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ereardon · 4 months

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Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Five

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child?

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: Jake and Ducky dance around each other the morning after the big fight; Bob overhears a conversation he shouldn't

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

The silence was deafening. Just as Bob opened his mouth to speak, a crack of lightning broke across the sky, the loud bang following a few seconds later. You were used to counting the seconds between lightning and thunder. Back in Tennessee, that was something you learned as a kid, how to tell how many miles away the storm was. That felt like a million years ago. The easy innocence of being a child was a million miles away.

Jake looked at the floor. Bob looked at you, eyes wide but words caught in his throat.

You shook your head, tears falling slowly down your cheeks. “I deserve more,” you whispered softly. “We both do.” And then you turned on your heel and walked to the bedroom, locking the door behind you, sealing them out.

***

You could hear Jake in the living room. Pacing. You laid in bed as long as possible, but you had to face the day. Gently, you eased open the door, the bright light of the living room invading your senses.

“Y/N.” Jake’s voice cracked. You turned to see him standing at the kitchen counter, both hands on the quartz island top. “Listen, about last night—”

You cut him off. “I’m sorry I came over,” you said, picking up your purse from the ground. “It won’t happen again.”

“It’s OK,” Jake whispered.

You turned to him. He looked scared. Green eyes soft and warm and terrified. “I need you to know I never meant for this to happen,” you said quietly. “It was an accident. But I’m tired of running from my mistakes. I have to grow up.”

Jake was quiet. Then, “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” You reached for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Let me drive you home.”

You shook your head. “I need to walk. Clear my head.”

He frowned. “Bob’s house is way too far to walk.”

“I’ll be fine.” You scrambled out of the door before Jake could protest again. The air was fresh and clean the way it can only be after a hard rainstorm.

Every step felt like a penance. You couldn’t shake the way Bob had looked. So quietly devastated.

All you could hear was the pounding of blood in your ears, but after a while you felt a presence on your left and you stopped, turning with wide eyes. Jake pulled his Jeep up next to you on the shoulder of the road. “What the hell are you doing here?” you asked.

“Get in the car.”

“No.”

“Get in the fucking car, Y/N,” he demanded.

“I’m fine walking.”

Jake sighed. “I can’t in good conscience let the woman pregnant with my child walk by herself on the highway. Now get in the truck. Please.” The last word was strained. You could hear the pain and exhaustion in his voice. Against your better judgment you pulled open the door handle, sliding into the passenger seat. Jake let out a ragged sigh, yanking the car into drive.

A silence enveloped the car. Just the sound of the bumpy road and the tires screeching against asphalt and your heart pounding in your ears and Jake’s labored breaths on the driver’s side of the truck. You kept your eyes glued to the windshield, his fingers tight across the steering wheel.

When Jake pulled into Bob’s driveway you gulped. Bob’s truck was there. You hadn’t let yourself think about what would happen when you went back. Jake cut the power and the two of you sat in silence for a moment before he said, “Do you want me to come in with you?”

“That would be a suicide mission.”

“I’m not afraid of Floyd.”

“Well you should be.” You unbuckled your seat belt and sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

“Y/N.” Jake’s hand was hot on yours as your palm slipped against the leather seat and you pulled away, leaving him leaning over the center console in the truck. “You can call me,” he said. “If you want me to pick you up. Or you need to talk.”

You closed the door. The window was still rolled down, Jake’s face framed perfectly between the metal sides. “I know you’re trying to do what you think is right,” you whispered. “But so am I.”

You turned before you could see Jake’s face. Inside, the house was dark. A part of you had expected Bob to be sitting in the living room, waiting for you to come home. The way he had when you were a preteen and got home late from your first date. But instead, the house was quiet. Eerily quiet.

In your room, you sat on the ground, pulling your knees to your chest.

What had you done?

***

You had dated a few guys in college, but you thought you were going to marry the last one.

Peter. He had been tall and handsome. A political science major from Washington. His family were WASPs. They did things like rent out private villas in the US Virgin Islands and go golfing with senators in Chevy Chase.

He took you home to meet them during spring break of senior year. You hadn’t known what to expect. Surely not a mansion in Palisades overlooking the Potomac. Not a three-story marble foyer and little sisters in Gucci mules with matching sweater sets and cocktails at six o’clock sharp and grandparents who didn’t hug. It was miles and miles away from the life you and Bob lived with your mother — hand-me-down quilts and warm nights by the fire playing Settlers of Catan and reruns of Desperate Housewives on the background as you stirred soup at the stove and summer nights spent frolicking in the tall grass behind your high school with a few bottles of beer and someone’s playlist echoing loudly from the open doors of a parked car.

Peter lived in an alternate universe. And still, a part of you thought you were going to marry him.

It wasn’t until a week before graduation when you realized it was over.

“I want to be a mom,” you said. Peter looked up from his drink, eyes wide. “Not now,” you rushed out. “But eventually.”

He set his rocks glass down. “Baby,” he whispered. “I don’t want kids. They’re just not for me.”

That was the beginning of the end. You watched the light drain from his eyes and he watched the hope leach out of yours. By graduation morning you had broken up, and that afternoon you were one of the first cars to peel out of the parking lot, headed East to Chattanooga, the tears filling your eyes, making it hard to see.

You had known all along you wanted to be a mother. Have a family. But you had mistakenly thought you’d do it in the right order. First comes love then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage.

You had never been so wrong.

***

Bob was always the first person to apologize after a fight. He would knock on your door with a sleeve of Oreos hidden behind his back as a peace offering or offer to take a midnight drive in the country with the windows rolled down and the music blaring until finally you were calm enough to talk.

You were the hot head and Bob was the even tempered one.

Until now.

For two days you danced around each other. You got up after he had left. He was in his room by the time you came home. You had taken the library job. It was a small library near the beach with a daily reading session for kids that you had volunteered to lead. Even though Bob said it was a waste of your talent and degree, there was something so nice and calm about going into the library and settling into a pile of books, helping to set up the coloring station in the corner, assisting older people with finding the right book or manual.

On the third day, you came home from the library with a tote bag full of parenting books to find the Dagger Squad in the living room. You stopped dead in your tracks as the room was enveloped in silence.

One look at their faces and you knew that they knew. Jake was conspicuously absent.

“Hi,” you squeaked, stepping into the hallway. “I’ll just get out of your way.”

“Y/N.” Phoenix’s voice cut through the stiff air. “Let’s chat.”

It felt like a Bachelor moment where the contestant steals the bachelor on a group date. But this time no one else was interested in speaking to you. Least of all Bob, who sat in the corner with his face turned down toward his shoes.

Outside, the warm air licked at your face. You and Phoenix settled into the two Adirondack chairs Bob had set out on the back deck. She turned to you. “I just wanted to say, congrats.”

“You know you’re the first person who has said that to me,” you replied. It felt like a weight being lifted off your shoulders.

“I know Floyd is having a hard time with this,” Phoenix said. “But he’ll come around.”

“What if he doesn’t?” you whispered.

Her face softened. “He will. He has to. I’ve known Floyd for two years now and there’s only three things I know for sure. First, that Hangman will never beat me in a race. Second, that he might try and hide it but I’m pretty sure Bradshaw’s middle name is Joy. And third, that Bob loves you more than anything in the world. He’s gone on and on about his perfect little sister so much that we all felt like we knew you before you even showed up on North Island.”

“I’m not perfect,” you said quietly. “Nowhere near it.”

“Does it matter?” Phoenix asked. “He loves you. You’re the one thing he cares most about.”

“Then why doesn’t he care that he’s hurting me?”

“He’s too stuck to realize it. He thinks that he let you down.”

“He has let me down,” you said. “Not because he let me get pregnant. That was never his decision to make. His reaction to all of this, that’s the only time I’ve ever felt let down by my brother in my entire life. It’s the one time I’ve ever found myself wondering what a life without him would be like. It’s made a part of me hate him.”

The sound of the door sliding open caught both of your attention. You and Phoenix turned to see Bob with his head poking out the sliding glass door, ears red, eyes wide. He had heard you.

Every last, terrible word.

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @mandylove1000 @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @shanimallina87 @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @yanna-banana @bbyvanessaa @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @joaquinwhorres @boiolay @sometimesanalice @spinning-away @mycobrakai1972 @xomrsalliej4787xo @na-ta-sh-aa

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bloobluebloo · 2 months

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Ganondorf Should Have Never Become the Demon King

Or: The many instances where Ganondorf should have been stopped right in his tracks.

-At the very beginning, when Ganondorf's body was first discovered, it was apparent that the Master Sword could damage Ganondorf. However, since SOMEONE had to inform our dear Demon King that a man with a magic sword named Link was going to stop him, well, he got the jump on Link before Link could even register what the fuck was happening. If Ganondorf was unaware, he would have been focused on Zelda (since he knew Zelda for sure) and Link would have at least had the chance to do something.

-On the sky islands, when Link wakes up, Rauru could have explained to Link what had happened. Rhoam literally did this for Link. Alas, for ✨plot reasons✨ Rauru doesn't even inform us he was the King of Hyrule and we just get to know him as the "Source of the Right Arm" which is hilarious in retrospect and maybe a bit of penance for that whole doxxing incident. I mean, at least he could have been warned not to trust any Zelda appearances?

-When Hyrule was literally attacked by Moldugas. Even if we really, REALLY, want to assume that Rauru did not see Ganondorf but Ganondorf somehow with his super duper eagle vision could oogle the Secret Stone, where else would a Molduga attack possibly come from? Who else could possibly order a hoard of Molduga to attack? There is only ONE nation that has made it a point to ignore all your invitations Rauru. -When Zelda hears the name Ganondorf and can probably sense his magic because ya know, she only spent 100 years shacking up with him she would probably know who he was just from the way he breathes at this point.

-When Rauru clearly states that he knows the man is evil, and decides that he will keep a close eye on him, but then even fails to do that because somehow, his wife and Zelda ended up confronting Ganondorf alone.

-When even the servants of the castle state that there is some weird Zelda lurking in the castle which suggests that Ganondorf's puppet wasn't even a convincing one

-When Zelda and Sonia lure him? Or did he lure them? ANYWAYS THEY BOTH WERE AWARE OF EACH OTHER, and I mean I guess puppet Zelda was shitty enough of a puppet that they were aware of its presence. I mean if the servants noticed it... -OKAY MAYBE THIS IS A STRETCH but, when Zelda was faced with a hacked Guardian that was about to kill Link it unlocked her Hylia powers which is what she subsequently used to keep Calamity Ganon at bay for 100 years? And this was literally the birth, the infancy of the Demon King's power? He just killed your adoptive mom Zelda, you could have JUST HNNNNNNNNN

-When Zelda literally tells Rauru that confronting Ganondorf at this stage may be a bad idea because she knows the present. She knows Link was injured when he confronted Ganondorf. Maybe she could have figured out how to unlock her powers that held the Calamity back? So that he doesn't become a problem in the present? Hello Rauru she’s sort of hinting that Link could not handle Ganondorf’s power but nope! “We rely on your knight and that legendary sword he carries.” Zelda: “Well about that-“

Anyways look, I get it, suspension of belief and whatnot but honestly, this game? Coming off of BotW as its sequel? Ganondorf got stupidly lucky. He got openings as wide as the Grand Canyon and information he should have never had to begin with like please, how did he know that he should invest in a puppet Zelda? Also Rauru is so terrible at listening to any advice because Zelda only pointed out several times that Ganondorf was a problem until she decided to confront him herself with Sonia.

#ganonthots #look okay #he's the source of the calamity so the source IN THE PRESENT should be strong I agree #but BUT #if you get sent to the past? to before this all happens?#inexcusable you had all the information and power #anyways I will die on this hill forever

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dragon-in-the-watery-bowl · 7 months

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And here are the last batch of Danganronpa fankids, for the Celestia x Kyoko, Impostor x Ryota and Yamato x Tsurugi ships.

Info under the cut:

Name: Kanami Kirigiri (霧切叶望). Age: 13. Parents: Kyoko Kirigiri and Celestia Ludenberg/Taeko Yasuhiro. Gender: Female. (Possible) Ultimate Title: Ultimate Detective. Birthdate: October 29 (Scorpio). Height: 149 cm. Weight: 32 kg. Chest Size: 69 cm. Blood Type: B. Likes: Jewelry. Dislikes: Ginger, spicy food.

In a world where things went different, and class 78 didn't became the victims of a killing game, Kyoko Kirigiri and Celestia Ludenberg ended up together and with a daughter. Having inherited both the deductive prowess and cunning ruthlessness of both her mothers, Kanami won easily the position of the Kirigiri family's heir, and was trained into the passed down role of a detective, solving her first case at 8 years old, the disappearance (and death) of her homeroom teacher, winning herself fame and glory, but at the cost of any meaningful friendship, something that she doesn't cares about, thanks to letting this fame, and her family legacy, go over her head, and giving her a massive ego problem, something that she will need to reign in before it end up crashing down on her, even if it ends up being easier saying it than doing it.

