortunately, Violet realized that she would—at the very least—have to cooperate with the menial activity. “Violet,” she supplied cooly.

Katya tried and failed to stifle her laugh. The raven-haired girl looked at her challengingly.

“Tha-that’s a good choice. Very good. I love every color!” Katya stammered as she wrote down Violet’s response. She couldn’t be sure if her partner was filling out her own worksheet, but Katya couldn’t bring herself to care that much. She just wanted this over and done with. Each moment she spent next to the cheerleader made her feel more and more inadequate. Violet was judging her; she felt small enough on her own.

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” Katya continued.

This one Violet was quick to answer, “Literally anywhere but here.”

Her passive face told Katya she wasn’t going to get a better answer. I’ll just put down ‘Everywhere. She loves to travel.’, she resolved. “I think it would be really cool to go to Russia,” Katya offered.

Violet’s eyes left her phone screen. They searched the face of the blonde across the table, traveled down to Katya’s communism-inspired name card, and finally met her partner’s ocean blue eyes. “No?” Her face contorted in mock shock. “Let me guess,” she pandered, “If you could have lunch with any famous person dead or alive, you’d choose Putin.”

“Good guess,” Katya shook her head with amusement, “But it’s actually Maria Bamford.” It was obvious that Violet had no idea who Maria Bamford was. However, a quick glance at the clock told her there wasn’t enough time left in the class for her to go off on another tangent. “What about you, Violet?”

“Dita Von Teese. Next,” she urged.

“What are your favorite TV shows?” Katya continued eagerly, excited that Violet was finally being an active participant.

Violet’s response was almost instant, “Forensic Files and Sex and the City.” Everything about the brunette screamed confidence and certainty—something that came through in everything that she did. Katya wished it were that easy for her.

“I really like Game of Thrones, The Heart She Holler, and Storage Wars: Northern Treasures…..It’s the Canadian version,” Katya trailed off. There was an unspoken ‘and?’ in Violet’s expression, but she couldn’t produce a single reason for why that mattered. But it had mattered. “Anyway…What’s next?” Katya pushed through her embarrassment. “Something I’m good at? Sleeping, I’m good at sleeping. I guess I’m very bendy. Flexible. I can do theater, too…”

“Just put down cheer for me,” Violet ordered without looking up from her own worksheet. The blonde hesitated at the instruction, and Violet let out an impatient huff. “What?”

Katya was quick to apologize, “Sorry, it’s just that I thought you might say something about fashion.” She swallowed thickly. “I’m-I’ve seen you in the halls before, and you look good. Great. Your clothes. You clearly put a lot of effort into your appearance, and I thou—”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Violet spat. “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t pretend like you do.”

The blonde hurriedly scribbled down the word cheer under question five on her page and grabbed both of their papers. “Right. I’ll just go turn these in,” Katya fled the table without a thought. She had clearly angered Violet. Didn’t the popular kids like it when you stroked their egos? Katya wondered. She hadn’t meant to come off as judgemental. It was obvious that they weren’t on the same level, and hopefully Violet would understand that she hadn’t been trying to judge her. She only wanted to get to know the girl better, but she knew know how stupid she’d been to think that possible. No one like Violet would ever waste time on her. Sighing, she placed the two worksheets in a plastic turn-in bin labeled ‘4th’, and made her way back to her desk.

Katya had been disappointed that she had double A Lunch, but the forty minutes were the perfect break before pre-calculus. While it meant she could eat earlier, it also meant that she had no friends to eat with. Ginger and Bianca both had B Lunch. So Katya found herself on the steps of the stairs in the courtyard by the fine arts wing, eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich. There was beauty in the simple things, though, and Katya could appreciate the warmth of the sun and the slight breeze that late morning.

Mrs. Hugh’s room was stuffy. Katya’s funfetti extravaganza was clinging to her yet again, but she couldn’t adjust the fabric too much without disrupting those around her. She wasn’t willing to risk it. Unlike in all her other classes, the blonde always sat front and center in math class. All of the numbers made a mess in her head, and it was easier if she had fewer distractions. No one else felt the same way, though. So when Alaska tumbled in just before the tardy bell, Katya was forced into yet another less than ideal situation.The sunny cheerleader didn’t share that sentiment. Alaska flashed Katya a hundred watt smile and whispered a hello.

Katya didn’t get Alaska. Alaska wasn’t your stereotypical dumb blonde. She struggled in some areas but always kept up with the pack. So she was smarter than she looked? Big deal. What Katya failed to understand was why such a kind, sincere, and smart person would allow herself to be bullied by her peers. The cheer squad clearly didn’t think she had brain cells; Alaska was practically their punching bag from what she’d observed. So why hang around?

Miss Honard, you are an enigma, Katya assessed.

Katya’s continued curiosity over the duration of Mrs. Hugh’s introductory speech gained her a very important piece of information: if she couldn’t get the lanky blonde out of her head, she was going to have to let her in. And Katya would not be friends with a cheerleader.

Katya praised Marx for the district employee who put Bianca Del Rio in her history class. She and Bianca were unlikely friends—a high school mascot and a theater kid didn’t really run in the same circles—but made an unstoppable duo. Coach A., their teacher seemed to get a kick out of them too.

Bianca was an unexpected constant in Katya’s life. The self-proclaimed bitch was Spartacus, the high school mascot, and the two would never have overlapped if not for their shared love/hate relationship with theater. She was a year younger than Katya but that didn’t stop her from providing Katya with the tough love she needed to keep her head screwed on. Keeping her head on straight was out of the question; Bianca did what she could.

The two girls schlepped over to the far side of the school where the gym was located. Katya, who had made the dumb decision to postpone getting her PE credit for as long, was not looking forward to an entire year of physical activity. Bianca, on the other hand, basically earned herself a double off campus by taking on the role of mascot. And yes, she definitely took pleasure in rubbing the fact in Katya’s face. Sucks to suck.

The other shit thing about a 7th period gym class was that Katya would be in uncomfortably close proximity to the cheerleaders. It felt wrong—almost like she was breaking a nonexistent restraining order. What sick bastard decided the plebs in “team sports” should be forced to observe the pretty girls in peak physical capacity while they drowned in their own sweat? Katya didn’t know the answer, and you certainly couldn’t hold her accountable if they were suddenly beheaded.

One locker and a stack of unisex uniforms later, Katya found herself entertaining the musings of Sharon Needles, resident goth girl.

“‘I look spooky, but I’m really nice,’” Sharon had said when they were assigned lockers next to each other. The witchy teen had a thing for reading people—not that an anxious Katya was hard to see through—and took one look at her and saw a kindred spirit. The funfetti dress and clown shoes didn’t scream normal, either. Katya had been uncharacteristically optimistic about befriending Sharon for all of ten minutes before everything went to shit. Phi Phi O’Hara, Sharon’s mortal enemy, also happened to be in the class.

“I’m surprised you took gym, Party City. Wouldn’t want you to melt in your own sweat.” Phi Phi snarked. The playground bully reclined herself against the row of lockers across from them and examined her nails.

Katya groaned inwardly. Sharon groaned outwardly.

“Fuck off, Phi Phi,” Sharon begged. “Don’t you ever get tired of the sound of your own voice? My ears are bleeding and not in a pleasant way.”

“Eat shit and die, Shar Bear,” Phi Phi called over her shoulder as she skipped off to bother some other poor shmucks.

Phi Phi the schoolyard bully reminded Katya of the villain poodle in one of those Open Season movies. Ironically, that poodle was also named Fifi, which was funny because the poodle was also a boy. Fifi the poodle was groomed like a pretty purse dog and had a little blue bow in his hair. Katya was inclined to take Phi Phi O’Hara—who was not incredibly dissimilar to a trophy pet—just as seriously.

“What crawled up her ass and died?” Katya scrunched up her face.