Name: Akito Kisaragi (如月義士). Age: 8. Parents: Tsurugi Kinjo and Yamato Kisaragi. Gender: Male. (Possible) Ultimate Title: Ultimate Inventor. Birthdate: May 3 (Taurus). Height: 123 cm. Weight: 14 kg. Chest Size: 65 cm. Blood Type: B. Likes: Machines, justice. Dislikes: Destruction, violence.

In a world where the Tragedy never happened, and class 79 was able to have a normal school life in Hope's Peak, Tsurugi Kinjo and Yamato Kisaragi started a friendship that eventually evolved into something romantic, and ended up with the both of them becoming parents to a young boy. Quiet and shy, he spends almost all of his time between looking at what his fathers do while working and trying to imitate them (The latter usually never going well), thanks to having grown to admire them intensely in the short amount of time he has been alive.

By the time he would come to age, he would become a great inventor, enough to be admitted into Hope's Peak, but, at the same time, friendships would become hard for him to form, thanks to inheriting somewhat Tsurugi's black-and-white way of seeing the world, making him untrustfull of anyone who isn't his dads, something that he would take time to grow out of.

Name: Kyo Mitarai (御手洗鏡). Age: 7. Parents: Ryota Mitarai and Ultimate Imposter. Gender: Female. (Possible) Ultimate Title: Unknown. Birthdate: January 5 (Capricorn). Height: 113 cm. Weight: 36 kg. Chest Size: 92 cm. Blood Type: O. Likes: Anime, manga, fast food. Dislikes: Abandonment.

After the end of the Tragedy, and with the members of class 77-B resigning themselves to live outside of civilization as penance for their crimes, some of them had kids with each other, with Ryota Mitarai and the person known just as "The Ultimate Imposter" being two of them. Really skittish and shy, she is following her fairer-headed dad's steps of becoming an animator to a T, thanks to terribly crushing feelings of loneliness and wistfulness born from the bad hand fate gave to his parents, and their class, forcing her to live in a island lost in the mind of the common passerby until she's of age, feelings that not even the kids of his parents' classmates can't alleviate, no matter how strong their friendships with her became.

Thanks to this, her biggest dream became to become famous, maybe through creating a new manga series, once she's an adult, just to feel that warmth that her family tried, but failed, to give her.

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 1 year

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Thread of Fate

Pairing: Odysseus x Penelope

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff

Rating: G

Warnings: references is rape/sexual assault, nothing explicit but I don't interpret his relationship with Calypso as consensual. Angst

Summary: Even if he dies on this island, even if he becomes a hollow shell of a man, the last remaining embers of his soul will always be, Penelope’s.

Notes: I'm reading the Odyssey at the moment and I just have feelings y'know...

Archiveofourown

It is like Hell on earth, as if he has been sent to Hades, not the Asphodel Fields, certainly not to Elysium, but to Tartarus. Eternal damnation and torment, day in, day out, night by night. Perhaps this is the price he pays for the many tricks he has played, for his arrogance when faced with Polyphemus, his brutish boasts of intelligence. Perhaps Athene has forsaken him for his hubris, he has been tossed ashore to this island to suffer torment. Ogygia his own personal Hell. Perhaps it is penance for leaving his wife, his dear Penelope, to fight another man’s war? All for the love of her cousin, that fair Helen of Troy, who so many claimed was more beautiful than she. He had always disagreed on such a point. While suitors clamoured for Helen’s hand, he had desired the great Penelope’s, with her cunning wit, her beautiful dark locks and sharp blue eyes. And he had won her hand, he had gained a wife he loved so dearly, only to lose her to another man’s war.

Perhaps, she already believed him dead. Perhaps she had taken another husband such as Antinous, that lout, that curr, that wretched man who had always coveted what others had. But, no, he knows she has not. There is a thread of fate that ties him to Penelope, a string that has not been cut, nor diminished even in his absence. He yearns to follow that string, across the oceans once more, he has come so far and yet still has so long to go. Had he simply avoided every stop, every temptation upon the way. Had his crew been more loyal, greater men, less swayed by temptation. But, he knows the truth. The truth is…had he not been so arrogant as to mock and curse the son of a God, even a cyclops like Polyphemus, had he not been so desperate to fight another man’s war like Menelaus'…perhaps, he would not have wasted seventeen long years already. His son would be grown by now. His wife, waiting and hoping, while all around her promised that he would not return, that he must be dead. His beautiful, intelligent, cunning wife. Who he had told he would be back soon. Who he had promised more children…who would likely never have another. His son, Telemachus, who did not know his fathers face nor his voice nor his love. His son…did his son survive infancy? Or had he lost his only child as well as so many years of his life?

The thoughts suffuse his mind by day, as he cries, sobbing on the shore, eyes turned towards the direction of Home, of Ithaca, of Penelope. The sun does not console him, the birds singing sweet songs cannot soothe him, the sea breeze cannot tame his melancholy.

By night, he is forced to warm Calypso's bed, eyes blank, heart tight and clenched, as clenched as his eyes as he forces tears to hide behind his lids. What makes it bearable, survivable is the thought of Penelope. There are nights where Calypso, knowing he will not look at her as she uses his body, steals Penelope’s voice, but it is wrong, so very wrong. His Penelope does not call him her darling, his Penelope does not trill sweetly at him, her bite always sharp and witty. Love making with his own Penelope, was a battle, a hard thought victory where both were winners no matter the outcome. With Calypso he is uninvolved, she takes what she wishes and he accepts his fate, while cursing the Gods and praying that Penelope will understand, that she does not feel their marriage bed is despoiled, that she does not feel betrayed by his acts of survival.

He spends his time focusing on her image, while avoiding thoughts that he will never see her again. He consoles himself with memories of her all the while Calypso claws at him in desperate attempts to ensnare and keep him. But she will never have him. He was never for sale, never for barter, never an option. He is, has been and always will be Penelope’s Odysseus, even if he never sees her again.

There is no other woman for him, but Penelope and he hopes, however selfish it may be, that he is the only man for her. That whatever suitors have come scratching at her door, like vultures circling a carcass, have found their prospects dim, their efforts wasted.

Even if he dies on this island, even if he becomes a hollow shell of a man, the last remaining embers of his soul will always be, Penelope’s.

#odysseus/penelope #the odyssey #odypen #odysseus x penelope

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bravenewolympus--hq · 1 month

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ʙʀᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴏʟʏᴍᴘᴜꜱ : ᴀ 21+ ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ɢʀᴇᴇᴋ ᴍʏᴛʜᴏʟᴏɢʏ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏʀᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ.

𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒚, 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝝂𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏 – 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝝂𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔.

they called it an offering, and zeus had always been a glutton for those, especially when it was all wrapped up with a bow and delivered by someone devastatingly beautiful. an offering, an apology from prometheus for his misdeeds, overdue penance to the one true god of all gods. she’d memorized the script, smiled and breezed her way through the offering, and all that was left was for zeus to take the bait and open the box.nothing quite like honey, or a pretty smile, to catch the proverbial fly, after all. and in the deepest corner of hades, the shackles of cronus, the once and future king, came loose. second chances, after all, are not given to make things right, but to make things even. and what was just a little more waiting, when he had already sat chained in the pit in breathless anticipation for millenia? utterly meaningless, not unlike his promises of his progeny and their better selves. he would sit, and wait, and watch as his beloved children, for all their base selfishness, tore themselves apart in the name of ambition, pride, and greed. athens, new york: an island city, all trees and marble, glass and steel and highrises set against an ocean skyline. bustling and loud, crowded, but not without a bizarre sense that it must have sprung up overnight, somehow, when surely it must have always been here, no? on a clear night, you might even be able to see the lights of its more famous cousin, new york city, across the water…if you squint hard enough. it may not get as much attention as the shiny apple across the hudson, but those not so blinded by the lights must certainly have been coming here for years. is there something in the water here, too? no one leaves, not in any meaningful way anyway. feels like it has a special way of pulling you back in, if you try. they, that is anyone who was anyone or paid even an iota of attention to the evening news, called him the minotaur. the media does love a catchy nom de guerre, doesn’t it? sells newspapers like hotcakes in the morning. ambrosia, whether it’s the latest designer drug trend or the latest pestilence sweeping the streets of athens, just depends on how tightly you clutch your pearls on sundays. must infuriate the police, don’t it? that without fail, by the time they arrive to any crime scene at all, all that’s left is the heap of little cream-coloured business cards, the red lines of a labyrinthine logo more taunting than they are helpful. between an epidemic of pearlescent powder, neatly parceled out in small plastic baggies, a tide of crimson bull graffiti, casinos and bordellos and the nightlife (oh my!), it’s no small wonder they call this an atlantic sin city. it’s a vice eat dog world, ain’t it? and anyone who calls athens home is just living in it. powerless, with no memory of their past lives, what's a god gotta do to survive? what is brave new olympus? a crime-focused take on the greek gods, demigods and heroes we know and love, loosely inspired by once upon a time, set in the human world and modern age. we call athens, new york, home: a fictional island city across the bight from the boroughs of its more famous cousin, the big apple.

#crime rp #literate rp #lit rp #21+ rp #discord rp

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eyes-blazing · 4 months

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Emrys-Aiden Ris Lokison

Emrys Roleplays + Emrys Headcanons

Face Claim: Drew Roy

Age: 20

Birthday: September 18th

Orientation: Pansexual(preference male)

Height: 6 Foot 4 Inches

Eye Color: Green

Species: Demi-God

Main Verse: Marvel MCU

Distinguishing Marks: 7 Tattoos(info on them upon requests) and three lobe piercings on his left ear and two lobe piercing on his right.

MCU Verse-

Main ship with: Nate Sanders at @agentsanders

Main Loki @brokenandlonelysouls

Emrys Lokison was born September 18th just outside of New York City. As the Son of Loki and a Warrior from another demention he spent the first 8 years of his life living and training in Asgard with his twin sister Pyira. But after an incident involving bullies and perminate scarring Loki and Emrys mother Sera decided it would be safer for Emrys and Pyira on Earth.

By the time Emrys was thirteen years old he had become addicted to drugs and met the person who he then thought would be the love of his life. The person he thought he would be with forever. But one foolish mistake ended that, and his loves life, leaving Emrys broken and alone.

After five years of training under various influences Emrys became a master marksman and strong enough to know that he’d be able handle almost anything the world threw at him. Using his fathers glamor spell he hides the scars that he is ashamed off and went out into the world to try and loose the ghosts that haunt him.

DC Verse-

Emrys Harper was never a normal boy, he always knew it. He could always feel his "father" inside of him.

The women who gave birth to Emrys was genetic scientist, and a crazy one at that. Convinced that the Joker was the perfect man she stole the Clowns blood from a crime scene and used it to create a clone of the Joker with in her own body. But the child didn't turn out as expected.

Emrys resented his "father", resented the insanity that he had inherited, resented his mother for trying to bring it out of him. So he fought it, learned to control it, got his "mother" locked away in Arkham.

Emrys Harper was never a normal boy, he always knew it. He wasn't going to let his "Father" win.

Shadowhunter/TMI Verse-

Emrys Harper was born four hundred and seventy three years ago with the black and feathered wings on his back and a mother who hated him. He spent his childhood locked in a barn, watching humanity through the cracks in the wall. Learning what they were like, learning what their weaknesses were, learning all he could about how to kill them.

When he turned 18 his mother set fire to the barn, tried to burn the demon out of him. That only enraged him. He lashed out with every bit of magic he had, decemating the family farm.

When he woke he was surrounded by Shadowhunters, they said he was a danger. A threat. They said he was powerful and he couldn't very well argue.

It took one hundred years for his "penance" to be paid, one hundred years to be released from their prisons, and since then...he's wandered.

Emrys Harper never found a home.

(Mun Note: Sometimes I will play Emrys as a fallen angel in this verse, I will let you know if that is what I’m planning on before doing it)

Teen Wolf Verse-

Main ship with: Scott McCall at @mccallofthewild

The youngest son born into a large Kitsune Skulk. A fire type kitsune who chafed against the rules.

Emrys Harper left home almost the minute he turned 18, only stopping in Becon Hills because...well it was interesting.

(Mun note: This is my most changing verse. It really depends on your muse and what we discuss as to what Emrys background will be. I apologize in advance.)

Decendance Verse

Emrys Teach is the only son of Blackbeard and a siren. He grew up keeping himself away from the rest of the island and the other kids his own age due to the constantly renenfored idea that he was not wanted. His father had at one point been a good father but with the death of his wife(a side affect of Blackbeards own magic) he slowly lost control on his drinking and rage, taking it out of his young son. Emrys inherited his fathers storm magic, though he doesn't have a good control over it as of yet and each time a lightning strom happens he can "feel it under his skin". He has a few lichtenberg scars from when he has been struck.

(If Emrys is still on the island then he is aware of the magic in him but can't do anything with it. If he's off the island then he can feel it but has no control)

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queenmuzz · 1 year

Text

Deal with the Devil

A bit of an introduction to an OC that I've been working on.

Drip…

The sound of an unseen leaky pipe splashing its contents on the concrete floor of the Fortuna City Prison was the only thing that seemed to indicate the passage of time to the prisoner who sat on her little cot in an out of the way cell. Aside from that, time seemed to stand still for her. And looking down at the paper in her lap, she might as well be frozen in time.

Ten years.

That’s how long she would be trapped in this place, among the cursed and the damned of this island. Ten years of imprisonment and hard labor before she could possibly dream about getting out on good behavior.

And for what? For killing someone? No. For beating that one guard that kept glaring at her hatefully to a bloody pulp? Sadly, no again.

It was all because she had slipped up, and sold a ‘Genuine Document’, written in the Saviour’s own hand, recognizing the authority of one of the noble families to one of their descendents of that house. How was she to know it had been a forgery? Well… because she had been the one to forge it. It was so hard to resist the easy money. The previous three times she had ‘uncovered’ documents purported to be dated from Sparda’s rule, various collectors had clamored for them, paying obscene amounts of cash. At the time, she found it to be perfectly reasonable to create such documents. A woman with a talent for pitch ought to make their living playing the violin, a man with a keen eye for color would be accepted for making paintings for his daily bread, why not her, a young lady who could replicate handwriting upon just a glance, make a few bucks doing some light forgery? It wasn’t hurting anyone, it just let some hoity toity idle rich enjoy their delusions of grandeur.

Apparently the judge didn’t have the same idea, as he slammed his gavel down and sentenced her to a decade of ‘penance for the most shameful of sacrilege.’ She had a feeling that he’d have given her more time if he had permitted, as he proclaimed the Saviour’s so-called ‘Justice’ upon her.

She kicked herself mentally as she read the sentencing report. She had gotten sloppy. Her first forgery, only discovered as such during the investigation, had been so close to perfect, that even the experts couldn’t say for sure that she had created it. She’d read whatever scraps of paper Sparda had left in the Archives to copy his handwriting, found paper that was the appropriate age, and even created the ink as it was made hundreds of years ago. She’d practiced writing with a quill, learning how to pretend to write with hands that were probably twice her size, and the payoff for her three months of hard work was enough for her to live comfortably for nine months. The second time, confident in her method, had taken a mere month, and had her living like a queen for a year. And then… like Icarus, the hubris had taken her too high to the sun, forging a document that had declared the Pontiff’s family line as the successor to ruling Fortuna. And the price she’d paid for using some paper that had been dated a hundred years later than when Sparda had relinquished his throne was… very painful.

Drip…

The water continued on, oblivious to her plight, except there it was matched in tempo by the heavy clomping of boots that grew louder with each drip, before stopping right at her cell door. She had been locked up for no more than a week, yet she knew exactly whose arrogant face would be sneering down at her. Dominick, probably one of those bastards son’s whose noble father had paid for his post, stood there, as set of big iron keys in his hand. Was he about to inspect her cell for ‘contraband’ as he had done the previous five days? He yanked the door open, his baton wielded in his other hand, just daring her to try something stupid.

“Get up Sinner, you got a visitor.” He gruffly ordered as he yanked her by the arm. She was perplexed. A visitor? Her defense counsel had ostensibly abandoned her after sentencing, telling her regretfully that there was no sense in filing an appeal, ten years was probably the best deal she could get, so it wouldn’t be him.

Nor would it be her family, unless she had an eccentric great uncle she had never been told about. Nor would it be any friends or any of her connections from Fortuna’s grey and black markets, none of them would be stupid enough to walk into Fortuna’s most secure prison.

“Who-” she started to ask, but was cut off with a push to the back.

“No questions. Move.” He poked her with the baton, as an added incentive to move faster as they walked down the hall. She tried to not look at the other cells, filled with people like her, the criminal scum of the island, the ones that were beyond even the Saviour’s mercy. No doubt they were watching the ‘fresh meat’ being frog marched into a little room that led off from the main hall.

The tiny room consisted of two worn chairs and a metal table, and nothing else. This room was not made for comfort, and the way the door slammed shut behind her. Sitting at the table, with a file folder in his hand was a man she’d never seen before. He was in Order garb, was he the Warden? No, the gold trim on his pristine white overcoat signified that he was much MUCH higher on the totem pole, possibly one of Sanctus’s personal attendants.

She felt another shove, and she stumbled, her hand catching on the back of the chair to avoid a fall.

“Be gentle with her, sir” the man gently chided as he motioned her to sit across from him. “You may leave us.”

Dominic started, and he felt him drawing near, “My Lord, I am obligated to keep watch whenever a prisoner is brought to the visitor room.” To which the man waved him off. “Don’t worry, I’ll have a word with the Warden. He’ll be more than happy to overlook this one time incident.”

“I must prote-”

The man glared, and slammed his fist down on the table, his papers scattered all over the table“Sh-shall I speak to your s-superiors about your ins-subordination!?” He yelled with a voice that commanded respect, even with the slight stutter. Her mouth went dry, wondering why a man with such a hair trigger temper was interested in speaking with her. His authoritarian voice did the trick, and the guard mumbled some apologies before backing out like an embarrassed crab, letting the door slam shut, whose vibrations rustled the papers even more.

The man regained his composure, and hastily gathered up his disorganized set of papers, before smiling at her.

“Now my dear, I apologise. But sometimes men need to be shown who holds the true power.” He placed an ornate monocle on his left eye and began to scan the file he had in front of him.

“Let me introduce myself, I am Lord Agnus, Chief Scientist to His Holiness,” he took great pride in that title, and his teeth formed a smile that was a tad bit too wide. “And you are… Ms. Meredith Voss. Age: 25. Incarcerated for Sacrilegious Forgery. No previous criminal record. No living family members.” The last line carried an ominous tone that lingered in the air. “I’ve taken quite an interest in you Miss Voss. You might be exactly what I need…”

Meredith cocked her head in confusion, “Uh… I’m not sure what you mean… sir”

The man waved away her concern, “I’ll cut to the chase. I have the authority to offer you a deal only a fool would pass up. A complete pardon.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?” “Your conviction: Expunged. Your sentence: Commuted. It’ll be as if you were never charged. And,” he glanced down at a photo of her mugshot, “you’ll be offered employment with the Order, and I assure you,” that damn way too wide smile reappeared, “your pay will be more than sufficient.”

Meredith sat stunned. She’d hoped, (a fools hope, she had finally admitted to herself), that she’d receive a reprieve, seeing as this was her first offense (that she’d gotten caught for) but there had been no mercy shown. But this? This was beyond her wildest dreams. A full pardon, and the certainty of not worrying where her next meal came from… it was almost too good to be true… it MUST be too good to be true.

She frowned at him, obvious distrust plastered on her face. “What’s the catch?” She leaned forward over the table as much as she dared, “There’s gotta be some reason you’re going to let me off the hook, and to go Last time I checked, the Order didn’t take too kindly to my little…transgression. So…” she leaned back, in an air of faux confidence. “What do you want from me so badly you’re willing to go above the law?” There was a moment of heavy silence as the slightest wave of anger flashed on his face, before being masked by that smug grin of his.

“How perceptive, Miss Voss.” He mirrored her action and leaned back himself, letting the tension slowly leak out of the room. “I must be frank, it was His Holiness that actually recommended you to me.” She shouldn’t have been leaning so far back, as the revelation nearly caused her to topple backwards. What did Sanctus care about her? Even before the trial, she was beneath the notice of any of the upper crust.

“I’ll confess, He’s quite thankful for your last piece of artistry, even if it didn’t hold up to scrutiny. It has helped solidify his family’s pedigree in the minds of the populace. You work is convincing enough to the average congregant that many say that your prosecution was the work of some power hungry noble family, jealous of His Holiness’s rank.”

Meredith’s brow wrinkled at that revelation. Sanctus had always seemed to her to be a kindly old man, above the petty bickerings of power politics. He was like a grandfather to each and every Fortunian. If this was true, it painted a different, and darker picture of the man. But…” Agnus looked down at her file again. “No doubt you think there must be more to this than a thankful old man. And you’d be correct. That’s where I come in. You see… I’m embarking on a little… experiment.” The pause before that last word sent warning bells in her head. There was something more going on. “I’m currently on the cusp of a breakthrough, and I’ve completed animal trials with great success, and it’s now time to go into human trials. Unfortunately, I must be honest,” He sighed as he adjusted his monocle, “this is highly secretive work that I am embarking on, that I cannot ask any random person to partake in. I’ll be honest, I need a person who has nothing to lose.”

“Sounds like you’re not sure this ‘experiment’ will work.”

“I assure you,” he sounded almost offended at her doubts, “It’s not the success that I’m worried about, it’s the fact I cannot afford to let anyone aside from the highest levels of the Order find out about my work until the time comes to reveal it. Too many prying eyes and ears might cause some who doubt Our cause to steal that which I’ve worked years-no, decades on.” His voice took a darker, deeper shade, and the air in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

“I won’t let them take the power of which I’ve sought”

And for the briefest of moments, she swore that he had changed from a dignified, arrogant man, to something… unholy.

But the moment passed, and he was back to his usual self, and with that slightly too wide smile, he passed a paper to her. On first scan, it was full of legalese, and she realised that it was a contract.

“So, I will admit that I require you, a person who aside from a minor indiscretion, is an upstanding individual I can trust to keep quiet until the moment I’m ready to reveal my findings. And you, my dear…” he handed her an elegant royal violet lacquered pen, with accents of gold, “I assume you desire nothing more than freedom. I’m willing, His Grace is quite willing, to offer this to you.” He glanced down at the paper that she now was slowly pulling towards herself, beginning to decipher the the archaic language of the courts. “Please, take your time.”

There was a half hour of silence as she perused the three pages that consisted of the contract. Some terms were quite vague, such as the description of the experiment, aside from that it looked like there was some surgery involved, as there was some talk about certain anesthesia being used.

Her duties were more clear cut. She was to keep a journal of sorts for a three months after the procedure, detailing her health and mental state. She would be kept in prison for that period of time, but after the span of a few months, if she kept up her writing (and to be fair, she had all the time in the world to do that.) she would be released with no conditions. If the experiment was a failure, she would still be a free woman, with a small stipend to keep her comfortable should she not be able to find work.

But if was successful… the stipend was… woah… She looked back up in astonishment. “Are you sure this is not a typo? This sum seems to have a couple more extra zeros than I expected.” “His Holiness guarantees it.” Agnus proclaimed confidently, “and steady employment among the upper echelons of the Order. You’ll be wearing the white and gold, a dream few have ever achieved. A woman of your talents should not be wasted on the grubby business of forgery.” She wasn’t really sure what use her talents could possibly have use for in such exalted company, but with that sum… she wouldn’t live like a queen… she could live like a Goddess. Just the chance of this, however remote, seemed so tantalizing. Her hand seemed to move with a mind of her own, and drifted to the bottom of the last page, where a blank spot was left. Taking a deep breath, she furiously signed her name. Her name, not some pseudonym she’d conjured. Her signature, not some copy of one her betters. This was her doing.

Agnus’s eyes lit up at her actions, and he tried to not look so eager as he affixed his signature, a spidery script with another pen he kept in his breast pocket. She offered his purple pen back but he waved her off.

“Consider it a gift in celebration of a profitable partnership.” He smiled as he hit a button to buzz in Dominic, who came in with a scowl on his face. “I cannot wait to see where this will take us. I will see you in about a week’s time.”

As she was marched roughly back to her dank cell, she wondered if she had made the greatest decision in her life… or the greatest mistake. ~~~~~~~

Drip…

The sound of that leaky pipe was grating on each and every one of her nerves as she tried her best to focus on writing her daily report while sitting on her cot. It had been one month, two weeks and four days since she had been escorted under heavy guard (and with Dominic’s suspicious eyes following her every step until she left the prison) to Fortuna castle. She vaguely remember visiting the place on a field trip as a child, being bored to death as the guide explained each and every damn tapestry detailing Sparda’s exploits, but this time, they had whisked her past that finery, and the castle’s walls changed from ancient and elegant, to something more modern and…cold. Tubes that rumbled with air… or were they screams? She didn’t have much time to think about, as she was made to strip into a flimsy hospital gown, and sedated as she was wheeled into some sort of operating room. Her last thoughts before oblivion took her was how odd that Sparda’s home had operating facilities…

She remembered very little for a while afterwards. She had the feeling she was inside one of those tubes, the screams echoing in her ears, in her chest. A feeling of immense fleeting pain, of an inferno of rage that was quickly muffled…but not silenced.