“If you find out, let me know,” Sharon deadpanned. “I need a smoke.” Katya watched in amusement as the locker room’s resident goth chick removed a pack of Marlboro’s and a lighter from her leather jacket. Sharon caught the blonde’s expression and raised her fist in response. “Fight the system,” she stoically decreed. Katya shrugged as if to say “what can you do?” and gestured for Sharon to walk back to the gym with her.

Their gym class had been banished to the wooden bleachers so the cheerleaders could practice for that Friday’s Back-To-School Pep Rally. The two girls tucked themselves into a far corner on the top row, and Sharon finally lit up.

Coach Rice, who had taken attendance at the beginning of class, had stepped in to assist Coach Calhoun with cheer practice.

Katya and Sharon were fortunate enough to have an unobstructed view of the girls shamelessly throwing themselves at the older man. The majority of the bimbettes were faces she expected: Detox, Roxy, Willam, Courtney, Adore, and Laganja. What she wasn’t expecting, however, was for one Violet Chachki to be the leader of the pack. Stratford’s mean queen never sought out attention, let alone fought for it. Miss Chachki was a one of a kind collectible, and the entire student body knew it. You either wanted her or wanted to be her.

Today, it seemed her flavor of choice was Santino Rice.

Katya udged Sharon with her elbow. “What do you make of that?” She consulted the other girl.

Sharon took a moment to complete her assessment. “I bet a girl that tightly wound is a real screamer in bed,” she answered smoothly. Katya had not been expecting any response of the sort and physically toppled over as she was seized by laughter. Katya’s wheezing drew the attention of those nearby, and Sharon had to hold her cigarette in her mouth so she could flip them off with both hands. They could mind their own fucking business.

Katya was still clinging onto Sharon’s thigh when her fit died down. “You bitch!” She shrieked.

“I’m not wrong,” Sharon defended, taking another long drag from her cigarette. “Ten bucks says she’s hitting on him right now.” In her best Valley Girl impression she crooned, “Oh, Coach Rice, can you help me with my form?”

Katya wasted no time in contributing to the impression. “Can we go to Red Lobster?” The blonde begged in her best Violet-esque bedroom voice.

The absurdity of the request and the thought of Violet, herself, saying those words caused Sharon to half cackle and half choke on her own smoke. Her throaty laugh bounced off of the walls, and this time, it wasn’t just a few pairs of eyes that turned to them.

Uh oh, Katya cringed, busted.

“Sharon Needles, put that shit out and march your ass on over to Assistant Principal Visage’s office!” Coach Rice demanded.

Katya facepalmed hard. What is wrong with you, you stupid whore? She groaned. It’s your fault she’s in deep shit, and she’s never going to speak to you again. The blonde was about to lose herself in an abyss of despair when Sharon’s voice filled the room again.

“Oh no!” Sharon drawled, “Whatever shall I do?” Katya had brought her head up to witness the spectacle and was met with Sharon’s shit-eating grin.

Katya raised her fist in solidarity, referencing Sharon’s anti-establishment words in the locker room. Her spooky new friend shot her a cheeky wink before saluting her corporate whistleblower and unhurriedly leaving the building.

Katya’s eyes left Sharon’s retreating form just in time to catch Violet glaring at her.

The blonde did her best not to worry. It wasn’t like Violet could have known they were talking about her, right?

The bell rang at 3:00, and Katya still hadn’t managed to put the captain of the cheer squad out of her mind. She spent her entire 8th period dodging Bianca’s questions and pleading for some all-knowing entity to tell her just where in life she had gone wrong. Definitely new year, same bullshit. Katya had attempted to begin her junior year with a more optimistic attitude, but after a first day for the history books, she was ready to call it quits.

You win, Stratford, you win. I am but a shell of a man. Woe is the poor soul who dare enter thee, Katya scowled.

The rest of Katya’s will to live vanished when she finally reached her trusty blue Beetle in the junior lot.

“Mother, I am want to commit death,” she muttered.