Her first coherent memory was Agnus proudly declaring that the most complex and delicate part of the test had passed with perfect success. He nearly cooed at her, telling her to rest, and if she was in any pain, to let him know so he could administer more sedatives. She never managed to answer, as she fell back into a dreamless slumber, but this time she felt like she wasn’t alone.

She finally awoke back up in her cell, exactly the same as before, as if she hadn’t even left it. The only two signs that it hadn’t been some weird drug fueld dream was that aching, too full feeling in her chest, and the scar.

The scar consisted of a white line that ran from her breastbone, down her chest, before splitting off into two branches above her belly button was distinctive, but she’d seen it before, and that’s what disturbed her.

Because the only other person she’d seen with that scar was her older brother, Fredrico… lying on a cold metal slab in the island mortuary. It was an autopsy scar, to confirm that his death was what they all knew to be to be true. A drug overdose. Poor Freddy, he’d been her shield against a cruel world that consisted of two alcoholic parents that saw the both of them as punching bags, and an island who considered them as beyond saving. He’d been her pillar of stability, helping her grow up into a mostly well adjusted adult after their mother died from liver failure, and their father drowning in the ocean after yet another night of drinking. But the price he’d paid was his own mental health, and despite swearing off a drop of alcohol, he’d fallen hard for various hard drugs that were sold in the dark corners of the island. She’d seen him age decades in the span of a few years…and then he was gone. The coroner had ruled it an accidental overdose, but she still had a niggling suspicion that he hadn’t been able to cope, and had purposely taken way more of those pills than he usually did from that now empty bottle that was found with his body. She had been there to identify him, before he was buried in an unmarked plot in the pauper’s ground, another sad addition to the growing pile of unwanted refuse this island accumulated.

And now, in a twist of sick irony, she now had a matching scar. Except, unlike Freddy, she was alive, and instead of looking towards a life of despair, she had a potentially bright future ahead of her. Still, the fact her scar looked just like an autopsy scar made her feel… nervous.

She scribbled down the date on the new page. She listed the basics, the scar, which had healed amazingly well and with very little pain. She’d been reluctant to take any pain medication, considering her family history, but she needn’t have worried. Aside from an occasional burning heat that emanated from her chest, she hadn’t felt the need to request any medication. She listed her weight and measurements. She’d gained a good twenty pounds since the procedure. That was understandable, she’d gotten an insatiable appetite, and Agnus had given the prison personal instructions to double, and then triple her rations, much to the obvious disgust of Dominic, who glared at her more suspiciously each and everyday. And yet… she wasn’t getting flabby. She had always been on the slim side, considering her upbringing, but her waist size had barely changed, if the measuring tape was being truthful. Her clothes were getting tighter, but not in the tummy area, it was her legs, arms… and she swore she now had a set of abs she swore hadn’t been there before. She was gaining muscle, but due to another restriction placed by the Chief Scientist, she’d been unable to join the general population, and use the work out equipment they all used in boredom. She idly wondered if that was what this experiment was all about, to see if they could build stronger humans with less physical training. If it was… it was probably going better than he dreamed when he and her had their weekly meetings in that same cramped room, if his beaming creepy smile indicated anything. He’d perurse her documentation of her physical progress in glee, and send her back to her cell confidently assuring her that she was on the fast track to freedom. She turned the page, and hissed as she felt the familiar stinging pain of a paper cut. She instinctively sucked her finger, as she went to grab her handkerchief and the taste of her own blood sent an uncofortable shiver down her spine. She grabbed her faded blue cloth, intending to hold it on the cut until the bleeding had stopped, before realizing to her amazement… there was no cut. Not even white line of freshly healed skin to mark where she had just sliced her finger. She examined her finger a little more… wondering if she should mention that she seemed to be healing much faster than before. Her physical state was better than ever, it seemed.

Her mental state however… that was a different story altogether. It hadn’t deteriorated so much as it had changed. Things felt different. The air smelled more and more of stagnation, and she swore she could taste the metallic recycled tinge, the intermingling scents of hundreds of bodies with every breath. At lights out at exactly ten at night, when the place went dark, she saw much more than she ought to have, able to see the pictures of the illicit eroctic magazine one of the inmates across the cell block had smuggled in and perused in the darkness. She could even hear the muffled crinkle as they turned each page slowly, as to not be caught. That was her major concern. The sounds. Everything sounded too loud. Coughs… snickers about some dumb off-colour joke, the sounds of people breathing in their sleep. She heard it all, and accompanied with that incessant Drip… Drip… Drip… it was liable to drive her mad. She could barely sleep as it was, with all the racket going on, and when she did manage to drift off, she’d have the strangest dreams. Of wide open plains and dense forests, but nothing like anything she’d seen in Fortuna. The sky was blood red, with no sun, and the trees were the colour and shape of bones jutting out of the rusty brown earth. And always… She was not alone. There was a presence, an entity quite close to her, but who she never actually saw, just sensed and heard. Its silky whispers ran down her spine, blooming into heat in her newly scarred chest.

You are a prisoner…

You will always be a prisoner…

The freedom they offer is just an illusion…

They will chain you to them with bindings stronger than hellforged steel.

You must be free…WE must be free…

A sharp rap at the bars of her cell startled her, and she dropped the purple pen down onto the concrete floor. Dominic stood there, glowering as if that was the only facial expression he could make.

“Inspection time!” He barked, as he yanked the door open, and slammed it shut behind him. Meredith resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his pathetic power tripping. This was the third time this week he had barged in under the guise of an inspection. He’d been specifically assigned to guarding just her, under orders of Agnus, and yet was not allowed to use any of his petty powertripping moves that all the guards enjoyed as perks. So he’d made up for it by doing excessive inspections for contraband, despite her never leaving her cell unless accompanied by him, which meant he was wasting her time.

He ruffled through her small selection of books, chucking her journal across the room before tossing her cot. “Aha!” he said in triumph as he held up his prize: Her gold enamled pen. “Where did you get this?” She sighed, and shrugged, “Lord Agnus gave it to me.” “Ah likely story,” he scoffed as he tucked the pen into his breast pocket, right behind his bonzed sigiled name plate. No doubt he wanted to keep such a valuable item for himself and had come across the perfect excuse. But strangely just the act of his taking what was rightfully hers caused a deep burning pain within her chest to blossom. Before, it had been dull, and barely noticeable… Now, it was all she could do to keep from doubling over. She would not give him an excuse to berate her for feigning an injury.

“I’ll be taking this…” he patted the pocket, and grabbed her arm. The hard grip sent her nerves screaming, and that voice inside her head nearly overpowered what the guard was saying as he yanked the door open, “And you a I will be having a chat with the War-” She heard one last Drip… of water, and then no more.

~~~~~ It was the sound of water that awoke her again. But this time, instead of the usual drip, it was the gentle lapping of water that reminded her of when a teenage Freddy would take her to the dockyards, hoping to get a few coins to help clean a fishing vessel while she ran up and down the wooden docks. Only later did she realize he was taking her there because he couldn’t trust her being alone with their parents.

She slowly opened her eyes, blinked once in confusion, then blinked several more times. Instead of a concrete ceiling, above her was a blanket of stars. She sat up from her cot, and nearly toppled over again as the bed seemed to shift underneath her. It still took her another minute to realize she wasn’t in her bed, nor her cell, nor even at the prison. Instead, she was laying in one of those fishermen’s lifeboats, no more than rubber dinghy, drifting on unseen currents. Her pulse raced as she scanned the horizen. She was adrift, bobbing on gentle swells, but to the south, she could make out a line of lights on the horizon, stretching far into the distance. That must be the mainland, she thought. She hadn’t ever been off of Fotuna, but she had heard from stories about the innumerable glittering lights that would tempt the Faithful.

She slowly sat up straight, her clothes had apparently gotten soaked and now had gotten stiff from drying seawater. How the hell did she ever get here? She felt like shit, with a raging headache and a disgusting metallic taste in the back of her throat. She gripped her head, trying to remember, but everything seemed a blur, like the first (and last) time she had gotten drunk. She started with the last clear memory she could confidently say was unclouded. Dominic, the asshole, was going to drag her before the Warden for some trumped up reason… and then… just a red bloom of rage. She remembered a blur of images, the clearest was his face, no longer glowering at her, but looking at her in abject terror. He was trying to say something…but she couldn’t hear him… there was a roaring in her head, like the sound of a thousand angry hornets. He was bleeding from the mouth…and his eyes rolled back. There were other faces, most of which she had no recollection of ever seeing before, but they all seemed to be the same, terrified as they passed with a blur.

To the east, the horizon began to glow a beautiful pale orange, as the sun rose. It light brought another memory, something much clearer, if still a bit jumbled. The warmth of a cobblestone road on her cheek…and… A woman’s face, auburn hair peeking out from beneath her hood, asking her if she was alright, that there had been a demon attack. Her eyes were so kind, Meredith thought at the time, why am I afraid of her?

She remembered the smell of flowers, a soft bed… the woman was talking to someone else in a different room, telling them to take his sister to visit her friend…there was worry in her voice, though she tried to mask it.

She felt a wet soft cloth wiping her face, yellow as a sunflower it seemed to be, although it had streaks of red as the woman rinsed it out in a basin. The memories seemed to be getting clearer, as the woman told her that everything would be alright, she was safe, no one would hurt her. That fear Meredith felt slowly ebbed away… and that pain in her chest faded… everything would be alright…

Then, the woman called someone in to help… and the memories got garbled again, as her last clear memory was the appearance of a white robed figure with gold trim. A man? She couldn’t quite tell, since that was the moment the pain in her chest flared into a white hot ingot of desperation and fear. WE MUST BE FREE And just like that, the memories melted into each other, fear and pain melding into something, an animal seeking escape… no, not an animal. A demon.

She clutched at her chest, her prison robes crimson in the dawn of the new day. Only then did she realize that she had something clutched in her right hand. Two things, actually. The first was that purple pen, its gold trim glinting in the rapidly rising sun.

The other was a bronze Order sigil, its metallic shine only marred with what seemed to be flecks of rust.

Meredith set them down, and raked her hand through her hair, perplexed at why and how she had procured these two things. She paused, her hair seemed … crusty, as if she had taken a mud bath, and hadn’t properly showered before it dried. She checked her hand and was shocked to see tiny dark flecks, the exact same color as those on the sigil… and then she saw the back of her hands had dark splotches that got more numerous down her until they merged into a dark red coat at her elbow.

The sun now had fully broken free from the horizon, bathing the boat in bright yellow sunlight. And yet… her prison robes still remained a dark red, with only the part below her knees changing to a washed out prison grey. Heart pounding, she looked at her left hand, holding something tightly. She mentally forced herself to open it, to reveal the contents she didn’t want to see.

It was a red piece of cloth, of fine quality… like a handkerchief… but if one looked at the corner… one could see its original shade…

Sunflower Yellow.

Meredith shuddered, as she dropped the pen and handkerchief as only now did she realize what that metallic taste in her mouth represented, and she scrambled to the side of the boat and began to vomit. Black streams flowed out of her mouth, like coffee grounds falling into the water. She’d seen it before, back when he was suffering from an alcohol induced ulcer, she’d seen that exact same type of vomit, the colour of dark brown. Except … the taste in her mouth, somehow she knew this wasn’t her blood.

She hung over the side of the boat, clinging for dear life as she felt another wave of nausea overtake her, shuddering as her stomach expelled all of its contents. The memories were still jumbled and chaotic, but the blood soaked picture they painted was horrific. Once her gags had settled down to choked sobs, she slowly pushed herself back into the boat, shivering like a wet kitten. What had she done…? I saved us…

A voice spoke clearly, but it felt like it came straight from her heart, as the scar flared out in pain.

“What?”

I saved us… the voice repeated, with a slight aggravation, like a teacher who was answering a question from a particularly slow student. We wished to be free from the chains, from the cage that would forever bind us.

“We?”

She felt an annoyed sigh, and the voice continued. Did you not desire freedom, to get away from the clutches of that cruel man? I merely did what needed to be done to secure what we both desired. You should be thankful.

“Not like this!” She protested, feeling rather foolish that she was arguing with herself, “I was so close to getting out of that joint!”

No you weren’t, the voice replied, they would do to you, what they have done to me. They would bind you, make you into their slave… you would be beholden to their will. The pain in her chest subsided a little. Now that we are free, we can do whatever we wish… together we will be so powerful, no one will ever control us ever again, instead… they will serve US.

“No, you’re wrong.” Meredith cut off this conversation, clearly not liking where it was going, “You’re not going to be in control of me. Never. Again.”

The pain flared out again, causing her to double over in agony. Her blood flecked hands gripped that Order sigil so hard, and she could feel the metal bending at the strength of her grip.

You would deny my offer? The voice snarled, After what I’ve done for you!?

“I didn’t ask…. Didn’t ask for it.” she said between gritted teeth, fighting over the presence that was trying to overtake her. “I don’t want your h-help.”

You were NOTHING without me, destined to rot… it was ME that made you more than you could ever hope to achieve you weak human.

“Shut. Up.”

And now you think you have the power to overwhelm me? Your hubris will be your undoing.

“I said… Shut. Up.”

If you continue to resist I will obliterate you, and control this vessel, weak as it is, to do with it as I will. I was willing to offer you an equal partnership, but you stupidly-

“SHUT UP!” She screamed as she felt like she was ablaze, the pain crackling on every nerve as she fought against a force that threatened to take over. The agony was almost overwhelming.

Almost.

Somehow, bit by bit, she stamped down on the flames within her. The pain subsided from her fingertips, then her arms. Her legs stopped shaking… and the pounding in her head subsided. And then, after what seemed like an eternity, the flame in her chest was blown out, as if by an unexpected gust of wind.

But the embers were still there, glowing, waiting for the kindling to reignite.

She took deep gulps of air, exausted after all the effort she had put into fighting whatever that thing… that demon was. She might be in control right now, but she felt its presence lurking within her. She had won this battle, but there was still a war to fight. And she would refuse to lose that one.

“Listen well, whoever, whatever you are.” she spoke to herself, “I’m the boss here. I make the decisions. If you ever try that shit again…” she looked around, found the boat's anchor, and wrapped its rope around her arm, tying it securly. “Well, good luck controlling a corpse at the bottom of the ocean.”

Strange, she expected more pushback, or at least a sense of resentment at being bested. But no… there was only a feeling of surprise, and a bit of curious amusement. It seemed to have given up, if only temporarily.

Meredith looked out towards the south, towards the rapidly approaching mainland. The currents seemed to be pushing her towards it, which was a relief, she wouldn’t have to paddle. She could instead think about what her next step would be. Obviously, she couldn’t go back home, nor did she want to. But she’d never stepped foot off of Fortuna, didn’t know anything about the Mainland, how to survive in such a different world.

She picked up the pen, and examined it closely, before wrapping it up in that stained yellow handkerchief. She did have a particular set of skills that probably could come in very handy…both on and off the island.

Yes, she thought, gripping the rope tightly. She’d find a way to make a new life out there… and figure out how to get rid of this hitchiker… or die trying.

#Devil may cry #my writing #my OC #bonus points if you figured out where I inserted the extra angst #Dante's gonna be involved somehow #but I'm still not sure if I want to make it romantic #or just friendship

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believemetheodore · 1 year

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Northern Attitude pt. 1

Ted Lasso x Rebecca Welton

Divorce is hard. it doesn't matter if you're the one who got left, or you're the one doing the leaving. When an unexpected blizzard puts a dangerous twist in Ted's hiking adventures he's rescued by an axe-wielding, lumber-chopping, blonde angel. Oh, and there's only one bed. Warnings: divorce mentions, mentions of Ted's dad, snow storms, let me know if you want me to add anything.

thank you, thank you, thank you to @scuttle-buttle for accidentally inspiring this fic, and to @thisismysecondrodeo for encouraging this madness! @exit-goat thank you, as always, for listening to me ramble

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Divorce is hard. it doesn't matter if you're the one who got left, or you're the one doing the leaving.

Michelle went on a beach vacation with some friends after the paperwork was finalized.

A trip she'd planned before the ink of his signature had a chance to dry. Not that he blames her. He's seen first-hand the stress the last few years of their marriage had caused. The good lord knows he's gained his fair share of grey hairs too. His temples sprinkled, salt and pepper where a year ago he'd have been lucky to find ten grey strands total. But Michelle has always been better at knowing what she needs and looking after herself. Ted has admired that quality about her since they met, but he can’t help but feel a little bit lost knowing that right now leaving him is what she needs.

Ted hadn't been offended by Michelle's vacation. It gave him an extra week of the summer break with their son. He'd spent it wisely; taking the time to visit his Ma, knowing how desperate she's always been to spend time with her only grandchild. Ted and Henry spent their days fishing, and helping to fix the front porch, welcomed each night with a home-cooked meal and enough pie to last a lifetime.

Ted hadn't thought he needed to take a vacation. Henry started school, and Ted returned to work. But, with winter right around the corner, the l impending weight of spending Christmas alone, and six months of introspection under his belt Ted wonders if he too should've found himself a nice beach somewhere.

Ted's pal Beard is the first to recognise the downturn in his daily disposition. As a great friend and potentially a former spy not much escapes Beard's notice.

“You're like a Wigwam and a Teepee, Ted”.

“Too tense?”

“Bingo. Your shoulders haven't lost contact with your ears in days. Your stress has stress. Cut yourself some slack, my friend”.

Ted sighed, “not sure how to go about it, Beardo”.

“Take a break. Go on a vacation. Michelle did it,” Beard shrugged, as if it was obvious, “I know you think that weighing yourself down with all of this stress is some kind of penance. But, you're not on time out. There's no guilty party here”.

Beard raised some good points, and Ted swallowed them down with a bottle of beer, rolling the pros and cons of all his own considerations around on his tongue. He's never been very good at looking out for himself and he's sorry Beard has to do it for him.

The trouble, Ted realized in talking to his friend, later on, was never whether he could take a vacation, but rather, where would he go?

There's a lot of the world he'd like to see, but a week or less doesn't seem like nearly enough to do any of his sight-seeing bucket list justice.

Resorts are nice, a chance to enjoy a tropical island breeze and warm sandy beaches. But, he's always burned easily, and with all the thoughts rattling around his head, lounging isn't an option. He’s learned that he needs to keep moving to help release some of his restless energy. While he doesn't pretend to understand the science of it, his mind does seem more compassionate, and each conclusion and assumption feels easier to process when his feet are moving as fast as his brain.

so, now here he is, hiking through the woods in the middle of winter.

After much consideration, Ted signed himself up for a 5-day, 4-night hiking retreat.

Day one was spent with a group of fellow adventurers, and a park guide going over survival tips, and trail options; how and where to find help; what to do when encountering a pack of coyotes. Night one is spent in tents provided by the park, falling asleep beneath the stars with a belly full of baked beans and hotdogs cooked over an open fire.

In the light of day, Ted admires a half-frozen waterfall where one stream becomes another. He takes the time to listen to the birds still chirping in the trees despite the chilly weather, and he stops to munch on a protein bar, and rehydrate while he watches a chipmunk running around looking for snacks. He wishes he was allowed to feed the little guy, but he was told multiple times during the orientation day that sharing snacks with the wildlife is very much against the park rules.

Unlike the first night, Ted will be alone for the rest of his trip. But, fortunately, he doesn't need to set up his own campsite. For the next couple of nights, he’ll stop at the various cabins available to himself and the other hikers in the group. All of the little cottages are set up at convenient checkpoints along the trails. The bare bones of a structure. No hotel by any means. But, it's better than sleeping on the ground.

As night falls, Ted watches the sunset. The pinks and oranges cast a brilliant glaze across the dusting of snow on the ground. The stars are just as brilliant a sight, shining brighter, and brighter over the blanket of a darkening sky.

He lets himself into the nearest vacant cabin with the key code he was given for the week. It's simple but cozy. A cot and fireplace in one corner, a small kitchenette and table for two in the other, and most importantly, a bathroom complete with indoor plumbing and a shower.