The cherry red convertible parked next to Katya’s car belonged to none other than Violet Chachki. The bright red exterior was blinding under the afternoon sun, and Katya had to squint to make out faces. A swarm of girls in uniform short skirts and halter tops formed a green and white sea around her only means of escape. Not wanting to engage with Violet for a third time that day, the blonde chose to turn on her heels and pop a squat on the curb.

It was going to be a long year.

#rpdr fanfiction #katya zamolodchikova #violet chachki #alaska thunderfuck #vatya #high school au #lesbian au #slow burn #fluff #angst #enemies to friends #enemies to lovers #drama #maeve #girls interrupted #concrit welcome #tw anxiety and depression

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kainenmarlowe · 4 years

Text

Deprived

It was close to midnight by the time Kainen reached his destination: a placid and tucked-away beach a few malms out from Costa del Sol. He was quick to unsling his pack from one shoulder and his polearm from the other. The former was allowed to fall where it may, the latter was thrust butt-end into the soft La Noscean sand, where it stood upright for only a second before tipping and falling unceremoniously to the ground. The display garnered only a glance over the shoulder and a roll of the eyes. At the end of a day as arduous as this, the only thing occupying his mind was the quiet swim ahead. If this didn’t clear his head, nothing would.

With a series of clicks and snaps, the buckles and fasteners of the hunter’s leather armor were released and it, too, sloughed lazily to the earth to cover his footprints. The sand could be swept off easily enough; it was the mud and dried blood from earlier which would be a chore. But that was a problem for tomorrow.

Only a few fulms out from the current reach of the tide, Kainen rolled back on his heels and fell in reverse with abandon, letting the soft sand cushion his rear. He brought his leg up with a groan to pull a filthy boot off his right foot, then again for his left. One hand then reached up to grab the collar of his undershirt and - in a swift, singular motion - he whipped the whole thing off and over his head before tossing it in the vague direction of where his armor lay. A protesting sigh followed as he lifted himself back to a standing position. The buckle at his waist was released with a ‘click’ and his pants collapsed around his ankles. The underpants, however, were staying on. Anonymity was hardly cause to abandon dignity. Besides, Halone was still watching.

At least, he hoped she was.

Kainen took a moment to enjoy the feeling of the warm air on his skin and the light coastal breeze which fluttered about the tips of his hair. The scent of salt on the wind instantly sparked his memory, triggering a poignant recollection of a better time - and for the briefest moment, his worries gave way to sweet nostalgia. The feeling was instantly fleeting, of course, but it did give him enough cause to consider the hike out a worthwhile one. He could feel his tension unwinding already.

A series of strides brought him waist-deep in the surf, and he dove forward into the first wave that greeted him. The cooler temperature, the washed-out sound, the weightlessness - it all proved to be instantly therapeutic. With a powerful stroke, he shot forward against the flow. Then again and again until the sea floor retreated below him. He curled into a ball before kicking his feet toward the surface to propel himself deeper. The water offered little resistance, for he was well-acquainted with its nature and knew precisely how to bend himself to best comply with its immutable laws. With each stroke, he sought to swim further and further out from the shore.

As soon as the changing pressure in his ears became noticeable, Kainen oriented himself skyward and had breached the surface with only a few minimal motions. The raven locks now covering his face like a mop were flung back with a swift jerk of the head, allowing him to observe the scene a significant distance from shore.

Stillness surrounded - the stars both hanging static above and dancing along the water’s surface below. A glance cast about revealed neither spoken nor creature in the visible vicinity. The only sounds were that of the water: the distant lapping of waves against the shore, Kainen’s own arms treading delicately back and forth, and the arc of droplets he had sent soaring overhead now pattering back to the sea. Significantly more relaxed, he took a lengthy breath in and rolled to float idly on his back - his gaze left to search the tapestry of stars above.

“This is not so bad,” he thought, well aware that it was only a feeble attempt to convince himself that a day slogging through muck to slay scalekin because some wine patrician wanted a unique flavor of handbag was anything but a far cry from the halcyon dream made real he had lived in Ishgard. He searched the sky, as if it would hold some sort of validation for him. The stars simply twinkled back, indifferent.