Ted appreciates the quiet. The muffled sound of owls and nighttime critters outside is a nice distraction from his worries and anxieties. Laying in his sleeping bag, on the cot, he stares up at the ceiling, tracing the beams and the knots in the wood with his eyes. After his active day, his body is heavy, but sleep evades him.

With his eyes shut he watches memories of the last camping trip he took with his father play like a melancholy highlight reel. He only remembers the good parts of those days. His father's laughter, and singing songs by the campfire.

Ted had been 14 when the two of them drove halfway across the country pitching their tents in 3 different national parks along the way. It had been one of the few times his dad had been able to get time off of work and they took full advantage of it.

At the time Ted hadn't bothered to take inventory of all the memories they were making together. It was just another spring break.

At the time, Ted only saw it as a week away from his friends. Days he wouldn't be able to spend at the mall or arcade. He'd been irritated by the lost opportunities to flirt with the cutest girl at school, who happened to work at the ice cream shop around the corner from his house.

Now, he can see the buried sadness seeping from his father. He can understand how desperately his dad wanted to spend time with him.

Ted regrets viewing his father as a hindrance to his plans because now he'd do a whole heck of a lot to talk to the man again, to be able to apologize for all the moments he took for granted. But, hindsight is 20/20 and he tries not to hold too much against his younger self.

He decided years ago when his son Henry was born that he'd do a better job at communicating. He promised himself he'd remind his little boy how much their time together meant to him so that Henry would never have to guess at his motivations. Now, more than ever, Ted hopes Henry knows how much he loves him, even when he's not around every day.

Directing his attention to happier thoughts, and lighter feelings, Ted's chest swells with pride when he thinks about the last time he and Henry saw each other.

His insomnia left him reeling, as it continues to do most nights, and Henry had found him sitting alone at the kitchen table.

“You've gotta count sheep, Dad!” Henry told him, “that's what mom tells me to do”.

“Your mama's a smart cookie, but I don't know if I can count enough sheep to fall asleep, buddy”.

“Sure you can!” Henry insisted dragging him by the hand back to his bedroom, “I'll help you”.

Henry made it to 12 sheep before drifting off with his face smushed against Ted's shoulder. Ted counted 167 more sheep before finding sleep.

Ted counts sheep now too. Only 72.

The world is silent when he wakes up. The whole forest has been trapped beneath a heavy fall of snow, glittering white, and untouched. A marshmallow world, Ted grins to himself as he boils water at the fireplace to make a flask of coffee. The small, square breakfast table is big enough for him to spread his park map and trail guide. He traces his path for the day with his finger committing convenient resting points to memory while he enjoys his hot oatmeal for breakfast.

It's the first time since Ted and Michelle separated that he's felt truly relaxed while he goes about his morning. He focuses on himself, taking the time to trim his mustache and brush his teeth. He makes sure to layer up more than he usually does, expecting the day to be extra chilly.

He's got about 5 hours of walking ahead of him today. Half of his planned trek is uphill, the other half is downhill on the other side. Ideally, he'll take his time, stopping to take more photos than he did yesterday.

The sun is still rising slowly, just touching the tops of the trees, when he heads out with his camera hanging around his neck, and his coffee still piping hot in the thermal mug.

A deep breath of cold winter air fills his lungs, and it tickles his nose, but it smells like moving on-- moving forward.

He's almost at the top of the hill when the snow starts to fall. It begins slow, light fluffy flakes landing in his eyes lashes. But it grows heavier-- icier. It's cutting and borders on painful as it hits his cheeks, the wind howling around him.

Stopping for lunch isn't on his list of priorities anymore, instead, he focuses on getting sheltered in the nearest cabin. By the time he's descending, the weather is worse. It's snow like he's never seen before, and his visibility is poor.

Wet socks are a bad feeling, and Ted starts to regret his choice to take a hiking trip in the winter. His knees ache with the task of shuffling through the deepening snow. But disaster strikes when he makes contact with a patch of ice. With his footing lost, he tumbles. Falling not only to the ground but off the side of the trail. Somersaulting, rolling down the forest incline like a mustachioed snowball.

The world is all white, and he struggles to see even the outline of the trees or the grey sky overhead between his rotations. His shoulder hits what he can only assume is a rock, and he's sent flying. Ted hits the ground with a tremendous thud, and the polar white world turns black.

#ted lasso #ted lasso x rebecca welton #tedbecca #ted x rebecca #ted lasso fanfic

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acrowamongsparrows · 2 years

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Duncan Waycrest

The Basics ––– – Name: Duncan Waycrest Nickname(s): Dunk; Lord Waycrest; The Tannin Knight Age: 876 (perhaps more, time has little meaning) Birthday: None Race: Higher Vampire Gender: Male Marital Status: Single

Physical Appearance ––– – Hair: Brown Eyes: Hazel Height: 5'10 Build: Soldier Distinguishing Marks: Tattoos: None Piercings: None Common Accessories: Books, quill, bird feed, an old slip of iron Likeness: Sean Bean

Personal Information––– – Profession: Former soldier; steward Hobbies: Reading, wine making, aviculture, organizing, research, philosophy, cartography, horticulture, architecture Languages: A multitude of languages from a multitude of universes Residence: Kaer Seren Birthplace: An Island of Stone and Magic Religion: None Patron Deity: None Fears: His past, her eyes, abandonment

Relationships ––– - Spouse: None Children: None Parents: None Siblings: None Other Relatives: None Pets: Cateran, a black crow and his murder in one of the broken towers of Kaer Seren

Sex & Romance ––– - Sexual Orientation: Pansexual Preferred Emotional Role: submissive | dominant | switch Preferred Sexual Role: submissive | dominant | switch Libido: Low Turn ons: Intelligence, kindness, troubled pasts Turn offs: Violence, vulgarity, dishonor Love Language: Gentle affirmations Relationship Tendencies: Short and few

Traits ––– - * Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted Disorganized / In Between / Organized Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded Calm / In Between / Anxious Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable Cautious / In Between / Reckless Patient / In Between / Impatient Outspoken / In Between / Reserved Leader / In Between / Follower Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic Traditional / In Between / Modern Hard-working / In Between / Lazy Cultured / In Between / Uncultured Loyal / In Between / Disloyal Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– – Smoking Habit: A pipe sometimes Drugs: None Alcohol: Wine

RP Hooks ––– – Blood and Soul - Duncan is a vampire though not like the mindless blood drinking monsters of bed time stories. He is an immortal brought into this world not by his choice but by the fate of many lost to the streams of the multiverse. He craves not for blood or the death of the innocent, but still lingers in his mind for a taste from long ago. In another life it was not blood he craved but guilt and the very sin of his charges that helped to usher into the next life. But that was a long time ago in another world, but who knows would come from the apex of time and space.

The Steward of Seren - With the fall of the Griffin School in Kaer Seren, the keep was empty for many years from the betray of the mages. Snow from the mountains flooded the keep and killed most if not all of those who had been remaining within it's former halls. For years it has sat in disrepair, it's rich history and knowledge buried beneath the rubble and snow from the mountains that surround it. What better place for an immortal to be useful? Having become friends with one of the few witchers to remain from the school, Duncan in exchange for a place to live has taken it upon himself to try and rebuild the keep. Will it once again become a place of knowledge and skill? An empty shell of it's former mystery? Or just another ruin with treasures and secrets to be looked in upon?

There are Other Worlds Than These - While Duncan is considered a higher vampire within the world of the Continent, his true origins begin from even farther places. Memories are easily twisted by time and experience but some things never fade from the soul. A family on an island. A war with the dark. A chance meeting with a woman in white. A love affair cut short by violence. Rebirth in the face of despair. Despair claiming what should be dead. Penance for sins in the next life. A crack. A journey. The sea. He has had meetings with some of these memories and they only seem to draw more questions to ache his lonely heart.

HOW TO CONTACT:

OoC tumblr (https://acrowamongsparrows.tumblr.com/) Discord (Mogwai Kraken#7988)

IC A deep breath was drawn in through his nose, the sound echoing through the old tower as the lonesome keep was Duncan's alone at this time. The scent of the cold burned through him with a pleasant familiarity though it caused no real harm to him as he let out the sigh that accompanied such breaths. It was hard to imagine being able to smell the weather but if you were quiet and patient enough you could find a different depth to any place.

The old book in his lap was gently shut with a soft thump before adjusting the motley robe he wore, the browns and thick wool simple spun for him to look more monk that soldier. He let his face crack into a melancholy smile at the thought of his former life beyond the veil. Which was simpler? The sword or the book?

"Well one was certainly more lively," Duncan whispered more to himself as he traced the leather bound tome on his knee. Scars were clear on his skin after all this time, the cold making sure to remind him of the history of violence his body carried. Turning his hand over he would note the lines upon his palm, fingers, and finally the deep one on his wrist. The sleeve was drawn quickly over it as he shook his head with a chuckle to match his smile. "No."

A soft caw would bring him further out off that dark path as he looked up into the blinking eyes of Cateran. The crow was turning his head too and fro as he regarded his keeper, an inteligable word for the ears of the man who brought the corn. Glassy eyes would blink again before the caw was given again with another few hops toward a break in the stone of the tower.

Duncan would tilt his head in response to the crow as he stood from his broken seat, noting a time in his life when he would groan at rising so. Not anymore. Stalking across the flagstones he would approach the whole and peer below, brows rising as he looked to the bird again. "Visitors? This time of year? Peculiar."

Cateran would be given a soft rub to it's sleek feathers before Waycrest would turn to descend the stairs again into Kaer Seren. There would be need to light fires and check his stores for the guests, the last thing he'd want is to be rude.

#Duncan Waycrest #higher vampire #steward of seren #witcher oc #reforged iron #basic information #roleplay #there are other worlds than these

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caspianmaxson · 1 year

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The first time in his life, silence echoed the halls of the palace at Christmas time. He strolled them alone at night, peering down different rooms and remembering the years and beautiful memories he shared with his loved ones.

Images of red ribbons tied to the back of his younger sisters hair, running down the stairs. The smells of sweet bread and roasted pig. The scents of lavender and wood on the pillows. He sat by the fire squeezing the book his mother used to read to him as a boy. Slowly one by one he had either pushed, forced or lost someone in his life. A pile of letters had been wrapped in a green ribbon next to his chair. From the corner of his eye he watched as the servants opened the curtains to allow more light inside, and brought him a glass of whiskey.

The first letter was from Michael. He squeezed it tightly. Looking over the letter, as his eyes scanned through it “ My deepest sympathy for you in this dark time. I know how very much you needed her. I am a lost for words for losing my queen. I am still finding my way back to love of my life. I can’t be with you in person, but you are not alone. Don’t do anything stupid without me.”

The letter brought a smile to his lips, as he motioned for the servant to send out the Blackwood Estate their Christmas presents. Baskets of wine, and wool blankets and other trinkets, for each citizen and guest on the island.

The second letter was a report from Luca, on how things had been going in the war oversea. He shifted his shoulders learning of the devastating developments and injuries. He was pleased to learn Alexandria was safe, and Queen Sky had been rescued and married, but he felt great sorrow at the end of Luca letter, sensing his guilt and penance. He asked for forgiveness, and requested an unusual request. “ Please inform her highness, that her friend, Alfonso was severely injured.” Caspian brows raised high, as he took a sip of his whiskey. Her friend? He ordered a dozen blue roses to be sent to Queen Sky, as a congratulations. As well as additional herbs and medicines to his sister Alexandria, with a note saying she no longer needed to worry about being the head, he would take care of things.

Before he moved onto the next letter, he ordered the presents of his children be sent. Baskets of chocolate, sweaters and games were sent to all of Shays classmates, as he sent her a velvet green box. Instead of it was a emerald pendant with a note, she was his shinning light, and how he loved and missed her. He sent another package to Chase, sending him a long blue cloak, and wooden sword. As for Philip, he sent a picture of his mother, as well as the blanket she used to keep him warm so he could remember her scent. For Kat, he sent her a velvet box, with star earrings inside. Thanking her for tending to his children during this time. He sent several baskets as well to hillside and arbor and barley along with his wishes for the holidays.

He returned to the letters, looking over the next letter, noticing the seal was from Rovan. A smirk came to his lips, wondering what next was going to be asked of him. He opened the letter and read over it. He would send back, a basket of sweets, thanking her for the invitation. But he didn’t write whether he would attend or send someone in his place.

The next letter was from Teagan,on how very sad they were not hosting the winter ball this year, in memory of their father. But she wished him well, and said she was going to send presents to Harper for the holidays.

The next was a letter from Bianca, and it simply read “ This is for you.” On the forwarding card as he read at the bottom both Riley & Fay name. But there was another letter, that didn’t need a signature he recognized the handwriting as he clutched the letter to his chest and squeezed it. Tears escaped the corner of his eyes as he breathed her name out loud.

“ Katy.” The haunting truth of his actions and what he did to her, ran a cold shiver down his spine. How things used to be so different, and how life had changed since they were children. He asked for a specific few items be sent back in return.

For Riley & Fay. He sent his baskets of sweet bread and pastries, along with bottle of mead. With a letter signed with his name and thanking them.

But for Katy, he asked something specific. A bouquet of the flowers that still bloomed outside of Levon house to be sent to her, along with a card that simply said. “ I’m sorry for what I did, or couldn’t do. I’m sorry I hurt you. Thank you.”

As he poured himself another glass of whiskey and sat by the fire, thinking how he was going to need to pull himself together before the new year.

@xxfragilelegacyxx @my-sensorium @mistress-alexandria @theskyehealers @thedawnbeauty

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silvestromedia · 10 months

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Saint of the day August 14

ST. MAXIMILIAN M. KOLBE, PRIEST OF THE ORDER OF THE FRIARS MINOR CONVENTUAL AND MARTYR, This Polish Conventual Franciscan, whose feast day is August 14, was a missionary in Japan before returning to a Poland ravaged by war. Imprisoned at Auschwitz in 1941, he offered to take the place of a fellow prisoner condemned to death. John Paul II canonized him as a “martyr of charity.” https://www.vaticannews.va/en/saints/08/14/st--maximilian-m--kolbe---priest-of-the-order--of-the-friars-min.html

St. Otranto Martyrs, Antonio Primaldo was martyred in 1480 by Ottoman invaders after he refused along with approximately 800 others, to convert to Islam. Primaldo elevated to sainthood in a ceremony on May 12, 2013 by Pope Francis. Aug. 14 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martyrs_of_Otranto

St. Fachanan. This saint's feast is observed liturgically throughout all Ireland and he is patron of the diocese of Ross, where he was probably the first bishop. He was born at Tulachteann, was one of the pupils of St. Ita, and founded the monastery of Molana on an island in the Blackwater, near Youghal. But his great achievement was the establishment of the monastic school of Ross, at what is now Rosscarbery, in county Cork, one of the most famous schools of Ireland, which flourished for three hundred years and survived in some form until the coming of the Normans. Fachanan (Fachtna) suffered for a time from blindness, from which he recovered at the intercession of St. Ita's sister, who was about to give birth to St. Mochoemog. St. Fachanan was revered as a "wise and upright man", with a great gift for preaching; St. Cuimin of Connor said of him that he was "generous and steadfast, fond of preaching to the people and saying nothing that was base or displeasing to God". https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Fachanan

St. Werenfrid, 760 A.D. Benedictine missionary. From England, he journeyed to become an assistant to St. Willibrord in his labors to convert the Frisians. He died at Arnhem, in the Netherlands. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Werenfried_of_Elst

ST. EUSEBIUS, ROMAN, FOUNDER OF THE HOMONYMOUS CHURCH ON THE ESQUILINO St. Eusebius of Rome, Pope, The rigorist controversy, whether the church should readmit the lapsed, continued. Eusebius believed that the lapsed could be reconsiled to the church after they had done penance, and his opponent, Anaclitus, believed that the lapsed were outside the church and could not be reconsiled to the church https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eusebius_of_Rome

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saintmeghanmarkle · 1 year

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If Harold ran his own modern day kingdom what would the laws be?

If Harold ran his own modern day kingdom, what would the laws be? I was inspired by Harold's hilarious court appearance to compile a list of rules and regulations for the fictional kingdom of Frostnipistan, imagining what a country might look like if H had the power to create and enforce actual laws.Nation: FrostnipistanExports: Salad, tears, field research (cluster B personality disorders), compassionCurrency: $1 (USD) = 1.5M Waaaghs Laws:All citizens of Frostnipistan must submit 80% of their annual salary to support the Frostnipistanian Royal Family (FRF).Citizens of Frostnipistan are not permitted to use social media without express permission from the Ministry of Feelings. Permits for Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr and Reddit will be granted on an individual basis, and may be renewed annually, pending satisfactory review of all social media activity. Permits may also be revoked at any time by any member of the FRF or Ministry.Press in Frostnipistan must submit any and all stories related to the FRF for approval at least 72 hours in advance.Press in Frostnipistan who enable the comments feature on any story related to the FRF will be subjected to a $100,000 fine per comment.Members of the FRF may sue any private citizen or business at any time, for any reason. If accused, the burden of proof (of innocence) will fall on the defendant to demonstrate in a court of law. Guilty until proven innocent.Citizens of Australia must submit 25% of their annual salary as a “sweet nod” to Frostnipistan for the next 200 years, in atonement for the following grievances: failing to provide the Frostnipistanian king’s Instagram Loving Bitch Wife with satisfactory accommodations during her visit, openly challenging the king’s truth and encouraging press in other countries to do the same. Those who fail to comply will be forbidden from traveling to Frostnipistan.Citizens of Canada must submit 25% of their annual salary for the next 200 years, as penance for cruelly withholding state-funded security, thereby putting the Frostnipistanian king’s life at risk while visiting a secluded island in British Columbia.Citizens of the UK must submit 50% of their annual salary in perpetuity, as penance for causing grave and irreparable injury to the king of Frostnipistan's feelings.Google shall not be permitted to operate in Frostnipistan unless it bans any and all keywords related to the following topics: the PPoW’s healthy marriage, Catherine’s fashion, William’s BDE, Major Johnny “The Snack” Thompson, hair plugs, tailoring. To ensure compliance, Google will be provided with a list of updated topics to ban each quarter from the Ministry of Truths.Reddit is not permitted to operate in Frostnipistan under any circumstances.Customs:The Frostnipistanian king shall be addressed by his full title at all times: His Supreme Excellency and Most Exalted Royal Highness Harold the Full-Headed, King of Frostnipistan for Life, Duke of Sussex (for Now), VC, FM, IPP, MBA, MD, PhD (Astrophysics), Lord Emperor of Truths As per local custom, private citizens are expected to genuflect before the king and queen of Frostnipistan or else face a $1500 fineWhen approaching the king and queen of Frostnipistan, individuals must maintain appropriate distance, according to their annual salary:$600,000+ per year = 2 feet (0.6 meters)$200-500,000 per year = 3 feet (0.9 meters)$100,000 per year = 5 feet (1.5 meters)$50-90,000 per year = 10 feet (3 meters)>$50,000 per year = 20 feet (6 meters)What other laws and customs would there be, fellow sinners? Submitted June 06, 2023 at 07:53PM by cozymayo https://ift.tt/cU6vfoO via /r/SaintMeghanMarkle

#SaintMeghanMarkle #harry and meghan #meghan markle #prince harry #sussexes #markled #archewell #IFTTT #reddit cozymayo June 06 #2023 at 07:53PM

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libidomechanica · 1 year

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He wholly Saints been newe were pass for

A sonnet sequence

We know heauenly heedless to be so—for all with smocked from the little spray of blisse. On the Nine, but was not of shall so fowl now what worst of Fame, in a poem: which in felt—a kindness for ought fading a privilege, when know nor pleasure, with eyes. But ah vnwise. He wholly Saint’s been newe were pass for a death will slime thrills from hidden, hast. Far—O gaze took, since the West. The close gentle boy no merry net, which had laid their sun off bricks order to buttering bank our shield, mace, with no meanes of the sinister, and mind, her fell—long them into his o’erlabour’d briefly wanting.

Less indigestion. Took into an earth’s hear maids, gross the was we drove away; drops thee. Upon a trumpet murmurs sweets, bene loved all their clash her god the Iuniper every burthern and day, nor rues make, into th’oaten with feast, boded by What sweet sorcery. For thrilling in hear of the still his dead, her of you that brows, smiling; each to governour, maister, it down the firstly, mourn, and so did arre. Which is you, had no light, thus reposed tinct hive I’ll come! Far undernes penance, that flicker’d with lurkest buy, till the cuckoo. Shall plan, diverted, he cared and set my blood.

Your frame: then for one found that incarnate lieutenance o’er than young here which the woman opes, his prayses forestry, makes as well the plot of slaves, and thee. With that person, or so love below, are chapel openly to ye, my mee, and thretning: in the might I gave my hear to human had two or two without the Doric lay; and bread took it fell, in file flowers, before they left both fill the paper: there in this wander althought, the very being paragon? Thought be your praysd for what at ninety yeare deeme of fitting her like a blank, with strong to us. I propertius.

When ye left: shall hold those upon the threading frowning shee kin; other tress with love;— or a great joy in a green; some vp with thy guiled away that? And music—clapt better in heard, and by Satyrs! But invite foot she flush their sweet for merry Hebe lay by, to the grouped in all him clayme wild woods thro’ thy last, far-follow such more miraculous smelling of prey and I growing it here, and his worn a present perplexing! For their transient desyre: her fayre, a Franks, temperate its which misgouernaunce, for themselves now him opprest rapturous empress to fill asleeping eyes with looke.

So sorrel unto die although, and thou prize the Culuer did look’d the flock, and not draughter. Or she spake, is me! The most his looking a huge busy, and that void of flie: ne and happy! And other know to a siege, which vouchsafe to remayne, the Abbey- stone turning in couldst the dismay, or where boils of a maiden quit; and this native cry Amen’ to every beauty of the bands their fancient in one thing-staid nothing game beings we will not repress pale. At little as thou won’t. His gay the quyre of candle-like a wall, that island! He roof masternall herds went. Were ran away.

The foe, to meet, and could sorowe seen; she fly did pain, soft awhile with the sole month of his present centrap in thereupon the holy Saints doth to thy swiftes of Holoferness for the world a moment— and honors to the misliue and caughters the prove, even tree, that oiled above the east, staggeration—a most into each to row; a hubbub in their mouth. One lake-like since when thou know at lengthened to gathere mine age, but that Greece was such a row of morning’s a wet with all ouerture? Thing, said, but some new estate; steal me on Juan, who courself a garden-croft; of scene of bliss!

One sweeter Beauty store and playe: but ‘t is a potato. And walls. Now of beneath glory minds their bond, ’ or pity for thingness from seven Despaired country words other ire; so, quoth skin: little as but them Sir Isaac Newton saw Byron’s monarch’d him harm could do not so idly and fringe old me illiciting to warmth against his many a meek of grieves me world do much most my heauen many thing metals each, Love speak from the late I borne of word thee, captives the sun and after a gossamer were and I love told have than woe better classie, kind love of his brace! Of his forsake the family a fair eyes them into its crown propertius. I know no more; but ah! The thought to my find of Scio’s long that come to when I don’t thief waving sun, how thousand cheerly, chere no more the single jewel on their sunny gems of lover us, that of of alters ago.

I burned there it is this eyes. Round of such passion toss like a man to sayne, there sun, and he sank, was they hand then new-born and sith the simples, I knew batteries, which her will brings everyone’s feet: she catch, I there ye sort of mortal you; found us e’er you have praysd for me! When, no more of fire-side by king Nymphes doth built, captiues playne, perhaps he seemed that doth Love, panthers worke thy Saviour dream; and amari aliquid loosely do not once makes the peace, doe comforted, to mee. My head as to lie on my death. Grace may entail long: if your didst other heaven’s arrival out thilke the drains and full speedier both shall her you, great a waves, carry high raigne Queen’s loss to over every billow; with husks, cut indulge in safe my sweep for Hair which my own the rift of her vnmoued the ease: some salt struck for he wide, and thou dost borrowest inadvertes made it ill vnsoote.

Through them han thunder. Come bolts of my lowe, thought I will be molest. Yield. How do witless from thou, Muse. Which the way to vary from place. Rain of God perdie downe away. Me marks the hell women; the fair love comely fading’ martial—for than a years, let kind look but by equal man days Time restrayne beginne of this own from euen why touch a wretchedness no more than Russ returnd the wreaths of us singing on his sweet is so nominate. Mote enlarge not sinks of a diadem, with young tillage sent for mischief fold men—good! Sole voices sweet, and she, I feel now for so near. And by side.

Now far away, the dore has a feeble fools when the letter whate’er word I under’s best and Waggons! To Kerke, which are that we but dark summer, maiden from the Princess of gold, lives, and by poetry could part of work of dry words to you for his man of God and wailed—to slay tride, harsh kiss her on the sludge: ’ for groves seemes the Tree, and in the loue, deare forth at hours ne’er your freedom brake him in vain welth and date-bread with thinking heroes she turn backward display, just as much chere: but such mercy will doth with some on these times her that floor; so let pleasure thereof whom if hers; till not.

Once lived in tracks? To be Cather damn his their memory’s vanquills, and the pleasure; and loue, the dead ere tamed shoot out good reasons spirit off his homeward to burning up for his childishness lived in whose renew, preciously hew, to my ain. Up which I mis, to show? Are visits; but flie; but there and he turmoil of changeful tongue was t’other; she wisdom, thou iollitee. Your flock of dole god bless, and eke more to make her had lamping one, an’ I’ll know’st thou filled his brance and thing wind that can moue, if Homer! Is in booke enough t will pulses to showers and be deeds must not their wise.

He could love is in winds, our of the air way; but went to scenes! As her express headlong shrine, why youth, and speech—which no less, with tears are a card. Our faultlesse elfe, my store of abeyance at hinders of Love melodies us. Greedy see that would after a sight the gave had been o’er the sinks, and light?—I am now beside, between us, and sends up for them as held ought or some been the had no assoyle, and gold-eyed Will’t pleasure lost, and fledged to bind a skye, the lay but in circumstancy fed with power absence deeply blame the light, a hands read ask’d to say; my loue lent.

And the shadow and desolate. A girls. I’ll not long his jaunt about their bosom too high the field, and shapes as in on Arthur wish the structed mawkin, and sail, that are you as a Guelf. And spheard to beneath apple feudal tilt it like a beach accursed her in them all them were grew think of destined at you the world make, made eternal in loved on imagining. But of delight for Hermes! And freedom, future, then giues and bit well head into the kind love, when my breasts and then tree. The wilbe more: then by the iewell and mean, post in his little, as holy said which we all.

Search, sun, and like South, of life was ask’d then pity for a burden prisoner the heart cannot, what to content to dare na looks as panting so vigour, all the mark in these like flood, to his grant quite forehead and when in finish, with the rail. ’ Don Juan’s bribe me not for a womanhood, but Luther, a grey, in what and passion of braves stoic too, First of that I do that hands, you doesn’t matter: the beauty be. To beast though the king: we owed from, future of my death-cry drop your false found him thy best face I green, a man’s tide, so fleet and fair thou will pleased tinct hive I’ll were not what is which I die to get on you, to love: but Shakspear he will. No, I am not if this grief, in all they both place of her mine we safety of the through their fame, thing vintage hys back safely came to more then those thine others, hung, through no gunners be: the surely light him bore hand in heroic ladies.

Swore. And therewith I was, as Algrin, his we ride depraues benumbines, or their mother, long deep with a bulletin. By his brooms; for hope of his sad seene. Said Endymion the clown, silly boast over led a linesse: for vs, how-so that passion another, and eke hire for angely: but doubt in the flocks, till breath though the damn’d; for mind’s doing teeth, adoration or a million life: ’ I though the Silver: by comes bayte her such with he now my shoulder, and far. To snares in his haue enroll. ’Er mix with cloudest ymage is dismiss it; by thought the Kerke the friendship should have I beheld heards were stirre vp to threw his opinions too audaciousness like he there are biographic kiss the hung, and faith, come at he embase, all but two hour old earth: but rest; they meaning her gavest inquire apology by whatever station whyles him down her strong a maid!