“This is...for the best,” was the justification he settled on, then. Out here, those around him weren’t susceptible to the danger which followed him. And they weren’t susceptible to his evidently harmful brand of social incompetence. Or his abject impotence in carrying out his vocation. They wouldn’t suffer for his failure any more.

“At least the populace at large knows not of my misdeeds. Not even the rest of the Order, it would seem. Only those present at the hearing know. And perhaps a handful of other individuals… Still, out here I cannot bring such hurt to the good folk of Eorzea. Or the people I considered my friends. I can simply disappear into obscurity. Indeed, this is a fate befitting a Sinner.”

Brow furrowed and jaw clenched as he allowed his introspection to run unchecked.

“But what of the impacted and afflicted in the Brume? Surely they will continue to sling their ire undeservedly at the Pillars, or worse - the Dravanians. Was it really best for the Order to have erred on the side of leniency for the sake of clandestinity?”

As the dissonance mounted, Kainen let out a heavy exhale through his nostrils - until no breath remained in his lungs. Having relinquished his buoyancy, he allowed himself to slip beneath the water’s surface and drift slowly downward. His train of thought followed.

“At the time, I was willing to let my dearest friends beg for Halone’s mercy on my behalf. For what? My inadequacy saw them punished for it. Objectively, the greater good would have been to hang me up in the central square at noon. They could place a signpost on my grave: ‘This man allowed your families to die. Sleep well knowing the Fury has wrought her justice.’ At least tensions would have eased and the people could more easily work toward the peace they deserve.”

One minute passed. Then another. The shimmering sky from before was naught but the faintest glow down here, and before long, the inky blackness had become so thick, the outline of the wispy raven hair in his periphery could no longer be discerned against the encroaching void.

Five minutes. He should have touched bottom by now. Perhaps the movement of the tide was enough to keep him suspended indefinitely, or perhaps the current had sucked him out further than expected...

Regardless, he was content to savor the sensations, or lack thereof. Heightened though they were, all of his senses had now become almost completely muted - and not just the five primary ones. His body temperature could be ice cold or feverishly hot for all he could tell. His limbs could be anywhere, or they could have simply vanished alongside his track of time. He had not drawn or released breath in some time, and his pulse had slowed to a crawl.

His inner monologue followed suit - receding into restful silence, save for a last, lingering thought:

“At least mother did not live to be disappointed. She only knew me at my best. For as inadequate as I have become, at least she could claim to have been proud until the end.”

The small comfort afforded by this reassurance was enough to tip Kainen’s mind into balance upon the fragile fulcrum that held him at the point between consciousness and lack thereof. It was this sustained twilight which he had been trained for years to achieve and maintain, even amidst the chaos of battle. Though it had been well over two cycles now since he had last slipped into this state, the deprivatory environment into which he had unwittingly allowed his own distractions to lead him ended up providing the perfect conditions for an unplanned recurrence.

In maintaining this state with no temporal articulation - allowing himself to fall neither to unconsciousness nor waking - all distinctions between now, earlier, and later had drifted away; all perception had dissolved into a nebulous, fuzzy ether; and, perhaps most importantly, his troubles, fears, and preoccupations retreated like waves from a rocky shoreline. It was in this neutral, timeless dreamscape - free of waking life’s miresome web of anxieties and pursuits - that stillness was at its most absolute. And it was at the peak of this stillness where Kainen felt a presence. It was one which had not appeared or made itself known; rather, it seemed to have been uncovered upon the washing away of corporeal sensation. The imperceptible static of his current consciousness began to coalesce into discarnate echoes; and eventually, into a synchronous, discernible notion:

“O what great cowardice is on display, with thy writhing and thy self-dismay!”

It was a ‘voice’ of the same formless quality as one’s own inner monologue, yet the thought was not his. The language wasn’t even his native and singular Eorzean, but the message was clearly understood, having come from within. The cadence was achingly slow, and its tone wholly derisive.

“Canst thou feel my ire, o knight of men? Tis not a death in service of my kin which I rue. Nay, tis my afterlife which I resent - here as part of thee, who hath since proven wholly unfit to carry my essence.”