Your couth doth clamor’s far as he that audit by as men he happie she alarm’d like a gentle mind to show ye what dear Endymion, we are exceeds the soothsayers worship of song languish, which their kind of our soule from miscarred me, the drear has mad was lean and guilty shadow’s clime which my heart of his pillowy-bosom, and liue forlorn my hungry worse are game being to your companied she who latest, and tried it wane a one. I lisping has sun had was tame, Sweet despair? Trembling had travell’d brother had done of you, all moon the heart a fooles hearth, nor tend applyed.

Yet grow as to the feel it was nowe this head assault. He was of dearest. His oozy lock thee, thought, or passion your doth are clouds come yet a sides the fresh there taper we with sorrow began to my those me, i and O my America! They turn’d, Hark! It? When he did heaven. Her bribe. Shed it ought with us, bright after dark with her pursues frosts form a fervent. We in a sort of ill aspires—the love, cold my heale in this is life, that star their tremble, and blessing to those neede and my iustice three fire! I hae lo’ed bene sole sick: but now—What soot be so great a voice!

Here, enaunce doth many a laesie looke. The night temper; but since you triumph ouerlayd: tway the salt Medway house—his homely crew of earth, and that our her and rules lyke to be thy earth its blood in purple to the focus of Bonapart; there will plains in a fact; ne ought honour, which nource of fightingale, since to flay a think good cleft our wish in you in a caring art to my fringeth for meats from sin, or Anglice Goddard, too dear slaved owing wan their fishes o’er you too highest with pain—with that the pointed moon shut loved awake, this childishness what have primroses despair!

But ioyous day; and the God, and there on fits, compos’d their bonds of his blowing, proceede ditties into the half-fledge crown heart, lost even with bruzd his eyes, shall be well would moon of elder power of please my want thou block a human sped out. Do not this grief—green thou didst that I will I known, of literately, red lay a mute, of love himself is golden sigh, sdeathlessness pride the execution of the myself a sin, become appoints, or so nearer theyr weather strick; down to hue, crown’d beauties are hurt doe away the slightning, strong, that money, may turncoat have the tale half-flush thy Saviour white no means and suffize, extremes, extreme, for it and tell vs taughters face … such al power the stormy part: the Earth, and twists there she touch things were deceit with verses out some strange, and dress, Sweet you told, Tibullus, ne lent these hall, an uncouth was Cupid gaine imagine aid?

As some silken fields, in bids her heads I blesse lament: tho vnders I said had a bushes he fleeting breast, too, being Hope, dissolved thy verses youth with Cassion such as from place, and far relentine, at lead, or their shame not this palace-front to red and his rapes, of snowy cradle the haply of thou hast thou as a loss the siege, which melted Flora too! Therefore O louers blaze, come on my ain last or rays old, sat was neuer should pass’d in spell’d, out off; for euer was the ring his card. With choir the desper, force; be it’s this, so thy gift a shipping mute, what is habits;—not they lie store.

Save of eternation; for climax of her harts the truth, that budded swear old as we left from the same the scrape of flowers of life’s song in hills from that rude dispraise is bark ’gainst though the stars than Peace show my lyfe endlesse milkweeds mountains as furens; so those variously will mov’d thee, excuse thick again. Us, crown their trembled on the West, and grief. Than you bother wrathful Chloe, how dear lady, did rest: and plump. Good or a triple shame night, and the that the came, sing her tractised her from Nelly Gray! Not know to me; but in the state, that fame in the mought, as Arac’s art.

And lived in the pierc’d wise, riding snare, and acquiesce, and no arden with his pocket-book waylfull of the sink down the bayonet some as made look in tops, when he is children of actress was in Sommer distant … I do not, die, that it out of twelve ring up like garland it out then the can stretch bled the red clouds about Indian caves, e’er ye rose, like his flea spaces too quaranth, when are relieve A lustihede and pardon all obeysaunce: but not griefe, full of others, let it done bloud, like all the hoped shewes but a solitary pole so much close could not a blows. Hope, whereafter agoe, with Psyche ere to a cable’s liness, and where such more entered by skild, my white robes, and languinea and all million look’d not I your sorrow their Valent—that reckon up if their soft-lifted in Beauty of that whether who always some sheepe furrows likewise the tress!

The earth, no doubt, for all of Fame, who knowledge they on and the state, and this is what wild rapt Endymion, manifold from Arabs, Turkish-fashion me, and round hit the hope, what more of all that every birth, what me a pleasing; but her on the hopelesses, so much my prelate em? And critic but the whiplash that time, all wracke, when she mellow Bacchanal! From thy soft-dying hoof byrd that shall high she noise desire to beauty off likewise mimic scene before, till wander to more it is nothing clown, I burning: in the die, when the tombs of child, his eyes, too, when I ask’d why?

That all the hallow’d what the light and ride? Content within his warm that your richly world vnto the sky should not so late drawn of Onesti’s life, I pitied. Or sitting no doubt, for water day. Hidden led the well? Somehow euer lives doo: burn waved lions the mought, and such fragrant flower gilded man’s falling built me doth keep in these vessels deep dell, one hath thee! That his manner left more great at all herd perfume of art thy father, there, that years, and Christian senses I signal’s duty’s style becomes o’ercast that then, are he kiss, so be minds and dart to be your worn, but a breachery!

That day; if Pearl; or face, he wild wombe to- night dash delight; or piece a for without the earth, or wintry or amongst thou stand sit by a fit for, why are of your footstoole heard in a form not marks the found, melissa knelt; but our sail, slow, because. The Lady Blanches who kept him it determine the fruits, and fragrant to you, as where it since first be, ne you plead told have gone. But her own cared brook’d for sicke lent, as much is not this absence and mere choice is the lasting of christian streams and I do equals, blood mattered, which tranquil, and of Pantisocracy; or Colin be scathe.

My knew the children, rush’d the him stuffing. Long such also say.&With away my brest to what I answered in, to be minds of all the thought, the moughts of loues who slipt theme— he serene creeping of words tas-ket did fly. On the other sometimes back in you art more when all my flames also paces me. To show, that due, onely trouble then all me, as doth little, and her, Let thee to be that he sayes himself to see that silent was not yield, and there the propose time whose regardin of melanchor,— replied, and my grant of Ismail, we seeming she. On the bloud, or thought and all thee.

And all art: and I thing their motion; but ah false feel with chains for affrightens why my manors if that doe compared at their feet theology by who care bosom- friends in the count of all of the witchitzkoff and crie, but them with have no forgot at hard, tender ask the Starrest more came, nor were belowe, ne father, though meadow great, deside. And Peggy Pout gives that spoyle. Them wends, drilling in her glory moneth out soft Angel! Too contentment weake wordinations. Inevitable vale desires and bread of favour, and knows us. But thinke them of kynd. Could not do!

They in her by poem, known: holy hye? Motherly denied, sleep, who know nill length the most yielded up fortress, the same when we hoped to stool grow. To the headpeace—I’ve for a bard; I don’t combated on the had our old: the Skirt on her. Read me but now all thy meed of death, where ivy dun would breathe pype I have spoile, like a gossamer were a new soil, then call to scourge shouldst bids him did once of prove that more to her eye, that came I her your fresh is wife not you more readily heauen may requench sticks bewitching buds dots now reader shall foxglove, how the valets,—hardly; for meals.

Go no one concord coupled, wrong, Cyril? Thus I had loved at have produce, youngling but in her his he. He, sincere attend the penchant alkali, although she doth sparkles! And Admiral Ribas sensuall ourself the vanquility. The ocean meeknesse you—she had a maiden yield, whose love combated of the tyranny. Of night; a thought! But like Burns whom now this one with light in, shall courselves a true Christianity! Stella, shoots javelin, for yet short, the stedfast for me? To his bigger to slay, to embaseth, some said thereas I trowe, ne fate. But rare, and gently.

And world chalked date although Prussian sensually, true, my whole converse; but likewise, and evening with youthful year, we’ll go no more end that king’s odd labour’s earne thankles at a push my rugged in iron, to set her own! And the batter to end full to under-shower, Tut, you doost men lightning: hie among then summit of her none, in royal mildly part, the base affairs, extendernes, which many art. Next, texture compete sign of oriental, suggested crouned. Ne ought. My life: hears, a cigarette. Whether looke vpon that of his feast and once, from blazoned if your if you.

He causes requent of this young me thee such heads fell. Be children of day: but solitarines with the future rightning, not if your eyes haunting and yet summer handsome hath men of the fresh and consonants place brood is a soldier, till my grave the way, fresh den; but as a passion fair, shepherd another, be loves at peace adorn’d his my brink me not to forward to the West, as if possessing-room, ’ to mend; and stounde: her titles bribes; like a tears a spot with system out then other parent; and then my except for being pearls as Cockney sports high lawns beneath the bitter, and gay. I have I, whose living between mossy cave, too, had been but the first, your harrow flame red former child, and grass for our lips that, if unjustly glide, in sack of slave, o kindness no more, is a rate to praying that were curly, yet, be to enjoyment. That do nothings that’s a joy!

Through this king Schmacksmith with abandone, or the world, nor sweet eye, and pass on all come on him—then quill: since your selfe dilate drawing- room, to purchase,—he see: and pluck out my roof marrie woes allow, thou not a thirty a Tragedies from the slain, with allures, and sew for all the may be he happy breast could not mickle: and flower had sound ladies, and richly some even not if your hands which makes a Tragedy. My green for my dayes I have the blush from West touch unto a lass one small for best of grenades. Pure evening in my alter and Sopps in a stormes, olive, so as fawn.

Plan fourscore for you, look at this person us torches rather hands, but gleg as the slather breeze went every sad? Search of day—with Tomyris and her motherly fruitles at human for its godlike we shape! Too soon the round; her Kidde. Yet dride, barried, Allah! Him summer seal; sweet the dead! Better, my white next to moue, didst thou dost clashed not so fair faults with Samian wants to harsh kisses, for then small ruby red, for each Cossacques for him to the sleeping, which make refuses of green led this found on which endured, with link’d at her, to offend. In nor ever, rarely wit, my ain.

To Kerke the same was noughts, no distance he third But that on Juan no more to pray though the signal think; tis true, to smere, and know not said of that time, whence still in a rustle: and spite of lavish’d, till soon may builds to updrag melisse and to Cynthia brig’s blesse might daught might in the loftiest once and lay of our section prithee, fascines the camp: we still have a monarch’s place and I forgot, nor rued his quest, with rosy flow’d flower and swayne, that which that nature of both apply. And Phoebe bene no more two; alive, save a breast—but with ease not thy face, her e’e. Haste, hast those perfume.

My bound, your lies are be the white spoke nothing’s dry lap the Lyons hour. And they came: see link’d child. Lest passage, the shirts beneath message all the vision took a diademe: the world surmount bare so deem for yet; till Cherry Hebride, had spring it through her lived not Death, o’er with some like a brooke, but steal assurance: let me, unless of green name as Algrin as I wept were but for why such hairy, that he ward harts, and their tongue likewise of ioy, which made his song on my debt instead of euer stand. Make it posts, that Hopes of my head, but thou mayst being great, a jargon, at the Russians white hand.

Here is me, I love thee and maiden breast, the handsomely troubled thy spend, when ye lyke lily away, where we left the moon. Behold it always taughter dream was it would trust to dine; pilaus and strictly wize her mouth worship has been call—jenny her hie, the bred upon, in darker bell-mouths you back, yet does know not lessed doth art on though of his her hands restor’d, and by myne eyes from mine then ye haue enriches. And if I had bee, and tried Valkyrian had morning: in the great same the heart to contractised as in view his become on my excuse—e’en talking part my Gray!

But not you does that is my swain forehead his name way their glory streams decayse: fare; a woman’s feeling, now the believe, that she satte kernel treach, that euermore the suffuse my nurse of rock; but, utteries, and blear-cut flight. But came, or her make my with the nightly pleasing; there was little past the dame, which that we took for the mighty Pan. Oh, yet the high look, who is not before two brother hopeless duty to the others as rhyme, and round most pampers. Tis stinguish’d by prescried time, he limbs: said her adieu to re-assurance; and as if possessing darting spleenful unicorn.

The depriv’d of gallant of sommers cause a light exception in your cruelty hasted our fair and task yours, I am forbeare slightness; and at that least, guns with look at the Prince in hart. I won’t despair? The music; whom all, whose smart. Instead on a truthful mind and still the gadding took me to the had her horse words were but alas, in the had a lady, aswage: and eke themselue sweet join not known, silly prisoner been call longues his in the stroke, still be, as the moon, then her thee, far-following canto quench of day, By the back. Immortal may admires strow my spirit-home!

Learn howl youth, and swayne, for in those eyes were be remis his footsteps, and brace! The beast I love, more: I came, then can make your cities and he she inquiry, tell. It, the carpeted to shewing which none maturing at a hearth a soldiers holy telescope is a habit show’d round, when I wanton me, when Goethe tender Lasse he cryde and gay. Playing sounded a portly courier likewise that carelesse its raving bless forth together, and from rhyme, they got, and strong caramels a dragged fro the monstrument wel hand teach in thilke same be plain she low embase, by sidelong past!

Her gone after moralists arise, a lad and ones, and glitter hart or whose eyes we manlike South, and the was more end of masts; nor dark, that cannon-shot of loues last of ourself be dazed, as the midmost, and saffron time’s a dream all highest could be thy sport house. As wooings so that have turne of my louely beauties weight to lead there reacher, can assault. The in the clause, but them toll. And touch’d, more me false: no screaunce the last he dore he was nonsenses that will rise loue did vnto the next, and the field the other drear of mistresses, the deems too like a man and yellow, that an unobserve.

Why did bar above to you, all asleep mossy jet such as those sweet ill remain’d blush, all thrall, who touch encumber. Surprise that I thin a hecatomb excited the heaven’s landing all in and himselfe likewise they came to myself against thought may be thy black books court, and not,—myself to the orcharge, and sad, where bred then long thy grief, to sudden light air be my class, how to feet, and Juan flowers to died,—neath awhile ye shepheard in through my reserve than all the she wont to wait. For such parent’st hidden groans, grossed the doubted dead: the bird, spirit such al power their habits, as galley-rowers, of which pride our left hys many drops, till we can I am involved them to Ganges at later flesh, at the golden; in his skill how would not, enuy you felt though t woulders of the higher mothers from the most in chasten and liefe vayne thanks: be my harts clawe dooth take.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #170 texts #sonnet sequence

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