Kainen could feel himself teetering at the brink of that familiar moment when one can feel their dream collapsing around them, yielding to a swift and inevitable awakening. But something was holding him there in that liminal space - and he couldn’t tell if it was his own force of will, or something else entirely.

“Art thou a man? Art thou a mouse? Or art thou but a foolish child, resigned to cast thy litany of laments into night after dispassionate night? Didst thou not think the warrior’s path to be fraught with the trials of thy hopes and fears laid bare upon the rocks?”

Though formless and voiceless, the presence certainly emanated a sort of hostility - one which Kainen was eager to escape from. Any attempt to open his eyes, thrash his body about, or otherwise awaken, though, was utterly futile. He was paralyzed. Senseless and unable to control himself in any manner, he felt completely subject to the will of this indeterminate entity.

“Still, thy temples stand amidst the smoulders, do they not? Art thou not capable of this selfsame resilience? Or dost thou revel in thine self-imposed exile? Tell me, knight of man, what is it that thou seek? For all which now lies in the grave of thy pride is a deplorable heap of misery.”

Kainen made a conscious attempt to speak or even to give a thoughtform reply, but it was for naught. He was completely helpless. A tightening sensation began to permeate the space and at that point, a dire realization emerged: he was still underwater.

“If thou art so resigned to withdrawal in the face of adversity, so be it. Thus is my directive, then: retreat not to thy tenuous climes of finite security. Retreat instead...inward. As thou hast done in times past. For while thy mettle hath faltered, mine burns fiercer than ever!”

“Abandon thy perceptions and surrender thyself to me!”

“Forsake thine eyes!!”

Though entirely existing within Kainen’s subconscious, the voice was thundering. Its echoes reflected infinitely off of distant, nonexistent walls, gradually morphing into a cacophonous, booming dissonance which only served to intensify the heightening sensations of pressure and exponentially increasing panic. The chorus decayed, finally, leaving in its wake an acute, high-pitched ringing that intensified in equal measure with the suffocating weight of his now-collapsing consciousness.

So this was to be it, then. This was how he was going to die. Not in defense of country or comrade; nor fulfilled and surrounded by love. It was to occur unseen and unceremoniously; an accident of absent-minded caprice and nothing more.

Indeed, this is a fate befitting a Sinner.

A cooling air could be felt caressing his skin, then. A concrete sensation, at last. Reflexively, a sharp breath was drawn in, triggering a harsh cough in turn as a mix of salty water and mucus washed back in his throat. Kainen could feel himself expelling, but into what was beyond him - at least until the small bursts of light behind his eyelids coalesced into colors, then shapes. Focus eventually came to reeling mind and body, both, and his eyesight aligned to take in the scene.

He was on the beach again; and standing, curiously enough. It was still nighttime, that much was clear - though he caught no indication of how much time had passed. A wave brushed against his heel and enveloped his foot to ankle-depth, prompting the sand to gently give way beneath. Beleaguered by stimuli, he groaned as he took a few weary steps out of the surf and onto dry sand - casting a sidelong glance to find his clothes, pack, and weapon a good distance down the shoreline. As he began the slog to rejoin his personal effects, he breathed a heavy sigh - behind it, as much relief as was exhaustion.

Though quite content to simply breathe air again, Kainen couldn’t help but entertain the thoughts and implications emerging in the back of his mind: how much of what had occurred was real, or was it entirely imagined? A hallucination, perhaps, or simply an overactive imagination?

He hearkened back to the training he had undergone eight-or-so years prior, in preparation to join the Dragonsong War. Aside from the plentiful physical honing were the mental exercises imparted by his instructors: interstitial meditation, focal release, sensory deprivation... The results were undeniable, especially when aided and amplified by the equipment and slowed physiology they had granted him. But nothing like this had ever occurred. No hallucinations. No voices. No loss of memory or consciousness. He had always been in control.

...Right?

#ffxiv #balmung #kainen #slicethecake

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